#... whom i actually believed enough that despite us never getting to test that out i still think of them having said that from time to time

[butchtranny]

Receiving head has never physically felt good for me. It's at least partially the lack of sensation I have in my biostrap, and partially disconnection/dissociation from those parts of my body. Like dont get me wrong, the visual of it is hot as fuck! But I'm not getting anything out of it beyond what I would get out of someone sucking on one of my straps for my harness.

[keijislove]

Hi babe! I was wondering if I could request a Tony Stark x daughter reader? With lots of angst and her being locked in her room because she’s being bullied for her darker skin

(I understand if you’re not comfortable with this)

Safe Place: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

I think this turned out a bit longer than I expected.

Sorry :(

I hope you like this, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this matter, so I hope I captured the emotions right!

I AM APOLOGISING IN ADVANCE, THE HURTFUL COMMENTS MENTIONED HERE ARE NOT ONES I WOULD EVER USE IN MY LIFETIME.

GIRL, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE – YOU DON’T NEED DIMWITS LIKE RACISTS TO DEFINE BEAUTY. YOU WANT THE DEFINITION OF BEAUTY, GO LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

PUT A STOP TO RACISM.

WARNINGS: Slight EXTREMELY racial comments, mentions of death, toxic relationship, angst, Tony being a little... well, Tony.

Being Tony Stark’s daughter was nearly everyone’s dream. Well, everyone you’d come across at school, anyway. It seemed rational from their point of view – big house, big bedroom, expensive branded clothing, basically an overall exquisite lifestyle coupled with fame of being his daughter which was sure to earn popularity points anywhere and everywhere. A man rolling in that amount of money would make a great dad... right?

You thought differently. Which was one of the main reasons you did not tell anyone who your father really was and your teachers understood your predicament and played along to your story of being an ordinary girl with no scope for coolness whatsoever.

Your mother had met your father a long, long time ago – when Tony was still in university. Of course, he’d left her before he even knew she was pregnant, and they never saw each other again. You didn’t exactly love your life as his daughter. In fact, from what your mother had told you, he was (in your vision) a complete monster whom your mother had the sad misfortune to meet.

It was her untimely death that had forced you to go live with the man who was the reason you were born and the man who ruthlessly left your mother to fend for herself and a baby. You had tried for foster care, but the agents told you that your father was still alive and more than capable of taking care of you – being the famous Tony Stark and all.

So it would suffice to say that Tony was lowkey shocked when you turned up at his doorstep one day with a grudging expression and declarations of being his daughter. He actually didn’t believe you at first and asked you to piss off which confirmed your earlier assumptions about his character – asshole. After you’d snapped at him and showed him all the legal documentations stating that you two were blood-related as father-daughter after all, Tony was even more shocked than earlier.

Though he would rather die than admit it, he felt sad after seeing your fourteen-year-old self standing at his doorstep. He’d missed your birth, your first steps, your first words, he even missed helping you with homework in preschool – basically all precious moments you enjoy with a child. But you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be here – something that made Tony’s already overlarge pride swell like a bullfrog and stopped him from ever getting close to you. While you were busy thinking he didn’t want you, you overlooked a small detail – he took you in.

If anyone had the power to bribe an adoption agency to get rid of their kid, it was Anthony Stark, yet he never gave you away. The simple explanation (that he would never, in a million years, admit it to you) was that he didn’t want to lose you – around the only blood-related family he had left.

And so began your life as Y/N Stark. It functioned surprisingly well for your expectations. Pepper was really nice to you and those few occasions when the Avengers came over, you were able to talk to Natasha about ‘girl things’, her presence reminding you of the mother you had lost only too young. You sometimes even asked Bruce for help with homework, too proud yourself to go to Tony. Overall, you stayed out of his way while he stayed out of yours – an arrangement you were both satisfied with.

The worst part was that you never talked. Ever. You would wake up and walk to school, refusing Jarvis’ continued protests of letting you use the self-driving car, came home the same way where you did your homework and grabbed a snack before you ‘father’ came back upstairs from his little man cave in the basement and a small ‘good-evening’ passed between you two as you went your separate ways. This cycle repeated itself every day. Recently, your life at school hadn’t been going great.

You’d known that your skin tone was a notch darker than the others at your school – something you had gotten from your mother – and this was not something you really cared about. That’s when they started coming – the comments. What were originally small, snide retorts of ‘wash your face, ew!’ (A/N: I AM SO SORRY) had now escalated to them calling you obscene names you’d never heard before and asking you to leave ‘their’ school

Which was why, instead of being at school today, you were locked in your bedroom, sobbing into your pillow.

It had started out as a very unusual morning. After getting comments hurled at you left right and centre the previous day, you’d had enough. You’d woken up and declared to Jarvis that you were skipping school and he was to, under no circumstances, notify your father about this. After that you tried to eat some cereal, but the bubbling dread in your stomach made it taste like dry carpet, so you gave up and stomped into your room, locking the door before flinging yourself onto the bed and crying your heart out.

It was in times like these that you felt the need for something – a gaping hole in your chest. It seemed foolish to even admit it to yourself, but you really wanted someone like a parent. Someone who listened to your problems and comforted you accordingly, someone who actually cared about you. And since Tony Stark filled neither of these requirements, you gave up the foolish dream and sunk, once again, into your self-fashioned depths of misery.

-------

Tony casually sipped on his wine, putting one last screw into place to make the latest piece he was testing out. As he powered the device on, it vibrated for a moment before the words ‘model failed’ appeared on the screen Tony was examining.

He swore loudly and shoved it ungracefully aside before running his hands through his hair. There had been many an occasion where Tony seriously considered going to your room to just say something to you that wasn’t a monotonous ‘good evening’ or ‘the milk’s finished’ or something else like that. He wanted to talk to you. To you.

He wanted to get to know the real Y/N – what you were like when you weren’t too busy being bold and refusing to appear vulnerable. As if reading his thoughts, Jarvis’ voice filled the room suddenly.

“Sir, I do believe that Ms Stark is currently locked inside her bedroom. She refused to go to school just this morning.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed, “Why, did she tell you anything else?”

“Just this, Sir, along with a few obscene warnings of not informing you about this occurrence. If I recall correctly, Ms Stark told me she would rip out my sockets with her bare hands had I come to you.”

Ignoring the small smirk that was growing on his lips at the thought of you behaving exactly as he would, Tony wiped his tired hands on a nearby cloth before sprinting out the door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

He knocked on the door.

“Go away Pepper, not in the mood,” came your muffled voice. It was weak and raw – evidently, you had been crying.

Ignoring the poking feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach, Tony knocked again.

“Open up, kid, it’s me,” he shouted.

“Definitely not in the mood, thanks.”

Tony sighed. This was exactly what he had tried so hard to avoid –turning out like his own father. Not knowing how to deal with a daughter properly, he just let you go about your business as you wanted, hoping that it would yield better results than what his childhood had been like. Now, looking back at how much he’d neglected you, he suddenly realised that he had done the exact thing he was afraid of – hurt you.

“Y/N Y/M/N Stark, open the door. Please.”

Perhaps it was the please at the end or the way he acknowledged you as his living, breathing daughter for the first time that made you stagger limply over to the door and push it open.

Your eyes were puffy, red and swollen from bawling nonstop and your brows were knitted into a disapproving frown. It broke Tony’s heart to see you like this.

“Listening,” you sniffed, crossing your arms.

“Okay, why don’t you sit down,” Tony frowned slightly.

You gave another hearty sniff and led him to your bed where you flopped down and watched as he took a seat beside you.

You both sat in a very painful, deafening silence for the next few minutes.

“You didn’t go to school today,” Tony casually remarked as you played with your pillow, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I did,” you said simply.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony offered.

“I really don’t,” you admitted as he burst out laughing and you gave a grudging giggle despite yourself.

“Seriously, kid,” Tony said in an undertone, “You’ve gotta open up a bit more. I mean, it’s been like what, two years since you moved here and you never bother telling me what’s going on. And look where that got you – come on, tell me what’s going on. Is it school?”

“Partially,” you quietly said to which he cocked an eyebrow.

“Completely,” you amended, sighing, “Kids, you know, they’re just being – well, mean.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded slightly, “You want to talk about it?”

“They... they make fun of me,” you admitted, “About – about my skin colour and stuff. And I know I’m being stupid, getting upset over this –”

“It’s not stupid,” Tony broke in, “It’s not stupid at all. Nothing gives anyone a right to talk to you that way.”

