#like he REALLY often phrases things Well and it comes across kinda odd

[upsidedowngrass]

will say it is SO challenging to capture liams voice. when i was rewatching it on my bday w my friend i was STILL noticing things . character dialogue is so complex and i NEED to perfect it or ill collapse into the ground

#like i noticed that like. his 'optimism' is USUALLY rephrased pessimism almost? #most notablel example being when amelia asks if hes ok wearing the cast and he says 'its fine ill get used to it' #which like. i think ppl overplay him not verbalizing his emotions #which i think he TECHNICALLY does but not in the way people depict it? #hes not trying to Spare people the Concern #it comes across more like. frustration that hes TRYING to be optimistic about .but its poorly executed #as the series goes on it only gets more complex #also when hes talking to bryce in ep 6 he talks slower than usual? which i Tried to capture in that earlier aart from today #he also kinda does it in ep 10? but i think he gets indignant enough that it like. the frustration overpowers any despair #and he ends up talking FASTER actually. #also i will say that liam talks like. surprisingly Detailed ? but still concise #always think about his decription of the waiting room #and also him saying that bryce being 'complicit ticks [him] off' #its such a Specific way to describe it ?? if that makes sense?? #like he REALLY often phrases things Well and it comes across kinda odd #but also. thatperson has said hed name a cat 'smth practical. like fluffy' #which i mention a LOT but look. i think it so well captures the way he Goes About Things #so even when hes frustrated he STILL details things like. practically #anyway yea . yea. #a few years back i saw someone make like. a character writing guide for another series i like #and sometimes i think itd be SO fun to make smth like that for liam. maybe even other one characters

[its-deputy-caleb]

Could I request the Four Lords reacting to thinking the read is scared of them and that’s why they won’t speak to them, but really reader is mute (whether born that way, because of trauma, or a physical injury)

Maybe they know sign language and that’s how they communicate instead?

Okay so i’m very sorry for the late delay of these I’ve been super busy and i just whipped this up really quickly and i apologise that it’s really rushed!! I hope these aren’t too bad although i’m not super happy with how they turned out :((

Alcina Dimitrescu

It’s only natural that working in Castle Dimitrescu that you’d be a little fearful of unpredictability of Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

However what you didn’t know was that she’s taken a liking to you already, watching you work from afar and she made it very clear that no one was to harm you.

Whenever you interacted she could help but notice how quiet you were, finding it rather odd when you responded to her commands with a short nod and a bow.

Alcina becomes fascinated with you, her eye always on you and sometimes even beckoning you to come and pour her wine just to see your reaction.

She walks past the cellars one day and notices you talking to a maiden. Well you weren’t exactly talking but the two of you were moving your hands in a way that looked like you could understand each other, watching the smile on your face.

Her curiosity and mild jealously meant she took it upon herself to understand exactly what she saw and came to learn that you are mute.

She becomes very overprotective of you after seeing you smile and light up like that, wanting to keep you by her side and away from anything that could harm you.

Eventually you earn her respect and no longer have to work for her. Instead of working you spend your days having tea in elaborate outfits, sitting across from Alcina as she rambles for hours about the girls dragging more bloodied corpses onto the new carpets or Heisenberg’s dramatic outbursts at family meetings or the complaints from the villages.

All of it made you smile and Alcina feels so accomplished when she sees you light up the way she first saw you. Feeling like she’s finally found the way in to your heart.

Her favourite thing to do is at the end of each night walk you to your permanent chambers, bringing a kiss to your hand and signing “goodnight my love” in sign language. It was one of the first things in sign language that you taught her and she’s never once forgetten it.

Donna Beneviento

At first Donna didn’t really notice that you are quieter compared to most people as she’s often finds herself falling into long periods of silence herself.

Not only is she generally reserved and not inclined to socialise like her siblings but a lot of the trauma and experiments she received from Mother Miranda has led to her withdrawing even more.

The only one she really talks to is Angie, although the doll is apart of her, it’s how she copes and allows herself to come out of her comfort zone without having to interact with her family which remind her of all the terrible experiences.

At first Donna believes you’re scared of her and Angie especially. She’s just so excited to finally have someone from outside the family who she trusts and wants to be with and doesn’t want to scare you away.

This makes her tense up a lot and push you away because she hates the thought of scaring you but Angie is apart of her and she doesn’t know how to keep you in her life while remaining herself.

But she quickly learns that you’re mute and although you can’t express it through words you care just as much for her.

That’s how you both discover that just being in each other’s company is enough for you to be happy together.

Touch is the one thing that keeps you both connected. Whether you have your hand in hers or you’ve got each other in a tight hug, touch is the way you both say ‘i love you’.

Sometimes when she’s having a bad day and you can feel the nerves pouring out of her, you walk up and hold your palm up to her.

Donna’s hand will sit softly against your own with only the tips of your fingers intertwining, just the slightest touch can calm her. Your forehead presses to hers and you hold her close until all her worries melt away.

Even though you can’t tell her, all the fleeting touches and gentle movements are how you tell Donna every day that you could never be scared of her but in fact you love her very deeply.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore instantly panics when he sees you don’t talk, his mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that you must either fear him or hate him like everyone else.

He doesn’t want to lose you, and is almost desperate for you attention which he doesn’t understand can’t be said through words.

He’s gonna bring you all of the things he likes in hopes to show you that he’s not scary like everyone thinks.

Each night he’s bringing you blankets (which are damp and kinda smell but he doesn’t know) and each morning he’s got breakfast for you and he’s gonna bring all the cheese he owns.

He’s still convinced you’re scared of him so he drops them in front of you and retreats into the corner with his hands raised, anticipating your rejection but still no less scared of your reaction.

“I’m not scary, I promise…”

Eventually he realises you can’t speak and that you enjoy his efforts to make you comfortable, thinking it’s adorable.

When you become comfortable around each other you being to show him some phrases in sign language so he can communicate with you. He’s definitely eager to learn, practically begging alcina for books on it from her library.

He’s not very good at it but you spend your afternoons teaching him and you both end up giggling and laughing at his attempts. By the end of the night you’re both crashed on the couch after watching movies.

He loves to take you outside to see the reservoir and windmill where you write little messages to each other on the snow.

Karl Heisenberg

When Karl first learnt that you’d be sent to his factory by order of Mother Miranda he was furious that he’d have to babysit you.

He ignores you at first, not even looking at you as he left you in some room of the factory with the door locked behind him.

One day after a fight with Alcina he comes bashing through what’s slowly become your bedroom of sorts. His fist collides with the metal countertop leaving a dent in it as metal shards rattle around the room.

“If that bitch humiliates me one more time at a family meeting i’ll hit her with my hammer!”

He looks at you and notices the startled look on your face from having to dodge all the metal now flying around the room until it drops to the floor. Karl looking at you with a sheepish face, upset with himself that he scared you.

“Sorry about that…”

Karl spends more time with you after that, showing you around his factory and telling you all his elaborate plans to bring down Miranda and vent about his sister after he realised you were a good listener.

In fact he started to realise that you were almost too much of a good listener… and that you had never once spoken to him.

He didn’t even know you name and that frustrated him beyond all means.

While he was still confused at your behaviour, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it as you grew closer with each passing day.

Sometimes his favourite thing to do is to sit with you in his living quarters, sitting on the couch with his head in your lap as your fingers brush through his hair.

It’s there where he’ll talk to you for hours about everything and nothing at all. Just happy to have someone in his life.

He’s comforted by the fact that you’re mute because you don’t judge him, your actions towards him always soft and warming.

He’s never had someone who could be there for him emotionally and physically, and he loves that you show him how much you love him by the little gestures like cuddling, playing with his hair and holding his head in your hands.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau #salvatore moreau x reader #resident evil headcanons #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil #RE8 #asks #prompt

[styx1an]

A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them. 

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being. 

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again. 

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress. 

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really. 

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears. 

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

--

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

#rtgame #magical john #well i wrote! dont like how the latter half was written but ok #miitopia #writing #rtgamecrowd

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

endlessly

or, the one-shot that wouldn’t get out of my head where jack is a baby, cas is back, and he and dean have a talk. s13 :) this is a long one, so part of it is going under the cut! 

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

Things are strange. 

Of course, things are often strange in Castiel’s life, especially these days. For one, he just got brought back from the dead. For another, he rode in the passenger’s seat of the Impala on the way back to the bunker. Sam drove, because when Dean tried to drive, the baby in the backseat--Jack, that’s Jack--started crying, and Dean had to switch spots and let Jack’s tiny hand wrap around one of his fingers. Only then did Jack stop crying.

As soon as they got back to the bunker, Dean went to put Jack to bed, leaving Castiel in the kitchen with Sam. That’s where Castiel is now, watching Sam putter around, cleaning up things that don’t need to be cleaned. There’s clearly something on his mind.

“You and Dean should talk,” Sam finally says.

“We usually do talk,” Castiel replies, unsure of what, exactly, Sam means. 

“I mean, really talk. Look--” Sam stops, grabs two beers out of the fridge and slides one across the island to Castiel, before continuing. “Dean gets...things get bad for him when you’re gone. Without Jack to take care of, I think he would have...” Sam doesn’t finish the sentence, but Castiel has a feeling he knows where it was headed. 

“Is Jack always like that?” Castiel asks.

“Obsessed with Dean? Yeah. I mean, things are still kinda complicated with Mom, and I’m not great with kids, but Dean...” Sam sighs. “I mean, he had to take care of me constantly when I was a baby. He’s always been really good with kids, better at expressing himself. And he and Jack...I mean, if Dean’s not with him, Jack gets really upset.”

“Wow,” Castiel says. He remembers a few years ago, helping Claire out, and how quickly Claire and Dean cottoned onto each other. And stories he’s heard from before he knew the Winchesters (sometimes it’s hard to believe there was a time in his life before them) where kids had been involved on a hunt and Dean saved the day.

Perhaps it’s only natural.

“But yeah,” Sam takes a deep swig of his beer. “Go find him and talk. I bet Jack is asleep by now.”

“Right.”

Castiel still feels odd, wrong-footed, though. It should be easy to talk to Dean--Dean’s one of his best friends, someone he would do anything for, has done anything for. 

But he’s also Dean, someone who can be complicated and feels things deeply, and if he’s been feeling bad enough to contemplate--

Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that.

He finds Dean in his room, sprawled out on the bed with a sleeping Jack next to him. There are beer bottles and a couple of whiskey bottles littering Dean’s nightstand, an overflowing wastebasket in the corner.

Sam was right. Things haven’t been great. 

Dean’s eyes flutter open when he hears Cas enter and he sits up, saying softly, “I know sleeping with babies can be bad, cuz I read one of those books you got, but he just...” Dean turns his gaze to Jack. “He doesn’t go to sleep unless I do this.”

Castiel nods.

Dean carefully scoops Jack up and carries him over to the crib in the corner of the room. The whole scene is both painfully domestic and painfully Dean, and it causes something in Castiel’s chest to twinge. 

“But he’s out like a light now,” Dean says. “He’s already better at sleeping, it’s like he knows I don’t get much even without a crying baby.”

“Hm,” Castiel agrees. “Dean, can we talk?”

“Uh, sure? Let’s go somewhere else.” Dean takes one last look at Jack’s swaddled form and then leads Castiel out of his bedroom and to another room, which Cas has never been in before and is barren except for some armchairs and a foosball table.

“What’s this?” Cas asks as they settle into the armchairs.

“It’s...I dunno, a rec room or something. Thinking of putting a TV in here so we could watch movies. I’ve been calling it the Deancave and Sam has been getting annoyed with me.” Dean cracks a smile at a that. “Whaddya want to to talk about?”

“I, uh...” Castiel shrugs. “Sam just said I should talk to you.”

“Dirty traitor. Of course he did.” Dean frowns.

“We don’t have to if you don't want to, I just thought--”

“No, no, this’ll--I need to say this shit.” Dean swallows, before saying, “So, do you remember, about a year or so after we met, when we were trying to get the Colt back and gank Lucifer?”

“I do,” Castiel says, now completely unsure of where Dean is going with this.

“Well, I...I got zapped to the future. Or a future, I guess, by Zachariah. It was...2014 there, the world was overrun by this plague and zombies, Sam was...gone, he had said yes to Lucifer for good, and I met another version of myself who was...he wasn’t a great guy. Pretty cold and ruthless, willing to use people he cared about as bait or put them in harm’s way. He didn’t care about much anymore.” “I assume I wasn’t in this world?” Castiel asks.

“No, you were.” Now Dean looks genuinely pained. “You had lost almost all of your grace, and you spent your days...drinking and doing drugs and having sex. You had lost the trench coat and you were...different. You still thought I was pretty cool, though, and the other Dean, the Dean from that you’s time, he hated that.” 

“I see.” Something is coming into focus.

“You were Cas, but you weren’t my Cas,” Dean says, the emphasis on the my weighty.

“Was this the same night that you told me to never change?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “It was. Something that the other you said, it just...it hit me. And I couldn’t let that happen to you, and I couldn’t let myself be the guy that made it worse. He said that the only thing you and that Dean had left was each other, that if the other me said it was time to go, then you would follow him. And I tried to talk to the future me about it, ask him why he was willing to put you in harm’s way just because you would follow him. He...he didn’t have an answer.”

“I have changed, though, Dean,” Castiel says after a moment. “And not in a bad way.”

“Yeah, but you coulda become that guy.” Dean’s fidgeting now, uncomfortable. “Anyways, after that it was...yeah. You know how things went, you were there. A lot of shit went down, and I tried not to think about that future I saw.”

“I see.”

There’s a vast, empty silence in the room as Castiel contemplates what Dean has told him. He wants to ask follow-up questions, figure out what, exactly, Dean means by what he’s said, but it’s rare that Dean is so open and calm about it, and Castiel doesn’t want to break the spell. He wants Dean to, what’s the phrase? Level with him. 

“And then we went to purgatory,” Dean continues suddenly. “And I spent a year looking for you and found you all dirty and scruffy--you still had that trench coat but you looked like him. I was...starting to realize something, I guess? I mean, Benny helped me find you, and one night we were just hanging out, doing stuff, and he asked me what my deal was about you. I told him, I said you were one of my best friends, hell, just straight-up my best friend.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said I was full of shit, that no one spends a year in purgatory for a friend. I told him to shut the hell up, but he was right.”

This isn’t happening. This would never happen, because Castiel has heard that it won’t. The Empty’s words from when he was dead echo in his head.

I know who you hate. I know who you love. There is nothing for you back there.

But maybe there is.

“There isn’t any use in trying to hide it from you,” Dean says. “You saw all the bottles. Every time you leave...I tell myself it’s because you’re like family, and you are, but not quite--” 

Castiel is tired of waiting, tired of having a weight lodged in his chest, and he hates how agitated and small Dean looks, so before he can fully think out what he’s doing, he’s standing up and then leaning over Dean’s chair, his face inches from Dean’s.

He waits.

“There’s--there’s no way,” Dean says, breathless. 

“There is.” Castiel swallows, hopes he hasn’t miscalculated.

He determines a moment later when Dean seizes him by his collar and pulls him all the way down into a kiss that he did not, in fact, miscalculate. 

It’s clumsy and messy, because of the angle and the nerves and all of the waiting, but Castiel doesn’t particularly care, and he’s getting the impression that Dean doesn’t, either. 

“Please don’t leave again,” Dean whispers into Castiel’s neck when they finally separate.

“I won’t,” Castiel promises. “Although I still can’t promise to never change.”

“That’s a good thing,” Dean replies. “I know that. Now.” 

Castiel doesn’t sleep, but when Dean finally heads back to his room to check on Jack and then try and get his four hours, Dean grabs Castiel by the trench coat sleeve. He stays, takes the pair of pajamas Dean sheepishly offers, finds himself curled around Dean in the big bed that doesn’t seem so big anymore. Neither Dean or Jack wake up all night. 

Castiel may not sleep, but he does sink into a fairly deep meditative state in the quiet darkness of Dean’s room. He “comes to” an indeterminate amount of time later to see that the room is empty, save him, and that all the bottles and trash are gone.

He pads into the hallway, still in that pair of Dean’s pajamas, and hears voices coming from the kitchen. He follows them to find Sam sitting at the table, talking to Dean, who’s standing at the stove with Jack swaddled and wrapped to his chest. Castiel feels his face reddening as his chest expands, and he makes a beeline for the table and sits across from Sam.

“I see you had that talk,” Sam whispers, grinning. 

“We did.” Castiel can’t help but smile back.

“Anyone not want bacon?” Dean asks from the stove, and Castiel and Sam both shake their heads. 

Castiel could get used to this, and he hopes he gets the chance to. 

#destiel #baby!jack #spn #fic #offbeatwrites

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part One

Part Two | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Enola Holmes got me, guys, what can I say. I mean seriously, look at that curl. I’m considering writing more, still kinda sussing it out. Not sure yet.

Warnings: Uuuuuh none

Summary: You were an only child, a girl (which had disappointed your parents), and while you loved to learn, you hated your governess. You were curious, a little wild, and lonely. 

As a child, Ferndell Hall was a second home to you. You lived down the road from the Holmes’ and tended to hide away there whenever you got into a fight with your mother (which was often). You were an only child, a girl (which had disappointed your parents), and while you loved to learn, you hated your governess. You were curious, a little wild, and lonely. Not that you were any less lonely with the Holmes boys. Mycroft was always making up games with ridiculous rules and amendments to try and keep you from playing them. Sherlock usually stayed out of yours and Mycroft’s arguments - you could hold your own against him anyway. When Mycroft couldn’t be bothered with you anymore, you’d trail behind Sherlock, trying to hold his hand to keep up with him, asking him a thousand questions about what he was reading, or what he was doing. He’d indulge you some of the time, but others he’d ignore you in favor of a book, or a drawing. It was those moments that you ran to Eudoria and Enola. “Never mind them,” Eudoria would tell you, when you were pouting over Mycroft making over some additional stupid rule, or Sherlock not even bothering to look at you from behind his book. “Why don’t they like me?” You asked one day, watching Mycroft and Sherlock fence with one another in the front yard. Eudoria looked down at you. “Why does it matter to you how they feel?” “Everyone wants to be liked,” You rationalized. Eudoria hummed thoughtfully, smoothing a hand over your hair. “Focus more on the company you would like to keep, dove. Not on the company that will not keep you.” -- When their father passed away, it was clear that both Mycroft and Sherlock would be sent to boarding schools. Your parents allowed a brief lapse in your studies so that you could spend more time with them before they left Ferndell. Mycroft was sent away first, and Sherlock would be sent soon after. On the day he was set to leave, you and Sherlock waited in the front hall, watching as his things were packed into a carriage. “Will you write?” Sherlock asked quietly. You turned to him, surprised. “...If you like,” You said after a moment. He didn’t meet your eye, just nodded. --

“Mother is missing.” Coming from Enola, that was a shock. You had watched her grow, she wasn’t the type to tease about something like this, especially where Eudoria was involved. “What’s happened?” You asked. As the years had gone by, you had continued to visit Ferndell, spent time with Eudoria, Enola, and Mrs. Lane. You’d fallen out of contact with Sherlock. You’d written letters, gotten one or two back, and grown frustrated. You’d stopped writing, remembering what Eudoria had told you: “Focus more on the company you would like to keep.” You looked in on Enola and Mrs. Lane every day that week, only insinuating yourself in Enola’s space where she wanted you - you knew that her mother was her chief companion and didn’t want to crowd her. You couldn’t help the lingering concern you had for Eudoria. “You’re good to come and check on ‘er,” Mrs. Lane sighed as the two of you shared a sherry, “It’ll be better when Sherlock comes home.” “The boys have been sent for?” You asked, eyeing your drink. “ ‘Course. Enola’ll be collecting them tomorrow.” Tomorrow. You were suddenly not in the mood for your sherry anymore. -- “They’ve already gone through the parlor-- Mycroft didn’t like our tennis rackets,” Enola said as you followed her down the hall to the kitchen, “And-- they were going through Mother’s room. Mycroft said Mother’s been sending him lists of expenses for all sorts of things-- a footman and a governess.” “Goodness,” You mumbled, frowning, “Well, I’m sure your mother has a reason. She has a reason for everything.” Enola slid onto one of the stools in the kitchen, folding her arms on the table and propping her chin up on her hand. She perked her head up the second someone else stepped into the kitchen. “Mrs. Lane, if we could have some wine. We’ll be in the library.” You glanced in the direction of the voice; that glance alone was enough to know it was him. Enola had proudly kept every single clipping of every single case he’d ever solved; the sketches in the paper didn’t nearly do him justice. You glanced away quickly enough again as you felt his head turn toward you; as Mrs. Lane said, “Of course, Mr. Holmes.” “...Aren’t you going to say hello to Sherlock?” Enola asked. You raised a brow before glancing in his direction again. “Hello to Sherlock,” You said simply. The smile that lit up Enola’s face was worth it, especially after the week she’d had. It was almost gratifying, his staring, and you were moderately certain he had absolutely no idea who you were. “I have business to attend to at home, but if you need anything, you know where to reach me,” You addressed both Enola and Mrs. Lane before turning back to Sherlock. “Don’t strain yourself,” You said coolly as you brushed past him. -- “Impatient.” You lifted your head from the letter you’d been focusing on to see Sherlock leaning in the doorway of your study. “...Excuse me?” You asked. “Your handwriting,” He said, stepping further into your study, “When I was at school, I was made to study calligraphy, and I used to study your letters. The ink was often smudged, because you write quickly, which means you’re impatient. The size of your lettering is large implying that you’re outspoken, comfortable in your own skin, and the spacing is narrow, which means you can’t stand being alone.” He stopped in front of your desk, looking down at you. You set your pen aside, tipping your chin up. “Do you have a reason for being here, Mr. Holmes?” You asked. Sherlock lowered himself into one of the seats across from you, reaching into his pocket and pulling his pipe out. Your arched a brow. “I wanted to ask you about--” “You’re not smoking in here.” Sherlock stilled, looking at you. “Excuse me?” “Which part of that was unclear?” You asked. Sherlock stared at you for a moment before tucking his pipe away. "I remember you,” He said. “Charming, well done.” “I wanted to talk to you about my mother.” “Go on, then.” "My mother hasn’t said anything to you about a trip, a change?” “None. You know Eudoria keeps her cards close to her chest.” “And you haven’t noticed any suspicious characters around the house?” “You suspect she’s gone off with someone?” You quirked a brow, “She’d never. No one is more important to your mother than Enola.” “You have a theory?” Sherlock asked. “You’re the detective here, Mr. Holmes, not me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy.” Sherlock gave a nod as he stood. You leaned back over your letter, picking up your pen. You froze when you heard him murmur, “It’s good to see you again, dove.” You looked up to see him lingering by your door, an odd, almost soft smile on his face. He gave you a quick nod before he left, door shutting behind him. -- “Whole house is up in arms,” Mrs. Lane was scrubbing the kitchen table down for what had to be the fifth time. “Mrs. Lane, please,” You soothed, gently steering her to sit, “Let me make us some tea, hmm?” Enola was gone. No warning, no note, just a caricature of Mycroft on a pillow (you’d seen it and let out an incredibly unladylike snort). “You going to London-- And the boys as well, it’ll just be me rattling around the house,” Mrs. Lane sighed as you set a fresh cuppa down in front of her. She reached up, patting your cheek in thanks. -- “Did I hear Mrs. Lane say you’ll be going into town?” You turned at the sound of Sherlock’s voice and found him a few paces behind you. The path between Ferndell Hall and your home was a scenic one, quiet and well-trod. You stopped to allow him to catch up, folding your arms over your chest, “Might I ask why you were eavesdropping?” “Is it really eavesdropping if it occurs in ones own home?” He asked. “If one was not intended to be privy to the conversation, yes.” Sherlock considered this for a moment before he stepped around you, continuing toward your home. You frowned after him before you followed, lengthening your strides to catch up. “What takes you there?” He asked. “I’ve business to attend to.” “You used that same phrase the other day,” Sherlock reminded you. “And it is as true now as it was then,” You said. “What sort of ‘business’ is it?” “I have to look in on my aunt, for one, and meet with a couple of my father’s investors. He’s been ill, so he’s unable to make the trip himself.” “And he trusts you to do it for him?” You looked up to find Sherlock’s brow furrowed and you rolled your eyes. “Try not to look so shocked. You’re not the only person in the world capable of getting things done.” “You used to chase after Mycroft and I, you wanted your hand held at all times,” Sherlock reminded you. You scoffed, stopping and turning to face him. “I was a child,” You snapped. He stopped as well, tucking his hands into his pockets, and you went on, “And I was lonely-- And it’s not as if you or Mycroft did anything to assuage that.” You saw a flash of hurt in Sherlock’s eyes, the brief clench of his jaw before his face returned to that calm, observant set. You shook your head, averting your eyes. You hardly lost your temper anymore, had learned to school your emotions to get ahead when needed. Why on earth was he bringing this out in you? “If you’ll excuse me,” You said stiffly, stepping around him. “When do you leave for London?” He asked. You stopped again, turning a little to look at him; he wouldn’t meet your eye, his gaze set on the ground. “Tomorrow,” You said. “The 9:15?” He asked. “Yes,” You nodded. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the station.” “...Perhaps.”

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Even in the heyday of my BBC Sherlock interest did not write Sherlock Holmes x Reader fic but Henry Cavill's Curls are Out Here Doing That #So HERE WE ARE GUYS #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/Reader #Sherlock Holmes/You #When We Were Young

[star-lemonade]

School reunion (2/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: kinda angsty?, fluff

Rating: R

Word count: 2.5 k

Summary: You hire someone to accompany you to your school reunion.

He had cut his hair but it was definitely him. Junhee said hi and your colleague greeted him back. You did not know how you should react so you just nodded in his direction.

“This is our newest addition. Fresh from university…”

You were not listening to John anymore because you watched Junhee. He was standing the farthest away from you, several people stood between you and him. He was listening intently and did not look at you. Junhee wore silver earrings that gave him a more soft look.

“... know each other.”

Everyone was suddenly looking at you. John smiled and gestured at you while your colleagues' eyes were on you. Your glance met Junhee who smiled softly.

“..uhm.”

The elevator chime saved you from answering. The door opened and everyone spilled into the lobby.

You sat as far away from John as possible today. What would he think if you said how you had met Junhee? No. It was not a good idea to tell the truth. But what should you say? What had Junhee said about how you knew each other? You stayed quiet and let others speak, trying to not draw attention to yourself.

After lunch you usually got a coffee from the shop next door and went to the roof of the company building to relax for a few minutes in peace. So after you had finished your plate in record time, you stood up and left. You had to sort your thoughts and come up with some story to tell people if the topic of Junhee came up again. If he really stayed with John’s company it was bound to happen.

You got in line at the coffee shop. It was a cozy place where you also liked to go in the morning before work. There was not much sitting space because the shop seemed to have been built in the gap between two buildings. When it was your turn you ordered your usual.

The barista told you the price and as you were about to pull out your card a shadow appeared in your peripheral vision.

“I will pay for that and can I get an iced americano?”

You looked up to see Junhee give the barista his best smile. The woman looked at you for guidance. Her cheeks were a bit flushed.

“Junhee…”

It felt odd to say his name. The day you had spent with him all that time ago felt like a dream. Not a good dream but also not a nightmare. More like a dream that left you confused when you woke up.

“Please, let me buy you a coffee.”

He smiled. It was not the same one he had given the barista. This was more subtle and more familiar somehow. You nodded, still stunned.

“So you got the job with John. Congrats.”

It felt awkward to talk to him again. He reminded you of a bad time without any fault of his own. Junhee had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Yes, thanks again for the number.”

He sipped his coffee as you walked back to the office building.

“How have you been?”

Well, how had you been? Your steps bounced off the wall of the building. The glass facade like a mirror showed you and him walking.

“I have been okay.”

It was true. After the school reunion you had not felt very good for some time, but the further it was away from you, the better you felt. You had distracted yourself with work and let other things fill your life. It was not like you did not care about what the bullies thought anymore, just that it was not as important as before. What is done is done. You could not take that day back, so you had to live with it. The automatic door opened and you entered the lobby.

It was time to say goodbye to Junhee.

“See you around.”

Over the next few weeks Junhee insisted on buying you your post lunch coffee and people started to notice.

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” one of your colleagues speculated.

You shot them down. That was absurd. Why would he be interested in you? No, it was just gratitude, you said. You had brought him and John together. In fact Junhee and John seemed to be a dream team.

When you went out for dinner with John and some others, he could not stress enough how much he valued Junhee’s work. You found yourself talking to Junhee a lot more as time went by. You talked about your favourite artists and ended up texting each other until late into the night. More than anyone else's, the chat with Junhee was on top in your messaging service when you opened the app. But of course this did not mean anything. He was not interested and neither were you.

It was Friday night and you were hungry. It was past your usual time for dinner, but eating before the company dinner seemed inappropriate. ”Company dinner” was not the right phrase. It was more like a gettogether of colleagues. You had these from time to time. On this day John and his employees would be there too.

The restaurant had a more nostalgic feel to it. There were no chairs, just benches on either side of the worn tables. The ceiling was naked concrete and pipes ran from one to the other.

You sat down in the middle of the bench and greeted the two guys from John’s company. The others trickled in over the next 20 minutes.

“Hi.”