“Try telling that to them!” you burst out, final letting go of the pent-up emotions you’d been holding for days, “What did I ever do to them – it’s not my fault I look like this, maybe if I could choose what to look like, I’d choose something they want! Just about everyone seems to have a problem – what the hell do they expect me to do? It’s unjust, unfair, unsettling and unkind, but of course they don’t care, do they?!”

Tony didn’t even flinch throughout your entire outburst until you broke down and tears began rapidly pouring out of your eyes once more.

“Hey, hey, stop, listen to me,” Tony sternly said, seizing your shoulders and turning you to face him.

“You’re a Stark,” he said, gazing you dead in the eyes, “You are beautiful, you’re smart and you’re kind. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

This was too much for you to handle and you started sobbing again – sobs of partial happiness and partial guilt that didn’t look like they would stop anytime soon.

“Come here, kid,” was all Tony could say as he pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into his shirt while he stroked your hair, trying to calm you down.

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever been mean to you,” you whispered finally.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father all this time.”

You two sat in a now comfortable silence, occasionally clearing your throats or sniffling a bit before Tony finally spoke.

“If anyone says that to you again, I will have them cut up and fed to the fish in my house in Malibu.”

“Thanks, dad.”

[skiller0dani]

Intoxicated | Klaus Hargreeves

M A S T E R L I S T TUA Masterlist

smut | teen!klaus x teen!reader requests info w.c | 8.9k summary | you fell in love with klaus when you were teenagers. but after he continues to relapse, you lose faith that he will get clean. when you see him again as an adult, has anything changed?

The first time you properly met Klaus you were both around 17, and he was slumped against the wall of an alleyway. His face was bare of facial hair, and he looked far too boyish for a needle to be still in his arm. You were only out looking for him as a favor to Allison, whom you’d known since you were both children. You never paid much attention to Klaus, or any of her other siblings but after hours of incessant begging you’d finally agreed to go look for him. You still remembered her frantic voice over the phone.

“Please? If my Dad notices Klaus is gone he’ll lock him up in the Mausoleum to dry him out.”

You might not care much for Klaus or his drug habit, but you couldn’t just let Mr. Hargreeves lock him up so that ghosts can torment him while he sobers up. You know Allison is just protecting him, but you can tell even she is starting to lose faith in Klaus. It’s honestly sort of heartbreaking. But hopefully if you get him back in time, maybe you can get him sober enough to fool Mr. Hargreeves into thinking Klaus finally cleaned up.

“Klaus!” You rush to him immediately, carefully pulling the needle out of his arm. You tuck it into your bag so that Grace can help you and Allison figure out what Klaus took. You trust that Grace wont tell Mr. Hargreeves, the only thing more powerful than the programming is her desire to protect her children. His eyes are barely open when he smiles at you, his pupils blown wide open. You brush his hair out of his face, his palm twitching in yours as you take his hand to pull him to stand.

“Can you stand?” You ask him, watching as his arm limply falls from your hand.

“You’re not really here, you’ve never even looked at me twice…” Klaus mumbles through a slack jaw. That’s when his eyes roll back.

“Klaus?” You gently slap his cheeks, trying to get his attention. You sigh deeply, worried when you see his eyes roll again behind closed eyelids. Is he seizing? His body jerks once before sliding further down the wall. You know you can’t leave him here, but you also know that you need Luther to come get Klaus, you can’t move him.

“Please don’t move, I’ll be right back.” You say hurriedly, cupping his cheeks to force him to look at you. Klaus grunts in what you can only hope is an acknowledgement that he heard you before you’re standing and sprinting for the Academy. By the time you’d reached your destination and had delivered your convincing argument to Luther, it’d been 45 minutes. You lead the way back to Klaus praying to God that he was exactly where you’d left him, but you doubt it. Sure enough, when you turned the corner into the alley, Klaus was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit!” You cursed, a panicked glint in your eyes as you helplessly turned to Luther.

“Please help me find him.” You plead, grasping desperately onto his arm. Luther has what you can only describe as a scowl on his face as he turns to you.

“I’m not doing this again.” He snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting invested in Klaus’s recovery, I’m not doing it again. Letting myself believe that he could get clean only leads to more disappointment when he eventually uses again.” You can see layers of old scars in his eyes, reflections of all the times Klaus has relapsed and let his siblings down.

“Luther I get it, really I do. But right now Klaus is God knows where, and when Reginald realizes-” The mention of his father causes Luther to stiffen considerably. Deep down Luther knows that Klaus wouldn’t have substance abuse issues if he didn’t spend half his childhood locked in that damn Mausoleum being tormented by the dead.

“Let’s just find him quickly.” You nearly celebrate when Luther finally relents but you don’t, instead you immediately start searching the surrounding streets and alleys in search of your resident junkie. You doubt Klaus could go very far, he’d been in really bad shape when you saw him last. He could hardly sit up let alone walk, did he crawl?

“Found him!” You hear Luther call, and when you turn you see Luther standing with Klaus slung over his shoulder at the end of the alleyway. Klaus has the hint of a smile on his face as Luther hauls him back, and you’d almost say Klaus looks entertained. Although, it could be the hallucinations making him smile like that. By the time you’d arrived back at the Academy, the mysterious needle you’d taken from Klaus’s arm earlier had been thoroughly tested by Grace.

“It’s heroin.” Allison’s shaky voice came from the doorway of Klaus’s bedroom. You turned to look at her, watching as nothing but anger fills her eyes.

“He promised me that he’d never done any hard drugs, he promised it was just weed and painkillers! And he’s injecting heroin?” You can tell that she really is hurt, you can see the betrayal in her eyes before she’s turning out of his room.

“Allison-”

“No, I won’t watch him slowly kill himself. In 2 weeks when we finally turn 18 he’ll be gone anyway. Don’t forget to invite me to his funeral.” She snaps, wiping her eyes before slamming his door shut. It was then that you’d decided not to give up on him, because the second everyone lost faith in him was the second they signed his death certificate. Loving an addict is harder than you would think, but you were willing to be Klaus’s person, so long as he was dedicated to getting better. If Klaus gives up on himself, then there’s no point. So you sat on the edge of his bed and used a rag to wipe away dried vomit on his face and neck, plus you dabbed at a closing gash on his head which was still bleeding a little.

“Y/N?” You hear him mumble, and when you look up at him again you see his eyes have cracked open. You brush his hair off his forehead, and the look in his eyes has your entire body heating up. It’s not a particularly provocative look, more of a hungry curiosity. There was still gentleness there, and a sincerity beneath it all. All his siblings have given up on him at this point, and deep down you think Klaus knows that. They’ve reached the point that the next time Klaus goes missing, they won’t look for him or even worse- they won’t even realize he’s gone. The thought breaks your heart.

“Hi.” You can’t think of anything else to say. Klaus reaches one hand up to wind into your hair, a sly smile crossing onto his face.

“Can’t say I remember the last time we properly spent quality time together.” He raises one brow, his hazel eyes twinkling mischievously.

“That’s because we never have.”

“What a shame.” The smug smile on his face makes your cheeks heat up embarrassingly. You feel all mushy in his presence.

“You have to get clean before Reginald gets home tomorrow.”

“Oh wouldn’t want to disappoint daddy dearest.” You can practically taste the sarcasm in his tone, but still he keeps that damn smile stretched across his face.

“He’ll lock you away if he finds out, stop pretending like this isn’t a big deal.” You sigh, standing to find him clean clothes. Klaus pushes himself onto his elbows, his head is swimming. The nausea twisting his gut is hard to ignore, but watching you bend over in those tight jeans has him ignoring the discomfort. He wouldn’t miss the show for anything.

“Enjoying yourself?” You ask him once you notice him staring. You use snarky comments to hide how flushed you are, how flustered you are from the heat in his gaze.

“Enjoying the view.” Is all Klaus says, and you know he can see how red your cheeks are. You shake your head as you toss clean clothes at him, quickly diverting your eyes when he begins to undress with you still in the room.

“Jesus, warn me next time!” You squeak as you turn your eyes to the ground when he tosses his dirty pair of tight jeans at you along with his shirt. You hear the zipper of his tight black jeans pull up and that’s when you decide it’s safe to look. When you eye him again, he’s sitting up on the bed pulling his shirt on over his head.

“What’s the fun in that?” Despite his snarky comebacks and the smirk on his face, you can tell he doesn’t feel good at all. There are bags under his eyes and he winces every time he moves. You place a hand on his shoulder when he tries to stand, a look he can’t quite read on your face.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat, please don’t go anywhere.” The genuine fear in your eyes as you look down at him has Klaus rooted to the bed. Suddenly a fear of letting you down cripples him then, and he can only manage a nod before you’re leaving the room.