A familiar voice came from behind you. When you looked up, you were greeted by Junhee’s bright smile. He sat down next to you. Your colleague gave him a dirty look, when he squeezed himself between her and you. A warmth speared in your face. He looked gorgeous as always. The pullover he was wearing was just the right mix of casual and business for this event. You would have a hard time not staring at him. Maybe it was good that he sat next to you and not across. Although you had not minded looking at him all evening.

“I’m telling you I can do it!”

Minsu slurred his words a bit and some of his colleagues smiled. It was always amusing to see the innocent hubris of drunk people. He really thought he could beat anyone at arm wrestling.

“So who wants to try against me?”

He flexed his thin arms for show and now some people giggled. No one volunteered so he looked up and down the table. He pointed.

“Hey you, new guy! Will you wrestle me?”

Junhee smiled shyly at him. The pullover he had worn earlier was gone and he only wore a t-shirt now. A thin necklace disappeared under the collar. Only now you noticed how big his arms were.

“Sure.”

Junhee changed seats so he and the guy sat opposite each other. His arms looked even larger now that you had a comparison. They got into position. Elbows on the table and hands locked. One of their colleagues held their hand in the middle and counted down.

“Three, two, one!”

They began. Junhee strained against Minsu’s arm and bared his teeth, but it was no use. Minsu pushed his hand to the table and stood on the bench a moment later to let himself be showered in shouts. Junhee smiled slightly embarrassed.

When someone asked how he could have lost with his big arms, he laughed, “The muscles are just for show. Fashion muscle.”

He sat back down next to you and showed you a shy smile.

“Are you ready? Rock, paper, scissors!”

Rock was a mistake. The others left you standing in front of the restaurant with a very tipsy Minsu. You waved for a taxi and thankfully there was one just down the street that drove towards you. The old man stopped in front of you and rolled down the window. You could have just dumped Minsu in the taxi but you felt bad for him and got in the back seat next to him. Minsu looked like he was about to fall asleep and you were okay with that until you arrived at his apartment complex. You heaved him out of the taxi and dragged him to the door.

“Thanks. Your so nice”

He smiled in the “head empty” sort of way that only drunk people had. You still appreciated his thanks. Minsu was one of the only people who were still nice even while being this drunk. The door frame was his support.

“Sure. No problem.”

He leaned forward and you got a face full of his alcohol breath.

“I will tell you a secret.”

You raised an eyebrow and waited. He gave you a conspiratory look and said: “Newbie, let me win.”

Minsu giggled and started to fumble for his keys. You trusted that he would find the way to his apartment and made your way home.

A heat wave brought sunny blue skies. Maybe for the last time that year. You stood in front of your closet and made a decision. Today you wanted to wear a dress. This was not something that happened often but today felt like wearing one.

You did not like it, when people at work commented on this. Sadly, it happened every time you wore a dress. It felt like they were looking down on your usual clothes, because they were not feminine enough. You tried to ignore the feeling the comments induced and concentrated on your work.

Lunch came and went. You got in line for coffee as always.

“Hi.”

Junhee had appeared next to you. He wore his nerdy glasses and a bright smile. You were not sure, if he needed the glasses or not. Sometimes he wore glasses, but not always, and often they were just frames. He smiled the soft smile that he always had for you. The barista had seen you next in line and asked:

“The usual?”

“Yes!”

You and Junhee answered in unison. You giggled at this spontaneous synchronization. Junhee paid and you waited for your drinks. The barista set two cups down and put lids on.

“The dress suits you.”

She smiled at you and handed Junhee his coffee with a “there you go”.

“And the one for the girlfriend.”

She offered you the second cup while beaming like a neon sign in the darkness.

“Ehm..”

Junhee wrapped an arm around your shoulders and thanked the barista. You were a bit confused as he led you out. It felt kind of nice to be this close to him. The thought of how it had felt to hold his hand popped into your mind. You had not paid much attention to it at the time. Now you wished you could remember it better.

“Why didn’t you correct her?”

His arm loosened but he did not let go. You stared at him as you slowly walked towards the company building. A blush creeped up his cheeks.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Lighting had struck out of a blue sky. You sank down on your chair, still trying to process. Junhee had asked you out. Kind, funny, lovable, gorgeous Junhee. And you had said yes. What had you been thinking? You were going on a date with him.

The water glittered in the evening sun as you walked along the river bank. Junhee had suggested meeting here for dinner. You thought it was a bit unusual, but seeing all the people sitting on benches made you rethink. There were a lot of couples here. Couple. Like me and … You licked you lips and shook your head as if you could simply shake off the thought. This is just a date, don’t get ahead of yourself.

You went to the cafe which Junhee had sent you. It was on the river bank with a bunch of tables outside. You were a bit early but when you came closer you saw Junhee sitting at one of the tables already.

“Hi.”

He dropped his phone and shot up from his chair, eyes wide open in shock. You waved and suppressed a laugh.

“It’s just me.”

Junhee calmed down and soon his smile returned. A waiter came over and both ordered something to drink. The evening sun warmed you and you were glad to have opted for a dress.

“That dress looks good on you.”

You looked up at Junhee whose cheeks had a light blush. He had cut his hair and it made him look even more handsome than before. Around his neck hung a delicate necklace, but the pendant was hidden under his shirt.

“Thanks.”

You felt very shy today, much more than at any point before. Now it actually mattered what Junhee thought about you. The way he smiled made your heart flutter. The waiter came with your drinks and you took a sip. Junhee had gone for a tea.

“No coffee today?”

Usually he ordered coffee so you had to ask. There was nothing else you could talk about right now.

“No. If i drink one now, I will not be able to sleep tonight.”

He took out the tea bag, even though it was probably too early and added: “Unless you want me to have a sleepless night.”

He looked up sheepishly.

“Why..? OH.”

Your face burned. Instead of an answer you sipped your drink.

“Oh! No! I mean, we could go to karaoke or party all night.”

Junhee’s attempt at saving the situation did not go down as he had planned, but you smiled at the prospect of him singing. There was no way he could sing. You did not want to leaving him hanging so you suggested:

“Or we could go to the cinema.”

His nervous laugh was adorable. You felt bold and took his hand to reassure him. Junhee froze and stared at your linked hands on the table. You hoped he would not pull back immediately, because the warm touch of his hand was so comforting. When he had got over his initial shock, his thumb began to rub over the back of your hands. The gesture made you warm from inside out and the fears you had had earlier melted away.

You spend the evening talking and walking around town, hand in hand. When the sun had set, Junhee accompanied you to the subway station.

“I guess this is it. Text me, when you get home.”

Junhee raised his hand as if to touch you but did not. The subway would come soon, you could feel the wind coming from the tunnel.

“I will.”

You were a bit embarrassed and looked at the band on the necklace around Junhee‘s neck as you added: “It was a nice evening.”

“Yes, it was.”

The subway arrived and the doors opened. You and Junhee shared a short hug before you sprinted for the door. As the platform disappeared out of view you regretted not having given Junhee a kiss on the cheek. You should have asked.

#wkcnet #noonasinnetwork #Junhee x reader #Junhee smut #A.C.E smut #a.c.e x reader #kpop x reader #a.c.e fanfic #A.C.E fics #kpop fanfic #non idol au #star writing #queue for the lemonade stand

[greycappedjester]

Since I log the fanfictions I read, I’m realizing that June 19th marks the first day I read one of your fics! I read All in the Cards and was blown away by the storyline. Then, I continued to read your HQ series, the other cards fics, and your Dr.STONE fic too. I want to read your DC fics as well. I don’t know much background on it though, so I’m working on it. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your writing and how it has honestly made this past year a lot better. With all that being said though, what’s your favorite thing/theme to write in each of your individual series? Like world building, relationships, etc.? Also, what inspired you to write in the first place?

Ahhh, thank you so much! This is honestly such a sweet ask and I am so, so glad that I could make your year better.

For what's my favorite thing/theme to write in each series, that's a tough one as a lot of times in changes; but, after thinking about it, I think these are my favorite things overall for each....

(I also thought I'd do something fun and put what my favorite line to write was in the last few chapters for the ongoing works. I always wonder what lines are people's favorite so figured it would be fun to add mine)

Hq at Hogwarts: I really love writing Oikawa and Hinata's relationship. Which is kinda an odd thing to say since they purposefully only have a few conversations spread out through each story. But, they're my two favorite Hq characters to write hands down and so I absolutely love showing them as foils to each other in the series. That said, I also love writing them (and especially Oikawa and Suga) as foils/parallels to the Giant and Hisashi (Suga's grandfather). I love both foil relationships and writing parallels between generations--especially if the next generation is completely unaware/uninformed of the previous generation's mistakes

Favorite Recent Line to Write: Kenma met his eyes and his voice broke: “Why am I the only one you have to hide?”

*Note: Okay, technically not the most recent chapter but fun fact: I wrote the Kuroo/Kenma conversation waaaay in advance and used it a lot as a reference to where I wanted this relationship to be headed and I viewed this line as one of the biggest break points (along with "I am waiting" from the dance)

-------

Cards: This one is the most tricky for me to think of one since it changes a lot. I love doing the world building for this one (like the huge long time line I have for the history of the country). I love writing fantasy politics. As I consider a Hearts Civil War story more, I'm getting back into the groove of just really love writing Oikawa's complicated relationship with being King. And, of course, I love writing Tsuksihima and Hinata's relationship

Favorite Recent Line to Write: Oikawa swept across the office, never seeming to pause for even a second as he pointed a quill at Iwaizumi. “So, tell me, are invasions just like a semi-annual thing?”

-------

The Hq/Scooby-Doo AU (Investigations Inc.): the humor and banter

-------

Walking With My Eyes Open: I think this might be my favorite romance thing I've ever written. I really, really wanted to show a view of romance that emphasized the choice to be in love (and the work that goes into a functioning relationship). I especially wanted to do this with Hanahaki since this trope is so tied to the forfeit of choice on the patient's end and the inherent unfairness/weight on the person they're in love with. Couldn't imagine it with any other characters but Senkuu and Gen tbh.

Favorite Recent Line to Write: But, human shoulders weren’t meant to bear the expectations of divinity.

*Note: Lol, this scene got cut and reworded so many dang times in editing, the one thing that stayed consistently I feel like is me really wanting to keep this specific line

-------

After the Fall of Olympus: Three things and I find it really hard to pick which one is my favorite.

(1) I love that this story format lets me show the slow growth/aging of Dick as a character and (I hope) that each chapter shows how he's grown to the point that Dick at age 14 in Ch. 1 is noticeably younger in internal monologue than Dick in his 20s in the latest chapter.

(2) I love writing tricky political/social issues where all characters have their points and there truly is no write answer...with that, I love writing Dick and Jay Garrick's relationship.

(3) If I had to pick, I don't know if it's my favorite but I think it's the most important element of the story. I very much wanted to show a more realistic view of grief where it feels like the world ended; but, it's not actually an apocalypse. They recover. At the start of the story, it is without a doubt the lowest/most devastating point, but they rebuild. It's slow and there's set backs but they are rebuilding a world that isn't (and shouldn't be) the same but is there and is new and is important. I know a lot of stories that focus on grief view it as a tragedy and an end which it is in a huge way. There's the phrase "it gets better" but a lot of times I think it's viewed as "things will go back to what they used to be" which is understandably hard for people to believe because a lot of times, it fundamentally is impossible for what's lost to be regained. That doesn't mean it's the end of everything. I think sometimes we forget that the previous world (be it actual in this story or what feels like the entire world) may not exist anymore but something different can still be built. The new world and old should never be compared because they can't be. It won't be the same. But, it can be good and they can be happy.

Which is honestly the recovery of what Dick Grayson, to me, should represent rather than the constant grief/vengeance of Batman.

Favorite Recent Line to Write (technically the last line here, just doesn't make sense out of context)

“You need someone with you. I’m not just leaving you alone!” Selina shouts.

“No? Why not?” Dick spits back. “You’re so good at it !”

Selina flinches back and Dick is viciously, painfully glad.

“You don’t get to care just when it’s convenient, Selina,” he says and it hurts, a wound that’s never going to heal. “I needed someone eight years ago. I needed someone when Bruce died, when Batman was gone, and the city was falling apart, and you weren’t there. You didn’t call. You didn’t check on me. You didn’t even say bye. And that’s fine. I lived, I rebuilt it.”

He steps away. “But, you don’t get to come back now and pretend it never happened. I don’t have to let you just because it hurts either way.”

-------

Flash Facts of Bart Allen: Lol, what might be my least popular but in my opinion best written story. Favorite thing is Bart and Len's relationship hands down, followed by showing Bart's relationship with how he navigates the weight of the Flash legacy while feeling like he's fundamentally different than the Flashes that came before.

Partly since this is getting so long and partly because personal story, I'm putting why I started writing under the break.

I started writing for a lot of reasons.

My first fic--and the first book I ever finished--was the first Hq at Hogwarts story (Mirror of Erised). For background, I started the story when I was in my first year of getting my master's degree (which was surprisingly a lot less busy than my undergrad for a number of reasons but me getting sidetracked into that is a whole other ask about grad school).

My first reason I started writing was that I had more time. I'd had the idea for the story for years; but, I finally had enough details that I was like "okay, now, I gotta write it" so I did. I'll say exactly what the final straw was when I actually get the series finished since it's a major spoiler.

My second reason probably didn't consciously occur to me at the time but is what I consider the most important reason I write and continue to write. I fundamentally want to write stories that make people's days better. It doesn't have to be anything big; I just really wanted to write the kind of story that people could get lost in for a few hours when they're scrolling through AO3 and looking for a distraction. I wanted to write something with happy endings.

Here's the more personal part. I really don't mean this in a sad way so please don't take it as such. However, when I started writing and posting, my dad had just died completely unexpectedly a few months earlier and right before I had to move cross country for masters. It was definitely a hard time (though I had friends and a good support network, again please don't worry--it was years ago now). But, writing then definitely helped me be in a positive happy attitude while thinking of plots and friendships in my favorite anime that always puts be in a better mood.

My point here is that while that was never the reason that I wrote, it's something I reflect on a lot for why fanfic can be such a positive force. Someone can have either the worst day ever, a mildly inconvenient day, or a perfectly fine day and still want distraction. To have a community with both writers and readers interested in the things you're interested in. To have a site where fic can be easily shared and for free. There's something just wonderful about that.

So, most of all, why I write: I want to show people that care about each other. I want to make someone's day better and often that day is mine.

That's really all there is to it.

#atfo #hq at hogwarts #cards #wwmeo

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

When it rains - an Edgejeanist backstory

Ao3 link

As I have mentioned before I wanted to do a drawing for this eventually but it would take a lot of effort and I don’t have that in me right now so I’m gonna share it with you in the form of a rather long jumble of words instead :D it might be too long to read on tumblr because it kept on crashing the app when I worked on it so please feel free to read it over on ao3!

I wasn’t really happy with the drawing I did for the injury prompt so I’m posting this to make up for it lmao

If you have not read my Edgeshot backstory (well the summary that I did), I do recommend it because it may give some context as to what they’re talking about!

This was originally meant to be happy but it turned out kinda angsty (unsurprisingly)...but then I managed to make it not as angsty?? Anyway ->

Warning: a few times they talk about death, mentions of injury, self-doubt and generally quite sad stuff.

Also, it turned out incredibly long so imma stuff it all under the cut for those of you who don’t wanna read it :)

Hakamata Tsunagu wasn’t one to usually complain when sent on a mission, however on this particular stormy evening he really didn’t fancy the idea of being caught up in a case that wasn’t in his own area, simply because he was “passing by” trying to go home. But, he understood that this guy was quite the hassle and it would probably be best to sort it out as soon as possible. When he arrived to the area he could see that there were already many other heroes on the scene, including one of the higher ranking heroes - Edgeshot. They had met before and had worked together on various cases due to the two of them being known for rather rapidly climbing up the ranks, not to mention that their ranks were neighbouring and often would over take one another. So they knew each other, to some extent. He walked over to where the ninja hero was standing to ask him about the details of the villain they were going against.

“Fire-type quirk, troublesome. Had many sidekicks aiding him in an armed robbery. We’ve managed to apprehend most of the smaller accomplices, however this guy’s a pain, so I was told to wait for you to arrive in order to end this quickly.” The fiber hero hadn’t even said a word and had already gotten his answer.

“I see. I guess we should probably get to it then, as he seems to have his eye on escape.” Jeanist swiftly responded as he went on to restrict the villain’s clothes to prevent him from moving any further. Luckily, the area had been cleared out and the other villains had been carted away by the other heroes that were in the scene, so the only ones left in the area were the two of them, and this maniac.

The air around the two pros started to heat up and before they could act, flames burst from the open air around them causing them both to flinch and Jeanist to lose his focus. The villain started to sprint away from the scene but Edgeshot was one step ahead of him. The hero had rushed over and the two had started to engage in a fight, and the villain had no problem with using his quirk to aid in this. Jeanist tried to drag the villain back to the open space using the denim threads of his own clothing and had managed to grab hold of him, however, the two were unaware of what the man was carrying. He was taken back when a cold, sharp object came flying towards him, cutting through the high collar of his hero costume and through the skin of his ear and cheek - causing him to curse quite audibly.

“Watch it!” The silver haired hero hissed as he took another swing at the walking flamethrower, now also knife-thrower apparently, in front of him.

“My apologies,” mumbled the lanky blond as he regained his posture once more and continued to restrain the armed robber.

The other hero hesitated for a moment. “Ah- wait no, sorry, I meant uh- I meant the other guy, not you sorry.. you just got a knife thrown at you why would I yell at you?” They hadn’t properly spoken before so Shinya really didn’t want to give him the wrong impression of himself, especially since it was someone he kind of admired and...uh well...yeah. The two shared a rather awkward apologetic glance as they tried to come up with something to say but were rather rudely interrupted when-

“Oh for THE LOVE OF-” the villain angrily snapped around, “YOU TWO ARE REALLY DOIN’ MY HEAD IN! WOULD’YA GIVE IT A REST? OR AT LEAST JUST. SHUT. UP.” The heroes barely had time to react when the villain set his whole body and the air around it on fire. The flames engulfed the two who were previously fighting each other and briskly travelled along the threads that were restricting the man from escaping, and towards a startled Jeanist. The fire had reached the fiber heroes arm at this point and was obviously going to spread further if it weren’t for him removing that part of his sleeve, only shortly after the ninja hero had speedily shot forwards and cut through the fiber that connected Jeanist and the villain, his own arm very much ablaze. However, he didn’t look too concerned for his own injury as he eyed the taller man’s scorched arm.

The two heroes were now starting to get rather tired. Not because they were weak, or this guy strong, but just because they wanted to go home. They’d really had enough at this point and really wanted to just end this before the weather got any worse, but this stupid lunatic just wouldn’t give in! Maybe it was the fact that they had never really fought alongside each other before, so were holding back the more powerful, more dangerous side of their quirks - in case a mistake would be made that could injure the other. That was probably why it took so long.

After many more painfully long minutes, they had managed to wear down the robber enough to get close enough to knock him out. Tying him up, the two heroes handed the unconscious villain over to the police that had just arrived to help clear up the scene of any passer-by’s. At this point, it was the late evening and already rather dark and gloomy, the sky let out a large growl as if to warn that it would only get worse...and well, it’s point was proven as it started to rain.

The blond hero sighed and glanced up at the sky in dismay, realising that all that paperwork wasn’t going to get done by itself, and grumbling at the fact that he still had to get back home - which was going to be a real pain in this weather. He wasn’t a huge fan of the rain, especially with that denim hero costume of his, but he decided to ignore all of that and started making his way towards the train station, hoping to get home before the weather becomes too bad. Edgeshot noticed the other hero’s intent to go home and looked back up at the sky. No chance. That weather was way worse than Jeanist thought it was and he knew that by the time the other man reached the train station, there would be an unbelievable length of time before he would be able to get to where he wanted to go - not to mention how busy it would be. Taking a moment to think things through, he decided to chase after the lanky hero and called out to him, suggesting a better idea.

“I wouldn’t take the train right now if I were you,” Shinya advised the tall figure in front of him.

Tsunagu was confused, he wanted to get home and that was currently his only means of transport. “Why? What’s wrong? Please tell me there’s not another villain to deal with...” he murmured. Oh he really hoped that wasn’t the case, because there’s no way he could fight in this storm - especially with all these new burns, they may have been small but wow they hurt like hell! He looked down at the shorter man in front of him, weary of the answer he may receive but felt an odd sense of relief when he saw him let out a light chuckle. Or was it cough? Maybe a sigh? How would he know - that man was as mysterious as they get!

“Ah no, that’s not it.” Shinya couldn’t help but feel amused by Tsunagu’s response. The rain was soaking into his costume and was making it a little harder to breathe through his mask, so he tried his best not to laugh. “It’s just that this storm isn’t going to be easing anytime soon, and I feel that it’s only going to get worse - there’s no chance that transport will be easy, especially not for a hero in such a state as yourself.”

“Oh...I hadn’t thought of that,” Tsunagu replied, “do you...have any suggestions as to what I should do instead?” He understood what the other was saying, he had quite a few burns and a large gash across the side of his face - there’s no way that people wouldn’t notice that - but he really did want to get out of this miserable rain. So where could he possibly go, if not straight home?

“Yes, actually, that’s what I was wanting to talk to you about.” Shinya shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure as to how he should phrase his next question. “Um...well...my...my house- I mean, do you want to stay at my place? Until the storm blows over-” he stopped himself mid-sentence. That did not come out the way he heard it in his head, and why did he panic?

“Pardon?”

“Sorry, I-” Oh. Right. He probably didn’t understand that rushed mumble of his. Thank god, Shinya could have another go at mending his failed attempt at a suggestion. “Ah...my house isn’t far from here, it doesn’t take that long to walk there. And, well, I just wanted to suggest that you come with me. Those injuries could do with tending to, and with this storm getting worse, I just thought that it might be of help to you to stay at mine until the storm passes. Only if you’d be willing of course- It’s simply a suggestion I thought might be easier than you staying in this rain.”

“Oh. I see. That’s...thoughtful...I- are you sure?” Tsunagu was taken aback, but was definitely not opposed to the idea of getting out of the rain.

“Yes, of course. If you are okay with accompanying me?”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“...thank you”

Shinya glanced up at the taller figure in front of him and smiled. Not that you could really tell.

They both decided it would be best to stay somewhere warm, get patched up, and wait for the weather to relax. So, off they went, away from the scene that had just been up in flames - now basically back to normal - and toward wherever this mysterious little ninja’s home was.

————————————————————

After a while of walking through heavy rain, dodging leaves as they zoomed past on the wind of the winding path, and silently accompanying each other with minimal words between them, they finally reached Shinya’s house. Not in the middle of nowhere, but also not near any busy city noise. It was peaceful, well, as peaceful as it could be in a raging storm.

Shinya fumbled at the door handle with numb fingers, as he attempted to unlock it as quickly as possible. The door opened with a small click and was gently pushed open. He gestured for the taller man to enter and closed the door after them, relieving them from the cold wind. As soon as they were both inside, they shared a long sigh of relief - ahhh....warmth...

“Sorry, it isn’t much,” Shinya said as he set down his bags and rain soaked hero gear, “I’m the only one that lives here, so I never really thought about how small it was. But now that someone else is here with me...”

“Haha it’s fine! Lovely, even, I think it’s quite sweet.” Tsunagu chuckled, placing his heavy and rather soggy denim coat gently to the side. He’d always liked the more traditional style houses, they had this comforting feeling to them that he couldn’t quite describe. “How long have you had this place?”

Shinya smiled and led Tsunagu towards the living room, they could do with a sit down after all that walking. “It was my Gran’s, well, she wasn’t really my Gran but that’s what we called her. She took us in and looked after us - my sister and I - and after she died we kept this place. Eventually, my sister moved out to be nearer the main city, but I thought it best to stay. I’m comfortable here, you know what I mean?”

“Of course,” Tsunagu nodded, “I think it’s wonderful.”

“Thanks...”

Shinya looked up, watching as droplets of water dripped from the other’s droopy fringe, his own hair now clinging to the side of his face. They both still had their faces masked and breathing through damp fabric probably wouldn’t be very good for their health. As Shinya noticed this, he let out a startled noise that took Tsunagu by surprise.

“AH!”

“What? What happened? Is something wrong?”

“No, I just realised, we’re still stuck in our costumes. They’re soaked! It’s probably best if we get cleaned up before anything else...” Shinya exclaimed.

“Oh, right.” Tsunagu replied quietly. He’d actually forgotten about the rain, which was weird because normally he’d be grumbling about it louder than the storm itself!

“There’s a spare bathroom downstairs, just to the left of the kitchen. It’s quite small but works just as well.” Shinya handed Tsunagu a towel and some spare clothes, looking a little hesitant as he did so. “I had some spare clothes lying around, though I’m sorry they probably won’t fit you very well...you’re very tall compared to me...” Shinya muttered sheepishly.

Tsunagu chuckled at the shorter man’s rather obvious remark and folded the fabric that was now in his own hands. “That’s very kind of you, thank you. It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to adjust it to fit well enough.”

“Oh, of course, that’s- you can do that can’t you...I kinda forgot about that.” Shinya felt even more embarrassed from that, but managed to brush it off as he looked back up at the rather amused figure in front of him. “Well anyway, I’ll be cleaning myself up upstairs and preparing the things we need to tidy up those troublesome injuries of yours-”

“And yours I hope.” Tsunagu briefly interrupted.

“O-of course,” Shinya stuttered a reply. He’d actually somehow forgotten about his own injuries, too caught up in the company of another for once. “Well, if you should need anything, please just call me, I’ll be down as soon as I’m finished- oh and don’t feel the need to rush, take as long as you need.��

“Thank you.”

Tsunagu watched as the other left the room before making his way towards the bathroom. It was quite a small room. He made sure the door was securely locked before peeling away his sodden hero costume, piece by piece.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he noticed how deep of a cut it was that ran across his left cheek and over his ear. The rain had washed away most of the blood but it was still quite the nasty injury. He grimaced. ‘That’s gonna leave a bit of a scar...’ he thought to himself. Oh well, just another one to add to his growing collection of them. Although, he suddenly realised something. He’d have to show his face. And what about Shinya? Didn’t he always cover his face as well? Would they really be able to trust each other enough to show their faces to one another - even though they barely knew each other?

He felt himself freeze as he thought about it. They were both known for masking their faces, but the idea of showing his face had always made him feel uneasy. Little did he know that about five minutes prior, Shinya had the same nerve-wracking revelation and was feeling just as conflicted as he was. ‘Stop it, dammit,’ Tsunagu frowned, ‘he’s been so kind and nice to you, I doubt there’s anything to worry about...’

He shook his head and brushed these worries aside before stepping into the running shower. Oh wow, that felt nice. The water flowed over his shuddering body and embraced him in a warm blanket of comfort. Though, it did sting a bit when it seeped into the crevices of the gash on his face, and over the burns on his arms. However, he didn’t mind. He was used to these kinds of small pains and, though he’d be ashamed to admit it, he found it oddly comforting.

At the same time, Shinya was preparing a first aid kit, disinfectant and some warm damp cloths (he, luckily, knew what he was doing. Even if I don’t lol). He’d already managed to clean himself up and had changed into some older, plain clothes - so fast, but as expected from someone as stealthy as himself! Humming quietly to himself, he listened as the sky let out another loud grumble. “Why are you so angry today!?” He chuckled at the noise the raging storm made as he tidied up, “you’re doing this on purpose aren’t you! You always seem to pick ever so specific times to conjur up a storm...is it because I seemed lonely? You want me to make a friend or something?”

The sky growled again and Shinya took that as his response. He’d always found himself talking to the nature around him when he was alone, it had just become a habit of his - he found comfort and company from doing so...and it always seemed to have a way of replying. He was a bit anxious at the thought of showing his face to another, but had managed to push away his concerns as best he can. ‘What else is there to be worried about, Shinya?’ He thought to himself. ‘He’s already in your house. So in terms of his knowledge about you now, you’d basically already be screwed! He knows where you live, so I don’t think that showing your face would be that bad. Plus he’s a hero, isn’t he? Not to mention he’s trusting you with his own identity too...it’ll be fine...’

He sighed and clutched his stinging, scorched arm. Glancing at the rain that danced its way down the cold glass of his bedroom window, he headed back downstairs to give company to his guest who was just as battered and tired as he was.

Shinya set the items he had prepared, down on the small coffee table and walked to the kitchen to grab some hot water. As he stood there, he heard the bathroom door click and turned to see it open ever so slightly. “You’re done? I’ve prepared some stuff to bandage up our injuries and disinfect that nasty cut of yours,” he called out.

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” Tsunagu replied from behind the door.

“...uhm...would you like me to go and wait-”

“Oh! No, there’s no need, sorry...” Tsunagu blurted out as fast as he could. “It’s just...well...I...” he trailed off. ‘It’s never been easy, will he understand that?’

“Don’t worry, I understand. But I guess that with it being just the two of us here... can we say that we may fully trust one another?”

Tsunagu let out a small sigh of relief, before nudging the door open further and emerging from behind it. Making eye contact with the smaller figure in front of him, he smiled gently as he allowed the other to view his face. Shinya doing the same in return. “I guess so.”

Shinya locked eyes with the man that stood in front of him. Wow. He...did not look anything like how he expected...not that he really knew what he expected. Damp, blond hair was messily ruffled across the top of the taller man’s head. He’d managed to make the spare clothes fit well enough to make it look as if they could possibly be his own, though they were still awfully short. They suited him well, actually, and Shinya felt himself stare a little at this gangly noodle in front of him. Why did he look good in those clothes? Hell, they’re old and rather tatty and are way too small for him, and yet he still manages to look like a freaking model in them! And to top it off, they were just some clothes that Shinya owned, that happened to be the longest things he could find! He was unsure of why, but the sight in front of him definitely made him feel rather “odd” (in his own words) - though he didn’t really know what that was.