//

The first time you saw Klaus overdosing you had come home from work early. It was a few months since you and Luther found him in that alleyway, and he’d made no attempts to clean up. Of course you thought he was clean and attending meetings. Klaus knew you’d be heartbroken if you knew the truth, and he was borderline worried you’d kick him out if you knew he spent most of the day high. If he knew that you’d fallen head over heels for him, he wouldn’t be worried about being kicked out. Klaus was clean the first week he moved in with you, but then came the ghosts. Their voices echoing in his head, their bloodied and battered bodies plaguing his every waking moment. He had clamped his hands over his ears to try and block them out, and he actually endured the tortuous voices for 17 hours before he gave in and popped some oxy.

“Klaus I’m back-'' Before you could finish whatever you were saying you spotted him lying unconscious on the living room floor. You dropped a glass platter and everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. You immediately scrambled towards him as the glass shattered everywhere. Your hands cupped his cheeks as tears filled your eyes, and you could not stop shaking.

“K-Klaus?” You gasped, shaking his shoulders to no avail. His body was practically lifeless, and his skin was almost gray and colorless. You lifted his wrist to check his pulse, and nearly burst into tears of relief when you felt a pulse but it was fading fast.

“Damnit Klaus!” You sobbed to yourself, leaning down to see if he was breathing. You held your breath, and prayed you would hear his faint breath. When you didn’t, it felt like you had been plunged into cold water. The panic struck you deep in your chest and you quickly sat up to perform CPR. You tilted his head back as the tears flowed down your cheeks, and you quickly started compressions. You reached into your pocket to press the stupid little life alert button you’d purchased when Klaus moved in. In moments like this you knew you needed a quick way to call an ambulance. You listened for his breathing once more, and cried softly when you still didn’t hear any breathing.

“Klaus please, please.” You didn’t know what you were pleading for, but you were so desperate for him to be okay that you couldn’t think straight. You continued compressions and then breathing into his mouth for 10 minutes before the emergency services arrived. They nearly had to pry you off him before shoving a breathing tube down his throat, and injecting him with something in a syringe. You’d climbed into the ambulance next to Klaus, his hand held tightly in yours. He looked lifeless in the hospital room, his eyes were closed and there were tubes sticking out of him. The steady beeping from the monitor was your only clue that his heart was still beating. You called his siblings, but after 5 hours you figured they weren’t going to come, you doubt they’d even listen to the message. Underneath the fear there’s anger, so much anger. How could he do this to you? He lied to you. He said he was clean! Did he ever attend a meeting or was that just a lie to go get more weed and pills?

“Hey you.” You hear his raspy voice from beside you. Once he started breathing on his own again they replaced the breathing tube for oxygen in his nose. The doctors said they would need to keep him here until he completely detoxed. There are tears welling in your eyes and you refuse to meet his eyes, you’re upset and he knows that.

“Baby I’m sorry.” Klaus tries, his hand reaching out for yours. You keep your arms folded as a tear finally falls down your cheek. Klaus hates seeing you cry and he hates even more that he is the reason you’re crying. You weren’t entirely surprised to hear him call you baby, you and Klaus have gotten close during the time he’s been living with you.

“Please look at me.” Klaus begs, a break in his voice that lets you know he has tears in his eyes. You lifted your gaze to meet his, and you see how sick he looks. His skin is gray, his eyes are sunken in and they have bags under them.

“How could you? You lied to me.” Your voice is soft, broken. This is the first time Klaus has truly let you down and you can’t help but wonder if this is how his siblings have felt every time he’s let them down. You see guilt flash in his eyes, the look in your eyes is worse than any other look Klaus has received from his brothers and sisters.

“What if I didn’t get off work early? Then you’d be dead Klaus!” You sobbed, tears wracking your body.

“Baby I swear when I get out I’ll get it together. I-I’ll clean up I promise.” A stray tear falls down his cheek and Klaus quickly reaches up to wipe it away. His hands are trembling when they reach for yours again but you still don’t budge.

“No Klaus, you’re going into fucking rehab. I can’t live with the constant fear of coming home and finding you dead. I love you too much to lose you.” The last part slips out by accident, but you can’t take it back. Klaus’s eyes widen as another tear trails down his cheek, and this time he doesn’t wipe it away.

“You love me?” How could he not know? You laugh bitterly as tears continue to cascade down your cheeks.

“Yes I do, and if you give even half a damn about me you’ll check into rehab.” You beg, your watery eyes finding his. Klaus lays his head back, his own teary eyes looking up to the ceiling before they close and he takes a deep breath.

“I love you so fucking much, so I’ll do it. For you.” Klaus finally whispers, reaching for you one last time and this time, you take his hand.

//

“Please tell me you’re going to take this seriously. Please? I-I can’t lose you.” You beg a few days later once Klaus was finally cleared to leave the hospital, but he would be going right to rehab. The doctors had him sign a document agreeing to be taken straight to an intensive rehab program as soon as he was released from the hospital. Klaus in all honesty was a tad bit put off by the idea of going into rehab, and was downright terrified of having to deal with the voices. Luckily he had Ben with him to help keep him sane while he was in rehab. Klaus really does love you, and he really does want to give sobriety a shot- but only for you.

“I promise, I already said I was really going to try.” Klaus sighed, turning his gaze down to look at you.

“You have no idea what that was like for me Klaus. Coming home to your lifeless body, I-I thought you were fucking dead.” You snapped, looking away from him as tears build in your eyes again. You’re so sick of crying. You feel his fingers grasping your chin, turning your head to look at him.

“I’m not dead baby, I’m here. I’m gonna get clean, and I’m gonna stay clean. I promise.” Klaus whispered before pressing his lips against yours. What you didn’t know then was that Klaus would be making that promise a hundred more times, and he’d be breaking it a hundred times. Deep down he didn’t want to get clean, he didn’t care enough about himself to try. The dead were too overwhelming, too scary, too much. Klaus couldn’t handle it, he didn’t want to. What he wanted was to be completely numb. The kiss was watery, but you pressed against him with such ferocity you almost took him by surprise.

“Mr. Hargreeves? The van is here.” A nurse says, clearing her throat awkwardly from the door. Klaus breaks the kiss first, his forehead pressed against yours. You can’t stop the tears as they trail down your cheeks. You sling his bag over your shoulder as the two of you head outside together. You see a man in scrubs take Klaus’s bag as other patients from the hospital pile into the van.

“I’ll only be gone for 3 months. Be back in a flash.” Klaus smiles, but the mischievousness doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I love you.” You whisper as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” Is the last thing you hear him whisper before he’s climbing into the van.

//

Klaus’s sobriety didn’t last long after rehab. Sure he’d attended all the group therapy sessions, and the annual detox therapy, he saw his therapist and followed the steps. He’d gone through the entire agonizing process of detoxing from the drugs. He wanted to be better, but then the voices came once more. Wailing in his ear about how desperately they wished to be alive, all the horrible details of their death, all the people they left behind. Ben tried to talk Klaus through it, to help him embrace his powers rather than reject them. But when Klaus sat straight up in bed, your sleeping body next to him and a thousand desperate voices screaming in his head he couldn’t take anymore.

“Don’t do this.” Ben pleaded, although he sounded defeated more than desperate. But Klaus’s shaking hands were already reaching for the closest pair of pants, which happened to be one of your skirts. Klaus was way more than itching for a fix, he was downright clawing for one. His eyes were wild as he stood up slowly, careful not to wake you up.

“She trusts you Klaus.” Ben tries again, he’s begun resorting to guilt tripping to keep Klaus sober. For the last few days it’s seemed to work, but Ben doubts it’s going to work now. Klaus is too far gone. “That isn’t going to last forever, eventually she will give up on you.”

“Shut up.” Klaus hisses, pulling sneakers on before turning for the door of the apartment. Ben appears in the doorway of the staircase, and Klaus raises a brow.

“Save whatever speech you have planned, I need it now.” Klaus says desperately, walking down the stairs- through Ben.

“Screw you Klaus, you’re taking advantage of her!” Ben snaps, you may not know Ben is around but he’s gotten to know you. He cares about you, in a sisterly way, and he hates seeing Klaus take your love and throw it away.

“Shut the hell up Ben.” There is genuine anger in Klaus’s tone now, his fists clenched as he continued towards where his normal dealer hangs out. Ben doesn’t particularly like hurting Klaus, but dammit someone has to stop him from destroying his own life.

“If you really cared about Y/N, you’d turn around and go home. She’s still laying in bed, thinking you’re next to her. How amazing is it that she wants you to be next to her, and you don’t seem to care at all. If I was alive, I’d love her right.” Ben yells, and this causes Klaus to freeze.

“Like hell you could! Y/N only wants me.” Klaus insists, but Ben can see the insecurity swirling in his eyes.

“For how long? When she realizes you relapsed again she isn’t going to want anything to do with you. Or you could go home Klaus, and put her first for once.” Ben says, his voice calmer this time. Tears well in Klaus’s eyes, he loves you more than anything on this whole planet.

“I’m sorry, I need it.” Klaus whispers before turning down the alley to see his dealer. This time, Ben doesn’t follow him. He can’t watch Klaus overdose again, he can’t watch him throw you away for drugs.

//

The first time you have sex with Klaus, he was high. You don’t know that, and Klaus knows exactly how you’d react if you did. It was a month since Klaus had gotten out of rehab, and you believed it also signaled a month of sobriety for him. In reality, Klaus hadn’t even made it a week before he relapsed after rehab. You wanted to celebrate with him, to do something nice for him. Ben watched you light candles while Klaus took a “nap”. It made him sick to see you do so many nice things for Klaus, while Klaus was really shooting up in your shared bathroom. You’re out here setting up something nice to celebrate Klaus’s sobriety, and he’s injecting heroin into his veins. It truly does make Ben sick. You lit the last candle, and when you reached up to remove your robe and reveal your lingerie- Ben disappeared. He isn't a pervert, he knew where this was going.

“Klaus?” You called nervously, smoothing your babydoll lace as you sat on the bed. You knew you wanted this, you were just nervous. When he emerged from the bathroom, his eyes widened as they landed on your nearly exposed breasts. He’d never seen you so naked before. Klaus swallowed a thick lump in his throat, and suddenly everything felt hotter, and tighter.

“Hey.” Is all he can say before an easy smile makes its way across his face.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on 1 month of sobriety.” You say softly with a smile, and then all the happiness drains away. Klaus feels sick to his stomach as guilt nearly brings him to his knees. You believe in him, and he’s pissing it all away. He wished he was stronger, but he isn’t. Klaus is weak and he isn’t worth it, and soon you’re going to realize that.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Klaus whispers and you shrug with a nervous smile on your face.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, your eyes widening. You’re really putting yourself out there and you can only hope he likes this. Klaus takes a step forward, his hands landing on your hips.

“No baby I do! I love this.” Klaus reassures you, and you feel your cheeks heat up when you see his eyes go wandering down your body. HIs lips lower to yours then and you feel like you’re up in the clouds. Klaus feels his heart breaking with every tender movement, every gentle brush of your fingers through his hair. It’s all he can do but to grab you and press you against his body with a bruising force. The desperation in his movements is what catches you off guard, his hands are hauling your thighs up around his waist. Normally Klaus isn’t this assertive in the bedroom, but he needs to feel your skin against his. He needs to know you’re here with him, because soon you won’t be. He knows that.

It’s not long before you’re undressed and your legs are spread open for him, and Klaus has no idea what he ever did to deserve you. Deep down he knows he doesn’t, you deserve someone like Ben. Maybe that’s why what Ben said really struck a nerve, because deep down Klaus knows if Ben were alive- you’d choose him. You’d never choose Klaus if he were being compared to Ben. Klaus grasps his cock in his hand before guiding the head into your tight opening, and when he pushes into you- it feels like absolute heaven. But there’s only one thought on Klaus’s mind, I don’t deserve this.

//

The second time you see Klaus overdose, it’s the morning after the best night of your life. It’s the morning after you sleep with him, the morning after you feel truly connected to him like you’re one. You stretched with a yawn, a smile on your face as your hand reaches over to where Klaus is sleeping next to you. When your hand finds cold sheets your eyes blink open, he’s already awake?

“Klaus?” You call softly, waiting for a response. When you don’t get one you finally drag yourself out of bed, you enter the living room. Again no sign of Klaus whatsoever. Panic creeps into your chest then, he’s just out getting coffee or something to surprise you. You bite nervously at your nails before you turn back to your room to push into the bathroom. The sight before you draws a gasp from you. Klaus is slumped against the wall, his arm still on the toilet with the tourniquet around his arm. The needle is on the lid of the toilet next to his arm, and you immediately rush towards him.

“What have you done?” You whisper desperately, reaching for the life alert you have in the bathroom. You have one in every room in your apartment, which at the time felt like overkill but now looking back on it you’re happy you did. You pull Klaus to lay on his back, yanking the tourniquet off his arm. You try to feel for a pulse, and much to your horror you don’t feel a pulse. You frantically press your ear to his chest, his heart isn’t beating.

“Oh my God Klaus!” You nearly scream in horror, balling your fist up and slamming it down on his chest as hard as you can. You continue to do this, tears cascading down your cheeks. He’s dead, his heart isn’t beating.

“Klaus, why? You said you were sober!” You scream in pure emotional agony. You hardly notice when the paramedics arrive until they pull you away from him.

“H-his heart isn’t beating. Please help him.” You beg as they rush him out of the apartment, but this time...you don’t go with him. You’ve finally reached the point all of Klaus’s siblings reached, the point where you just can’t take being let down anymore. You believe in him, you feel hopeful. Then you feel lower than low when you realize he relapsed again, you can’t do this anymore. You can’t take the let down anymore.

It’s a few days before you go see Klaus in the hospital, and you know what you have to do but you’re not sure you have the strength to do it. Klaus is sitting in bed, eating chocolate pudding, and this time he looks worse than last time. He glances up at you when you come in, and he has to do a double take.

“Baby-”

“Please don’t. I don’t want to hear your excuses, or your promises to get clean.” You interrupt, and it’s only just now that he notices a suitcase in your hand. There are tears endlessly falling down your cheeks, and inside you feel completely dead. Klaus knows what the suitcase is for, he knows that you’ve lost faith in him. Just like Ben predicted you would, but despite the fact that this is all Klaus’s fault...Ben still sits nearby with a look of sadness upon his face.

“What’s the suitcase for?” Klaus brings himself to ask the dreaded question even though he already knows the answer. You swallow a lump before depositing the suitcase on a chair at the end of his bed.

“That’s all your stuff. D-Don’t come back to my apartment. Don’t call. I can’t be with you like this.” You cry, watching as the broken look on your face crosses onto Klaus’s.

“Baby please don’t do this. Just give me another chance, I’ll stay clean this time-” But you’re already shaking your head, taking slow steps back towards the door.

“We’re over Klaus. I’m done. I can’t be terrified of finding your dead body, I can’t wonder where you are at night or where you’re going when you sneak out. I can’t live like this anymore, I don’t want to live like this.” You sob, your shoulders shaking as you cry softly.

“Please don’t give up on me, not you.” Klaus pleads, and the look in his eyes nearly makes you change your mind, But then you remember where he is, that he did this to himself. You shake your head.

“You’ve given me no choice Klaus! I can’t take it anymore, I can’t handle anymore heartbreak.” You snap, tears heavy on your cheeks.

“I can get my shit together, I can!” Klaus pleads as your hand finds the door handle. He can’t lose you, not you. Anybody but you.

“I know you can, but I can’t wait around wondering if you’ll get your shit together before you overdose and die. I can’t wait around hoping the latter will come first. Goodbye Klaus.” You open the door and step into the hallway.

“No, Y/N please. I love you.” You hear Klaus call before you’re closing the door behind you. Your heart shatters as you do, and continues to shatter as you walk away.

Despite what you said, he called. He called over and over again and even came to your apartment. You remember him knocking and begging you to open the door, you had slid down the wall sobbing softly with your hand over your mouth. You love Klaus more than you’ve ever loved anyone, but you can’t watch him die. You can’t. You had to let him go and hope that someday he gets clean, and that he stays clean. You hope that someday he finds something or someone to stay clean for. Clearly, you weren’t enough.

“Please open the door, I know you’re in there.” Klaus begs, leaning against the closed door.

“She’s crying. I don’t think she’s going to open the door.” Ben says, poking his head through the door to look at you. His heart breaks for you, he tried to warn Klaus this was going to happen.

“I love you Y/N, just give me one more chance please.” Klaus tries again but you stay rooted to the floor, your body shaking through the tears.