There were so many things about him in that moment that seemed so out of character for “best jeanist” but what really caught his eye were his scars. Ignoring the large cut on his cheek, Shinya traced his eyes over the bottom half of Tsunagu’s face in a shared silence. Large scars ran from just above his chin, and down to his neck. Some ran over his lips, which had formerly been pressed together to form a small smile, but were now separated slightly in a shocked manner. Noticing where he was staring, Shinya felt his face heat up as he quickly averted his eyes and looked down at the kettle that he was clutching (he went to go boil some water, but had gotten distracted before he could actually put the kettle on). ‘What on earth are you doing, Shinya!? I mean he’s really pretty, sure, but you can’t just stare omg-’ he lectured himself as his face progressively got more unnaturally warm, ‘those scars though....whatever caused those couldn’t of been a small accident...’

Concurrently, Tsunagu was completely stunned. ‘Pretty...’ was the only thought that circulated around his mind for many long seconds. Not only was this man incredibly considerate and mysterious, he was also very pretty and wow did that make Tsunagu’s face redden like an overheated saucepan. He took in his sharp features with observant eyes. Shinya’s hair was no longer fashioned into spiky points, but was now pulled up into a high ponytail. He still had that long fringe covering his right eye, but instead of seeming blocky, it was now loose and soft - and oh wow was Tsunagu really resisting the urge to pat it - though it still looked to be quite sharp, as if you could cut your fingers on the edge of each strand. Tearing his focus away from the shorter man’s hair, he found himself softly staring at Shinya’s face. Though his first thought may have been about how pretty he was, he couldn’t help but notice the other’s scars. Yes, he had quite a few. They were mostly quite small and would go unnoticed by some, but there was one that stood out. A long scar, in the shape of a large gash just like the majority of his own, ran down from just under the corner of the uncovered side of Shinya’s mouth, and down to the middle of his neck. ‘What an idiot.’ Tsunagu thought to himself. ‘You were so busy worrying about showing your own face to even think that he’d be worried about the same thing...it’s...oddly comforting to see another that hides them...even though its not something I should probably be comforted about, since it means that there’s most possibly a painful story behind them...just like my own.’

After a couple of minutes of a shared, awkward silence, Shinya started the conversation back up again with a few stuttering words exchanged between them and nervous laughter. “Ah...um...I guess we should probably...you know...”

“Aha yeah, sorry...” Tsunagu rubbed the back of his neck, “the...uh...you...you forgot the hot water...”

“Oh! Yeah...sorry about that! Um, please, go and sit down. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Tsunagu made his way to the living room and sat down, his mind still curious about all these new discoveries. The pain in his cheek had started to sting even more than before and he was really wishing that he didn’t have to deal with that right now. Letting out a shaky sigh, he reached up to grab it in a hope to ease the pain slightly, but his burnt arm got caught on the edge of the sofa, causing him to let out a distressed grunt.

“Are you okay?” Shinya asked from just beside where the taller man was seated. Tsunagu was quite startled by the other, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Ah, it’s just this stupid cut. It’ll probably be better once it’s been treated,” Tsunagu brushed it off, still rather confused by the speed of which the other man seemed to appear without being noticed.

“I see. Well, everything has been prepared so we should probably take care of that first.” Shinya smiled and took a seat next to the other man, gently picking up a cotton swab and dipping it in disinfectant. “The cut just has to be disinfected before anything else though, who knows what else that bastard had been doing-”

“Haha! You’re approaching this just like a proper doctor! So serious and everything,” Tsunagu laughed.

This made Shinya chuckle in response. “Well, I do like to think that I know a bit about what I’m doing!”

They laughed together for a couple of minutes and the tension between the two of them started to dissipate. Tsunagu eyed the cotton swab in Shinya’s hand and realised, how on earth was he gonna do that himself? Well, I think we all know that the answer is he wasn’t. Even he came to that conclusion, as he exchanged funny words with the man in front of him. Shinya knew this, and decided that it was time to tend to the lanky blond’s wounds.

“Do you trust me?” Shinya slyly asked.

“Huh?”

“Do you trust me?”

Tsunagu was hesitant to answer, not because he didn’t trust him, but because he had a feeling as to what was going to happen. “...yes...”

Without missing a beat, Shinya leaned forward and pressed the cold, disinfectant-soaked cotton pad against Jeanists cheek. This caused Tsunagu to scrunch up his face and let out a tiny screech from the shock - it stung like hell - and he was not prepared. “Wrong answer!” Shinya chuckled. He was a little unsure whether he was actually going to do that or not, but knew that it would only hurt more if the other man had to slowly and hesitantly do it himself...plus he actually knew what he was doing.

“Argh! You- you’re evil you know that?” Tsunagu yelped and sat upright, trying to get used to the sting of the disinfectant that was seeping into his cut.

“I try my best,” Shinya hummed as he held the taller mans face, tilting it slightly upwards to better see the injury in the light. Whilst doing so, he noticed how many scars were littered across his face, and felt a little sad at the sight of them. ‘There’s so many...I didn’t really notice before, but now, seeing them up close...these all feel like painful memories. And no matter how much I understand his reasons for hiding them, I cannot help but wonder what on earth happened to him...’

Tsunagu held his breath, wincing every once in a while as the smaller man dabbed the gash on his cheek. He was so close! Not only that, but he was holding his face and wow, did he look like an angel as the light illuminated him from above. He felt the tops of his ears redden as he let out a small breath. As Shinya held his face close to his own, Tsunagu noticed things that he hadn’t spotted before, and made him even more curious than before. Like the front tooth that was slightly chipped, that he could see when the other’s mouth twitched open everytime he dabbed at his cheek. Or, the two rather odd but beautiful tattoos that were wrapped around his two wrists. ‘So much to take in, I didn’t really notice it before, but all these things are so unique and different. His face looks so soft....and pretty....But I truly do wonder what could’ve happened to cause that.’

“Your scar-” Tsunagu mumbled before quickly cutting himself off. ‘Tsunagu, you idiot! You weren’t supposed to just blurt that out...I guess there’s no other option than to just ask now you stupid- stupid, ugh!’

“Hm?” Shinya locked eyes with the other in a distracted confusion, before getting embarrassed and quickly looking back down.

Tsunagu stuttered as he tried to find the right words to say. “O-oh, well...I, uh...Sorry, I was just curious about your scar. It’s just- I, well...wondered-”

“How I got it?” Shinya interrupted quietly, almost in a rather hushed tone.

“Ah. Yes. Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy, it was simply a curious thought.”

“No, it’s alright, it’s okay. It seems both our curiosities lay in the same area of thought.” Shinya smiled softly, lowering the cotton swab and throwing it in the bin. As he went to pick up the thread (you know, the one they use to stitch up these wounds) Tsunagu placed his hand on his arm and stopped him from doing anything else. Shinya handed the thread to Jeanist and watched as the blond man slowly and carefully stitched up his now clean wound in one gentle swoop of his hand - though it did look quite painful by the look on his face. “Woah!” Shinya exclaimed in awe. He often forgot about the beautifully handy and elegant things that the other man could do with his quirk. This caused Tsunagu’s ears to redden even further.

Shinya let out a deep sigh and sat back slightly to take a rest for a moment. “Ah, where do I start? You said you were curious about my scar, but I’m sorry to tell you that this isn’t any light-hearted story...” he started, scratching the back of his neck and wincing as the burnt skin on his arm brushed against the fabric of the sofa.

“Sorry, you don’t have to...”

“No, it’s alright! To be honest, I think it would actually do some good to tell someone for a change...because, for once I feel that I can trust someone, and that’s a weird thing...” he muttered the last part under his breath so that the kind man next to him wouldn’t hear it. Tsunagu simply smiled in response, looking down as he acknowledged the smaller man’s courage to reveal a very clearly painful memory.

“Uhm, well, are you...are you aware of the small band of mountainside villages down south?” Shinya asked, “if I’m correct in thinking that you are a couple of years older than me...”

“Pffft- did you just call me old?” Tsunagu snorted.

“No! Of course not!” Shinya quickly defended himself. “It’s just that, you are around my age, so I was just wondering whether you’d know of it or not.” He smiled sheepishly as he watched the other’s amused face turn into one that was more focused.

The older man hummed quietly. “Yes, I think I know which villages you are talking about. My mother used to take us there every year when my father was off of work, to go and watch the yearly festivals. Oh, and to visit the market! They had some amazing tomatoes!” Shinya laughed at this little comment. They truly were some good tomatoes, though he preferred the strawberries that they’d grow there. “But...we...we stopped visiting when...” Tsunagu trailed off with a frown and looked back up at Shinya, noticing the distant smile that was faintly spread across his face.

“Then, you know what happened...you know what happened all those years ago?” Shinya questioned quietly as he reached for the bandages that were tangled in the basket. But, doing so only made his arm quiver in pain even more.

“Ah, please, let me do that,” Tsunagu insisted, reaching out for the bandages and using his quirk to gently and swiftly untangle them. He gave Shinya a reassuring look and gently took his arm, starting to wrap it very carefully. “Yes. I was around...13? Yeah, I think I was about 13 when it happened. It was all over the news, I don’t think I could ever forget it. It...was so awful, just hearing what happened...” he had a rough idea as to what Shinya was going to tell him, and it made his heart sink at the thought of it.

The sky let out another huge growl, and a streak of lightning flashed past the window, causing Tsunagu to flinch. Shinya didn’t move a muscle, but simply carried on with what he was doing.

“Hm.” Shinya felt his face warm up slightly as the taller man held his arm softly. ‘So gentle’ he made himself blush even more, but shook these thoughts away before continuing with what he was saying. “I guess it’s kind of obvious then, what I’m about to say I mean.”

“I...I don’t want to immediately assume what happened, but if what I think is true...”

“Yeah.” Shinya sighed. “It was my home. I’d lived there all my life until that day...they...they took everything from me...”

Tsunagu stopped wrapping the other’s arm and looked up, their faces merely inches away, taking in the broken sadness in his eyes and allowing it to drown his heart even further into the pit that it had sunk into.

“Everyone I knew, my friends, my family, everyone, they all died in front of me. There was nothing I could do to stop it... I was the only one that survived...just me...a small, defenceless, 10 year old child. I grew up as part of a family that was renowned for protecting their people, yet I couldn’t even protect my own innocence...my...my own mother...” Shinya’s voice started to get weaker and smaller as all of the memories started flooding back.

Tsunagu could do nothing but listen in shock. This was a lot to take in, and Shinya was trusting him enough to tell him something this personal. It pained him, watching the small ninja’s face contort into a broken frown. “...I’m sorry...”

His voice made Shinya snap back to reality and look him in the eye, confused. “What for? There isn’t anything for you to be sorry for...”

“No, I mean, making you have to think back on a memory that painful...it must’ve been horrible.” Tsunagu finished wrapping the other’s arm and let go of it slowly, hands still slightly lingering over the injured area.

Shinya sighed. He couldn’t disagree with that, it truly was the most painful memory he could imagine. Tucking his silver hair behind his ear, he reached up and touched the scar on his chin. “This was from that day. The people who ambushed us tried to attack me. They had stolen my own grandfather’s sword and managed to just catch my face as my mother whisked me away. It hurt, but I didn’t really notice it until later on...which...well...it’s not like they survived either...”

“Oh dear.” Tsunagu muttered, his face and arm still stinging. The wind picked up and rattled against the window, startling him again.

“I guess you’re wondering what these are as well,” Shinya gestured towards the intricate patterns that were inked into his wrists. “My family was part of that village for many generations. Over these generations, the Kamihara name became rather well known as a family of protectors and guardians. When my family died, I felt like I had lost all my connections to being a ‘Kamihara’ and so I decided to get these tattoos.”

He lifted his left arm, “this represents my father’s side of the family, the Kamihara name.” Then proceeding to point at the other arm, he explained the rest. “This represents my mother’s side of the family, always one with nature. I find that it’s a comforting way to keep them with me at all times, even if they’re not really there. It means that I can keep them safe, and in return they keep me safe too.”

“Wow...I think they’re beautiful!” Tsunagu breathed. They really were. The patterns were so small and intricate yet they held so much meaning and story...just like Shinya himself. “That’s- quite the tragic past...”

“Hm. Well, that’s what happened really...not all of it, but I think it’s best if that is shared some other day.” Shinya plucked the bandages out of the lanky blond’s hands and gestured towards his arms, waiting patiently as the other hesitatantly held out his own scorched arm. He looked back up at Tsunagu’s face and, out of some sort of instinct, reached up and gently touched the long scars on his face, deep in thought. After a very brief moment of...whatever that awkwardness was, Shinya snapped his head down to look back at his hands and Tsunagu averted his eyes in a nervous manner, both turning much redder than they had been before. “A-ah, I’m sorry!” Shinya immediately blurted out.

“No, it’s- it’s okay...” Tsunagu managed to stutter out. Blimey, that was awkward, why did his face feel so hot?

Once they had both managed to laugh it off, Shinya decided to return the same curious question that had been on both of their minds. “So...your scars...how did you get yours?”

Tsunagu froze. He knew it would come up in the conversation at some point, but he still had that reaction whenever someone asked. Shinya noticed this, and panicked a little, “Sorry! You don’t have to-”

“No no, it’s only fitting for you to ask the same question...and I think it’s best you know, since you shared your own story with me.” The anxious Jeanist interrupted. “But, I must ask you not to think ill of me after hearing this, nor should you feel the need to keep me here...I’m...it’s just...I-”

“It’s alright,” Shinya reassured him, “I’m not gonna kick you out of my house, just because of your past...you...didn’t judge mine.”

“Heh,” Tsunagu smiled and watched as the small ninja bandaged up his arm delicately. “Well, it’s not a happy story either, I’m afraid!”

“Guess that makes the both of us!” Shinya let out a light chuckle.

“Yeah...” He paused. These memories still scared him. “When...when my quirk activated, I didn’t know how to control it, like most children. The only thing is, both my sister and I had our quirks activate at the same time, being twins and all this was expected. This, however, just made things worse. I was...I was wearing a scarf at the time, and, well basically...to put it simply, I strangled myself.” He looked up, realising how stupid that sounded.

“Oh! That’s awful, though I’m sure it was probably much more traumatic at the time,” Shinya smiled sympathetically. “I can’t really say the same for my own rather embarrassing quirk discovery....”

“Well that sounds like a story I’d love to hear!”

“Oh, I’m sure!” Shinya laughed and cut the bandage carefully, tying the ends around the other’s slender arm and making sure that everything was secured nicely. “So, was it that which caused those scars on your face? That sounds horrible.”

“Ah,” Tsunagu shifted his eyes in thought, “not exactly...you see, there was an accident later on in my childhood...and...well, it did a lot of damage...” he trailed off, “not only to myself...”

A loud clap of thunder startled them both, and Shinya darted his eyes up to see Tsunagu looking down at him with a solemn face. ‘Whatever happened, that doesn’t sound good...in any context...’ he thought, choosing not to interrupt the taller man.

“It was a villain attack that burst out in the middle of the street. My family just happened to be passing by, but there was this loud scream and I turned around just in time to see that this villain had taken a young girl, about my age at the time, and was planning on taking the rest of her friends too.” Tsunagu paused again, he wasn’t sure how to word this, he never knew how to say it. But this time, it seemed a lot easier. “Before I knew it, and well this is quite typical isn’t it, I found myself in the middle of it all, unable to breathe or move. There was...blood everywhere...pieces of fabric were piercing my body, strangling me, completely littering the area. I- I remember, just, hearing my sister screaming...the pain I felt...she had to go through it all...but I couldn’t do anything, the heroes couldn’t get near me.”

Shinya sat there, stunned from this information, unable to form words. It sounded like such an awful situation to be in, even from his own point of view. He watched as the blond man shifted in his seat and turned to lean back more comfortably with a sigh, unsure of what he should say. However, he thought that it would be best to allow Tsunagu to continue.

Tsunagu felt his chest tighten at the memory of what happened, but still carrying on. It felt nice to talk to someone about it for once. “I had managed to very seriously injure my neck and face, unable to breathe, especially from the panic that I felt. I thought that was the worst part...it really wasn’t.” Tsunagu looked up cautiously at Shinya, wanting to say something but too scared to go further. Shinya saw this and placed a small hand on his shoulder, trying to think of words to say.

“I’m sorry, I can’t say much in terms of comfort. But, whatever it is, please know that I’ll listen no matter what.” He gave a small smile. Despite the fact that they hadn’t really talked before this, he already felt that he could trust him, and wanted the other to feel the same way. He’d made many mistakes in the past, and had done things that had weighed down on him all the way through his life, so knowing that Tsunagu probably had the same thoughts towards whatever it was that happened to him.

Tsunagu felt relieved. No one had ever said those words to him before, and for once he felt that he wasn’t alone. And he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel like crying. He nodded slowly and took a deep breath before carrying on, “...well...I- I looked up to see the villain in front of me...he wasn’t breathing, he’d been caught up in the strands that I’d sent flying and...I...he...he didn’t survive...I killed him. Just a small, scared 12 year old child, yet I’d managed to kill a man in a moment of pure terror. I- I think it was how angry I felt that someone was being that bad, I don’t know...but whatever it was, I couldn’t stop it, and the fear from that day has haunted me ever since.”

Shinya was shocked, he had a feeling that something like that must’ve happened, but it was still not something he’d been expecting or hoping to hear. Though, he’d experienced the same kind of shock himself, so he knew that it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. “I...poor child...that’s not something that someone should go through...I know from experience as well...”

“Wh- really?”

“Yeah. Those villains that ambushed my village. In a moment of blind rage I had managed to rid of them entirely, completely unaware of what I did. So, I guess, we aren’t too different, huh?”

“Wow...yeah...look at us, just a couple of very traumatised, depressed and barely capable adults, trying to make a living out of helping others...heh.” Tsunagu remarked, making Shinya chuckle in agreement, his mind easing more and more. “Y’know, I got bullied a lot, trying to become a hero. My quirk was ‘not suitable’ for it and I was ‘weak’. The more they said it the more I believed them, and well, knowing what I had done and knowing that I’d not been able to save that man who was simply going down the wrong path...I really did feel weak. Ever since, I’ve just buried myself in my work, trying to give myself a reason to feel ‘strong’, taking on as many cases as I can even if I know that I can’t do them alone...and well these moments have caused me to make some...stupid...decisions in the past, and, well they’ve all left their mark on me quite prominently.”

Shinya’s eyes softened as he heard the other man spill all of these worries that he’d been hiding for so long. “Oh...poor Hakamata-senpai...” he said with a slightly saddened look.

“Ah, it’s alright. To be honest, I don’t think I’d be where I am now without their bitter words and mean, pain-inflicting prompts. Also, please, ‘Tsunagu’ is just fine!” He normally didn’t mind the formalities, but for some reason when the small ninja sitting beside him used them, it made him feel odd.

“Oh, okay.” Shinya’s face heated up slightly at the thought of using the other’s first name to address him, he wasn’t used to that. “So, I guess we both have kinda...depressing backstories...to our scars and ourselves in general.” (You may not be able to see it but eclair is currently smiling very gleefully)

“Yeah,” Tsunagu glanced at the rain dancing down the window, “I guess so.”

————————————————————

After a long time of exchanging funny stories (well, they aren’t funny at all really, they’re either sad memories or quite self-deprecating...but I guess that’s their way of bonding...to simply share their most traumatic experiences and become friends....huh) the tension between the two of them had almost completely lifted. They sat there chatting away, all bandaged up and tired as hell, simply making the most of each other’s company.

“Oh come on, how is that not funny-” Tsunagu exclaimed, gesturing towards Shinya as he laughed. The pain in his cheek had faded, almost completely, as he slowly became more comfortable.

“Because! You try tripping over, knocking yourself out for 2 hours on the edge of a stone fountain and chipping your tooth. It isn’t a fun experience!” Shinya said enthusiastically, very defensive about the little chip in his front tooth - in response to the taller man’s question.

“Of course, sorry! Poor little Kamihara-san~” Tsunagu replied with a smile.

“Please, just call me Shinya!”

“Shinya, huh?” Tsunagu felt a little bit shy at the thought of using his first name, but it would probably be easier. “You know, now that I think about it, being in the middle of this storm isn’t so bad.”

Shinya smiled. He’d always loved this type of weather, and seeing the lanky man in front of him start to agree, he felt like he’d somehow accomplished something.

They were startled from their little conversation by a loud beeping noise coming from Shinya’s phone. When he checked it, he let out a shocked gasp and this caused Tsunagu to be slightly worried. Was it something important?

“What? What is it?”

“I can’t believe it...it’s already 1:45...we’ve talked for so long!”

Tsunagu widened his eyes in disbelief as he checked his own phone. Yep. That was the time. They’d gotten so carried away by their conversation that they’d become completely unaware of the time. They shared a very shocked look before snickering at their own carelessness. “Hah! To think that there was a time I’d never imagined this would happen.”

Shinya quickly got up from his seat, and started to make his way to the kitchen. “Sorry, I realise that it’s probably way too late for this, but I realise I never offered you food!” He called out.

“It’s okay! I forgot about it myself! But to be honest, what food could we possibly have at 1:46am?” Tsunagu inquired, slowly becoming more aware of the hunger that crept through his stomach.

“Hm...” Shinya thought before looking back up at the confused man with excited eyes, “pizza?”

“Pizza?!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Who on earth sells pizza at this time?!”

Shinya chortled at the other’s comedic remark. “Oh, you seem to be forgetting all that I told you about my very first internship...” he said slyly.

“Of course...that’s actually a brilliant idea!” Tsunagu laughed. Well...who doesn’t love getting 50% off of pizzas, even at 1:47 in the morning!

So, they ordered pizza. Just...two pro heroes, chilling out at 2:00am, eating pizza instead of sleeping off their injuries. How fun!

After even more time, the two of them decided it was best to actually get some sleep, and Tsunagu watched as the silver haired man quietly said goodnight and crept up the stairs, before setting his head down on the arm of the sofa - his legs dangling over the edge.

He listened as the wind and rain battered against the window. Normally, he’d be fed up by these noises, however that night, he found himself listening to it peacefully, and he had a thought:

‘maybe the rain isn’t so bad after all...’

#bnha #best jeanist #edgeshot #hakamada tsunagu #kamihara shinya #edgejeanist #angst #injury #bnha spring break #eclair rambles a bit :) #eclair wrote something?! #I love them #and I have thought about this a lot #because it makes me happy #but I don’t know how to write so here ya go #my first actual fic type writing that I’ve done instead of just a ramble post are you proud of me lmaoo #dunno how may of you will actually read this but whoever does #I appreciate it 😌 #this took me SO LONG omg #im aware I posted that drawing #but I prefer this so uh......I’m hoping that this can make up for the drawing cuz I don’t like that drawing I did #also those of you who haven’t seen me ramble about my Edgeshot backstory #that gives quite a bit of context to this aha #so I recommend reading that if you want #:)

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter nine: pleasures of the flesh

Sam boarded that plane with Chuck, Tiffany, Alex, Eric, Greg, and Louie at about ten minutes to the hour.

On one hand, it almost felt wrong to do that when she should be on the plane back to Los Angeles. Bill awaited her and she knew that she would have to face the music with him at some point anyway. She figured that the sooner she would have to see him, the better, and as far as she knew, he had ruined his own house.

But then again, as far as she knew, he had ruined his own house. She would have to return home to nothing.

She settled back in the seat next to Louie, and right next to the window as well.

Given it was so early in the morning, she peered out the window at the stretch of mainland United States under the veil of darkness. Clouds dotted the lower part of the sky beneath them: the soft orange and pink shades that kissed the tops made her think of watercolor. Despite it being so early in the morning, she was still wide awake from that latte that Eric had bought for her. A three hour flight back to San Francisco and there was no way in which she could fall back asleep.

Louie stayed wide awake as well, and she realized that was the first time in literal months that she and him had been alone together as well. He turned his head and showed her a wistful little smile.

“Almost home,” he said in a broken voice.

“Almost home,” she echoed him; if nothing, she could make her way down the Central Valley into Los Angeles and then Lake Elsinore, but that was for another day when it deemed necessary. Louie sighed through his nose and turned his head back to where he stared straight ahead at the seats in front of them: Greg and Alex were right behind them and had long fallen asleep once again, while Chuck, Eric, and Tiffany were right across the aisle, all asleep as well.

“My dad's gonna be here eventually,” she told him.

“It'd be nice to see him, wouldn't it?” Louie replied with a twinkle in his eye.

If only there was a way. If only there was a way she could convince him that he and Zelda belonged together, but if only there was a way she could tell him that he had a family in the background somewhere there.

“Absolutely. Especially after moving out here, too.” She fell silent for a moment. “Have you talked to Zelda lately?”

“I haven't, no,” he confessed. “I mean, we did see her and the girls back in Europe but I didn't really get alone with her and talked to her, though. Probably should, though, don't ya think?”

“Absolutely,” Sam replied and she nestled down in the seat some more.

“You know, Sam, if I'm being perfectly honest with you—I love how concerned you are about these sorts of things.”

“I just try to be a good friend,” she confessed.

“Well—and this is something I've learned from being around Zelda, too—sometimes you have to let people live. Sometimes some things are just better left unsaid.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well—” He turned his head to the row right across from them, and the three of them sound asleep. Neither Greg nor Alex made a peep since they left the airport. “I told you she got it out of me, right?” he asked her in a near whisper.

“How could I forget.”

“I figured that there are times where it's better to keep secrets so no one can use them against you because that's—kind of what happened between me and her.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah. She told me that if the secret gets out between us—and that includes you, too—there will be hell to pay. If Testament is going anywhere in the world, and we probably will, just knowing these two fellas right behind us right and Chuck's searing vocals, there are some things that need to stay private.”

“It's none of people's business anyways,” she pointed out.

“Exactly, right! So that said, I hope to god that things will stay under wraps with us—you, me, and her. I trust you, Sam. I trust you and I trust Zelda, too. I trust that these things will stay between us.”

Sam extended her pinky finger for him.

“Excellent,” Louie remarked as he hooked his finger around hers.

“I should ask—where should I stay when we get back to the Bay Area?”

“You can stay with me,” he offered her.

“For real?”

“Yeah, I'm kinda—by myself now.”

“Aw.” She tilted her head at that and he nodded with a solemn look on his face.

“Yeah—but I'll take good care of you, though. When we touch down there, I'll do the first thing I did for Zelda after I started frequenting Rhode Island more and I'll take you out to breakfast. I'll ask Thing One and Thing Two back here if they wanna join us.”

She giggled at that.

“If there's one thing I couldn't do for my old girlfriend but I learned to do, though, it's that. It's treating you girls right.”

“I just think of that sentiment Charlie told me when I was hanging out with Anthrax back home in New York: you guys embrace your female fans.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “We absolutely love our female fans—mainly because there's not a lot of you running around, especially with us and this... I wanna say it's a second wave of thrash coming out of the Bay Area in particular. There's us and Death Angel, and there's a few others—we'll have to introduce you to them once we land.”

“There's Exodus, too,” she pointed out.

“Exodus has been around almost ten years now,” he corrected her. “Formed in the last gasp of the Seventies straight outta high school like us and Death Angel. And of course, Anthrax have some now, mainly with the help of the Cherry Suicides, but they've got some. I've seen a few women at our shows wearing Among the Living shirts and shirts with 'NOT' written on the front in big letters. I dunno if you've seen them throw that word around lately, but they have, though.”

“Like a catch phrase of some sort?”

“Kinda, yeah. I don't know if you seen Scott with that word shaved into his chest hair before but it's kinda funny, actually.”

“I don't remember,” she confessed.

“And it's a select few women, too. Between you, the four of them, and Marla, I haven't really seen any for Testament aside from the odd small bunch over in Europe.”

“Yeah, I probably counted all of five women in the crowd last night,” Sam recalled.

“Exactly!” Louie chuckled.

Sam then reached down between her legs for her purse and she took out her journal, her pencil, and a couple of her pens.

“Ah, you wanna draw for me!” he declared.

“Well, I also wanna show you the thing I made for Greg last night on the night flight,” she told him, and she flicked open to that one page. He gaped at the sight of the black ink on the page before him.

“Wow! What is it?”

“It's Joey and Alex on either side of one of the trees from the Black Forest. They're like praying to the tree together.”

“Oh, yeah, that's Alex and the little bit of gray upon his head—and the one with the curls is Joey.”

“It needs a little more touching up, but that's what I get for drawing so late at night and being partially asleep all the while, too.”

Louie chuckled at that when a low guttural noise cut him off. Sam stopped right in her tracks.

“Was that you or me?” he asked her in a low voice.

One of them in the seat behind groaned in his throat: Sam craned her neck back at the sight of Alex shifting his weight in his seat. Even though he was still asleep, nothing could deny the pained look on his face.

“The young buck,” she told Louie with a nod of her head back behind them.

“Aw—oh, yeah, he's not quite yet a full grown man so he's still suffering from that teenage hunger.”

“You ever get that hunger where it feels like you're about to puke?”