“You’re hurting her Klaus.” Ben says softly, and Klaus finally takes a step away from the door with a look of realization on his face. He is hurting you. You don’t want him here, and as much as that kills him it’s the truth. The longer he sits here in the hallway, the more you’re going to cry. He has to let you go. He quickly wipes away falling tears before slinging his bag over his shoulder. Klaus leans down to slide something under the door before heading back down the stairs, and this time he isn’t going to be coming back. You turn to see a piece of paper with a plastic bag sitting on your kitchen floor. You lift the bag, and inside it is a necklace. It’s a silver heart with diamonds along the side, but on the inside is a rose made out of rose gold. You feel tears drifting down your cheeks as you turn to the note.

“Happy 1 Year Anniversary. I love you. -K”

You collapse to the floor, clutching the necklace and the note to your chest tightly. You never thought you would lose him, actually you were stupid enough to believe you could save him from himself. But you can’t save him, you never could. No matter how much you love him, it’s time to let him go and you can only hope that the next time you see him isn’t at his funeral.

//

-9 Years Later-

The letter clutched in your hand was one you never thought you’d be receiving. It’s from Allison, saying that her father died so she’s in town. You can’t fight the excitement you feel upon realizing you’re probably going to see her soon. You missed her. The prospect of running into Klaus crosses your mind, but c’mon what are the chances he’ll even show up? His father locked him in a Mausoleum for most of his childhood, you know for a fact that Klaus has no love for Reginald. You’re surprised Allison is going, but then again Reginald always did his little “experiments” on Klaus. Never the others. Besides Vanya, he treated Klaus the absolute worst. So you seriously doubt Klaus will turn up, plus you’ll only be there for like 10 minutes to see Allison. That’s the only reason you’re standing here, knocking on the door.

“It’s been a while Miss Y/L/N.” Pogo says once the door opens. You smile upon seeing him and can’t help yourself as you stoop down to hug him tightly. You’ve really missed Pogo these last few years. But you had to forget all of this, push it to the back of your mind. Any reminder of Klaus would cause you to collapse into tears, so you couldn’t think about any of it. There were a few times you nearly asked Allison to use her powers to erase your relationship with Klaus from your head. There was a while where you felt like you couldn’t be happy without him, but overall you did fine.

“Oh my God! Y/N!” You hear her before you see her and before you’ve even properly turned around Allison’s arms are winding around you tightly. You feel tears burning the backs of your eyes as you hug her back, it’s so good to see her. When Allison pulls back, her eyes scan your face before flickering behind you.

“Where’s Klaus?” If it were a few years ago, the question would have sent you to your knees in tears. You shake your head with a smile.

“We broke up a few years ago.” The pain behind your eyes is unmistakable. Allison nods before her gaze is flickering down to the necklace secured around your neck.

“Then what’s that?” She lifts the necklace in her hand, the necklace Klaus had slid under your door.

“It’s just a necklace I don’t know what you-”

“I helped him pick it out Y/N. It was the last time I talked to him.” She said and you nod slowly. You hold the metal in your hands, you’ve been wearing it every day since he gave it to you. Clinging to it like it’s the last piece of him you have, which is sort of true. You stole a few t-shirts of his too.

“I was just about to poke around in my Dad’s office, wanna come?” The playful glint in her eyes sends away the tears that were about to spill over your cheeks. You nod instantly, that was the one room they were never allowed to go into. You skip up the stairs behind Allison, running your fingers along the bannister. You remember all the times you ran up these stairs with Allison, either running away from Reginald or Pogo. Or the times you’d gotten hurt and Grace was there to run her fingers through your hair and hold you to her chest, she really was the best mom. She was a mom to you too, your own parents are pieces of shit and the only person you ever really had was Grace.

“Wow, so weird being in here.” You say once you two breach the threshold into the office. It only takes a few seconds for you to hear someone rummaging around in the drawers. You doubt Luther could fit behind the desk without you seeing him so it’s not him, and you just saw Diego in the hallway. Vanya was downstairs last time you checked so that means…

“Klaus?” Allison says it first. Your heart is in your throat as he stands to his full height, which is a few inches taller than the last time you saw him. He has facial hair, he doesn’t look like a boy anymore. He’s really grown into himself, he’s still super skinny though. His fashion style has changed a lot since the last time you saw him. He’s almost sort of feminine now, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look hot as hell. His eyes light up upon seeing her, a wide smile stretched across his face. He hasn’t seen you yet, so you’re going to just sneak out. You turn and head for the door when you hear his voice.

“Y/N? That you?” You hear the happiness edging at the tone of his voice. You can’t bring yourself to turn around, you can’t look into his eyes and remember how much you’ve missed him. He’s probably still using and you can’t get sucked into his addiction again. You stay stock still, tears burning at the corner of your eyes as you see him come into your view. He uses two fingers to tilt your chin up, and when you look into his eyes- it’s all over. They’re the same hazel eyes that you remember, the same softness behind them. The tears trickle down your cheeks before you can stop them. You shove past him and out of the room just as Luther comes in, he lights up when he sees you but the look quickly falters when he sees the tears on your face. His gaze trails back to Klaus and then a look of realization finally reaches his eyes.

“You should go after her.” Ben suggests as he moves to sit on Reginald’s desk. Klaus doesn’t say anything as he empties his pockets of things he was planning to sell before Luther caught him.

“Klaus, you're like an open wound for her, fix it. I thought you loved her.” Ben snaps, and this time Klaus glares at him before storming out of the room.

“I do love her.” Klaus snaps back.

“So talk to her and stop being an idiot.” Ben says, and the anger in his eyes is unmistakable. Klaus groans, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘I’m sorry’?” Ben suggests sarcastically. Klaus rolls his eyes. Turning towards the railing of the stairs, Klaus spots you next to a giant window. You’re stood with your arms crossed, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see you.

“Don’t think it’s going to be enough, but I’ll try.” Klaus says softly, looking into Ben’s eyes. Tucking the ornate box he stole from the office into his pants, Klaus makes his way towards you.

“Hey you.” Is all he says, but hearing him say those words with his voice, it’s almost too much. It sends you right back to the first time you saw Klaus overdosing, it’s what he said in the hospital room when he woke up. You push a smile onto your face through the tears.

“Hey.” You wipe away a falling tear as you turn to look at him, and you see his eye fixated on your neck. Klaus reaches up to touch the necklace, there’s a smile on his face.

“You’re wearing it.”

“I never took it off, since you gave it to me.” You admit softly. Klaus looks up to meet your eyes again, and you swear he’s wearing eyeliner. Why is that so hot? Why is him dressing sort of like a woman so damn sexy?

“So, I hate this small talk but how have you been?” Klaus asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You casually wipe away a few tears, pretending that neither of you know why you’re crying. Even though you both know you’re crying because of him, again. What kills you the most is that everything else about him looks different enough for you to convince yourself that it’s a different person. But his eyes are the same. The same soft, puppy like eyes and every time you look into them you see the broken look on his face when you broke up with him.

“Good. I’m good, you?” You and Klaus really did detest small talk, but when it comes to you two you need to take baby steps. Maybe you can be friends but you doubt it, either way you have to take it slow. Really slow.

“I’m great.” He says with a wide smile, you nod once before turning your gaze out the window again. There’s one question poking at your head, refusing to be ignored. So you lick your lips and slowly turn to him.

“Klaus?”

“Hm?”

“Did you have anywhere to go after I...I um-”

“After you kicked me out?” You don’t expect the words to sting so much when he says them, you don’t think he intended to say it bitterly but he did. You nod.

“No I didn’t, but I figured it out.” He says with a shrug. You feel guilty as you look back out the window, and that’s when you notice him inch closer to you.

“I’ve missed you Y/N.” He says softly, turning his body to face yours. You feel tears in your eyes again, you know what he’s doing.

“Don’t.” You say softly, but his arms reach on either side of you to grasp the railing behind you- effectively trapping you in place.

“I really missed you.” Klaus says sincerely, his lips ghosting over yours. It’s too much.

“Stop! We can’t do this again Klaus.” You gasp, shoving him away from you. Klaus’s eyebrows knit together, but you know he really isn’t surprised.

“Baby I’m different now, I won’t let you down again-”

“Really? Then what’s this?” You snap as tears drift down your face. You grasp the bracelet on his wrist, the bracelet from rehab next to the one from the emergency room. You see him shrink in on himself, knowing that he had in fact been caught.

“After all these years and you’re still using, and you overdosed again? Do you know how lucky you are to be alive? Dammit Klaus, I’m not getting pulled into this bullshit again. I can’t.” You yell, crying uncontrollably now.