“All the time! You ever get the kind that sneaks up on you? Like you're fine one minute and then all of a sudden, you're like, 'holy hell, I'm hungry.' I used to get it all the time even when I hit twenty years old. I had my daughter then, too.”

“So that's why you were always struggling for money,” Sam noted.

“Nah, I was struggling for money because there was no money to be made yet. Zelda was only making enough to pay our rent and buy groceries and that was it—no idea what they must be making now. There still really isn't at the moment, not with us. Our label isn't giving us squat and touring is only really keeping our lights on. Seriously, Sam, it's only every so often we can splurge on something like going out to eat—and in Alex's case, it's to keep him at his parents' house still. I figured I have enough for a cab ride back to my place and then I can get something to eat after that, but that's about it. Really, that's why we're all on this plane and not a private one like Metallica are.”

“Metallica have their own plane now?” She was stunned by that, and Louie nodded his head and tucked a piece of flat hair behind his ear.

“Yeah. Surprised me, too. But as we were leaving Munich for the first night, Alex was talking to Lars over the phone and they had flown to Copenhagen via their private jet.”

Sam brought her gaze down to the floor. To think Metallica were making enough money to have their own flight plan, and Cliff wasn't even there to witness it himself.

“Did he say how they got it?” she asked him.

“Nah, Alex was just like 'how in the world did you manage that one?' and Lars said they were just making enough money from their touring at this point that they were finally able to get it for themselves. Touring in the wake of losing Cliff, too.”

Sam shook her head. There was no way she could hold it against them for making money off of their dead friend because it wasn't their fault. But at the same time, merely addressing that the thing was a thing and going no further than that left her unsettled.

“I think it's interesting that Alex started wearing that skull ring, too,” Louie continued.

“Why's that?”

“'Cause Cliff had one himself. Remember that?”

Sam paused for a moment. Even though she only got to see him a handful of times prior to his death, it was such a vague little detail for her to remember altogether.

“By the way, when's everyone's birthdays again?” she spoke again. “I know Alex's is on the twenty ninth of September, and you're two days after me in January. I remember Chuck and Eric telling me once but it's escaped me.”

“Chuck is right after the summer solstice, June twenty third. Eric is May fourteenth and Greg is April twenty ninth.”

“All of us born later in the month, my goodness!” she declared.

“I know, right? Us Aquarians know how to throw people, you know?”

“We bear the water, after all,” Sam pointed out, “I bear the goat horns, too. I'm on the cusp.”

“I ain't getting in an argument with you,” Louie joked, “the goat horns and the bones, too.”

She giggled at that, and then she remembered the skull ring in question. And she began to wonder Alex's exact intent as the sun's first rays followed them all the way back to California.

They touched down in the Bay Area, right as the first wisps of that thick fog gathered right outside of the coast, and Sam was eager to step outside and feel the fog on her face and the crown of her head. Greg and Alex trudged behind her and Louie all the way to the area outside of the gate.

“Hey, you guys wanna join us for breakfast?” she offered them as she adjusted the straps on her purse and her overnight bag. “Lewis here is gonna take me out in a few minutes.”

“I'm ready for a nap,” Greg told her.

“Yeah, I'm probably just gonna mosey on back home and curl up in my bed,” Alex added as he rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. “Get on home and eat something, too. But I kinda miss my bed.”

“Exodus is playing tomorrow night, though,” Greg pointed out.

“Yeah, that's right!” Louie recalled. “Right across the street from me, too.”

“Oh, well, lucky us,” Sam proclaimed.

“Yeah, c'mon, Sam I am—I'll take ya home with me.”

She followed him out to the parking lot and towards the sidewalk on the far side of the black top. And then she realized that he didn't have a car.

“Are we taking the bus or—?” she asked him, but then her voice trailed off as he raised his arm up for a taxi, and the little green car pulled up to the curb before them.

“You know, the entire time I've lived in New York, I've only seen a few taxi cabs,” she told him as he held the door for her.

“Really? Well, you lived in the Bronx most of the time, though. Most of the cabs I've seen were down in Manhattan or over in Brooklyn. Like more so in the inner city part of it all rather than a straight up neighborhood such as that.”

“Right, and we lived in Hell's Kitchen, too! Down by the water and it was more like that, too. I always either hitched a ride with Charlie and Marla, or I took the subway or the bus with Bel, or I walked places.”

They climbed into the back seat together and Louie told the driver they were headed for Hayward.

“That's a name I haven't heard in ages,” she noted as they got rolling along the streets.

“What, Hayward?”

“Yeah. All the names out here on the West Coast, actually. It's astonishing, really. A few weeks ago, Chuck, Tiffany, Alex, Greg, and I all went to see Death Angel in Alhambra and the four of them were staying in Corona. When Cliff and I were together, and we visited my parents in Reno, it was kind of surreal, almost like a dream of sorts. To see all the street names and all the old neighborhoods again. And it's like visiting an old friend to an extent.”

“When Zelda and I split up, and I moved back here,” Louie explained, “the exact same thing happened to me, too. Like, wow, I can't believe I'm actually telling someone to take the 880 Freeway down to Fremont and San Jose, and the 92 bridge across the Bay over to San Mateo. Like, it wasn't that long ago, I was looking up directions from Narragansett to Boston. We're going to be a block away from the cemetery, too.”

The driver nodded in response: meanwhile, Sam peered out the window at the early morning fog as it collected all around the sky overhead. So much that Cliff hadn't shown her when he was alive, and at that moment, in the back of that cab, she witnessed it for herself. All the little shops that lined the streets and the small slivers of parks throughout the place all the way over to All Soul's Cemetery and the ramshackle apartment complex right across the way.

Louie kept his promise and paid the fare for them.

The two of them stood on the sidewalk together and he groaned.

“What's up?” she asked him.

“The place I wanna take you isn't open yet,” he explained.

“It is still pretty early,” she pointed out.

“True, true.” He led her up the sidewalk to the apartments: after he held the door for her, and she stepped inside, the fatigue of having traveled so much settled over her right then.

“We're just on the ground floor here,” he guided her down the hallway to the fourth room on the right and he unlocked the door for her.

A cozy one bedroom apartment with a small couch tucked in one corner and across from that was a small television upon a milk crate. To the right of her stood a large wooden armoir that looked as though it hadn't been painted with a coat of veneer once in its lifetime. Before her was a short hallway that led back to the bedroom in question as well as a bathroom and a closet: to the left was the small kitchenette with a narrow shabby table that needed a paint job in and of itself.

“Well, at least this place isn't dirty,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I mean, it's just me here now—it's not like there's much to clean here anyway. You can set your things in my room if you wish.”

“You're gonna make me sleep on the couch, aren't you?” she asked him.

“Nah, you can sleep head to toe with me in my bed,” he offered her. “It's a comfy bed, I promise you that.”

Indeed, Sam showed a little grin and then she made her way into that little bedroom so as to set her things down. In one corner of the room was a small pile of laundry: on top was a black T shirt and inscribed on the front, in swirled sparkled red letters, read “The Cherry Suicides”. Right within the name was a pair of cherries with the stem split apart by a butcher knife: on the handle of the knife was a white bow.

“You have a Cherry Suicides shirt?” she called out to him.

“Oh, yeah!” he called back to her from the front room.

“I didn't know they sold shirts!” she declared. “All the times I saw them, there was like no merch to be seen.”

“Yeah, Zelda gave that to me when we were going out,” he explained as he stood in the doorway behind her. “She actually made that for me because they couldn't get a thing to make merch for themselves—well, they probably can now, but a few years ago, they weren't able to so she made her own. You can have that if you'd like. It doesn't fit me.”

“Aw, thank you. Yet another sleep shirt.” She picked up the shirt from the pile: indeed, she knew it would be a bit of a snug fit for her given she had far more curves than Louie at that point.

“I should ask you,” he began again, “have you shown Alex that drawing?”

“I haven't, no. I haven't shown him any of my art so far.”

“Oh, man, you should. You know those drawings you made for Charlie for this past tour? He was awestruck by them. Whenever Chuck and I asked him about it, he was like, 'dude, that's some of the best art I've ever seen in my life.'”

She gaped at that.

“But he couldn't put two and two together and realize that it was me who made them, though?” she asked him, to which Louie shook his head.

“Seeing as you're back out here on the West Coast, you ought to catch a moment alone with him when you can. Really show him your art, like do a demo for him.”

“He was heart broken when Jean Michel Basquiat passed away recently,” she recalled.

“Oh, I bet he was! He's more of an art nut than Lars and Charlie both. So you ought to do it for him. Anyways, I'm gonna change my clothes and I'll take you over to the place I want to take you for breakfast. You'll love this place, Sam. Best coffee and pancakes in town.”

“We'll be the judge of that,” she told him as she peeled off her shirt right there in front of him, much to his gasping. But she put on that homemade Cherry Suicides shirt for herself: the body hugged her breasts and her belly a little bit but it fit her as if Zelda had crafted it just for her. The neckline hung low upon her chest so it accentuated a bit of skin, and Louie nodded at that.

“My turn!” he said, and he took off his shirt as well. Sam kept her eye on his slender drummer's body as he stepped past her for a plain dark gray sweatshirt himself. He fixed his hair and then he gestured for her to follow him back outside to the restaurant in question.

Cozy and warm and a slice of life away from the deathly feeling right up the block from them, and Sam soon saw that he was right about the coffee and the pancakes: she helped herself to a large fat stack of five of them, each of them light and fluffy and loaded up with butter and a small kiss of fresh blackberries.

“So where are we seeing Exodus at tonight?” she asked him as she mopped up the rest of the blackberry syrup with a final bite of pancakes.

“Right over there—” He pointed out the window to the block on the other side of the cemetery, where she spotted a low but bright lit bar with dark stained glass windows. “Doors open at about five o'clock so we'll be meeting Alex and Greg over there around then. Since we're friends of Exodus, we get in for free. You'll probably have to pay five bucks, though.”

“Sounds good, though,” she assured him, and then she raised her coffee mug for him and they made a toast to one another. “Wait a minute, it's a bar, though,” she pointed out. “What's Alex gonna do there?”

“They sell food until about eleven,” he told her. “So he can go in there.”

“All the food his tummy could ever wish for,” she said as she took another sip of coffee. After breakfast, Sam settled into the apartment for a few hours with her journal and her pencil until Louie put on his Chuck Taylors and then his watch. She figured she had enough to not enough to cover the way into the bar as well as a drink for herself. She ran a brush through her hair and then she followed him back outside to the cool afternoon: most of the fog had burned off at that point, but a few wisps and thick clouds dotted the otherwise rich blue canopy overhead.

“The girls also played there,” he told her.

“Really?”

“When Zelda and I were first going out and I was trying to hide my old life from her, yeah. That was where she treated me to a show and she offered to take me home to Rhode Island with her.”

“So this is like coming full circle here,” she followed along as she put on her sunglasses; even though they weren't going very far up the street, she decided to wear them regardless of anythin g.

“Exactly! Right up the street, too, so it's oh so close to home.”

He led her up the sidewalk and all the way around the circumference of the cemetery, to the furthest point and under a row of tall oak trees. She thought about that night in Brooklyn and the Day of the Dead ceremony. She knew she would have to do it again for Cliff as they crossed the four lane road together: he reached the sidewalk first. A gust of cool oceanic wind sent a shiver down her spine but she figured the pancakes from that morning would keep her warm enough until they reached the bar.

“Hey, there's Eric!” Louie pointed out. Up ahead, wrapped in thin black leather and with his inky black hair down so it freely twirled in the wind, Eric lingered outside of the front door of the bar and shuffled his feet about. As they came closer to him, and Sam realized she had made a mistake by not bringing a coat with her, he flashed them a grin.

“Not in the Big Apple anymore,” he declared to her. “Bitchin' shirt, by the way.”

“Not even close,” she said over the whistle of the winds, “I literally forgot how cold and dry California is, even up here. And thank you! This is courtesy of Zelda herself.”

Eric held the door for them and she stepped into the big spacious room first. Given they were right across the street from a cemetery, small sugar skulls lined the walls around them. Old names from years and decades past there in the San Francisco Bay Area lined the phony bricks that were plastered upon the main wall to the left, all in thick calligraphy and block letters like the names in obituaries. Posted up at one of the tables by the wall was Alex and Greg, the latter of whom waved at her. Meanwhile, Alex adjusted the skull ring on his right hand and leaned back in the chair. He had dyed his hair jet black once more, albeit with a bit of haste, however this time around, it was hard to tell that he even had a gray streak there over his brow to begin with.

“Really, who says you can't be girly and badass at the same time?” Greg asked her as part of his greeting.

“I thought being girly was a part of being badass, dude,” Alex pointed out.

“It's badass to be manly, too,” Sam assured as she took her seat there next to him.

“Right?” He clenched his fist to show her the silver skull on his ring finger.

“I'm gonna check on the guys,” Louie told them.

“I have to pay the cover charge,” she retorted to him.

“Oh, yeah, do that,” Alex advised her.

But lucky for her, she found out that she could have half price for a drink, and thus she treated herself to an Irish coffee. A thick frosted glass of that light brown coffee with a thick foam up top and so early in the evening to boot, and she knew that the party would start. She returned to Alex and Greg, right as the former put his hands around a glass of root beer and the latter sipped on some actual beer.

“Why would you do that?” Alex was asking him once she returned within earshot.

“Why not? I could probably do it with one ball first and then work my way up to two.”

“You do that, it's just throwing a single thing in the air,” he pointed out.

“You're still doing it, though,” said Greg.

“No—?” Alex chuckled at that.

“What're you guys talking about?” she asked them with a bit of laughter herself.

“Juggling,” Alex replied, “apparently, he wants a shot at it. He wants to start I tout with one object, too.”

“That's not juggling, though,” she pointed out.

“See what I mean, dude?” He took a sip of his root beer when Eric returned with a plate with a slice of pepperoni pizza.

“Oh, yeah, you get pizza and I just get root beer,” Alex scoffed at him.

“Courtesy of the guys, little man,” Eric advised him and he gestured to the other side of the room behind him.

“I'll be right back,” Alex told the three of them and he bowed over to the table there by the bathrooms, where Louie was helping himself to a plate full as well. Indeed, Sam brought her attention over there and she spotted the man right in front of Louie. She almost didn't even recognize him from his now shorn hair and the fact his face looked as though it had been boiled in a vat of water.

“Oh, man, Zetro doesn't look good,” Sam remarked.

“I guess they haven't been doing too well,” Eric told her as he covered his mouth with one hand. “This last record they put out—last October, I think? It was a total flop—I thought it was pretty good, though. The guitars sound like chainsaws and Zetro's vocal delivery is just not for the faint of heart. I mean you heard him, when he was with us.”

“Oh, right, right! Real screechy, high vocals.”

“Indicative of thrash! But yeah, everyone hated it upon release, though.”

“Do you think maybe Zelda might have something to do with it?” she asked him.

“No clue, to be honest. Could just be nerves—you know, the sophomore slump thing, but who knows, really. That is a possibility, though, 'cause he was a wreck when she and him split and she made amends with Louie. One can only hope that their next one will be a bonafide masterpiece.”

Within time, Alex and Louie returned with plates, for themselves and for Greg and Sam in that respective fashion.

Within the hour, more and more people filed into the bar and Exodus prepared to take to the stage. Eric and Louie made their way over to the stage to check in on the band themselves, and Greg had gone off to the men's room. Thus, Sam and Alex were left alone yet again, that time with empty plates before them. He lifted his glass of root beer to his lips but he didn't take a drink for himself.

“Samantha, when you turned twenty, how'd you react to it?” he asked her.

“How'd I react to it?”

“Yeah, like—what was going through your mind then?”

“I just kind of—resigned to the fact that I was going to be twenty years old soon, like I wasn't going to be a teenager anymore.”

She dropped her gaze to his fingers as they curled around the base of his glass of root beer. She wondered what was going through his mind right then.

“Why?” she asked him as she leaned her head in closer to him. “Alex? Is there something you want to tell me?” She peered over her shoulder once again. They were alone yet again; she returned to him. “You can tell me. You are my best kept secret—you can tell me if something is troubling you.” He sighed through his nose.

“I'm just—kinda—realizing the fact that I'm not a kid anymore,” he confessed, to which he knitted his eyebrows together. “I haven't really felt like a kid in a long time, either. You know? I feel like I've had to grow up a great deal in the past six years. Hell, the past three years, I feel like I've had to grow up a great deal.”

“Well—you're still Alex, though,” she pointed out in a low voice. “You're just—a little older is all. My mom told me that when I turned eighteen in fact. She said, 'you're still my little girl regardless of how old you are.' So to that, you're still little boy Alex to me. You're still that chubby sixteen year old with the yarmulke, the one whom I first met in New York City.”

He raised his head at that and he raised his eyebrows: the softest she had ever seen him at that point.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I bet your parents feel the same way about you.”

He paused for a second. “They do, actually. In particular my mom. They did a lot for me—they still do, actually. My mom helps me do laundry and sometimes there's just something about coming home and feeling her hug me. Feeling my dad hug me, too. You know?”

“Oh, yeah! That's one thing I miss about living close to my parents is hugs from them, especially my dad.”

He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass.

“So do you know at all when he's coming out here?” he asked her.

“Who, my dad? I don't, no.” She paused herself. “Why, you wanna meet him?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I always introduced my friends to my parents growing up. That was actually the first time I really heard the word 'meshuggah' was when I brought one of my friends over to jam guitars with. My dad was like 'my kid's meshuggah!' to their parents. And I mean—you know, it's all of us out here in the Bay Area together now—it just—kinda makes sense that we all get together and hang out together when we're not on the road.”

“Which is quite often,” she followed along.

“Oh, my god, yes! We're supposed to be back in the studio soon, too. And we've got those shows down in Reseda before Christmas.”

“By the way, when's Hanukkah this year?” she asked him without a moment's hesitation.

“Hanukkah? Oh, god, I dunno. I do know Rosh Hashana is coming up here in like two weeks or something like that, but that's where it starts and ends with me, though. I couldn't tell you when Yom Kippur is or even—almost twenty years old and I know for a fact my mom's gonna take me over her knee and I'm gonna get spanked for this—Passover. Besides my family's non traditional Jewish. I don't always wear my yarmulke or my Star of David.”

“Still a Jew boy, though,” she pointed out with a giggle.

“Oh, yeah. This last name is definitely indicative of that. There's not a lot of us running around but it's there, though. I mean, if my dad utilizing a word like 'meshuggah' isn't enough indication, I dunno what to tell ya.”

He shrugged his shoulders and rolled those deep eyes a bit, and she giggled some more at him.

“Do you celebrate Hanukkah at all?” she asked him.

“We did when I was little! Like when I was a toddler and when I first started school, but like I said, my parents are non traditional. So it doesn't bother them in the least if we miss any of the holidays at any given time, and they usually do, too.” He picked up his glass and sipped on the rest of his root beer, and then he turned his attention back to her, that time with a thoughtful look on his face. “We do have a menorah, though,” he said in a low voice.

“A real menorah?”

He nodded.

“Oh, yeah, it's as real as the black dye on my head right now.” She giggled at that. “And I'll tell you what. When Hanukkah starts—whenever it does this year—you ought to come on over. We'll light up the candles for each of the eight nights, and I'll do it for you, too.”

Someone up on stage laughed out laughing right at that moment.

“It's not that funny,” Sam cracked, and Alex cackled at that. Someone else up there addressed Alex by name, and he turned his attention towards them with a twinkle in his eye.

“I dunno, man, why you asking me!” he called out in that big bold voice, and Zetro made his way to the middle of the stage with the microphone in hand. He pointed in their direction and Sam sank down away from the look of mischief on his face.

“I see exactly one Alex Skolnick out there in the audience,” he declared and his speaking voice filled up the entire room, “—twenty years old in a few weeks time—you know, he's only in here 'cause there's food.”

People in the audience chuckled at that. Alex bowed his head and closed his eyes, to which Zetro stuck out his tongue and flashed Sam a wink. She peered over at him and before she could even so much as put her hand on his arm, Zetro spoke again.

“Anyways, come on up here, little man—come on up here and give us a li'l kick in the ass and give the cherry a good poppin'. We could use it right about now to start us out.”

Sam and Alex glanced at one another, and she shrugged her shoulders at him. He rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his root beer, and then he stood to his feet. People applauded him as he took the walkway on the other side of the room. Soon, over the small sea of heads, Sam recognized his head of jet black hair against the overhead lights. One of their stage hands gave him a big white flying V guitar, much like the guitar which Dave gave Joey for auditions.

Her jaw dropped as she watched him take center stage next to Zetro.

Alex absolutely dwarfed the five of them. He didn't even need the gray streak upon his head for Sam to recognize him from clear across the room: he had that handsome oval face and those prominent features. Indeed, there was that indication she had for him: his hair could turn completely gray and she could still recognize him, but she made that sentiment when she locked eyes with him. But as she watched him up there on stage with Exodus, she realized that it was more than that.

The kid literally stood out like a monolith. Long lanky legs wrapped in those fitted black jeans and his slender little body accentuated by that black button up: at some point on the way up there, he had undone the top two buttons and revealed a sliver of his chest to the audience. He ran his fingers through his inky black curls and showed off a bit more of his neck.

She had never seen him like that before, such that it was almost too much for her to bear right then. She wanted another slice of pizza but she wanted to pay more attention to him.

Thus, she climbed off the stool and almost ran right into Greg, who gasped at the sight of her.

“Oh, my—hi,” she muttered to him.

“Hi,” Greg said back to her. One inch of clearance separated them. “Do you know where Alex is?”

“I don't, no—I was—I was just gonna ask you.” Sam peered down at his narrow legs and his belt as it poked out from underneath the hem of his shirt. “Oh, no, wait, he's up there with them.”

“Oh, yeah!” Greg clapped his hands over his head as Alex let his fingers do the talking on the guitar's fret board.

“Oh, my,” she muttered, to which she fanned herself.

“Practice it, man!” Zetro bellow into the microphone.

“Yeah, practice what you preach!” he shouted into the microphone right behind him, and his voice was even bigger for that room in comparison to that of Zetro. All Sam could think about right then was Soundgarden, the Seattle band at the show in Dusseldorf.

Her heart fluttered inside of her chest all the while. The way Alex stood there with that white guitar pressed against his body.

“Watch my purse for me, Greg?” she asked him.

“Sam, I will walk up and down the street with your purse over my shoulder if I have to,” Greg replied, and she bowed away from there, but then she doubled back for her glass.

The fact she was legally married to a man and the fact that she had a boyfriend back home in New York. It was almost too much for her to bear.

Sam shook her head. No amount of Irish coffee could soothe the warm feeling in her face: if anything, it only added to the feeling within her. That fluttery feeling in her chest and the way her hips wanted to sway about with his rhythms.

She sipped on the glass again and then she bolted from the table.

She couldn't even make it to bathroom when Alex himself bumped into her there at the corridor's entrance.

Not again. He hadn't even broken out in a sweat for a second. But his body lingered there before her, all big and tall and with two buttons undone, as if he had done it all for her.

Not again.

“Oh—hi,” she sputtered and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Hi,” Alex retorted back to her. One inch of clearance separated them, just like with her and Greg. “Uh—I need a drink of water, I'm like dying of thirst right now.”

“And I gotta use the ladies' room—” He tried to bow past her but she went in the same direction as him. She went the other way and he followed her as well.

“Damn it—” he chuckled at that.

“Pardon me,” she told him as she finally bowed past him and into the women's bathroom. She shut the door behind her and she peered into the mirror in front of her. A light touch of pink crossed her face. She shook her head about and let out a long low whistle, even though that did nothing to settle the nervous sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Yet another moment where she hadn't seen Alex without that stoic expression on his face.

She didn't even have to use the bathroom but she needed to be away from the table, away from Greg's prying eyes. She washed her hands and splashed a little cold water on her face before she returned back out to the bar. Greg had gone off, and Alex was back in his spot there at the table. His face was flushed and he pushed his bangs right off of his face so as to keep himself cool.

“Are you okay?” she asked him once she took her seat again.

“Yeah. I just—wasn't expecting to see you over there.”

“I see.”

“What about you? You look like you're about as red as a cherry tomato.”

“It's this Irish coffee,” she told him with a tap of the glass. “I almost wanna Jew it up.”

“Jew it up?” he echoed her. “Why would you wanna Jew it up?”

“What's wrong—with Jewing it up?”

“You Jew it up, you make it kosher and dry. And you don't wanna do that to coffee.”

“Maybe I do,” she teased him. “Make coffee nice and dry.”

Alex shook his head and stuck out his tongue at that, and then he gave her that hearty laugh once again.

“I don't think I'm ready to understand you, Alex Skolnick,” she teased him once again.

“A lot of people don't,” he promised her. “I'm just gonna tell you this right now—really, listen to me, Samantha. A lot of people don't understand me, especially my parents.”

And yet a part of her told her that it was only just the beginning with him.

#fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 9 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #book four #souls of black #testament fanfic #testament band #testament #exodus #louie clemente #greg christian #alex skolnick #eric peterson #steve souza #REALLY long post #long reads #slice of life #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #writing #text

[pixelatedrose]

Soulbound Part Seven

First | Previous | Part 7 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 2,788

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, background Remile

Warnings: Uncensored swearing, nightmares, mention of implied self harm (skip from “It had been another nightmare” to the end of the paragraph.), slight self deprecation, if I missed anything at all please please tell me, and if there’s anything you’d like me to tag, don’t hesitate to ask!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 7

  Logan Rose woke up with a bit of a start. He glanced around his room wildly, everything appearing fuzzy without his glasses. He calmed himself down before pulling the cord on his bedside lamp and examining his arm.

  It was bare and pale as always, save for his tattoo that depicted Patton's name.

  Despite everything, Logan let out a shaky breath. He knew it was illogical. And that only bothered him more.

  It's just a dream, Logan. Nothing is wrong. Logan picked up a book on the ground in spite of himself and began reading. However he found- as he always did- that he was unable to read much further than a few pages.

  "It's just a dream...It was nothing but amalgamated memories and images…It wasn't...It can't have been…" Logan took another deep breath to steady himself.

  And once again resorted to the only method that ever seemed to work.

  He flipped open a small journal and began writing down his dream with as much detail as possible.

  It had been another nightmare. He had been sobbing on the floor of a foreign room before dragging himself over to an all too familiar box under the bed where he fished out a pencil sharpener blade and had-

  Logan paused for a moment in his writing. He always hated writing about his nightmares. It was necessary for him to fall back asleep, but it was so hard sometimes.

  Every once in a while Logan Rose had acutely vivid dreams about ordinarily mundane things that didn't seem to make sense. 

  Seeing people he'd never seen before at a birthday party he'd never attended. 

  A dark room that slowly got edgier as time wore on filled with a multitude of different events. Most of them less than savory and quite traumatic. 

  A kid, taller than Logan, pushing him to the ground and pulling him back up by his hair only to have someone else spit in his face.

  These dreams made no sense to Logan. Dreams were supposed to be concoctions of memories, images, ideas, and emotions. Logan's brain should not be able to create such a vivid image of a house he'd never seen before. And yet Logan would have remembered if he'd ever seen the odd house with the strange yellow door that his mind so often brought up.

  Logan finished writing down his nightmare in his dream journal and set it down once again, rubbing his tired eyes. He glanced over at one of his many bookcases, sighing at the vast amount of dream journals he had filled up over the years.

  He had started cataloging his dreams back in fourth grade when his mother had suggested that writing about his dreams would help him remember them and even sleep better. So now Logan had nearly 6 years worth of journals filled to the brim with dream after dream after dream. Even if he could never remember what he had dreamed that night, he always wrote down that he was unable to recall any details.

  Logan lay himself back down to sleep as he quietly pondered his vivid dreams and what they could possibly mean, if anything at all.

  That's absolutely ludicrous. Dreams don't mean anything. They're just dreams. As he drifted off once again, Logan found himself with a ghost of doubt cast across his mind.

  Just dreams…

  Logan Rose fell asleep, his mind conjuring up recipes that called for memories, images, sounds, ideas, and emotions.

~~•~~

  Roman woke up to his alarm which he lazily slapped, sending it snoozing. Five minutes later it started yelling again, and this time Roman reluctantly rolled himself out of bed. Quite literally in fact. He had found it always helped him wake up.

  He hit the floor dramatically and lay down on the floor for a few minutes staring at his ceiling.

  Roman suddenly was struck by a brilliant idea and he sat up straight and got ready for the day as quick as possible.

  "Heya Ro-Bro! Sleep like a corpse?" Remus asked as Roman came down the stairs.

  "Why would you phrase it like that? Like actually why??"

  "Because it's interesting and you're boring so i have to be interesting for the both of us!!"

  Roman watched his twin brother sprinkle poptart crumbs into the omelet he was cooking and grimaced. "Well you sure do a good job of that one…"

  "Hey, Ro, have you seen the dandelions?"

  Roman paused for a brief moment. "Why the fuck are you eating dandelions?"

  "You absolute shitheaded moron it's for Brigit."

  Roman flushed. "Oh." He had been thinking of Virgil again and his head was still mushy from sleep. "In the fridge…"

  Remus turned and pulled out a small bag of dandelions before hopping over to a glass tank which contained a small tortoise. "Roman's an idiot, isn't he Brigit? Isn't he?" Remus cooed at his tortoise, dropping three of the four flowers in along with a small pile of lettuce before looking at the fourth flower and asking out loud. "Hey, dandelions are edible, right??"

  And before Roman had time to violently judge his brother, Remus shoved the entire fucking flower in his mouth like the absolute heathen he was.

  "Hey, not too bad." Roman's trash-man of a brother said, walking over to his slowly burning food.

  "I swear to god I don't know how we're related…" Roman muttered, returning his mind to a much more savory person.

~~•~~

  Roman got to school and met up with his friends. He debated skipping a few steps in his plan and looking for him right then, but decided against it. He didn't want to come off seeming like a creep.

  So he waited until his third period rolled around and felt his eyes light up as they fell to the emo boy scrunched up in the back corner of the classroom. Something was definitely brighter about Virgil today. Maybe it was the new hoodie he was wearing or the fresh makeup on his face, or perhaps it was the way he looked rested or the fact that he was nodding along to his music and silently mouthing the words, but Roman was unreasonably happy to see Virgil in a good mood.

  “Good morning, Hot Topic! You’re looking splendid today!” Roman bubbled, winking at the mass of emo that sat at the table.

  Virgil snorted and looked up at him. “Aw, you think I’m hot!”

  “On the contrary! I was talking to my reflection!”

  “Ah, that makes more sense. I put too much faith in you to think you’d ever stop being self-absorbed!”

  “Hey! You’ve only known me for what, two days?”

  Virgil shifted in his seat, having taken out his earbuds already. “I tend to be a pretty good judge of character.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep.”

  Roman took his chance to strike. “Well I bet you wouldn’t be able to judge my friend’s characters off of one glance!” Roman smiled at Virgil, missing the way the other’s shoulders relaxed when he spoke. “Want to join me with my friends at lunch?”

  Roman patiently awaited the inevitable decline. It was part of his plan. He would laugh it off and be charming as ever and continue to pester him until he-

  “Sure.” Virgil said casually, a hint of a smile on his face. 

  What.

  “You seem like a cool guy, I guess. Should I meet you by the cafeteria?”

  Roman’s head was a jumbled mess and where he had been planning on being charming, he had fallen end over end down the stairs of grace and was drowning in his own pool of poor planning.

  “Uh, uhm, n-no I’ll just meet you outside your class!” Roman had just barely been able to save the end of that sentence. He had not expected the emo boy to accept his offer so quickly. He thought the boy was shy and reserved, didn’t like talking to people. Curiosity to know what made the emo boy trust him overtook Roman. “Would it be terribly rude of me to ask why you’d want to come and eat with a bunch of people you hardly know?”

  Virgil shrugged. “I dunno. I just kinda…” He turned and pulled up his hood. “Feel like I can trust you. I also don’t really have anyone else, so I mean I don’t have many options.” he lowered his voice to the point where Roman wouldn’t have been able to hear the emo. “And if I at least look like I have friends maybe people will leave me alone this time around…”

  It worked and Roman hadn’t heard his breathless whisper. “Oh! Well I’m touched! In fact I think-”

  Ding!! Ding!! Ding!!

  Damn that bell.

  Class began and Roman didn’t get the chance to mention that he and Patton shared a class. A minor detail, but he was irrationally disappointed that he couldn’t keep talking to his newfound...Friend.

  Roman thought. Friend? Am I not jumping the gun by considering us friends this early on? What would Virgil think? Would he be okay with it? Would he be disgusted? Roman’s mind filled with the image of Roman calling the boy his friend and Virgil smiling widely, happy to be his friend. Roman let himself smile too.

  The period ended and Roman said his farewells to Virgil. Roman pulled out his phone between classes and brought up the group chat.

  Hey I’m bringing a friend of mine to come and sit with us at lunch kk

  It was just a few moments before his phone buzzed quietly in his hands.

  Pat-man: OOOooooOOOooOOoo~~!!

  Pat-man: A *friend* you say? *nudge nudge wink wink*

  Each of his texts were signed with a series of emojis, ranging from hearts to faces.

  Roman typed out a text, leaning against the wall outside his classroom.

  Yes Padre, a FRIEND

  Nothing more than that! I swear you rwad into things way to much

  His Phone buzzed again and Roman looked at the new text.

  Pocket-protector: First off, you misspelled 'Read' and second, you used the wrong 'Too'. Third, if you're speaking of the boy you have gone on about for the past two days, then-

  The bell rang and Roman silently thanked it for saving him the time to read Logan's perfectly composed letter of a text filled with perfect grammar.

  The hours ebbed by anguishingly slow, it seemed the more he wanted to see the pale boy the more the weights the universe attached to time's ankles.

  Finally- finally- the hour struck three minutes till the bell and Roman silently excused himself knowing that the abandoned hall pass in his pocket that would free him of suspicion.

  He got to Virgil’s classroom just in time for the bell to ring and for Roman to quickly lean himself up against the lockers casually.

  Virgil walked out and seemed almost surprised to see Roman standing there before a ghost of a smile adorned his pale face.

  “Honestly, you don’t have to skip out of class early just to wait for me.” Virgil said as he walked up to the taller boy.

  “I know, but it wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to leave my new friend wandering through the halls with no guide!” Roman smiled and the pair started walking towards the cafeteria.

  “And so that would make you my knight in shining armor?” Virgil teased.

  “No, I like to think of myself as more of a prince.”

  Virgil snorted back his laughter. “But I thought they gave princes education! They’re doing a miserable job rearing you.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny, Jerky Mcjerk-face.”

  “Ouch! Is that the best comeback you have for me, Princey?” Before, Virgil had called Roman by the theatrical nickname in a friendly manner, now his tone was mocking him, a soundless giggle twinkling in his blue eyes.

  Roman hrumphed and crossed his arms. “Sometimes I’m not entirely on point with my words! I’m human! Even someone as flawless as me can make mistakes!”

  Virgil barked out a short laugh. “Ha!! Flawless! I should bring you up on charges for false advertising!”

  “Then maybe I should do the same with you, Surly-Temple! You’re not as shy as you seem, are you?”

  “Who ever said I was shy? I just don’t like people.”

  “Oh…” Roman internally cursed at his lack of words. He had jumped to conclusions. It was a simple mistake, but it reminded Roman of another thing he should try and fix. He shook it off easily. “Well in that case I’m sure you’ll have no problem introducing yourself to my friends!” He led Virgil through the thick of the now bustling and ever so loud cafeteria to a table in the back near one of the backdoors leading outside. It was a small circular table, like all the others in the room, perfect for a friend group to claim and have no one else intrude.

  Patton and Logan were already sitting down and chatting about what sounded like the emotional and psychological repercussions of being torn from your dimension and being thrown into another. A very fascinating topic to say the least.

  “Hey, Padre! Pocket protector!” Roman announced as they neared the table. Roman noticed out of the corner of his eye Virgil throwing up his hood. “I must introduce to you all, a one Virgil Sanders!” Roman theatrically bowed and gestured toward the purple haired boy next to him.

  Patton stood up immediately and flounced over to the boy. “Hi!! My name’s Patton, but you can just call me Dad!!” He said with a wink as he held out his hand for Virgil to shake. Virgil seemed to relax as he took the sorter boy’s hand in his.

  “Virgil. It’s nice to meet you, Patton.” He smiled lightly.

  Logan had stood as well, letting Virgil come to him. “Logan Rose. A pleasure.” He said politely, extending his own hand. Vigil accepted it and the group started to settle in.

  “You know, Virgil, I think I have the same second period as you!” Patton slipped in as they started taking their seats.

  Virgil seemed to think for a brief second. “Oh, I guess so. I guess nice to re-meet you, then.” He slowly took off his hood and faced Patton who was seated across from him. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you, I tend to not pay attention to stuff like that.”

  “It’s fine! I think it’s great we have a class together! It means less boring moments in the day!”

  Logan was staring at Virgil and he started speaking. “You know, You look familiar to me as well...Do we not share a fifth class together? Ap English in Mr. Evan’s class, if I am correct?”

  Virgil blinked. “Uh...Yeah...So I guess I have a class with each of you then...What are the odds?” Virgil gave a small laugh.

  “Infinitesimal.” Logan replied before biting into his sandwich.

  “Oh speaking of which, do you remember what was taught yesterday? I was trying to do my homework and sort of forgot what he’d said…”

  “I remember absolutely nothing but I do remember he was wearing a pink shirt with a green belt and was disgusted, I mean I may not be one for fashion, but even I know that was a horrific choice.”

  The table erupted into several different kinds of laughter. A loud booming one from Patton, a softer but clear one provided by Roman, and a light chuckle emitted by Virgil.

  Lunch wore on and It seemed like Virgil really connected with everyone.

  He was in a brighter mood for the rest of the day as he walked off with Logan, discussing fan theories about doctor who and Sherlock, and then happier still when he met up with Roman in the theater and got to have his older brother teach him for what seemed like the first actual time.

  And as Virgil bid his farewells, Roman called out to him.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Virge!!” He yelled across the courtyard, waving happily at his new friend.

  “Cya!!” Virgil called back, feeling happy and warm inside.

  Virgil had never even had friends before, and for some reason, having only just met them a few hours ago, felt like these friends were ones that were going to last. He felt so right when he was with them. It felt so right when he would hear Logan talking about one subject or another, or when Patton made a dad joke or pun, or when Roman did something charmingly stupid or funny. It felt right being with them.

  And for someone who’s never felt right in their life, Virgil felt as though it was all too much to actually be real.

  But for once, He didn't worry about that.

Author’s note:

Oh wow! Would you look at that! I’m way early!! I legit thought I wasn’t going to get this done in time because I stopped writing for like two days cause one: I wanted to write a special valentines day mini fic (Link here!) and then two: I was away from my computer and had very tiny motivation. Anyway I hope you guys appreciate my earliness, and note that this probably won’t happen too often. Stay fresh and minty my lovelies!!

Tag list

@anxietea-and-insanitea @ghostboi-bambi @scrunchiescrunchie @badluckkaren @ambrechandra @nadja-chamack16 @athenashipsthings @slitherynchiken @crooked-harmony-student @icequeenoriginal @just-a-hufflepuff @nerd-in-space @sammys-ghostz @nutsanddults @misterteaz @sanderssidesweirdo @dragonheart905 @hitmewiththatfanart33 @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute

#Soulbound Au #prinxiety #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #ts logan #ts patton #ts roman #ts virgil #ts remus #sanders sides #ts sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #ts sides fic #soulmate au #highschool au

[lemonietrinket]

Flirt ||| Wonpil x Reader

summary: wonpil is acting strange. and you have a... small theory as to what he’s doing but that would mean accepting that your feelings are mutual. and can you believe that? no. not yet. but maybe someone will help you to.

genre: flirty... fluff? i guess some attempts of (niche) humour warning(s): occasional foul language (1x s**t) word count: 2038 song(s): baby - astro an: sorry it took a little while anon! i struggled to start this one for some reason? anyway i hope you enjoy it! it’s a lot longer than i intended. again. oops.

non-idol!au

~~~

you couldn’t tell what was up with wonpil. it wasn’t like he’d been acting this way for weeks or even days—in fact, this strange air that had overtaken him had only begun an hour ago, when you had arrived at their place with another of your friends—and yet he seemed such a different person to what you normally saw of him. sure he was affectionate, and cuddly, and could often say odd phrases that could be wildly construed as meaning things he most probably did not. but not to this level. because now, catching the abnormal glint in his eye, you could have sworn he did mean it. and you were torn between wanting to shy away to save your heart the pain of bursting, as well as never wanting him to stop.

because truth be told, these displays were the boldest indicators that he actually liked you back. he wasn’t just holding onto your arm because that’s what he did with people he was close with, he was holding onto your arm because he wanted to be close to you, and his hands only drifted away gradually as if he wanted to return. he wasn’t seemingly biting his lip out of deep thought anymore either—how could he be, when he seemed to make such strong yet brief eye contact with you while he did so? he didn’t clear the corner of your lip with a napkin like he usually did if there was a crumb there, he did it with the tip of his thumb instead, with a napkin right there—

and quite honestly, you didn’t know what to do about it all. it was as if your dreams were being presented to you on a platter, and all you had to do was be bold enough to take them but in the end you could never truly be sure enough to do so.

it had continued all throughout the evening. whenever you spoke to him even on the smallest and most insignificant of matters, those deep spools of onyx stared right into your soul, and seemed to settle there comfortably, while his usual bright smile was replaced by a dimmer one. you had worried if he was upset at first, until the possibility dawned on you that that was what a wonpil smirk looked like. it unnerved you that you’d never seen one before, and you quickly shrugged it off. 

though your mind continued to question what the hell he was up to.

with cheeks flushed and eyes focused on your meal, you avoided your friends’ stares, until one finally gathered the confidence to ask. 

“you alright, y/n?” it was younghyun. which meant you should really respond.

plastering the most convincing smile you could muster on your face—which surely couldn’t have been too unconvincing since you were slightly delirious with the possibility of your dreams coming true—and raised your head confidently to answer him. “yeah! i’m fine, just tired!”

“right, you look a bit hot,” sungjin continued, gesturing to his cheeks to represent yours. 

feeling the eyes upon you, it took you a few seconds to work out what excuse to use. unfortunately, those moments were all that wonpil needed to strike again with his sudden flustering confidence. “too right they do,” he said simply. 

jae broke into laughter as dowoon subtly choked on his ramen. your friend meanwhile, having been close colleague to you for a couple of solid months (which was not long enough to know anywhere near a hundred percent of what anyone was really like), giggled and teasingly piped up, “oooh, someone’s got a crush!”

you rolled your eyes at how cringey she sounded, as well as to cover for just how the mention of wonpil liking you in that way made your face no doubt heat up even more. sungjin though spoke up quickly to clarify, whilst the others just laughed, “no no, he means like they do look hot—not hot as in attractive, hot as in genuinely... high temperature.”

with the others distracted you felt your eyes drawn to the man sat directly opposite to you, and what you found there was truly heart-stopping.

he was smiling. which was bad enough for your stability, as whenever he beamed you felt your spirits lift and the world brighten, as if nothing bad could happen, and that you were truly cared for by somebody. but this time, once again, that smile had that bold undertone. that gleaming gaze. if you would ever a simp, it would be for this man and this man alone.

however, things didn’t end there.

“you should get some water,” jae suggested, chuckles dying down as he nodded in encouragement. “it’ll help, park’s word.”

“good idea, i’ll come w—”

younghyun had begun, but before he could even put his empty plate on the coffee table, he was forced to halt in his tracks.

“no, i’ll do it!” wonpil interjected, “i’ll help them.” 

within moments he was up on his feet, food practically discarded, his bandmate left to lean back in his chair, wondering what had just happened. or at least that’s what you thought of the situation.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

absentmindedly, you had trundled after wonpil as soon as he’d offered to accompany you, simply because you couldn’t imagine not going with him. wherever this man went you would go. but no, you weren’t totally, utterly in love—pah, of course not.

reaching the kitchen, when you saw there was enough space, you scarpered around him and straight over to the cupboard to get yourself a glass. jae had been right, you really did need something to cool you down.  the room remained silent as you heard the conversation in the living room pick up once again, muffled by your overwhelming heart beat. you avoiding his gaze by keeping your head towards your glass and your back turned. wonpil didn’t seem to make any attempt of moving across from the opposite stretch of counters like you expected he would. nor did he speak for the longest time, which worried you more than all of the ‘flirting’ (you weren’t sure if you should pin it as that just yet) combined. 

eventually though, the quiet was broken. 

“why were they all laughing?” he enquired, voice a dab closer to the usual soft pili you knew inside and out. 

you figured that indicated the ‘flirting’ explanation was less probable. either way, you explained while pouring water into the glass. never did you think you would be staring at the quickly popping bubbles of a boring old drink over the most gorgeous man you ever met. “because it sounded like you were saying that i was attractive-hot, rather than hot-hot,” you chuckled half-heartedly, “don’t worry, it happens to the best of us, english sucks.”

there was another moment of peace and you figured he wouldn’t talk and expect you answer for a bit, so you took a sip of water. the ice met fire and you could feel your heartbeat begin to slow from its incessant march.

that was, before his voice returned, a lot more shy than just mere minutes prior. “but... that is how i meant it.”

you choked on your drink, and within a single second you were ready to implode all over again.

he rushed to your side and it was like your cheeks couldn’t get any redder. his hand tapped your back lightly as he repeated apology after apology. though through your coughs, you smiled—properly this time. because your normal wonpil was pretty much back. big eyes wide and shining, voice sweet rather than sultry, and at your side.

“it’s ok, i’m fine,” you urged, clearing your throat before taking another sip to help more effectively this round. 

he waited for you to finish this time before speaking in a whisper, “i’m why you’re blushing, aren’t i.” 

he looked so earnest, so sincere.

“n-no.” you cursed your cowardice. this would have been the moment to admit everything, to tell him of all the feelings you’d failed to confess for so long. 

“its ok, i know, you’re the reason why i am too.”

not that it really mattered, as he already knew. 

thoughts running along cogs in your head, it took you a few moments to gather what he was inferring. 

but it was true. so focused inwardly, on keeping yourself together, you hadn’t even regarded the face of the man you liked so dearly. whipping your head across to him, you found his cheeks flushed rose just like yours, though admittedly less rampant. 

“you... you know?” you stammered, forcing yourself to inhale. you needed to stay alive at least long enough to hear the rest of what he had to say, otherwise everything up to this point had been for nothing.

at this point however, he looked sheepish. guilty even, with his lips pressing firmly together as his eyes began to avoid yours, flitting around the kitchen haphazardly.

“yeah. i... kinda found out yesterday.”

“yesterday?!” you exclaimed. “how?” you didn’t let him reply as you immediately moved on. “wait, that’s what this was all about? all those lingering touches and gazes and the... the cleaning of my lips without a napkin?!”

he nodded.

“pil, you shit!” a laugh broke through your curse.

wonpil began to whine nonetheless. “look! you made me flustered this whole time! and i-i wanted to be confident to you! for once... like younghyun! he’s confident to people he likes—”

“you made me flustered too! this whole time! outside of like... whatever happened today,” you insisted. however, your voice lowered soon after as you turned away from the counter to face him fully. “wonpil, i only want you to be yourself though, ok? you don’t have to be like younghyun, i love you just the way you are.”

his head lifted to reveal that characteristic smile slowly growing upon his lips. “you love me?”

your eyes widened in horror at what you’d let slip. breath hitching in your throat and leaving you completely unable to explain what had just happened, you needn’t have worried so much. wonpil’s bright smile only continued to beam and soon, his arms were around you.  you clutched to him out of reflex, inhaling deeply and letting his presence calm you at last. his hair was soft by your cheek, grip tight at your shirt as he nuzzled his nose into your neck. 

“i love you too,” he murmured after relishing in the peace, and with your heart fluttering you embraced him tighter. it had been such a convoluted way to end up with your dreams right in your lap but you didn’t care. he was here now. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“ha! i win, hand over suckers!”

several sighs and groans merged behind you, and you pulled away slightly to see what on earth was going on. there you found your friend, stood proudly at the front, with her open palms being filled with the eventual equivalent of a wad of cash. only sungjin didn’t seem to be taking part. when her hand was pushed towards him, he shook his head.

“no i didn’t take part.”

when she looked quizzically over at him, younghyun stated, “would have been his fourth time.”

unfortunately it didn’t add much clarity. “what?”

you heard wonpil whine, arms still loosely looped round the small of your back and you offered him an apologetic smile.  taking a deep breath, you pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, and laughed at how his blush began to slowly return. 

“you want to get out of this joint?”

he giggled. “yeah, it’s dull. ice creams?”

“perfect. move it losers, we’re coming through,” you chucked over your shoulder jokingly, and with an arm around him you lead the two of you out of the kitchen. the small crowd instantly parted for you to make your way through but not without a couple of cheers, mostly from jae. 

although as you passed, you felt the overwhelming urging hand of curiosity push you to ask wonpil, “hey, how did you know?”

“w-well—”

“to be fair, everyone knew, so it only seemed fair,” interjected a deep voice from the sidelines. 

“dowoon?!”

~~~

an: i’ve just realised that this may not work in korean? so... in this world they all magically speak fluent english too yay.

masterlist

#day6 #day6 wonpil #kim wonpil #wonpil day6 #wonpil x reader #wonpil fluff #wonpil x reader fluff #wonpil oneshot #wonpil imagines #wonpil imagines fluff #wonpil oneshot fluff #day6 fluff #day6 x reader #day6 x reader fluff #day6 imagines #day6 imagines fluff #day6 oneshot #day6 oneshot fluff

[casmoments]

Marriage of Convenience ; part 1

Prompt: “Arranged Marriage” -  Certain factions of heaven are on your tail, the consequence of your death a trigger to greater destruction.  In order to protect your life and others, you agree to an old custom that prevents any heavenly agent from harming you.   The basic ritual?  You have to marry an angel.  First part in a series.   Reader Gender: female Word Count: 9800 (sorry! other chapters will be shorter) Warnings: virgin!reader, grace/soul stuff, arranged marriage.  there is an acknowledged attraction between the reader and Cas but i’ll say dub-con because without the marriage, they probably wouldn’t have hooked up.

special warning: there is no blood or disturbing content, but if you’re squicked out by anything happening to the lower arm/wrist region, then note this chapter has a moment when that area is used to access the grace/soul.  

-

This right here. This was the answer to everything.   If enquiring minds ever sought an explanation—how is it that you, Y/N, renowned for an easy heart and easier libido, could possibly live with two hunky hero types and not spend your days conceiving inappropriate scenarios?—then this was the answer.    Dirty laundry.   Because the boys were often swamped with work, a fair enough justification, you had shouldered a fair deal of the bunker chores.   You had consequently seen enough dirty underwear to last a lifetime.   Bumbling and awkward as you might have been upon meeting them, after six months as resident prophet in their admittedly kickass bunker, any menial tension had dissolved.  

Completely.  

You would sooner kiss a gerbil.

Well, you thought frankly, grimacing as you dropped a pair of boxers into the washing machine, there is one lingering possibility…

You supposed there were few mortals who could resist the temptation that was Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord.   He was a collection of contradictory attributes bound in one dreamy, mysterious, husky-voiced  package.   You had barely spoken with him, exchanges limited to polite greetings and vague acknowledgements, but that heated blue stare and handsome form supplied enough fantasies on their own.  

Unfortunately, despite a colourful mind, your experience in the sex and romance department was limited to… well, did airport frisks count?  

With a resigned sigh,  you poured laundry detergent into the appropriate compartment.   Maybe if you didn’t aim your prospects so damn high—angel?  really?—then you would have better luck with the relationship pursuits.   Not that it really mattered now seeing as you couldn’t exactly party hard outside the bunker.    As usual, the only thing fucking you over was your shit luck.  

You were not only a prophet but apparently the prophet.   You were the human source which heaven could utilize to completely eradicate all future prophets.   That meant killing you in some backward ritual, effectively killing countless people down the line as well.   That was a catastrophe even without the  collateral damage that could spring from having no prophets ever, ever again.   Heaven was warring, as per usual, but if you fell into the wrong hands then a lot of people would suffer.

You especially.

You weren’t sure why you were so special, though Castiel had explained it that first night.  Something about being a prophet but also a strong vessel and being born under a certain cosmic alignment or something.   Honestly, your brain had been scattered that night.  Not to mention Castiel was kinda hard to listen to when he was simultaneously marching around with an intense stare, heaving chest, blood streaked face, taut muscles, silver blade—

You cleared your throat and closed the laundry machine.   It was probably a good thing Castiel’s visits were few and far between.   Sparse in your case, at least.   He helped the Winchesters on their hunts but you rarely saw him.   Castiel clearly held no interest in you.   It was probably for the best, however bitter you were.

“Hey, Y/N!”  Dean’s echoing voice startled you.  The boys had left on a case and though you expected them back today, you hadn’t heard them come in.  You placed the laundry basket on the floor and left the room, making for the library.   You were still dressed down, sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair unwashed and knotted in a messy bun, but it was just the Winchesters and you didn’t particularly care.

You regretted those innocent musings immediately.   Sam and Dean were nattering about something but your attention shattered.   The remaining broken pieces fell onto Castiel who, upon your appearance, glanced over.   You froze in place, holding that stare with plain horror.   Castiel was standing between Sam and Dean though he was not invested in their conversation.   But he soon looked away from you as well, an almost angry furrow in his brow as he turned his head.

Rude, you thought, pouting.  You weren’t exactly Miss America at the moment but you hardly deserved to be shunned into oblivion.  

But you conceded your assumption was ridiculous.  Whatever bothered Castiel had nothing to do with you.    The shit was hitting the fan up in heaven, spilling across the earth in consequence, and his mind was no doubt occupied with higher deeds.     The glance he spared you was fleeting and empty, his dark expression leant to a greater purpose.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean suddenly interjected.   You looked at him, staring dumbly.   “Doin’ all right there, Cinderella?”

“What?” you asked, then shook your head to clear your thoughts.   “Yeah, yeah.  Of course.  What’s up?  How’d the hunt go?”

“We weren’t hunting,” Castiel surprised you with an answer.   His brow was still creased, jaw stiff.   He glanced at you before turning aside, taking a few steps nowhere.  

“Oh,” you said, confused.   “I thought—okay.  What did you do that took a week and a half?  Or is this one of those ‘Y/N, don’t ask because you’re not crawling into my bed when you get nightmares again’ things?”   In fairness, you totally only did that once.

“It’s not our beds you should be worrying about,” Dean said, tone jesting but the joke beyond you.  You looked at him strangely while Sam heaved a breath, tossing his brother a dry regard.

“Dean,” he said sharply, then looked at you.   “What he means is… it concerns you.”

“What concerns me?” you asked, not sure if you were scared or annoyed.   You stepped closer to the table which divided you and the boys.   Castiel had wandered a few chairs down and seated himself.   He propped his elbow on the table and rested his temple against his fist, gaze cast aside.   You didn’t trust yourself to look at him for long, something weirdly sexy about the casual arm slung over the back of the chair, so you looked at Sam and Dean.  They appeared to be sharing a wordless discussion before Sam gestured to the table.  

“You should, ah, probably sit down for this,” he said.   With a wary glance, you pulled out a chair and slowly sat.  

“Are you kicking me out?” you asked, though you didn’t think that was the case.   That would be news worth celebrating because it meant the boys had vanquished the threat looming over your head.    You might have received the news poorly, having almost no life to return to after everything and having grown fond of your new friends, but they had no reason to struggle.  

“Not exactly,” Dean said, light-heartedness fracturing beneath a frown.

“Yeah, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want,” Sam said, sitting opposite you.   He looked at you with those soft eyes usually reserved for special cases.   Your tense shoulders slackened and you nodded a bit, following.  

“So what’s going on then?”  you asked.

“Well,” Dean said, “the good news is, we found a way to get heaven off your ass.”  You smiled, legitimately relieved now that they extended an invitation to stay.    

“Well, that’s great,” you said, then considered Dean’s phrasing.   “What’s the bad news?”

“Bad news,” Dean said, sweeping his hand in gesticulation to Castiel.   “You have to hitch a flyboy.”

You paused for a moment, reconciling Dean’s odd idioms with what they entailed.   When you realized exactly what he meant, you paused for another moment and almost forgot to breathe.  

“What?” you eventually burst, mouth suddenly dry, tongue scraping words like sandpaper.   “What… what do you… what…”

“It’s part of some ancient canon,” Sam quickly said, scholastic facts pouring like they could soften the blow.   “Basically… while angels were mostly condemned for fraternizing with humans, there was this exception written into the code of heaven that basically said an angel could take a vessel and, so long as the vessel was empty, that angel could marry a prophet.   Not just any prophet, though—”

“Let me guess,” you grumbled, bare toes idly stabbing the cold floor, “Prophet.  Vessel.   Stars and destiny and stuff.”

“Uh, kinda.  Yeah,” Sam said.  “The rule was clearly designed for something like this.  Heaven knew that if the right prophet came along, they could pose a threat, intentional or not, so they created a loophole to save themselves.”

“Hey, look, we don’t like this anymore than you,” Dean said, stepping up to the table and leaning over.  “That’s why you gotta know that you can back out if you don’t think you can do this.   We can find another way.”

“We’re kinda running low on options here,” Sam said, tentatively.   He looked from Dean to you.   “But Dean’s right.  We won’t force you to do anything.”

“What… what does this marriage even do?” you asked, this torrent of information flooding quickly at your feet.

“It marks you as, you know…”  Sam looked for the word.  “Holy.  No angel, not even anyone working for an angel, can hurt you once you’ve been bound.”

“It’s an everlasting accord,” Castiel said, standing up.   He looked at you with a no-nonsense expression.  “It will protect you for eternity but… it expects reciprocation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“It means once you’re married, you’re married,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly growing uncomfortable with the proposition.  “You can’t just get a quickie divorce and hit up Vegas for round two.”

“No adultery either,” Sam said.  “There’s not necessarily an expectation that you’ll love your husband or anything, but if you intentionally break the vow itself then the entire marriage is annulled.”

“And you’re back to square one,” Dean finished.   You rubbed your temple and then took pause, your stomach knotting indubitably.   You supposed the answer was fairly obvious and still, you really had to ask…

“Who will I be marrying?” you asked.  Dean went to answer but Castiel, without hesitation, spoke.

“I volunteered,” Castiel said, looking at you more tenderly now that some of the awkward tension had subsided.  “Of course.”