“But I still love you, I’m so fucking in love with you.” Klaus pleads and you know he means it. The annoying part is that you love him too, there’s never going to be a time in your life that you’re not in love with Klaus. You shake your head, you really wished you could control your damn emotions. You turn to storm down the stairs when you feel his fingers gently close around your wrist.

“I know you love me, you wouldn’t wear that necklace if you didn’t.” Klaus says desperately, a look in his eyes you can’t quite place.

“Please Y/N, just kiss me. One more time, please.” Klaus pleads, and you close your eyes as you release a heavy breath. You grasp onto his shirt tightly before pulling his lips down to meet yours. Klaus sighs happily against your lips as his hands grasp tightly at your own shirt, pulling you as close to his body as you can get. Your lips move against each other, and you can already feel the heat rising. You moan against him when his hand slips between your legs on the outside of your jeans. You pull away from him as he presses his palm against your core.

“W-We can’t do this Klaus.” You gasp, your head tilting back as he grinds his hardening cock against you. He winds his arms around your waist, his lips finding the sweet spot just under your ear. You mewl softly, your hands grasping his shoulders tightly.

“Sure we can, you don’t want a relationship- fine. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a physical relationship.” He whispers, biting at your neck in a way that makes you feel like you’re melting. You sigh softly as his hand slides under your shirt and up your back.

“C’mon baby, let me make you feel good. Use me to get off. Please.” His filthy words send another wave of arousal through you. You look into his eyes and when you see the heat simmering in them, you know you can’t say no.

“God please make me cum Klaus.” You plead hoarsely, and his lips press against yours again. He hauls your legs around his waist as he takes a back hallway to his bedroom. He presses you against the wall outside of his bedroom, grinding his cock up against your core. His lips trail kisses from the corner of your mouth, all the way down the column of your throat. Your head tilts back and hits the wall, your entire body buzzing.

“Just please tell me, are you high right now?” You gasp, his hand toying with the button of your jeans. Klaus hums in thought.

“A little.” He admits, and it definitely bothers you, but you need to cum so damn badly that you don’t care too much. Klaus kicks the door shut behind him before dropping you onto the bed, his hands yanking your shirt over your head.

“Wait, is this my shirt?” He asks, lifting the fabric to inspect it.

“A memento, come here and kiss me.” You plead again, your bra joining his shirt not too long after. Klaus happily obliges, yanking his shirt over his head before his lips are on yours. Your hands find his scarf, which strangely looks good on him before pulling it from around his neck.

“Nice scarf.” You comment against his lips. Klaus’s tongue swiftly enters your mouth and you, honest to God whimper against his lips. No man has ever made you whimper before. Your hands reach down to unbutton his pants, and you begin to push them down his legs. Remarkably, Klaus has managed to keep the giant box tucked into his pants concealed, kicking it under the bed when you look down to help untangle the pants from his ankles. You help peel his pants off before you’re sliding onto the floor in front of him. You pump his cock in your hand a few times before you’re taking him down your throat. Klaus hisses as his head tosses back, and you have to admit that the way he looks sends heat between your legs. His arms holding himself up as his neck is exposed, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving. He looks fucking beautiful. You lick a line up the underside of his cock, you still remember exactly what he likes. That’s honestly a little pathetic, but at this moment you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck baby I don’t remember you being so-” he’s cut off when you suck lightly, and he moans. “-being so good at this.”

He swallows thickly, daring himself to look down at you. The sight before him nearly makes him cum on the spot. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, there are tears in your eyes, and your mouth is stuffed full of his cock. He can see it bulging in your throat. You bob your head up and down his full length, but eventually Klaus yanks you off him by your hair.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to cum and I won’t get hard again.” He growls, pulling your lips against his. Klaus’s hands are quickly unbuttoning your jeans, his hands hooking into the waistband to push them down your legs along with your underwear.

“You’re too clothed.” He mumbles against your lips, you eagerly help him undress you. Klaus gently pushes you back against the mattress to lay underneath you, his hands pressed on either side of your head. His eyes are practically twinkling as he gazes down at you, and there’s a fond smile on his face as his fingers brush against the necklace once more.

“What?” You ask, your cheeks heating up from the look in his eyes.

“Nothing. Just...this is my happy place.” He says and you turn your head away when it starts to feel too emotional.

“This is just sex Klaus remember? We’re not getting back together.” You remind him, and you hate the crushed look in his eyes but he nods.

“Yeah, I remember.” He says softly, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You moan when you feel his tip sliding against your lips, and just that one sound has reignited the fire in Klaus’s eyes. He reaches down to grasp the base of his cock, watching with nearly sadistic eyes as he teases you by rubbing the head along your entrance.

“Don’t be an asshole.” You groan, your fingers curling around the sheets. Klaus leans down to press his lips against yours before he’s sliding into you in one languid thrust. Your breath catches in your throat as you wind your arms around his shoulders. You’re not as tight as Klaus was expecting, which can only mean one thing. You’ve had sex with somebody else, and deep down Klaus knows that he has no right to be upset about it. But he is, he’s really upset about it. He quickly sets a brutal pace, pinning your arms to the bed as he bites down softly on your lower lip. You wriggle one arm free so you can reach up and grasp tightly onto his neck, your fingers curled around his throat. Klaus’s eyes roll back as he continues to pump into you.

“Fuck I missed this.” Klaus groans, his other hand snaking between your bodies to toy with your clit. Klaus has slept with one other person since he was with you, but that was different. It was a man. To Klaus, sex with men is just as good as sex with women but nothing is as good as sex with you. There’s something about you that just makes his toes curl, that edges him a little higher. Maybe it’s because he’s helplessly in love with you, but who knows. Klaus knows he won’t last much longer, especially when you begin to clench around him. He missed being this close to you, feeling one with you. Feeling you. He missed it all, everything about you. He is going to get you back, Klaus has made it his goal to get clean. For you. He never wants to lose you again.

“I missed you,” You gasp, you can’t help it. You did miss him. More than you thought you would, and you thought that time would heal the wound but it didn’t. Actually, the more time that went on the more the wound seemed to open. Klaus continues to push into you roughly, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. You hold his chest tightly to yours, your eyes squeezing shut when his fingers gently pinch your clit. The tidal wave breaks open then and you’re squeezing around him so tightly that it draws a strangled groan from him as you gush around him. You moan obscenely as you cum around him, your hands holding him tightly. Klaus gasps as he thrusts into you roughly before pulling out of you and instantly cumming all over your stomach.

“I needed that.” Klaus sighs happily, standing to clean your stomach off. You watch him toss the tissue in a trash can before reaching around for his clothes.

“Leaving?” You ask in disbelief, he won’t stay with you for a little bit? Klaus leans back over you before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Sorry baby, got an errand to run.” He says reaching under the bed to grab the box. Klaus slides the scarf around his neck once more, and when you see the box you know what he’s up to. He’s going to sell it for drug money. He tosses your clothes onto the bed before turning towards the door. Just before his hand tugs the door open, he turns towards you again.

“Be honest with me, do you still love me?” He asks and you bite down on your bottom lip.

“I still love you Klaus.” You admit, watching the small smile on his face.

“I love you too.” And before you know it, he’s out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him. It’s immediate that you should not have had sex with him, you should have said no but you couldn’t. Why?

Because Klaus is your addiction.

[songmingisthighs]

[23.20] badboy!seonghwa × reader

⇀ he made the first move. don't you forget that.

⇁ part 1 / 2

⇁ prologue part 1 / 2 / 3

"Shit (Y/N) I'm so sorry but turns out Hyerin already put me down as a group partner!" Your friend, Chaerin, said with pity in her eyes.

Sophomore year sucks. Simply because people had already found people they wanna group with so it's back to highschool cliques. Juvenile, I know.

But Chaerin was supposed to be your safe bet, the one person who'd be in the same group as you as long as you both have the same class. But since she took the afternoon class of your addiction psychology last semester due to scheduling reasons, you could sense that she might've found new friends. Which scared you.

"Chaerin, I know no one else in this class, how am I supposed to group with them? Professor Kang said 2-3 people in a group so just take me with you!" You begged, holding onto her arm to prevent her from leaving your side during group discussion.

Chaerin looked at you with so much pity in her eyes, "I'm sorry (Y/N), but Hyerin already took her boyfriend in with her and she's really great with statistics! I need to pass statistics 1 to be able to get to statistics 2, so I'm really sorry," she then proceed to detach your hand from her arm and scamper away to her groupmates.

You glared at her, feeling slightly offended that she basically said that she assumed you're stupid with statistics and that she left you so easily.

Looking around, you found people who were still only in pairs. Some of them were quite familiar, having seen them with your other classmates around campus.

But before you could suck your pride up and grovel, someone had dropped their books on the spot next to you, soon their body plopped down and you were able to see who the person is.

Park Seonghwa.

"I hope you don't mind, I heard what your friend said so I put our name together as a group, I don't know anyone else here," he said simply, looking at you with a blank facial expression.

He was in your intro to psychology class back in your first semester, having had spoken a bit during impromptu discussions and sharing knowing glances and smiles when you passed by each other.

You knew him as the popular guy who always have 7 other people around him outside of class. Good grades, flirts a lot, respectful towards professors, and a notorious player.

But even so you couldn't help but feel relieved when he said what he said.

You exhaled loudly in relief, smiling gratefully at him, "no, no, I don't mind at all! In fact, I'm rather grateful! I don't know what I'd do if you hadn't group us together first, like who'd I be able to beg to? I barely know these people, and Chaerin just had to leave me for Hyerin and her boyfriend," you said, bitterly saying the last part.

Seonghwa smirked at you and your blatant bitterness, "aren't you supposed to be all supportive of your friends? Girl power and all?" You scoffed at him, "with how she ditch me? No way, what she did was blatant abandonment, parents get put in jail for that, you know?"

He laughed genuinely at what you said. Never had he ever encountered a girl with the amount of spunk you have. The girls he spent his time with are usually those who fake innocence or feign their whole personality so he wouldn't be able to see who they are truly. But he has enough experience to know what's genuine. And you? You're as clean as they come.

"True, I agree," he calmed down a bit before shrugging at you, "still, how much do you think she'd enjoy her time being a third wheel? You should pity her and not be mad at her," he suddenly leaned his face close to you, "or, if you want, we can convince her to come to our group and be our third wheel instead," he muttered lowly.

Usually, he'd expect girls to blush and stutter when he did that. But he was surprised to see you giggle nonchalantly, "why would she third wheel us? We have nothing between us that she would be able to third wheel on," you said, shaking your head because you honestly think what he said was silly.

While you knew him as the flirt, he knew you as the girl who goes beyond her way to help people. The girl who was known around campus as the spark of joy that they could always count on.

He convinced himself that the reason why he wanted to get close to you is because he wants to test whether or not it was true, that you are as good as people perceived you are. He supress his straying thoughts of how sweet your smile is, how you seem to stop every 5 steps to say hi to someone wherever you go, and he had to muster extra strength to suppress his need to plant kisses all over your face whenever you smile. Which is often.

The class ended with Professor Kang giving the first assignment which is to familiarize yourself with both SPSS and JASP. He gave instructions on how to download the programs before dismissing the class promptly.

As you pack your things into back, simultaneously throwing a winning smirk at Chaerin whom over the past hour and a half had been looking your way with an incredulous look, not believing that Park Seonghwa sat next to you and initiate to be in the same group as you.

When you step out of the classroom, Seonghwa suddenly joined you by walking next to you.

"So, can we meet up this afternoon at the café across campus ?" He asked, tilting his head a little at you. Despite him donning his signature leather jacket and white tee with distressed jeans, he looks adorable like this.

"What for?" you asked him, tilting your head to the head slightly in confusion, "we don't really have anything to do yet, Seonghwa" you grinned at him.

Seonghwa bit his bottom lip, suppressing the urge to pull you into him. A very hard task to do.

"I-I-," he coughed a little, not believing that he just stuttered in front of you, "we could download both programs together and learn how to use them so that we'd be on the same page, you know? So neither of us would be less knowledgeable than the other,"

What he said made sense. You considered his words while nodding your head in understatement. Meeting him later in the afternoon wouldn't be cutting in any of your schedule nor would it bother you whatsoever. And you honestly like the idea of not being too dependent on one another for things.

Deciding that it was a good idea, you nodded at him, "sure! Should we exchange numbers, then? So it'll be easier to communicate things?" you offered him your phone.

Seonghwa didn't even bother to hide the smirk on his face. Never had he ever experience having to trade number for something so innocent, it's honestly making him kind of tingly.

When you both finished putting in each other's contacts in the other's phone, going as far as putting a contact photo on them for no specific reason, you both returned each other's phone.

All of a sudden, Seonghwa leaned his face close to yours, "and besides," he smiled, "I'm keen on familiarizing myself with you too," he said before he turned on his heels and walk away.

You stood there, frozen at what just happened.

Just to make you even more flustered, he looked back and threw you a wink.

"See you later, (Y/N)!" he called, making everyone look at you in jealousy, probably thinking you had scored a date with him.

Despite the shock and the unfamiliarity, you're actually excited about meeting him later even just for something as miniscule as studying.

if only you knew.

[authoressofdarkness]

Beauty and the Beast (Chapter 4)

“Staring is rude, you know.” The words leave his mouth before he can really think to stop them. Stark’s eyes snap up to his, and a bemused smile curves up his lips. “I’ll remind you of that when I take you to bed tonight,” he tells him coolly. “But I’ve got no problem with touching you instead, if you’d prefer.”

Very dubious consent teasing and experimentation in this chapter, as typical with this story. Mind the warnings! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Being with Dr. Banner isn’t bad.

Yes, he is technically experimenting on him. Yes, his loyalties and intentions are… highly questionable. But aside from that, he’s the same man he was the few other times Peter ran into him. Kind, funny, and a little awkward, it’s true, but despite that, Peter almost enjoys their time.

At least Banner is open enough about what he’s doing. It’s not that bad, and any time he isn’t with Stark is a welcome reprieve. He’s sure soon enough he’ll be savoring these moments, even if they’re not actually that much better than being with him.

It doesn’t feel like that long, despite everything they do. Peter listens to what Banner orders him to do, if only because he has no reason to fight most of it. It’s awkward, sometimes, but he holds nothing back. He’s honestly curious about the extent of his powers too.

He has half a mind to hold back, not wanting Stark to know the full extent of his powers, even if he’s always wanted to know himself. But he knows that Stark can force him to reveal them if he refuses, and he has no doubts of exactly what will happen and to whom if he so much as tries.

He only has a limited amount of control over what happens to his family. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t use it to spare them to the best extent he can.

This is also part of the reason why he doesn’t ask Banner a lot of questions despite his itching curiosity. If it seems like he’s fishing for information Stark doesn’t want him to have… well, the results probably won’t be pretty if he finds out. And right now he has no way to know if Stark is actually watching them or not — he’s not stupid enough to believe he can’t , just knows that he might not actually be — so he doesn’t. He can ask questions when they’re face to face, so at least he can get a read on when he’s pushing too far.

It’s a few hours later when Banner finally calls it. He’d spent the last hour doing vigorous exercises, and though he’s dripping with sweat, his stamina isn’t even close to running out. That’s not to say it isn’t tiring, but he could keep going.

“I think that’s enough,” Banner says, drawing Peter to a stop from the pushups he’d been doing. “It’s obvious you’re not going to tire anytime soon. We’ll need days to test the full extent of this.”

“Days?” Peter repeats. He’s never went for days at a time before, but in the right setting, it could be possible. He’s not sure that’s something to look forward to, though.

“Accounting for different variations and such and the actual amount of time you go every time, yes. We’ll have to have several sessions. I’ll talk to Tony and see what he’s interested in pursuing.” Banner doesn’t look up front where he’s scribbling notes at a desk a few feet away. “You can go. I’m sure he’s back by now.”

Peter gets to his feet slowly, stretching out his sore muscles and groaning a little. He has half a mind to ask if he should be tied up again, but if Stark wants him bound, he won’t hesitate to tie him up again. He probably knew exactly what Banner was planning to do, so he won’t be surprised he’s not.

Slowly, he makes his way out of the lab, but stops in the hallway. He has no idea where he’s supposed to go, nor where he is allowed to go. As much as he’d like to explore, get the layout of the area, the last thing he needs is Stark to find him somewhere he’s not supposed to be and accuse him of trying to escape or worse.

“Master requests your presence in the kitchen, Mr. Parker.”

The disembodied voice makes him jump. Perhaps he should have been expecting it — he knows Stark has an AI in his suit; why would the house be any different?

Oh well. It startled him, but at least it solves his problem.

He heads down the hallway towards the open area where he’s fairly sure the kitchen is. It takes a minute to find it, but when he does, he sees Stark sitting at the island, sipping a cup of coffee and tapping away on a tablet.

He stops dead in his tracks at the sight. It’s just so… weird . He’s only ever seen him in his Iron Man suit, when they were fighting, or in a regular suit, if he were spying on him around town or at public gatherings. But right now he’s in neither of those things; he’s dressed in a simple jeans and band tee shirt, sitting casually in the kitchen, looking altogether… normal.