“Of course,” you repeated.  You could feel the heat in your cheeks but the boys thankfully refrained from commenting, obviously reading your faint distress and respecting it.  Any other time, they probably would have teased you for it.  They didn’t necessarily know about your crush on the angel but you supposed anyone could infer from your insistent blushes and stammering phrases.  At this particular moment, you couldn’t even conjure a stammer.  It felt like your stomach had flipped upside down—hell, it felt like the world had flipped upside down.   Not five minutes ago you were standing by yourself over a pile of dirty laundry, mourning your sorry excuse for a love life.  Now you were some blushing Victorian maiden being bartered off to a baron to secure your family.

You knew the boys would never make you do anything.  They were the captains of free will and they never went down without a fight.   If this didn’t work, they would probably search for something else.   Would it be to any avail though?  It had already been six months and this was the first thing that could do any good.  And you liked living here but needless to say, you missed the outside world.   Sam and Dean took you out on occasion but they were glued to your side the entire time.   You missed taking walks by yourself and just enjoying the quiet of your activities.

This marriage seemed like an easy out.   Honestly, you weren’t convinced you would otherwise marry anyway.   You wouldn’t exactly be leaving a string of broken hearts in your wake.

And it was, in the end, Castiel.  You had no delusions about the outcome of events.   You knew this was a strictly professional arrangement.   All the same, glancing at him now, your heart palpitated with promise.   You could marry Castiel.   What a strange universe.  There was actually a legitimate reason for you to marry him.   Anxious and fidgety as you were, it would be ridiculous to refuse this.   Perhaps you and Castiel would become better friends and, in the process, you could ensure your own safety, your own freedom, the safety and freedom of generations to come, and, on more superficial terms, you could tell people you were married and your husband was a babe.

The boys watched you puzzle this out.  Feeling a little better, though a faint blush still coloured your cheeks, you smiled.   You were a bit too scared to glance at Castiel, fearing your blush would worsen and nerves return, but you nodded to the Winchesters.

“I’ll do it,” you said.  “This is important and… and yes, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re sure?”  Dean asked.  “Because there’s no turning back.   Once you’re married, that’s it.  You’re stuck with this mook for eternity.”  He jabbed a thumb in Castiel’s direction.

“I understand,” you said, a soft pit aching in your stomach.  You had no delusions about Castiel, true.   You never did.   But in the back of your mind, there was always a romantic yearning for something somewhere.   If you agreed to marry Castiel then that would never happen.  But if you hid in the bunker for the rest of your life anyway, wouldn’t the same fate unfold?  Even if they did find another way to save you, which sounded highly unlikely anyway, how many years would go by?   How would you feel by the end of it?   You had to resign yourself to the simple truth that an epic romance was simply not written in your cards.  You had been dealt your hand and there were no substitutions for human life.   You had to play the game before you.  

“There is one more thing,” Castiel said.  You swallowed a lump in your throat and blinked over, found him staring at you.   “The marriage must be consummated.”

You actually felt the heat laden in your belly.  Consummate was a relatively unsexy word but every last fantasy and daydream suddenly exploded in your head.  You didn’t say anything but your breath caught.  Castiel continued, maybe a bit flustered beneath a serious countenance.

“The marriage is invalid if it’s not physically consummated,” he said.  “It’s between the mortal and divine, so it must be committed in human terms and celestial ones.”   You had no idea what a celestial consummation entailed but god, you could feel it in your toes.   Your blush had returned full force and your gaze locked on Castiel while he spoke.   “Until it’s done, heaven won’t recognize the marriage.   You would, effectively, be swearing yourself to nothing.”   He paused, reading your apprehension and speaking with what reassurance he could muster.   “You don’t need to worry,” he said, “I won’t intrude on your space or bed after that night.”   That fell over you like a cold blanket, shocking you out of your existing surprise.   You blinked rapidly, looking away from him.   “I am sorry, Y/N,” he said, voice low.  “If there was another way—”

“No, no,” you said, voice squeaking.   You cleared your throat, smiled at thin air.   “No, it’s fine, Cas.  Really.  I just… didn’t expect heaven to get so physical.”

“Heaven is a determined congregation,” he said.   You looked his way but did not meet his eye, your gaze falling at chest level.   You followed the buttons of his trenchcoat with fake interest.  “They won’t rest until they’ve achieved what they sought to do.   With a look at your soul, they can decipher whether your marriage has been validated.   It’s a means of proving the union.”

“Proof of purchase, basically,” Dean offered.   You looked at him, having almost forgotten the Winchesters were there.   Sam was looking at you with concern, gentle and kind.   Dean crossed his arms.  You braved face even if your insides had turned to mush all over again.  

“I get it,” you said.  “No worries.  It’s just…”  You pushed your chair out and they all straightened, bracing themselves as if they expected you to swoon or something.   God almighty, you inwardly swore, I really am a Victorian maiden.  Someone was going to be running off for smelling salts at this rate.    “It’s just a lot to take in,” you finished, smiling, backing out of the room.   “I… I’ll still do it, of course.  I just… I just need to… rest, I think…”  You almost tripped, stumbling through the doorway.  The boys leaned forward and you waved your hand.   “Fine!  I’m fine!  I got it.  I’ll, uh, see you all later.”

With that said, you sprinted down the corridor and made for your room.

-

The wedding, if it could even be called that, was scheduled for a Saturday.   You barely slept the night before, nervous when you thought about being declared someone’s wife and when you considered that this time tomorrow, you wouldn’t be alone in your bed.

The big day arrived without any pomp or ceremony.   There were apparently a few rituals to enact but the boys would no doubt take care of it.   You figured your biggest worry was “I do”.    Not that this was a typical, straightforward wedding.   The process was more complicated, long-winded, and there was no literal “I do” or even kiss at the end.

The ceremony apparently had to be conducted by a cherub and Castiel knew a trustworthy cupid.   He would be brought to the bunker to bind you in excessively holy matrimony, your sole spectators Sam and Dean.  The cherub was delivered to the dungeon, Castiel in charge of wrangling him.   They weren’t about to give away the bunker’s location, even if Castiel promised the cupid was trustworthy, but getting married in the open would basically send a beacon to the troops of heaven.   Last chance to capture me, fellas!  No, it was better this way.   Even if it meant your wedding was conducted in a dungeon.  

You hoped that wasn’t a poetic reflection of anything.

The boys made some effort to ease the weirdness.   Sam gave you a dress, not a wedding dress but a formal lace thing, claiming Dean picked it out and Sam wasn’t supposed to say.  The boys wore their FBI suits even though the formality was unnecessary.   Somehow, it did make things easier.  It allowed you to comfortably address the obvious—this was a marriage, technically—while also keeping spirits light.

Sam escorted you to the not-so-lavish quarters.   Dean was standing there in his FBI suit, adjusting Castiel’s tie.  Castiel was in his usual ensemble, eyes downturned.  Dean looked over when you entered the room.   He grinned wolfishly.

“Would you look at that,” Dean said, tugging on Cas’s tie.  “Prophet cleans up nice, hey?”   Castiel’s glance was somewhat dry.  He adjusted his own tie and Dean stepped away.

“Thank you, Dean,” you said, gathering some of the lace in your hands and spreading the skirt.   The dress only fell to your knees but had a slight poof nonetheless.   “My compliments to whoever picked it out,” you teased.   Dean glared at Sam, good-humoured.

“Yeah, I’ll pass that on to the son of a bitch,” Dean said.  Sam rolled his eyes and you smiled between them.   Castiel, who was spending way too much time adjusting that tie of his, still hadn’t met your gaze.   He flipped the fabric a couple more times, shifting the knot.   Then he swallowed and turned, nodding to you.

“Y/N,” he said.   His gaze only briefly appraised you but it sent your heart fluttering anyway.   “You look very nice.”

“Thanks, Cas,” you said.   Not much else could be exchanged because another character ambled out of the shadows, holding a book in his hand.    The excited cupid wasted little time, launching into commencement—and dramatic embraces.

The ceremony began in the morning and did not end until late afternoon.   Though you understood Enochian fluently, an aspect of your prophetic gifts, the language was superfluously embellished and often ancient in its chosen vernacular.   You barely followed along but Castiel knew the way, guiding you.   At a moment, he held your hand, and you thought it was part of the ritual.  Not so.   Your nerves had bested you and he must have sensed it, his thumb running soothing patterns over your knuckles.   You weren’t sure if it helped or made things worse.

It took eternity and a day, but the ceremony did conclude in the afternoon.  With the officiating complete and ceremony ended, you knew very well what came next.

Or, at least, you thought you knew.  

Your marriage could be consummated at any time—and you attempted not to shiver when you thought too deeply—but for some reason you assumed it would follow the sacrament.  Apparently not.  

You were separated from your husband—husband, husband!—as Sam led you to the library, leaving Castiel and Dean to return the cherub from whence he came.   Sam tossed his suit jacket over a chair and loosened his tie, distracting you with light-hearted commentary until the other two returned.

And when they returned, they had pizza.

So it was an unusual wedding and an unusual marriage.  Anyone could admit that.   But as afternoon bled into evening and eventually night, you forgot every oddity and fell into a comfortable peace with your friends.   Sam and Dean broke out the liquor, pizza boxes scattered across the library table, a pie prepared at Dean’s behest.    You didn’t drink much, honestly a little worried to lose your inhibitions.  You weren’t sure if it would help or worsen the situation you would inevitably face.  You decided to keep your faculties clear.  

The evening progressed.  Stories were swapped.   It was nearing midnight when things slowed down.   You glanced at the clock and the radio fizzed out, and you felt your stomach knot and nerves coil, a blush already painting your cheeks as you ground yourself in the moment.  

You chanced to look at Castiel.  He was watching Sam and Dean but glanced over.  This time you did not look away, heart not so much racing as beating loud in your ears.   Castiel returned your stare, a pensive gleam in his eye, then he turned aside to muse privately.   You exhaled and looked down, fidgeted with the hem of your dress.  

“We’ll go to bed now,” Sam said, barely sober, nudging Dean through the doorway.   “You guys, uh…”

“Good night!” a drunken Dean bellowed, stumbling out the library.   Sam just smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Good night.”

And then they were both gone and it was just you and your husband.   Your almost husband.  There was still one more step to legitimize the union.  You tried to quell your nerves and smiled tensely at a quiet Castiel.   A table sat between you, one he slowly approached.   His hand swiped the polished oak before he lifted his gaze, blue eyes burning into yours.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.  By the natural gravel of his voice, that question could sound dirty without knowing its double meaning.  But you did know what he meant.  It suddenly wasn’t so easy to hide your nerves.  Your chest heaved with a shaky breath but you maintained your smile.

“Yeah,” you finally said, your own voice scraping low tones.   You cleared your throat, circling the table.   “Sounds good.”

The walk to your room was quiet, Castiel’s footsteps echoing behind you.

“You should wear shoes,” he said, noting your bare feet. You wondered why his gaze had fallen so low on your body that he would notice.    “There are strange things in this bunker.  You wouldn’t want to contract something by accidental—”

“Look at you,” you interrupted, attempting to joke because it seemed like a safe fall-back.   You reached your bedroom door and paused outside.   “Barely even married and you’re already trying to tell me what to do.”   Castiel could confuse humour on the best of days and your uncertain tone didn’t help matters.   He heard your words for what they were and nodded solemnly.

“I apologize,” he said.  “It wasn’t my intention.  I only meant to suggest—”

“It’s okay, Cas,” you said quickly.  Wow, this was not off to a good start.   “Um, why don’t we just…”  You stopped short, not sure you could finish.  Castiel tipped his head.   You turned away and cranked the doorknob, rushing into the room.   You held the door open and Castiel stepped in, somehow looking so big in the doorway.   You swallowed as he swept past, slowly closing the door as he wandered further in.   The door closed and locked with a gentle click.  

You remained there for a moment, hands on the doorframe, gaze falling nowhere particular, breath levelling.

“Y/N,” Castiel said, and your name was spoken with a sort of sorrow.   You looked over your shoulder, saw him standing in the middle of your room.  His hands were at his sides, his regard gentle if not wary.   “I won’t force myself on you,” he said.  “Please, don’t feel obligated…”  He stepped to the side, his gaze never leaving you.   “You’re safe in the bunker.  We can consummate our marriage when you’re comfortable.”    

You supposed it was easy for him to conflate your nerves with reservation.   You faced him squarely, wrung your hands.

“I am comfortable, Castiel,” you said.  “Don’t worry, I… I am definitely okay with this.”   He didn’t look entirely convinced, gaze focussed like he analyzed each breath you took.   It was then a thought occurred to you, a very reasonable one.  After all, your attraction to Castiel was more than apparent, but he never showed any signs of interest in you.   If there was anyone grappling the strings of basic consent…   “Cas,” you said quickly, absolutely not wanting to hurt him anymore than he did you, “if you don’t feel comfortable then we don’t have to.  I know I’m not—and we’re not—and it’s okay.  Like you said, the bunker is safe and I can wait—”

“Y/N,” he said, and seemed faintly amused now, “sleeping with you would not be difficult or burdensome.”

“Oh.”  Oh.  “Well, I… good.  Good.  That’s good.”

You received a faint smile at that, a barely perceptible nod of his head.   Then he sighed a bit, looking around himself.

“Should we… begin?”  he asked, looking at you.  You were still recovering from the implied compliment.  Tumbling out of your own silly mind, you measured the large gap of space between you and Castiel.   Your blood thundered hotly with promise of that distance shortening.   You nodded wordlessly, head bobbing.   You took another breath and placed your hands on your own waist, glancing at Cas just as his fingers prepared a snap.    

“Whoa—wait,” you said, guessing his objective.  He paused, hand still in the air.   “What are you doing?”

“I was… removing our clothes.” His brow furrowed, confusion evident.  

“I thought so,” you said with a gasp, waving a hand.   “Um, don’t do that.  Not like that.  I  just… let’s go slow, yeah?”   Good thing you caught that one.   Suddenly standing naked across a naked Castiel might have sent you hurtling to the floor.   Hopefully those smelling salts weren’t off the table.  

“I apologize,” Castiel said sincerely, lowering his hand.  “I assumed you would want to finish this quickly.”

“I, um,” you stammered, tearing your gaze from him.   You weren’t sure why it was so hard to admit but you couldn’t force your next words.  Castiel watched you, mildly fretful.   You sucked in a breath and exhaled it just as quickly.   “I’m sorry,” you said.  “I’m just… I’m just kind of nervous.  I’ve never…”   He tipped his head, attempting to find your roving gaze.   You slowly looked at him, his imploring regard.  It eased your nerves but barely, your stomach still wound in knots.  

“Never,” he repeated, vast celestial mind uncovering multiple truths.   He straightened and looked at you dead-on, seeming confident in his supposition.   “Sex with an angel,” he said.   He stepped closer to you but not with intent, more like a sage mentor delivering a lecture.  “I understand it can be daunting.   There was a reason heaven outlawed our relations in the first place, though I confess that most of those laws have proven to be archaic and unreasonable.   But you don’t need to have any fears.   You’re not a normal human… and truth be told I’m hardly a normal angel.   And I can prevent pregnancy, if you fear that as well.”   He just kept going and you couldn’t find an appropriate moment to interject.   “There is only one deviation from human intercourse in our case, consummating our union on the celestial plane, but I will show you what to do.   It’s a very simple matter.”

“Cas,” you said, his words reassuring in all ways but one.   For some reason, you still couldn’t force the v-word past your lips.   Castiel looked at you oddly.   You gestured sort of helplessly around yourself.   “That, uh, that wasn’t what I meant.”

He looked a bit confused, contemplative, eyes squinting.

Then realization dawned on him all at once.  You had never seen his face commit to such open and sudden expression.   His gaze dropped over your body and then settled on your face, his voice once more certain.

“You’re a virgin,” he said.   You nodded.   He stared at you a minute and then frowned, seeming truly distressed with this information.   He turned away and creased his brow.  “I wish you would have told me,” he said, mind clearly somewhere else.   You crossed your arms self-consciously over your chest, a bit surprised at his response.   It was tricky for you to vocalize but you were a human and silly insecurities were inherent in your nature.   But it wasn’t a big deal, in the end, and you had no idea why Castiel was so badly affected by this.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say.  Castiel looked at you again, startled by your words.

“Sorry?” he repeated, stepping towards you once more.  “Why should you apologize?  I’m the one responsible for this.”  

You laughed, a choked sound, at the absurdity of his remark.  

“Uh, Cas, I’m pretty sure you’re not responsible for my virginity,” you said, attempting to keep your voice light despite how you felt.   “The culprit for that one is just, you know, my general face and personality.”  

He looked even more bewildered by this, taking a minute to digest every word.   He was flustered, like he didn’t know where to begin.  He finally spoke and looked you in the eye.  

“I am responsible because I should have given you an opportunity to be with other people,” he said.   “I never even thought to ask.   Now our spiritual vows have been sealed and you’re bound to this, to me.”  He turned away again, growing more irate with himself.   You felt a bit better when you realized what bothered him.  It wasn’t the fact you were a virgin on its own; he simply thought he wronged you by stealing you from your oh-so long line of suitors.  

“Cas, it’s okay,” you said, uncrossing your arms.   You stepped closer to him, the distance between you reduced to three feet.   You reached over and gently touched his arm, fleetingly.   “Trust me, I wasn’t going to be sleeping with anyone else anyway.   Face and personality, remember?”   It was a joke but he looked at you with utmost seriousness.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked.  “You are a beautiful human, Y/N, both in terms of physical appearance and spiritual characteristics.”  

He said it so fervently, so sincerely.  Your eyes must have watered, though you didn’t really notice, because Castiel’s ire crumbled.   He looked crestfallen.

“I’ve upset you,” he said.  You blinked, the strain from your eyes gone as quickly as it came.

“What?” you asked.  “No, you haven’t.   That was a nice thing to say.   I just…”  You stared at one another for a minute, neither daring to move or speak.   He seemed to study your face for a sign of distress or upset or anything.   You, on the other hand, actually felt better now.   The compliments were nice, as was Castiel’s care for your wellbeing, but this moment was good for its honesty.   Until now, you and Castiel tread on eggshells around one another, everything a bit strained, tense, awkward.   That border slowly faded, the space between you smaller.  

You wet your lips, tongue swiping your bottom lip.  His eyes fell to the motion before resettling.   Your stomach was still coiled in warm, nervous knots, but you breathed easier and even managed a genuine smile as you stepped that little bit closer.  

“Maybe,” you said, grinding lace between your thumb and forefinger, “we should just… stop talking… until it’s… until we… you know…”

“If you would prefer that,” he said gruffly, nodding in acquiescence.  “But… we’ll go slowly,” he verified.   You nodded, smiling.  

“Slowly,” you agreed.  “Sounds good.”

There was an awkward moment where no one moved.  You just stared at each other, weighing the moment.   Your hands lifted and lowered in unison before silently agreeing upon a verdict.   You undressed yourselves, Castiel loosening his tie and pulling it over his head.   You wore a slip beneath your dress and, despite the fact you would eventually be naked, you pulled your arms into your clothes and removed the slip without taking off the dress.   It fell to the ground at your feet and you kicked it aside, pushing your arms back out.  

Castiel watched, seemingly charmed with the odd moment.   You barely noticed, blushing too hard and distracted with what came next.   Castiel pulled off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, stepping away to place them on your desk.   While his back was turned, you figured you would quickly remove your dress.  It would give you a second to compose yourself before he looked at you.  

Easier said than done.   The zipper was on your back and you twisted and turned, attempting to grab it.  Sam had zipped you up earlier, a casual affair especially with the slip for modesty.   This problem should have occurred to you then.   Thankfully, Castiel kept his back turned while kicking off his shoes and socks, so you had another minute to figure something out.   You attempted to grab the bottom of the skirt, hoisting it up around your waist.   No good.   You weren’t pulling this thing off without ripping it apart, if you even had that strength.

With an aggravated huff, the skirt fell back into place.  

“Cas,” you said, embarrassed and forlorn.  He turned around, fingers halfway through unbuttoning his shirt.   Trying not to look at the bit of exposed skin, eyes resolutely fixed on his curious face, you smiled weakly.   “Um, I need some help.”

“With what?” he said, approaching.  He stopped right in front of you.

“Can’t reach the back,” you said, turning around quickly.   You curved your hand over your shoulder and pointed down.   “If, uh, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he said, speaking cordially.   You swallowed, wringing your hands as he stepped closer.  You weren’t sure that angels usually breathed but you supposed his vessel would overcome much of his wont right now—his warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck with his proximity.   You fought to stay still, offer no distinct reaction.   His hand landed on the curve of your shoulder, palm against your bicep, his other hand between your shoulder blades.   He dragged the zipper down, a  faint chill goosing your exposed skin.   You supposed it would be okay to shiver now.

You were about to turn around and thank him when both his hands went to the middle of your back.   Before you could think twice, he had unhooked your bra.   You supposed that was your fault.   You told him you couldn’t reach the back so he probably assumed you meant everything, not just the dress.  

“Thank you,” you said, slowly turning around.  A flood of heat rushed below, his stare headier than you anticipated.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and his already rough voice sounded huskier.   He took a step back, looking down at his shirt to undo the buttons.   You were distracted for a moment, watching as he drew the garment off his shoulders and pulled it down his arms.   You always knew Castiel was a sight for a sore eyes but you weren’t braced for all that.   Everything was tingling below your waist, your eyes roaming the strong, beautiful planes of his chest.   He gathered his dress shirt in his hands and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it onto the desk from where he stood.   He looked at you briefly, seemed to notice you hadn’t moved, but he did not comment.  His hands looked a bit shakier, reaching for his belt.

If your silly self was so easily swayed by a bare chest, you probably shouldn’t have lowered your gaze.   He was half-hard already, a very slight tent against the front of his dark trousers.   A short breath escaped your nose, eyes watching calloused fingers against the belt.   You somehow managed to break your own trance, realizing he struggled.   You weren’t sure if he was out of touch with manually undressing or if he was nervous too.  It seemed odd, Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord, being nervous to be with you.    He fumbled with the belt either way, the prong of the buckle jabbing his fingers.

“Here,” you said, not lifting your eyes, stepping closer.   “Let me.”  

It was almost a compulsion.   You slipped your hands past his, his fingers skimming your knuckles as he pulled back.   You unbuckled the belt and parted it, gently pushing the leather through the foremost loops on his pants.   You looked up at him then, his eyes already set on you.   Your hands lingered by his hips, moving only when his own returned.   He pulled the belt off, flattening the leather against his palm.  

“Thank you,” he said, then promptly walked away.   You blinked yourself back into reality.  Castiel returned to the desk to deposit his belt and you turned your back, pulling the dress down until it pooled at your feet.   Blushing already, you picked it up and draped it over a chair, removing your bra and laying it nearby.    You looked at Castiel over your shoulder, saw him watching you from the corner of his eye.   He was folding his pants, standing there in a pair of white boxers.  You both looked away from each other when your gazes met.   You heard his pants hit the desk and then the ruffle of more material.

Oh god, you thought, hands frozen on your hips.   There was a naked Castiel standing somewhere behind you.   You weren’t sure you could breathe right.

“Y/N?” Castiel said.  By the sound of his voice, he was near the foot of the bed.  “Are you all right?  Are you having second thoughts?”

“Um, no, fine,” you said, shaking your head.  That reminded you about your hair.   You wasted a moment, your back still turned, taking apart your updo.   Lock after lock tumbled free, the final elastic snapping in your nervous haste.   Only one thing left to do.  You took the plunge, breathed in deeply, breathed out again.   Then you pushed your underwear down your thighs, past your knees, and kicked them off.    You turned around and faced him before you could second guess yourself.

You didn’t actually see his initial reaction, your own reaction at the forefront.   You looked him over, managing to feel both aroused and annoyed because ugh he was built like a freaking Adonis.   You almost felt like covering your body but decided against it, mostly because you didn’t think you could move at the moment.   It was Castiel’s voice that summoned you, and you realized you had been staring right at his half-hard cock.   If you thought you were blushing before, you definitely were now.

“We should perhaps…” he said, looking at the bed.   Breathing unevenly, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you squeaked.   “Right.  Of course.”

You shuffled over to the bed, debating how to position yourself.   Castiel stood waiting, looking between you and the bed like he wasn’t sure which was more appropriate.   You eventually sat down, shoulders curving inward, your arms awkwardly crossing your chest now that you could think straight.   You laid back,  eyes directed to the ceiling, head slowly placed on your pillow.   You kept your knees bent, your hands on your chest, your breath laboured.  Your heart was positively hammering.

“Human sexuality can be awkward,” Castiel said, your gaze moving to him.  He looked at you kindly.  “But I‘ve come to understand it is not necessary.   Do you trust me?”

Your heart melted, easing the thunderous rhythm.   Of course you trusted Castiel—Castiel who saved you from death the very first time you met him, who delivered you safely to a new life, who might have been distant but never unkind, and who sought to be a gentleman when he could have bypassed your nerves and simply settled the affair.   You smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, Cas,” you said.  “I do.”

“Then turn over.”

All right – so you hadn’t been expecting that.    You watched him for a moment, confused.   He waited with perfect patience.   You eventually complied, supposing there was no reason to refuse, and you rolled onto your stomach, stretching your legs out.   His weight sunk onto the mattress beside you, his bare hip against yours.   You folded your hands beneath your chin and stared at the headboard, your muscles tensing all over again.

“I’m going to touch you,” he said.  That voice really was too much.   You nodded your consent, expecting his hands to land anywhere but where they did.   Fingers curled over your shoulders, palms pressing your stiff muscles, gently kneading the stress from your body.   You bit your lower lip, eyes fluttering closed.   His hands were warm, palms a bit rough, grip strong.   His thumbs swept down your shoulder blades, pressing in, then he followed the curve of your spine.  You fell soft and pliant beneath his ministrations, remaining so even when he moved.  The warmth beside you vacated and then hands were on your thighs, parting them.   “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”  

You were only capable of a content “nghhh” noise, your head nodding once.  Then he was settled between your legs and his hands were on your waist, continuing to massage the restless nerves.  You squirmed when his hands moved too low at your sides, tickling you.   He paused at your sudden reaction.  

“Sorry,” you giggled.  “Bit ticklish.”  

Cheeky bastard purposefully swiped his fingers there, earning more giggles.  

“Cas!” you exclaimed, looking at him over your shoulder.   He was smiling.

“Apologies,” he said.  “I like your laughter.”  

This guy was gonna be the death of you.

“I guess I forgive you,” you teased, facing forward again.   You wiggled your hips, settling in again, amazed with how comfortable you felt considering your vulnerable position.  

His hands left your sides and went to your lower back, massaging deftly until his thumbs swiped just above your rear.   You knew what view you afforded him this entire time, but you suddenly felt a little more naked knowing where his gaze had fallen.   But your nerves gave way to anticipation as you waited to see—or feel—what he would do.   He did not disappoint, drawing his hands a little lower to hold your hips, thumbs tracing small circles over your skin.   He waited for a protestation but met nothing, one hand sliding over the curve of your rear.  You shoved your mouth against a pillow, not wanting to make a noise for such a simple action.

“You are very beautiful,” Castiel suddenly said, and all hope of composure went out the window.   You swallowed, lifting your head to glance back again.   He was on his knees, knelt between your legs, his hands on you and his gaze very low on your body.   His hand moved back up, thumb skimming the soft skin before tentatively settling at the crease of your ass.  He pressed down gently, drawing his thumb down the cleft.   Your hips lifted instinctively, your bare chest rubbing against the bedclothes, heat pooling below at the gradual build of sensation.   You swore you saw the moment his pupils dilated, watching your hips roll for him, hearing your breather stutter.   “I’m a fortunate husband,” he said, causing your stomach knot deliciously.  “Even if only for a night.”

Castiel, the great seducer.  Who would have thought.  

“Cas,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to your shoulder.   You breathed unevenly.   “I—I—”   You knew all the graphic mechanics of sex, had sought your own pleasure from time to time.  You were a virgin, not a saint.   All the same, you found it hard to ask for what you wanted, not sure of the words.    But he understood your wanting phrases, hand sliding beneath you.   Then he was right where you needed.  Careful fingers parted your damp folds, middle finger finding your clit fast.  You allowed yourself a verbal reaction, a small mewl into the skin of your shoulder.   You turned your face down, forehead against a pillow while he rubbed two fingers back and forth.  

“This should make it easier,” Castiel said, words barely registering.   You rested your cheek against the pillow and closed your eyes, biting your lower lip when he eased a finger inside you.   “Is this… all right?”   He sounded legitimately unsure, drawing back his finger then inching it forward.   Your back had curved, ass lifted a bit obscenely to grant him space.   You just nodded, gripping the pillow beneath your head.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “good.”

He added a second finger,  the most you had ever pressed into yourself.  But his fingers were thicker than yours, textured differently, and there was a faint stretch as he carefully worked them in and out.  It felt incredible, eased by how wet you already were.   He curled his fingers slightly, causing you to moan and shudder faintly.  You ground yourself onto his hand, moaning again as his fingers stretched deeper.   He made a sound behind you, his fingers moving a bit faster, then scissoring slightly.  His movements were hesitant but growing surer.   He obviously understood what he had to do even if the effectiveness was an uncertainty.   You most definitely proved he was correct.

“I am privileged to be the one to see you like this,” he said, voice lower, breath running ragged.  You moaned again, canting your hips back.   He pulled his fingers down and carefully added a third, easing them back in.   Your grip on the pillow tightened, your head minutely turned, a breathy sound leaving your mouth before you bit your bottom lip.   His free hand reached for your face, suddenly and gently touching your lip.   You stopped biting it, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.  Your gaze could not hold, eyes closing the further his fingers went inside you.   He dragged his free hand down your shoulder, over your back, down your spine, settling on your ass and gently rubbing the flesh.    “Your body…” he said, sounding a little amazed, hand on your hip while the other worked a bit faster, harder, “feels…  right.  Good for this.”   He paused his action, leaving you panting, keen.  “It should be loved.  Often.”   You groaned, writhing until he pinned your hip down and slowly removed his fingers.   “On your back,” he said, wet fingers against your thigh, his other hand drawing your hair out of your face, smoothing it down.   “When you’re ready.”  

Oh god – oh god – this was it –

Arms shaky, you managed to push yourself up and turn over.  Your nipples had hardened, every nerve sensitive but no longer anxious.  Castiel stepped off the bed so you could manoeuvre yourself.  You flopped onto your back, hands at your sides, chest heaving and your sex aching for attention.   Castiel placed himself at your feet, fisting his cock and running lazy strokes back and forth.   He was as hard as you were wet, a bead of precum at the tip of his cock which he swiped, expression flittering with pleasure, drawing his hand back down his length.   Your legs were already slightly parted but you spread them further, urging him to move closer.    He did, hands falling on the outside of your thighs.  One gripped tight, lifting your hips, while the other reached up and snagged an unused pillow.   You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, placing them on your stomach, then at your sides, then tucking one beside your head.

“Are you comfortable?” Castiel asked, securing the pillow beneath your hips.   You could hardly mind such matters with his cock brushing the inside of your thigh, your need for him launching you past lingering shyness.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding vehemently, “definitely.”

“Tell me if I…”  He frowned, clearly imaging the prospect of hurting you.   “My grace should make it easier.”   He placed a hand on either thigh, holding you open.  You shivered, fisting a hand in your own hair, the other in the bedsheets, while looking at him.   He looked down at where he held you, his chest visibly rising and falling with breath now.   His body had almost completely overcome him but you could see him fighting to restrain himself.   Then his fingers were at your sex again, a hand on his cock, and then the head was nudging at your entrance and your breath caught.   He pressed forward, gentle as he could without prolonging the moment to pain.   Your held breath collapsed and you started breathing hard, knuckles whitening where they clutched the bedsheet.   Castiel looked at you, cupped your jaw and caressed the side of your face.   Your eyes closed, leaning into his touch as he moved inside you, inch by solid inch.   Your knees bent at his hips, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, breath escaping through your nose.   You could feel the faint stretch and burn, but it was not as painful as you thought it might have been.   Whether that was your body alone or Castiel’s grace, somehow healing whatever damage caused, you were not sure.   All you knew was that by the time your bodies touched, Castiel buried completely inside you, it felt right.  

“Ah, Cas—” you wheezed, hands grabbing his shoulders.   He curled one hand into your hair, holding tight, his expression heated and blissful at once.

“You feel—” he began, his other hand below your thigh, drawing it against his hip.  You moaned, head tipping back, his grip on your hair tightening.   He seemed to think better of whatever he meant to say, face falling to the juncture between your shoulder and neck, warm breath swiping your skin.   “This constitutes as consummation,” he rasped, clearly fighting very hard to hold still.   His lips moved against your skin as he spoke, your nails lightly scratching his shoulders.   He might have been able to hold still but you were aching for something, feeling whole and full and needy for more.   “We can… stop here.  If you prefer,” he finished.  

In a bold move you would never regret, you hooked your other leg around him.

“I didn’t take off all my clothes for that,” you teased, feeling him laugh lightly against your skin.   He lifted his head, looked down at you, shifting his hips slightly.   The marginal movement caused you to hold him tighter, lips parting in a soundless reaction.  

“Then it’s my responsibility to make your sacrifices meaningful,” he said, and then his hips drew back slightly before pushing forward again.   You groaned, grappling at him like he was an anchor to your boat in a storm.   His fingers wrapped in your hair, pressing into your scalp, his face staring down into yours as he moved inside you, a gradual, slow rhythm.   Your breathing fell into measure with him, your fingers pressing hard enough into his shoulders to bruise.

“The marriage is a good thing,” you found some words to say, and if Castiel wasn’t currently rocking you into a tempest of heat, you might have been embarrassed at your own confession.    “After tonight, I don’t think I could have anyone else inside me.”   His moan turned into something of a growl, hips beginning to thrust with a little more verve, mouth dropping to your shoulder.    You tightened your legs around him, your next sound louder than necessary, falling into more delirious phrases.   “You feel so good there,” you gasped, throwing your head back.  “Better than anything or anyone.  All… all a wife could ask for…”

He sucked a kiss on your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin and tongue dabbing the spot.  It was probably the weirdest and most mild kink to have, but he was clearly enraptured with the marital titles.

“A husband should care for his wife,” he rumbled, shifting so you balanced better on the pillow and he could drive further into you.   You gasped, raking your nails down his back.  “Especially when she takes him so well.”  

“Oh, Cas—”

“I need to see you now,” he said, kissing below your ear and then lifting his face over yours.   “Y/N, give me your hand.”   One of his hands was wrapped around your hip but he held the other up, near your head.    Your hands were still gripping his shoulders, not wanting to let go as he rode you with such unrelenting passion.   But you did as he asked, crashing your hand into his.   He clutched it, kissing your palm before drawing it close.   He slowed inside you, breathing hard, eyes on your wrist.   “I must expose the brink of your prophetic elements,” he said, like that meant anything to you.   You rolled your hips beneath him, causing his eyes to flutter closed for a moment.   He pressed down on top of you, fingers clamping around your wrist.   “Please,” he said.  “Once this is consummated according to heaven’s second will, I promise,” he kissed your wrist, teeth gentle against the soft skin, “I promise,” he repeated, eyes dark, “I will fuck you into the bed you lay on.”

“Cas,” you breathed, “since when do you say things like that?”  It was meant to be a thought more than legitimate question but he just smiled, the sort of smile you only saw in moments of grave consequence and confrontation, intense and steadfast.

“I’ve been on earth some time,” he said.  “And inside you long enough to know what you want.”

“Well, fuck,” you smiled gently, “get on with it then.”  

He held your wrist in his hand, fingernails gentle against the skin.   He drew them a few inches down to the middle of your arm, then held steady.   He looked at you with more seriousness.

“This is likely to hurt,” he said.  “Are you prepared?”  

You nodded, braced.   You weren’t sure what to expect when his nails suddenly punctured your lower arm.   Bewildered, you watched as the broken skin did not emit blood but light.   Golden and warm and simmering hot like burn marks where he scratched.   You stared down, mouth agape.   Then Castiel was lifting your arm to his face and you swore your heart leapt into your throat, pain momentarily forgotten as he opened his mouth and gently lowered his lips to the bleeding light.  It was a soothing sensation, mouth soft and damp against the searing heat of bright gold, lips deftly pressing around the skin.  You shuddered, a full tremor shaking your spine when his tongue stroked the skin.   Every sweet spot seemed to sing at once, his mouth against some intimate, noncorporeal aspect of your humanity.    Then he returned your arm, lacing your fingers with his.

“You must do the same,” he said.  You had no idea how, not too sure what he had done.   You went to voice this concern but he shook his head, gently rocking his hips into yours.  Your worries tumbled from mind.   “It will work,” he said.  “I trust you as well, Y/N.”  

Breathless, you unlaced your fingers and lowered them to his arm, resting against the skin before dragging your nails as he had done.   The ritual did something because you thought nothing substantial to enact it.   All the same,  his light bled in a bluish colour, blaring through the cracked skin of the vessel.  

“It must be inside you,” he said, eyes glowing a brighter blue than normal.  “It binds your soul to me.”

“Forever,” you whispered, bringing his arm to your mouth.

“Yes,” he said, watching with those inhumanly blue eyes.   “Eternity.”  As he had done, you closed your mouth over the light.  You felt nothing at first, just his skin beneath your lips, so you followed his example and swiped your tongue.   A warm sensation immediately flooded you, seeming to run along every vein, muscle, bone, and sinew.  Castiel made a low noise, a barely stifled grunt.  Then he pulled his arm back and grabbed your hand, pressing your arms together so gold and blue blistered into a hot white together.   You cried out, immense amounts of pleasure flooding every last pore and nerve, almost too much to bear.  It faded and when you looked into his face, for a moment you thought you saw many faces—beautiful and bright and warm and gazing at you from a hundred vantages.   Blinking and breathing, you fell back into the human moment, your arms healed and Castiel panting.

Then he was moving inside you again, making good on his promise to fuck you into the bed.   Castiel moved onto his knees and grabbed your hips, lifting you right up against him as he thrust down.   The pillow helped somewhat though your back still curved.  Honestly, that celestial action had felt similar to an orgasm and it slightly wore at you, even while your body begged for more.   You couldn’t believe you had ever worried about this moment.   Now you were only worried it would never happen again.  

But that thought fell from mind as Castiel’s expression slowly changed, features tight, his hips snapping erratically.  You clenched around him, watched that beautiful expression fall apart as he slumped forward, thrusting a few more times as he came inside you.    

After it ended, both of you lay there for a moment, Castiel softening inside you, your gaze blurry, breath hard.   The celestial interlude had clearly affected you both.   You never thought you could feel so fucked out without even technically coming (at least the human way).   But you were exhausted, more tired by the second.   Castiel regained his strength first, though perhaps only marginally, lifting himself off of you and moving aside.    You hummed contently, pressing yourself into your bed as he rearranged the pillows and tossed aside the one beneath you.   He sat behind you, leaning against the headboard, and you rolled over and peered up.  

“Are you leaving?” you asked.   He lay down, his arm circling your shoulders and drawing you against him.   You rested your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Not if you wish for me to stay,” he said.

“I do,” you replied, yawning thereafter.   Sleepily, you nodded again.   “I do.”

He smiled against the top of your head, kissing your crown.   His hand smoothed down your hair and settled on your shoulder, holding you close.  

“I do too,” he said.  

part 2

castiel x reader masterpost

#castiel x reader #casreader #castiel imagine #castiel x y/n

[darkestwolfx]

Impact - Re-Review #35

“This is going to be a close one.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Hello everyone! So I’d just like to say a massive massive thank you for all the recent comments and reblogs on the Re-Review Series. Being busy with work this week I haven’t had the time I like to reply to everyone, but be aware that I have read every single response and if I haven’t replied to you, it’s not meant unkindly! I’m incredibly grateful for all your support with these, and glad to know you’re enjoying them - it motivates me to continue writing them.

Now, before we dive in with today’s installment - I can’t believe we’re on number 35 already! - I’d like to give a little note on Fanfiction works (which I know have been lacking from me lately!).

So tomorrow there will definitely be one piece to upload, I’m hoping it could extend to three, maybe four, but I’m working on the numbers I can guarantee I can deliver - which is an irrelief2020 prompt that I have loved from the moment I saw it and been desperate to write - so I’m hoping it will be well received! Hopefully I can bring you more works too, but if not, bear with me (like you all are, and I massively appreciate it)! If I can take any good screenshots from my chat with Australia (and the Red Pandas) [which by the time this goes up will only be hours away and I will have been awake from about 3AM UK time) I will throw them up for you all to see as a reward.

Anyhow, back to the Re-Review Series;

It’s EOS! It’s actually EOS, and she’s in the opening shot and we get to see her travelling around Thunderbird Five! I love it so so much. Look at those little red dots of... is that jealousy there, EOS?

“Lucky shot!”

“That wasn’t luck; that was skill.”

“Yes, I’ve studied it in college. It’s supposed to miss Earth by millions of miles.”

“However, it has apparently changed trajectory. And the probably of a collision with Earth is now one hundred percent.”

“What could possibly knock a comment that far off course?”

You’re about to be very sorry that you asked that, I’m afraid, John.

“We have a situation.”

“Uh... you always say that.”

Scott swiping Alan’s feet out of the way is absolutely perfect brotherly interaction once again.

“Something The Mechanic could have done?”

“Good guess, but no.”

“Langstrum FIschler.”

Uh oh... Scott is mad. Scott is very mad. The face said it all.

“Nobody said gear up’s were fair, Virgil.”

So, Alan is on form (as usual) in this episode, and we get to see Virgil’s first trip in Thunderbird Three! This makes sense as we were shown Virgil piloting Three  up to Five in TOS ‘Ricochet’.

“Any luck tracking down Fischler?”

“Not yet. That guy changes addresses more than I change socks.”

Um... I don’t know which part of that sentence to be more worried about...

“Hello, this is Langstrum Fischler, inventor and visionary!”

“And this is International Rescue.”

“Ah... Yes... so it is.”

You know what, I’ve been awake for too long now and am a little too tired to sit here and write the essay I would love to write on Fischler and his idiocy and made up names and processes. But I will have to write that another time when I am more able to write something which isn’t a load of prattle. So for now, let me just express my heartfelt feelings that said man is a liability. The epitome of liability even.

“John’s right. We do have a situation.”

As I have said before Alan; we wouldn’t have a show if you didn’t.

“What are our options?”

“We could try to steer the comet away from Earth.”

“Because we’ve seen how well that’s worked for Fischler.”

“Ah, yes, point taken.”

New catch phrase, maybe? FAB and RAD are totally outdated.

“I say we blast it to bits!”

Of course you do, Virgil, seems to be an area of expertise of yours, after all: demolition.

“I’ve loaded up enough demolition charges to do the job.”

“Wait, you put explosives on my ship?”

This is another of those traditional Alan lines that only Alan can ever really get away with saying.

“Alan, you fly a rocket. It’s already an explosive.”

“Point taken.”

I still adore this scene.

“This is Thunderbird Three. That was a rough ride.”

“But thanks to Alan, we’re ok.”

“Which is more than Fischler’s gonna’ be when I’m done with him.”

Yeah... it’s probably a good thing that Scott can only reach Fischler by holographics... the man would have a broken nose else.

“Better you two stay on task and blow up the comet.”

Not everyday we hear that from International Rescue!

“And Fischler’s rocket.”

“Especially Fischler’s rocket!”

Yes, we get it Scott. We get it.

“Meanwhile, I’ll break the news to Global One.”

Which of course happens to be where Ridley is based.

“Ridley, you may want to sit down.”

“Not so easy in zero gravity.”

Does she not know by now that John really struggles with humour and works in a high pressure environment where if he’s calling you, it’s probably because you’re in life-threatening danger.

“Ok, you have my attention.”

“Good, because all of you on Global One are in serious danger.”

“Only the last shuttle was short one seat.”

So, I highly doubt any space based organisation would miss-run a potentially life threatening calculation like that for one.

“Besides I thought you could use a hand with the towing operation.”

“What towing operation?”

“John, I’ve did the calculations. My maneuvering jets aren’t powerful enough to push Global One out of the way in time. So I’m counting on you to save the space station.” 

Secondly, that was the whole point of why John told you to leave Global One - there was no plan to rescue something which could be rebuilt. (Yes, I am aware here that the boys often try to rescue their own ships, but emotional attachment is the reason for those calls - I’m well aware Ridley’s call could be put down to the same reasons, but it’s a call that annoys me. One I don’t think a Captain should have made).

“Ridley, I’m not a tow boat Captain. I rescue people.”

“Ok, I’m people. Rescue me.”

So, thirdly, (and I’m aware I’m about to say some things that might not be well received, but), who does she think she is? I thought the character of Ridley was going to be a good addition to the show, but in this episode, I kinda changed my mind on that a bit. John is the sort of person who - whilst capable of remaining incredibly calm under pressure - does have a massive heart. I mean, look how he took in EOS after she nearly killed him (and potentially Scott, Brains and Alan) and gave her a second chance. Ridley knows he would rescue anyone because that is his job. Emotional blackmail doesn’t sit well with me - and whilst many might not see her actions in that way - that’s how they always come across to me. This entire conversation makes out very clearly that she stayed because she wanted IR to save Global One, but knew there was no chance of that occurring if it was just the ship in the comet’s way. So she stays, and then trips every switch that John has - because he (like most of the Tracy family in the odd world of 2060) has a conscience - and makes herself need rescuing when it could have been avoided. Maybe I see it more this way because I’ve always had a soft spot for John - up in space, all on his own - but even if this isn’t blackmail, it’s manipulative. And even if it wasn’t intended that way, it definitely works that way. With Alan and Virgil on the comet, the only other option is for John to act and - like Scott says - put himself in danger, all for one person who didn’t listen to him in the first place, someone who you would have expected should have enough knowledge (and apparent care) to listen to him. It just annoys me that she acted that way.

Right, potential discussion-opening opinion out there, but I felt it needed saying (although hopefully I’ve written that argument well and not done any tired prattle). Now to move on.

“John, what are you doing?”

“Trying to save Captain O’Bannon’s life.”

“Oh. Well then, carry on, Using Thunderbird Five?

“That’s the general idea.”

“John, come on! If things don’t go your way, we could lose Global One, Thunderbird Five and you!”

“Love to hear about a better plan.”

Unfortunately I have to now return to my above essay. You see my point?

“There may not be time to pull Global One clear of the comet. I’ll rescue you first, then we can try.”

“No! It’s like we discussed. Save me, save my station. Package deal.”

“Ridley, be reasonable.”

Yes, be reasonable, and don’t put people (i.e. John) needlessly in danger.

“John, this is my command and I am not about to abandon it. Would you give up Thunderbird Five if the boot was on the other foot?”

Already discussed this as well, so won’t repeat myself too much, but really, manipulative is the only word which struck me for all of this. There was (other than for the sake of expanding the episode) no reason for Ridley to put John in this position.

“Score one to you, Captain.”

See? Forgiving John (or maybe blind John) all over again. And wait for it;

“Just like climbing  set of monkey bars.”

“If the monkey bars are twenty-two thousand miles high.”

“John.. don’t help.”

Okay, really now, make your mind up because you cannot have everything, and I definitely believe that you cannot treat someone who is risking their life for you (job or not) - and who you might have considered a friend - like that. Seriously, she irks me in this episode, a lot (if you hadn’t already guessed). But yeah, I’ve seen the real life effects of emotional manipulation like that, and I personally believe Ridley was really out of order, and even after she became trapped, and John risked coming out to rescue her there still wasn’t any apology.

I’m with EOS on this one, not jealous maybe, but angry. She stands to lose a lot as well if she loses John and/or Thunderbird Five, remember.

“Did I see Thunderbird Three sticking out of that comet?”

Yes, yes you did.

“This is us leaving... Except the grappling arms won’t retract!”

“What?”

“I’m not thrilled about it myself!”

I told you Alan was on form, did I not? He did really well to get them out of that situation then. He really is a skilled pilot.

“They did it!”

“I never doubted them for a moment.”

Of course not, Brains. We’ll just never speak of it, shall we?

So, apart from the fact this episode was in space (key point that one) and was called ‘Impact’, it still shared many similar elements with the earth-based TOS episode ‘Edge of Impact’, alongside the soon to come ‘Weather or Not’ TAG episode. Combined, ‘Impact’ and ‘Weather or Not’ sum up many elements featured in ‘Edge of Impact’ quite well - the high tower, the endangered lives, the near-misses, the potential loss of life, entrapment, the technological failure... anything I’ve missed?

Oh, and I really love the above poster.

#thunderbirds are go #John Tracy #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Impact #TAG #Re-Review series #Darkestwolfx #Edge of Impact #Thunderbird Three #Thunderbird Five #Captain Ridley O'Bannon #Good Friday #TOS #ITV #CITV #EOS #Langstrom Fischler #Comet #Explosives #Demolition charges

[lailaliquorice]

the world has no right to my heart

Oooh boy here’s some angst. And some long angst, coming in at just over 4k words. 

This one was the brainchild of @qualquercoisa945, because I said to come up with a prompt for this lyric and maria suggest jane figuring out that henry never really loved her and that she was abused too. so this isn’t entirely just me coming up with ideas to hurt you all!! but this was a weighty prompt that I hope I’ve done justice because coming to terms with something like this is very difficult, I can testify to that myself, so I wanted to write this well.

tw for mentions of emotional abuse, and semi-graphic blood

It was hard for Jane not to feel like the odd one out amongst the rest of the queens with her first solo line declaring her ‘only one he truly loved’.

She knew that Anna sometimes struggled with feeling unworthy of her place in the lineup due to being the true one to survive and was already ready to convince her that she’d suffered at his hands too, but could never quite apply that thought to herself. Jane had been the lucky one to avoid it; maybe she wouldn’t have been so lucky if she’d had a daughter but she hadn’t, Edward had put her in his good graces and he’d loved her for that, so she’d been treated right. She’d kept herself quiet, she’d done everything he asked, she’d given him a son. So she’d been treated right.

But for a reason she couldn’t figure out, no one else seemed to be able to accept that.

The first person who Jane noticed routinely keeping an eye on her was Anne. Which wasn’t what she expected seeing as Anne had a reputation of being so careless. Hindsight would make Jane realise that of course it was Anne to notice first, since she had taken the brunt of his temper so often and paid for it with her life, but in the moment she just thought it a little odd how Anne watched her frowning after she startled at a door slamming upstairs.

“You alright?” she asked, no hint of a joke in her question.

Jane nodded, trying to ignore the way her heart was hammering at the sound. “I’m fine. It just make me jump, nothing more than that,” she said with a reassuring smile, holding Anne’s gaze until she nodded before heading over to the kitchen cupboard to see what she could make for lunch. They’d done the weekly food shop earlier so nothing had been opened yet, holding out a packet of crackers and asking Anne “Can I open these?”

The concerned look that had only just left Anne’s face returned in full force, making Jane wonder immediately if she’d done something wrong by asking in the first place. But then Anne shrugged and replied “Course you can, all the stuff in here is yours as much as the next person. You don’t have to ask.”

“Oh. I just thought I should ask, that’s all.”

She quickly busied herself with making her lunch, keeping her gaze low so that she didn’t have to acknowledge the worried eyes she could feel following her the entire time.

It continued on with little things like that. Cathy gently rebuking Jane for apologising over a mishap at the theatre that wasn’t her fault only for her to just say sorry again, Anna jumping a foot into the air when Jane’s silent footsteps meant she caught her off guard for the hundredth time, Aragon telling her over and over again that she didn’t need to ask to sit down when she came into the other dressing room. How she would always follow everyone else’s suggestions for everything and back down fast whenever she was asked what she wanted to do. Little things here and there, nothing frequent or linked enough that Jane ever really connected the dots but enough that she noticed them as singular events.

But one singular event that forced her to connect those dots at last started out with an argument that Jane wasn’t even involved with. While Anne and Aragon’s fights were nowhere near as common as they had been during the start of their time together they still happened every now and then – never serious and never lasting long, but still as loud as ever.

Normally Jane would focus more on making sure Kat was ok during those arguments since they could sometimes make her upset, the two of them hiding in one of their bedrooms or sometimes Cathy’s study until amends had been made. Today, however, Kat was actually out of the house when it happened. So Jane was on her own.

As the sounds of shouting floated in from where the two of them had set up their theoretical battleground in the kitchen, Jane tried to focus on the embroidery she was attempting to do. Cathy had already shut the living room door and Anna was playing music to try and mute the fighting a little but she could still hear every word, even her own thoughts inaudible as they were all she could focus on.

Anne’s particularly loud shriek made Jane jump and accidentally jab the needle into her finger instead, letting out an involuntary squeak. She set her material down on her lap as she sucked on where it was bleeding slightly, nervousness rising in her chest as the stinging pain added to the unpleasant sensations in her brain and she was no longer keeping herself distracted.

“Catch yourself there?” came Anna’s wry remark, and Jane just gave a half-hearted laugh in the hope that neither she or Cathy noticed anything out of the ordinary with her.

There was no such luck though, since before she could pick up the embroidery again her hand was grabbed by Cathy from where she was sat next to her. “What’s the matter?” Cathy asked, a concerned frown on her face.

Jane shrugged. “N-nothing, I’m fine,” she lied, almost wincing as how she stumbled over two simple words. She was sure that Cathy would be able to feel the tremble in her clammy hand but she was still desperate to keep quiet the anxiety making her heart hammer and head spin.

Cathy looked entirely unconvinced but didn’t press for more information, letting Jane continue with her work as she picked her book up. The kitchen had fallen quiet by then, and Jane felt her shoulders seize up with tension at the sound of footsteps approaching the living room door. She had no idea why but the only coherent thought in her mind was to run, to hide from whatever retribution was coming.

But then the door swung open to reveal Anne and Aragon together and actually smiling at each other.

“What in God’s name was that all about?” Anna asked the question on Jane’s mind, while she could only sit and watch wide-eyed like a cornered deer.

Anne groaned, giving Aragon a knowing look who returned it with a slightly exasperated smile. “You know that journalist who interviewed us about our overlapping years a little while back?” Anne asked, pausing long enough for Jane to just about nod before she continued. “Well he emailed us the sample article today, and it was absolute bollocks. Turned us against each other completely when we’d been aiming for an article on how Henry played us both.”

“So we had a… marginally uncivilised phone call with him,” Aragon added, a satisfied smirk on her face as she turned to look at Anne again.

Cathy and Anna both laughed, but Jane was still left feeling too unsettled to share in their amusement. “So you’re not fighting each other?” she clarified quietly, too quietly.

Scrunching her face in disapproval as she shook her head, Anne said “Nah, not this time. All’s good.”

“Good,” Jane repeated.

Anne hummed in agreement, though there was something slightly off in her demeanour as she watched Jane through concerned eyes. “Yeah, we’re good. Are you though?” she asked.

Jane just blinked in surprise as Anne moved round to squat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “I’m fine, really,” she said quietly.

“You sure? Because it looked like the shouting’s made you kinda nervous,” Anne pointed out in that same gentle voice she always used when she pointed out oddities in Jane’s behaviour.

She shifted nervously beneath Anne’s kind eyes, still not wanting to admit it but worried that she would be called out for denying Anne’s suggestion. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath as she felt herself being acutely watched from all angles.

Aragon’s voice from across the room saved her from her miserable purgatory. “Give her some space, Anne,” she said, prompting Anne to turn her gaze away from Jane’s face and Jane to practically sag in relief when she was no longer the centre of attention. “Nevermind all that now, we’ve given that man a piece of our mind and I should hope he goes what’s good for him now. For the time being, ladies, we should really be getting ready to go.”

The show gave Jane a great mask to hide behind for the rest of the evening; it was easy to pretend she was no less than ok when she was wearing her armour of sequins and had her smile painted on in dusky rose lipstick. But she could hear her own voice shaking as she recited the end of her monologue and began her song, performing on autopilot as certain phrases refused to leave her head after they left her lips.

“I stood firm, no matter his flaws or tempers. No matter my fears or doubts I stayed there by his side. And that’s not because I was scared…”

Or was it?

Tears streamed down her face by the end of her solo, barely choking out her final line before Anne came to rescue her from standing alone in that spotlight. But when Anne grabbed her hand during the pre-Haus of Holbein costume change and fixed her with a questioning glance, she could only rub away the dampness on her cheeks and shake her head while hoping she would be able to keep herself together for the rest of the show.

The second they were back home Jane was practically running straight up to her bedroom, ignoring even Kat’s worried voices as she shut her door and just breathed for the first time that evening. Normally she would find something to occupy herself as she wound down for a couple of hours after getting home, but she felt so worn down in that moment that it was a struggle to just take her makeup off and get changed before she fell asleep. She vaguely registered someone who she thought was possibly Aragon crack open her door and check on her as she was falling asleep fast, just about mustering the energy to tell her she’d be fine by the morning before wakefulness slipped away.

But in her haste to get the wearisome day over and done with, she gave no thought to the prospect that it wasn’t over at all.

She recognised the place she opened her eyes in far too quickly, and purely by the floor she was looking at. She was on her knees at the foot of a throne; his throne, of course. At his feet where he had made sure she never moved from.

“Please, sire,” she asked without intending to, her lips moving of their own accord, though she had replayed this scene in her dreams so many times already that no word was a surprise. “Have mercy on them. This is all I ask of you. I plead for your forgiveness on behalf of these people, for I know they have spoken against you but may their judgement be passed by God and not your executioner’s sword.”

It had been so long that she hardly remembered the people who’s lives she was begging for. Participants in some sort of uprising, she recalled, but the details were unimportant beneath what the scene meant for her.

A finger beneath her chin tilted her head up none too gently, forcing her to look into the eyes of the man she was supposed to love. His face was inches from hers, his breath hot on her face, though she was too frozen in fear to move away even if she had tried to.

His voice rumbled low like thunder as he spoke, echoing around the room as if she was surrounded from all angles by his presence.

“Oh Jane. Didn’t I already teach you a lesson in what happens to those who meddle in my affairs? I’m sure you don’t want to end up the same way that the witch who came before you did.”

“No,” Jane breathed out, unsure even herself if it was intended to be a response to him or a quiet cry of protest at whatever would come next.

He seized her face by tightening the grip on her jaw, fingernails digging into her cheeks, and when he wrenched her head around to one side it was all Jane could do not to shriek.

It was Anne. Or rather, she could just about recognise the woman slumped against the wall as the Anne she knew now, if she looked past the blood and bruises that marred her face. This had never happened in her dream before, and she could only continue watching in horror as the nightmare refused to end.

“Jane,” she rasped out, her voice dry and painful as if she’d shouted herself hoarse. She crawled sluggishly closer as she spoke, forcing her to see with horrible clarity the damage that had been done to her face and neck. “Jane, don’t do it. Don’t make my mistakes. Run, run and hide before he has the chance to do this to you. Before he hurts you like I did and you can never be yourself ever again.”

She was so focused on Anne’s broken pleas that she registered nothing else until there was a hand on her own neck. “Too late, witch,” he murmured, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice.

Anne had reached her by then, a look of unimaginable sorrow in her bruised eyes as she cupped Jane’s cheek with a bloodstained hand and whispered “I’m sorry.”

Movement in the corner of her eye made her look back at him. Anne’s body crumpled to the floor as he raised a sword in his other hand. Jane closed her eyes and screamed.

“Jane!!”

She shot up in bed, still screaming as she looked around in panic and tried to work out where she was. With the darkness suffocating her she still had no idea if she was still in the throne room or anywhere else, and with no clue to who’s voice had called her name she instinctively backed up in fear until she collided with the head of the bed and hid her face in the crook of her arm.

“Woah, Jane, it’s just us. You had a nightmare, you’re safe in the house and we’re all here. It’s ok.”

The light was flicked on then, and Jane dared to open her eyes just a little. True to their words the rest of the queens were all there; Anna stood by the light switch with a deeply unsettled expression on her face and Kat held in her embrace, Aragon perched on the edge of the bed, Anne sat on her knees just in front of Jane and Cathy right next to her. They were all in their pyjamas and looked as though they’d all bolted out of their rooms and into hers when her screams shattered the silent night.

“Jane, talk to us, please,” Anne said, making Jane realise it was her who had spoken before.

Cathy nodded, tugging on Anne’s arm to make her sit back a little when Jane refused to uncurl herself from her protective stance. “I promise you’re safe, love. We’re all here for you if you want to talk to us,” she added more gently, though there was still a serious note in her voice and look of fear in her eyes.

As Jane’s racing mind calmed down she began to realise why. She was always the one to comfort them after their nightmares and reassure them while they cried, so to see her on the other end of that role reversal had to be more than a little frightening for them all.

“I was at the palace with him,” she started in a trembling voice, swallowing hard when her dry throat made it hard to squeeze words out. Suddenly as more of her dream came flooding back she snapped her gaze up to Anne from where she’d been studying the pattern on her duvet cover, just taking in the sight of her unmarred face without the marks of his fury there anymore. “He hurt you,” she could only whisper, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle her uneven breaths.

“Hey, I’m here now though,” Anne said, placing a hand on Jane’s arm to see if she’d react badly before she risked moving closer.

Jane needed no further invitation to practically launch herself at Anne, wrapping her arms tightly around her and clinging to her desperately. “He’d hurt you and you tried to warn me. And he- he said that if I didn’t keep quiet then he’d teach me a lesson by doing what he did to you,” she sobbed out, every memory of Anne’s horribly broken form coming back as she just shook in her arms.

Anne seemed to freeze for a minute before she moved to comfort Jane, and in the back of Jane’s mind she could tell that she was a little unsettled by the tale she’d just told. A gentle touch on her shoulder made her look up to see Aragon sat close with a hand on each of their backs, the soothing note in her voice clearly meant for both of them as she said “Breathe, love, please. We’re in the present day and we’re all safe now.”

“But-“

“Shh, I promise we’re safe,” Cathy added, rubbing Jane’s arm gently as she sat back from Anne’s embrace.

Jane nodded, pulling in a hiccupping breath as she forced herself to calm down. She snuck a glance up at Anne when she realised she hadn’t spoken for a minute, almost quivering at the faraway expression on her face and jumping when she turned to look down at her. “Jane,” she asked, her voice quietly serious, “did that ever happen to you outside your dream?”

She nodded again, and Anne’s face crumpled.

“It was only once though,” Jane said, not sure why she was defending him but feeling somehow obliged to. “He only told me that once. And he was right, it was my fault for getting involved in something I shouldn’t have done. But he was never hurt me. He wasn’t the same with me.”

Anne shaking her head sorrowfully interrupted Jane’s tirade, the look in her eyes so similar to the look she’d held in Jane’s dream that she fell quiet immediately. “He didn’t have to hit you for him to hurt you,” she said, glancing at Aragon who gave a supporting nod. “Jane, ah, I’ve noticed a few things. And I think I know what it adds up to but I didn’t want to say but I think I kinda have to now.” Her words came out all in a rush as she spoke, seeming almost hesitant as she looked back at Jane.

Hardly daring to think, Jane asked “Like what?”

“Like how you feel you should ask before doing things as if we’ll tell you off for anything, and you’re always keeping quiet so we don’t notice you moving around, and feeling the need to apologise all the time and never want to make any choices in case we get mad. And then today, when us yelling made you seem so scared,” Anne listed, and even though her voice was so soft Jane still felt like she was being read out a list of her crimes.

Cathy’s quiet hum made Jane look over to see her nod solemnly. “Things like this are what Kat and I have been covering in our research,” she said, holding out her hand for Kat to take as she and Anna walked over to join them on the bed. “I don’t want to make any assumptions, because I wasn’t there and the only person who can truly know is you. But they’re all signs of emotional abuse.”

“He didn’t,” Jane whispered, still unwilling to believe that. “He loved me. He can’t have done that, he said he loved me.”

The sympathetic looks of her fellow queens as she looked around at them all was almost too much to bear.

“I know this can’t be easy to hear,” Aragon said, reaching over to take Jane’s hand in hers. “But think for me, love. If Edward had been a girl, then what?”

Jane stopped.

Her mind started spinning with the hints he’d made. The anger that had been in his eyes so often while she’d been forced to just batten down the hatches and endure it. The deeper meaning of that one threat which had haunted her nightmares; it wasn’t only meddling in his affairs that Anne had done wrong, it was having a daughter. Maybe she could have done everything possible to keep herself quiet, to keep herself what she wanted her to be, but that one innocent fatal mistake could have sent her to the scaffold regardless.

Kat’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts, the first time she had spoken that evening. “My counsellor said it’s like being in a box,” she spoke quietly, though there was conviction in her voice that told Jane even though she was nervous she was also confident in her words. “Every time you touch the walls it hurts so you try and be smaller so you don’t get hurt. But then the walls get smaller and smaller and you’ll never be small enough to be what they want. Does that… does that sound familiar?”

She could only stare at her friend-turned-daughter for a moment, wondering how she could have been so blinded with everything that Kat had gone through. “Oh god,” she burst out, covering her hands over her mouth and hunching forwards as she shook with terrified sobs.

Immediately she felt two people’s hands on her back, anchoring her to the present while she sobbed about the past. “You’re alright, Jane. It’s ok,” Anne whispered , “It’s scary to think about and it’s a lot to process but you’re ok now. I promise you’re ok.”

Those words were what Jane clung onto as she poured her emotions out, not caring that she was crying in front of them because she trusted them with this empty shell of herself she had become.

It was a few minutes before she had her breathing under control enough to talk again, sat leaning against Aragon with Cathy and Anne holding a hand each and Anna and Kat with her nearby. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, taking her hand back from Anne for a moment to rub at the tears streaming down her face.

“Don’t be,” Aragon whispered from above Jane’s head, squeezing her opposite shoulder gently with the arm around her back. “We can think about this in the morning. For now, though, we should really all be getting some more sleep.”

Kat’s yawn emphasised Aragon’s point exactly, and Jane cracked a tiny smile as she nodded. But then the thought of being alone for the rest of the night came flooding back, fear in her voice as she begged “Please, don’t leave me tonight.”

“Course we won’t,” said Anne with a smile.

And that was how a few minutes later found Jane tucked back up in her bed, with Kat curled into her on one side and Anne’s reassuring presence on the other. Cathy was latched onto Aragon like a koala a little way down the bed with Anna sprawled out and taking up the space by their feet. The night was still scary and she was still reluctant to sleep in case her nightmares made a return but Anne’s soft snoring next to her was a constant reminder that she was ok and that they’d both survived the past.

There was a lot she would need to deal with after that realisation she’d finally come to terms with. But, for now, she could rest with her family all around her and the knowledge that they would never let her get hurt again.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #jane seymour #anne boleyn #catherine of aragon #anna of cleves #catherine parr #katherine howard #laila's writing

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 8: “The Power of Friendship!”

Favorite dynamic duo, two characters you think would have been friends if only they met, how friendship saves the day, or maybe a friendship fail. It’s up to you!

HERE. Have some super self indulgent hot springs shenanigans feat. my favorite trio! =D

“This is amazing...” Jesse groans, rolling his head against the rocks as he sinks into the indulgently warm water. It’s a bone deep warmth, chasing away any stress or aches and rendering his mind blissfully numb.

“Never been to one?”

It takes a moment to process Jaden’s words. “Don’t have ‘em back home,” he mumbles, shaking the pleasant fog out of his head just enough to formulate the sentence. “Wish we did. Feels like heaven.” He sinks a little further, practically boneless mush, before a nagging little thought drags him out of the bliss. “Å, where’s Chris? There aren’t dividers for privacy.” He rolls his head toward his companion.

“She’s around here somewhere,” Jaden says, eyes still closed as he leans against the rocks, completely unconcerned. Well, the two had spoken like they come here often so Jesse probably shouldn’t worry about it.

A sharp trill followed by a splash catches his attention. Not far away, Ruby paddles through the water, ripples parting around her. “What?” Jesse sits up abruptly.

“Oh, yeah.” Jaden snickers as Jesse stares at the contradiction to everything he knows about duel spirits. “Out here duel spirits can interact with nature more than usual. Chris said it’s something about the high concentration of natural energy.”

“Å?” There are too many question from that sentence alone for Jesse to pretend it makes sense.

“Oh, well, I guess it’s the reason Christina can see duel spirits?” Jaden says thoughtfully. “She can see a lot of things most people can’t, some things even we can’t.” A hand motions between himself and Jesse. “She can see a person’s-- what’s it called...? Not soul.” Voice dropping, he mutters to himself as he bites a thumb nail. “Energy of the body?”

“Aura!” Dark Magician Girl pops up without warning, and only having seven of his own spirits that like to pop up unannounced keeps Jesse from startling too badly. “She can see a person’s aura,” Dark Magician Girl continues eagerly. “And she’s pretty in tune with the flow of natural energy through the world; it’s why she can always spot the bad guy!”

“Aura?” The term sounds vaguely familiar. “Like a person’s soul?”

Dark Magician Girl shakes her head. “No, she can’t see your actual soul, it’s more like the light given off by your soul.”

Jesse blinks. Was that supposed to make sense?

Humming, Dark Magician Girl pressed a finger to her lips in thought. “Think of it this way,” she finally says, pintling to the sky. “You can’t look at the sun directly but you can still see the light it produces.”

“Å.” Still not sure how that relates to aura and soul light.

“Yeah, I never really understood it either.” Jaden offers a sympathetic grin.

Dark Magician Girl visually pouts before snapping her fingers with an, “Aha! Those lamp thingies you humans use for light! You put a lampshade over the bulb so you can’t see the bulb anymore, but you can still see its light! It’s like that!”

“So the bulb would be a person’s soul and the...” Oh, frick. How does he say this in Japanese?

Undeterred, Dark Magician Girl nods proudly. “Your actual soul is obscured by your physical body but we can still ‘see’ its essence - that is aura.”

Okay, that makes enough sense that Jesse can understand. He gets the feeling that it isn’t as simple as ‘seeing light around a person’, but he can probably ask Christina for more detail about it later.

“She can always tell what kind of mood you’re in too. I swear it’s almost like she can read your mind sometimes!” Jaden laughs.

“I can’t read your mind.” Jesse jerks to the sound of Christina’s voice, heat rising to his cheeks. The young woman stands waist deep in the water, her hair twisted up into a pile atop her head and one arm crossed over her chest to obscure it from view. Should he be looking right now? The polite thing would be to look away, right? She’s got some nice curves hidden under the baggy uniform... “I’ve just gotten really good at guessing what’s going on in there.” Christina pokes Jaden in the forehead, then sinks into the steam and frothy water on his other side and lets her arm fall away.

“Oh, hey! You did decide to join us!” Jaden beams as if there’s nothing remotely out of place with the situation. Is he that dense, or is Jesse missing a vital piece of information here? “Took ya a few months to be okay around Syrus, and you still haven’t come out around Hassleberry.”

The water ripples as Christina shrugs. “Hassleberry’s harder to read. I think it’s that fossil in his leg. Alters the aura. And Mana abandoned me so...” She stretches her arms, cracking her knuckles before settling against the rocks.

“Mana?” Jesse repeats with confusion, deciding that’s the safest option of the numerous questions he now has. Who has a fossil in their what?

“Me!” Dark Magician Girl giggles. “Like the royal magician of Pharaoh Set’s court!” she bounces in the air.

“It was easier than always calling her Dark Magician Girl.”

That makes about as much sense as it can, so Jesse nods and lets the lull of the toasty water claim him again. ‘Mana’ has wandered off when he looks up again, and Jaden leans comfortably against Christina’s shoulder.

“So I’ve been wonderin’...”

“No,” Christina answers immediately without even looking at Jesse, while Jaden turns a curious glance. In the confused silence that follows, she turns to look at him, the side of her chin bumping against the top of Jaden’s head. “Syrus asked the same thing first year. No, we’re not.” Which is not a terribly compelling argument when the side of her face is leaning against the top of his head, but at least she looked him in the eyes this time.

“Mm.” Jaden shifts against Christina’s shoulder, settling into a more comfortable position. “Geez, why do people keep thinking that?”

I dunno know, maybe cuz...that, Jesse thinks, slightly bewildered by the fact that Jaden finds absolutely nothing odd about his and Christina’s current position. Christina herself looks accustomed to the action, but Jaden appears downright oblivious. “You two seem pretty comfortable with each other,” Jesse says aloud.

“Well, yeah. We’ve known each other for years,” Jaden grins. “We used to take baths together when we were little, and kinda just kept washing each other’s backs ever since.”

The amused snort Christina gives in response tells Jesse there’s definitely a story behind that one. “And your parents were okay with that?”

“They were never home much,” Jaden shrugs and glances off as if in complete disinterest of the topic, but Jesse can see a story there too.

“And it never got awkward?”

Jaden blinks up at him with the absolute most sincere look of confusion Jesse has ever seen on a human being. “No?”

“Jay’s asexual,” Christina sighs as she tips her head back and sinks further into the water. Jaden emits a displeased noise at the shift of his pillow but sits up rather than try to adjust.

“Ah.” That explains a lot, actually. And now is probably a bad time to admit that he doesn’t actually have a preference. He can hear the Crystal Beasts snickering from the changing room. Y’all can just be quiet.

“Probably biromantic though,” Christina adds and Jaden twists to frown at her.

“Bi-what?”

“Romantic. You like to cuddle, Jay, and you don’t really give a crap if that person is a guy or girl.”

This gives Jaden pause. “Nah, so long as they’re comfortable,” he admits but just as quickly turns to frown at her again, “But I still don’t want to kiss them or anything.”

Jesse snickers as Christina shrugs. “What about you?” he asks with a glance to the redhead.

“Straight--” Christina begins as Jaden interrupts with a sly grin, “She likes bishonen.”

“Jaden!” the redhead snaps, water sloshing around her shoulders as she jerks to sit up straight.

“What? You say you’re straight but all the guys you’ve ever liked have been really girly,” Jaden jibes with a teasing grin.

“Bi...shonen?” Jesse repeats the unfamiliar phrase. What kind of boys?

“Girly boys,” Jaden deadpans.

“Pretty boys!”

“Same difference. I bet you even think Lex is pretty,“ Jaden taunts with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Of course I think she’s pretty! You'd have to be blind not to!” Christina snaps with a pointed glare.

Jaden shrugs, nonpulsed. “Objectively, sure she’s pretty. Still doesn’t mean I’m interested.”

“Says the guy who agreed to be her fiance.”

“Hold on- what?!” Jesse sputters, jerking upright. Did he hear that correctly?!

“Christinaaa! I thought we agreed not to talk about that!”

“What??” Jesse gapes.

Jaden whines, giving his best impersonation of a kicked puppy but Christina has a Cheshire grin plastered across her face. “First year, there was this guy, a second or third year, who was hard core hitting on and harassing Lex. He sees Jay and Lex interacting, gets suuuper jealous, and challenges Jaden to a duel to be Lexi’s fiance. Jaden agrees, no questions asked.”

Jaden groans loudly, face pressed so hard against Christina’s shoulder Jesse wonders how he can even breathe. “It doesn’t count! I didn’t even know what it meant!” His protests fall on uncaring ears as Christina continues to grin wickedly, and he slumps in defeat. “And you’re never gonna let me forget it.”

Christina hums. “Of course I’m not gonna let such prime teasing material go to waste.”

A beat passes, then Jaden jerks back, shoulders rigged and voice tense. “Wait a minute, you don’t...?”

“Who said you were the only one I wouldn’t let forget?” Christina hums and Jaden wails. “Lexi never said no~o.”

Jaden shoves his face in Jesse’s shoulder. “Jesse! Save me! She’s evil!” he wails, and with Christina downright cackling, Jesse finds himself inclined to agree.

“Alright, newbie, what about you?” Christina asks when she finally recomposes herself.

“Me what?” Jesse croaks, still reeling over the revelation from the last few minutes of his life.

“Romantic preference.”

“Ah, I, ah, I don’t really have a preference,” Jesse admits, stumbling over the words as he drags his brain back to the present moment. “I’ve found I care more about someone’s personality than their gender or body type.”

An uncomfortable moment of silence passes. Jaden’s face is still pressed into Jesse’s skin. “Oh, that makes sense,” Christina says, quiet and thoughtful.

The tension drains with a breath of air. Jesse grins. “Re-evaluating a few things?”

Christina shrugs. “What is that called?”

“I don’t know? I don’t know if there is a word for that.” Much less how it would translate into Japanese. He might be able to passably keep up in a conversation but if actually being in Japan has taught Jesse anything, it’s that he’s basically still a beginner.

Christina huffs, obviously dissatisfied with this answer.

“Honestly, I don’t think ya really need a label for it, so long as you understand it. Sure, it’s nice to have a simple way to explain it to others, but it’s not all that important.”

Christina stares at him and Jesse wonders if he said something weird again or screwed up his Japanese or maybe both. That is entirely possible. Then she huffs softly with a grin and Jaden snickers against Jesse’s shoulder. “I knew I liked you.” He twists around and tips his head back to look up at the blunette. “The simple minded must stick together!” He punches the air with a dripping fist before sagging against Jesse laughing.

Christina looks like she can’t decide whether to be amused or exasperated.

An odd chirping noise pulls their attention, and Jaden bolts upright. “Aqua Dolphin! Hey, Aqua Dolphin!” He sloshes away excitedly, leaving Jesse and Christina alone.

“Spazz.” Christina smirks, a fondness in her eyes.

A comfortable silence settles between them, and Jesse remembers he still has questions. Let’s start with something simple. “So you’ve been down here with the others before?”

“A few times, mostly with Syrus.” Christina shrugs. “I’m not as concerned with things like modesty once I get to know a person well enough.” 

“Oh.” Is that a Japanese thing or a her thing? Japan does have a lot of communal bath houses, but aren't most of them separated by gender? Japan does produce a fair chunk of...questionable content. Anime is weird. Red hair tilts in his vision and Jesse realizes he’s been silently pondering this long enough for Christina to give him a concerned look. “Ah, sorry, I’m just...tryin’ to figure out if I should be flattered or not? I mean, we haven’t exactly known each other very long.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know.” Christina gazes across the hot spring with a distant look. “It feels like we’ve known each other longer.”

Oh-

Something large hits the water with a great splash and sends the resulting wave crashing over both their heads with startled exclamations. “Amber Mammoth...!” Jesse complains loudly but laughs as he shakes water from his now dripping bangs.

“Sorry, Jesse!” Mammoth apologizes as he paddles off. Amethyst sniffs the water before sticking her nose in the air and trotting off. Emerald slips into the spring with a plop, gliding smoothly in another direction.

“This water really does feel great.”

Christina’s shoulders shake with her own amusement as Ruby hops up on Jesse’s shoulder, nuzzles the side of his head, and Jesse has to marvel at the way he can actually feel her fur, not just a disembodied impression of touch. With an exasperated sigh, Christina stands and reaches up to undo her hair, and Jesse should really probably look away like now but he finds his eyes stuck on the exposed skin.

“So much for keeping my hair dry,” the girl mumbles as red locks tumble freely down her back. Then, as if suddenly remembering her surroundings, she looks down at Jesse. Blue eyes meet green and this is the part where most girls in anime scream and hide right? Maybe slap the guy? Nope, she flashes him a sassy grin and places a hand on her hip as she pops it to the side and freaking poses--

“Like what you see?”

Jøss! Jesse tears his eyes away to stare at some very interesting rocks on the opposite side of the hot spring. Not a moment later, he hears the infuriating sound of mad giggles and a loud slosh of water. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels her hair against his arm. “You’re too cute,” she wheezes. “Ra if I could have gotten that kind of reaction out of Jaden...” she descends into giggles against his shoulder again.

“You are so not fair,” he grumbles, glaring at the rock and trying to will away the embarrassing heat in his cheeks.

“You know it.” He can hear the sharpness of her grin as she reaches up to flick his nose.

These people are weird, Jesse decides, but if he had a problem with weird he wouldn’t be here at Duel Academy.

A loud wolf whistle breaks into the dwindling giggles and Christina stiffens even before Jaden’s loud proclamation, “Go for it, you two!”

“Jaden Yuki!!” Christina bellows, leaping from the water as Jaden laughs and scrambles from his perch on the rock to run from his best friend’s wrath. “I’m going to strangle you!”

Jesse snickers. Yup, weird. But he kinda likes it.

#gxmonth2020 #jaden yuki #Judai Yuki #jesse anderson #johan andersen #johan anderson #gx #ygo gx #ygogx #yugioh gx #yugiohgx #yu gi oh gx

[bigskydreaming]

I really encourage people who have legitimate gripes with something I say or express on here to like.....either just DM, @ me directly or if you’re going to pop into my inbox to debate something with me, like, do so off anon, even if you ask that I don’t publish your ask and just respond to you in private. I always abide by that if people ask me to do that, and I’m 10000x more likely to treat your complaint or disagreement with dignity even if I completely disagree with it, than like....if you go on anon with it. 

Because dunno if you’ve noticed, lol, but there’s kinda a tendency with people who pick fights with me on anon or who @ me in general with some form of “LOL I can’t believe you’re so dumb as to believe this thing [that you don’t actually believe or else is not at all actually what I’m framing it as being],” to like.....only really do so in an attempt to trip me up, expose me as a hypocrite or pull some kind of ‘Gotcha!’ So, realistically, it just is not possible for me to give most anons who disagree with me the benefit of the doubt or for me to assume they’re at least coming from a place of actual honest disagreement rather than just....playing games, which I fucking despise and I refuse to respond to with respect. 

I sound ridiculous in nine out of ten of my over the top responses to people giving me shit, because of...deliberate intent on my part. *Shrugs* Because I personally consider it to be extremely ridiculous, how often I have people trying to poke holes in things I say, by.....poking at stuff I never even say, lol. 

I don’t actually always believe I’m right about everything, but I fully understand how my tone can convey that I do think that in a lot of these back-and-forths, because.....the one thing I do pretty much always think I’m right about is what it is I’m actually saying or believe. And thus, I really do not care for people trying to tell me I said otherwise, when I have a looooot of proof to point to how even when I’m being like, King Ridiculous in how I say or phrase something....nobody ever seems to have trouble comprehending my points on pretty much any topic across the board......until it happens to be a point I make on a matter they take issue with.

So just a general PSA, do with it what you will, but like. I’m just saying: 

I know I’m contentious, and I don’t actually want people to just automatically 100% take everything I say as fact or just never disagree with me, since that’s like....the polar opposite of pretty much my entire belief system or view of life and how to go through it lol. 

Buuuuut it honestly is exhausting constantly being hit up by people in bad faith, and who prove over and over again that they are perfectly comfortable saying or doing anything with no loyalty to even their own arguments, as long as it nets them a ‘win’ in arguing with me for the sake of arguing or whatever the fuck their motivation might be, I honestly do not care, lol. And I’m just......long past assuming that someone who is approaching me on anon to argue or contest something I’ve said or a position I’ve taken, is doing so in good faith instead of just as part of a twelve step plan wherein they disingenuously go about trying to lay some kind of convoluted ‘trap’ to lure me into. As though any of this is worth that fucking effort in the first place. LOL.

So by all means, disagree with me, contest me, put the screws to something I say and force me to defend my point further.....but like.....just be fucking honest about it. Or be willing to put your URL/name to it when doing so, even if you ask that I keep it out of public view, so that at least I know you’re not one of my half a dozen hate-following Regulars who habitually pop up on anon pretending to be someone brand new until three messages later when they’re like “Surprise! You thought I was just some rando, but here I am with the same receipts I’ve been claiming to have for the past half a decade!” (Oh no, much shock, mortification, oh unknowable plot twist, who could have ever seen that coming). LOL, y’know what I mean? Like, if you’re off anon or if you at least @ me with something approaching at least SOME modicum of respect, I’m soooooo much more likely to not just dismiss anything and everything you say from the word go, just because the sheer novelty of that approach is gonna be more engaging to me than, like, Me Vs Some Rando Whose Opening Gambit Is “Well Actually.....*proceeds to argue against points several galactic light years north of anything I’ve ever actually said ever*”: Round Fifty Two Bajillion. 

Like yeah, I’m rude as fuck in a lot of the arguments I get into on here, because I’m not a big fan of turning the other cheek and also I’m not gonna gloss over the ugly in something someone says just because they couch it in ‘civilized, well-mannered discourse.’ So I’m not at all offering some carte blanche guarantee or a secret password for how to go about saying something vile to my face without me responding by verbally ripping your head off, lol, I just mean like.....you ever have some free time to kill, go back through my archives to my earliest posts on this site. You can literally WATCH the slow expiration of my Give-A-Fucks in real time. I usually position myself to be the Reactive part of an argument on this site deliberately.....I don’t go starting things unless I’m weighing in on something that crosses my dash and already is looking ugly as hell, and for the most part, 90% of the fights I get into on this site are people approaching me to begin it, and y’know.....I don’t owe it to anyone to treat them or their position with more respect than they approach me with. LOL. And also, I don’t owe it to my own reading comprehension or that of anyone else who is similarly not an idiot to treat the ‘faux-respect/politeness’ people are addicted to on here as anything other than rudeness couched in the additional insult of assuming I and others are too stupid to see the subtextual disdain. Like. Nope. Miss me.

Bottom line is just, I’m not looking to be yet one more person giving people who are legitimately questioning things they’ve been told or led to believe, like, reason to be too intimidated or afraid to actually question these things rather than just keep to their personal status quo in an effort to avoid confrontation. But I’m always going to be trying to balance that with being equally not a fan of enabling people who play-act at being too fragile or delicate to face up to their own behavior or the ugliness of their own opinions or stances if its delivered to them in ways that inspire them to cry-type about how like, its not their fault society told them it was okay to shit on entire groups of people as long as they could safely get away with it.

There’s a line there and I’m no tight-rope walker so no, I don’t have all the answers and am not actually trying to pretend I do, and believe it or not, I put a lot of thought and introspection into constantly self-evaluating not just my own stances and beliefs, but the why’s of them, and the how’s of how I go about interacting with others because of them, or talking about them, or anything of the like.

But because I do put a lot of effort into that myself, I am aware of like....there not really being an excuse for others not being similarly willing to do the same with their own behavior, beliefs or approaches to others, so.....meet me halfway, is all this really comes down to. To anyone who genuinely does find themselves at odds with things I say or troubled by viewpoints I espouse or even just flat out confused as to how to reconcile something I brought up with contradictory beliefs they’ve long held or been instilled with and are just trying to figure out which actually sounds more right to them now.

I do not want to be the bogeyman who is just so intimidating that even when he says something that makes you go ‘huh, maybe this thing I thought was wrong, but I’m not sure,’ you’re afraid to follow-up and explore that further in a back-and-forth with me. But I’m similarly disinclined to be used as the strawman/patsy/etc of people who are just interested in trying to manuever me into some conversational position they feel they can use to discredit me in front of their own followers and thus cement their own bullshit position that way. 

I just happen to get a lot of the latter, and that kinda plays directly into why I so often end up defaulting to the former. That’s not actually an excuse and so its more than fair for anyone to think that’s no reason to change their mind about me, a thing I’ve said or a way I’ve said it. But if fair is actually a thing you’re interested in, then please consider factoring all of the above in when deciding how or why or in what ways you approach an argument or disagreement with me, if you find yourself inclined to do so in the future. 

I would appreciate it, and even more importantly, I promise you it will be far more productive in encouraging me to actually argue or debate a point with you. As opposed to just making light of anything you say to me, much like I feel most approaches to me make light of the things I say, and thus.....my tendency to default to variations of LOL, you got some dumb on your face there buddy.

ANYWAYS.

Thank you for your consideration in this matter,

The Extremely Tired and Over It Management

#sorry to be keeping it so heavy this week guys #but like #it remains heavy and thus I remain....keeping it? #idk its 1 am my brain went on break hours ago and I think maybe its just not coming back at this point #whatever #ANYWAY I do not mean to be boring but am I fed by the energy people direct at me and so much of it lately seems to be boring #and thus boring I in turn seem to be #idk basically that's just my spin on you are what you eat #and thus if you come at me like a walking bag of dicks Im gonna tell you to go eat a bag of dicks #*Shrugs* #my eloquence #it abounds