Stark looks up when he enters, and for a brief moment when their eyes first meet, he’s sure they’re brown. But then he blinks and steps closer, hoping for a better look, and they’re blue again.

He rubs his eyes, blinking a few times. Could he really be losing his mind already? It’s only been half a day. Christ.

When he refocuses, Stark is looking him over appraisingly, and he flushes under the intensity of the look, wishing he’d put his clothes back on before leaving the lab. Banner had made him strip for a physical examination before much else, and he was still only in his boxers now, since his jeans and sweater from yesterday weren’t exactly conducive to exercise.

“Staring is rude, you know.” The words leave his mouth before he can really think to stop them.

Stark’s eyes snap up to his, and a bemused smile curves up his lips. “I’ll remind you of that when I take you to bed tonight,” he tells him coolly. “But I’ve got no problem with touching you instead, if you’d prefer.”

The words make his stomach clench again, the hot and heavy feeling returning. It should be dread, but it isn’t. Honestly, he’s not surprised by the intention, although he is by the flat-out admission on the other hand. And even more surprisingly, he’s not really scared.

He should be, he knows. But in all honesty, he just can’t make himself be, for a lot of reasons. Stark is going to do what he wants to do, and Peter knew that when he’d handed himself in, even if he admittedly hadn’t thought much about it in the heat of the moment. It was already something that had been on his mind for years, what Stark would do to him if he ever captured him, and he’d known the reputation the elder man had even before he was Iron Man. It wasn’t a big leap to make, and he was smart enough to know that fighting it wouldn’t do any good.

But Peter was also an enhanced individual. He’d had sex a few times — not many, but enough to have tried it with both genders and a few different ways — and it was enough for him to know that while he didn’t need much to get off thanks to his enhanced senses, he had very specific cravings. Ones that normal people couldn’t or didn’t want to participate in. He liked it rough — and rough, for him, was a hard point to reach. Normal people couldn’t even succeed in leaving marks on his skin, let alone making him sore. And there is also the flip side to it — normal people are just so fragile . He had to be so careful with his previous partners that honestly if it hadn’t been for his enhanced senses, he probably wouldn’t have got off with any of them.

He doesn’t expect any of that from Stark. Gentle didn’t seem to be his MO, especially if earlier was anything to go by. And while Peter may have hated the man, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the sex. Nor could he probably pretend that he didn’t. He didn’t have that much self control.

It also doesn’t mean he has to give in easily.

“If you could catch me, maybe,” he says, walking to the other side of the island and leaning against it.

Stark shrugs. “There’s nowhere for you to run to. You could try, but it would be a bad idea.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Let me guess. You’ll hurt Ben if I try?”

Stark chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “I’d be more worried about what I would do to your tight little ass when I catch you.”

The words make his stomach clench again, and he swallows audibly. Stark’s grin only grows at the sight. “Come here.”

The order makes him freeze. Fuck . Does he put his money where his mouth is, or does he obey?

It’s not a decision that takes much thought. Slowly, Peter straightens from where he’s leaning on the counter. Stark is smirking at him, predatorily, and he knows whatever decision he makes is going to end with him getting absolutely wrecked either way.

He moves to stand in front of Stark, swallowing down his nerves. Maybe not today. Running would be an action that would ensure he wouldn’t be walking for at least the next day, probably, and he’d prefer not to have Stark to punish him already, the first time. Rough was one thing. Being used and possibly beaten to a bloody pulp was another entirely, and he has a feeling if he pisses him off, he won’t be shown much mercy.

Stark raises an eyebrow, running a hand flat down the front of his bare chest. The touch is light but firm, and the feeling of the callouses on the elder man’s hands make him shiver as much as the tension behind the motion. “I thought you might actually run,” he admits, tilting his head. “Too scared to test the waters? Or too eager for me?” The hand doesn’t stop at the top of his boxers, moving right down the middle and gripping him through them. “Did earlier make you a horny little spider?”

Peter hisses out a breath at the feeling of the villain’s hand wrapping firmly around his length, even through his boxers. “Maybe,” he responds, watching the elder man’s face at the response.

Stark just hums, giving him a firm tug closer and letting his other hand curve around Peter’s hip, traveling up his spine. Peter almost groans. He holds it back, but the smirk that curves up Stark’s lips tells him he didn’t miss it.

“Good. I will make you hard and horny frequently. You don’t have any control over that, I’m sure, nor the way you’ll be conditioned after a few weeks. But here’s what you need to know.” He leans closer, so they’re almost nose to nose. “You are mine, Parker. Every inch, every thought, every bit of pleasure or pain… it’s mine. You are a pet and a hostage. You get nothing I don’t allow you to — be it time, food, water, clothes, sleep, orgasms, I don’t care.” The hand on his back moves to grip the base of his neck, pulling his head down. “You’re not going to like that and I know that you’ll fight it occasionally. You’ll be punished for it, and probably often, until you learn the rules. But I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

Then he gives him a firm push back and turns back to his tablet. Peter stands there for a whole moment, staring dumbly at him, before Stark casually says, “Boxers off. Now ,” and he snaps out of it and scrambles to comply, a mix of fear and excitement lending the urgency to his movements.

Stark’s words were everything he expected and feared. Still, his trembling is a mixture of both emotions.

He lets the boxers fall and waits. Stark has returned his attention to his tablet, tapping away and ignoring him for a solid few minutes. Then, without looking up, he says, “You’re going to walk around the floor like that the rest of the day, if not the week. I want it in your head exactly how open access you are to me.” He pauses, glancing up at him for the first time and looking him over. “Kneel beside me. Jerk yourself off, but don’t come.”

The kneeling thing again. A kink, or just because Stark liked to humiliate him, test how well he’ll actually listen?

It doesn’t much matter. He doesn’t have a whole lot of choice, and he’s already as exposed in just about every way as he can be. He gets on his knees beside Stark’s chair, biting his lip as he starts to slowly stroke himself.

He’s hard already, more so than he’s probably ever been, and he probably shouldn’t be surprised but he kind of is anyway. This is definitely humiliating, and not on a small scale. Stark isn’t even looking at him, for God’s sake. The point really must be to test his obedience, since he doesn’t seem to be very entertained.

Being unentertaining seems like a good way to end up suffering a punishment worse than death, so he decides to change that. Peter starts jerking himself off, quickly, and in short strokes, releasing his lip to unstifle the groan rising in his throat. He’s used to trying to muffle his cries, for a lot of reasons, but he has a feeling Stark won’t appreciate that.

This goes on for several minutes in much the same way. Stark is still on his tablet, humming appreciatively every now and then at Peter’s ever growing moans but still not turning his attention away from him work. Finally, several minutes of jerking at his own cock later, Tony lays the tablet down and locks it, turning to face him.

Peter hears him turn, feels the shift in attention as those piercing eyes run over him. A hand runs through his hair, the touch surprisingly light until it reaches the nape of his neck, fisting the curls there and jerking his head back, eliciting a strangled gasp from the younger man.

Stark chuckles coldly, drinking in Peter’s face. He just watches until Peter is panting, motions growing rapid as he gets close, before reaching down and wrapping a hand firmly around the base of his cock. “Stop.”

The word is soft, but it’s not a suggestion. Peter lets his hands drop immediately, still breathing raggedly as he looks up at the villain in front of him.

“Good boy.” Stark lets go of his hair, moving the hand around to the front to brush his thumb down Peter’s jaw, then trace the outline of his limbs. “God, I can’t wait to choke you on my cock. We’ll see how smart that mouth of yours is when it’s full. You don’t even get to breathe without my permission now.” The words are soft, deceptively gentle, but obviously dangerous. Promises, not threats, Peter’s mind supplies helpfully. He cups Peter’s chin, tilting his head back further and forcing him to bare his throat again. “Got something smart to say to that , sweetheart?”

“Is it even big enough to choke on?” The words, again, fly out of his mouth before he can think better of them.

He blanches almost instantly. Stark’s eyebrows shoot up, and his lips twist up into a feral grin. “Oh, you silly boy. Are you trying to tempt me? Is that what this is? Because you might want to think again. I can and will wreck you. Mind, body, and everything you think you stood for. I thought I might even keep you as a pet, give you a certain level of freedom, but… it looks like making you a mindless beast is the only way you can be tamed.”

Peter stares at him, eyes widening a little more with seemingly every word. He opens his mouth to speak and finds Stark’s fingers immediately pressed into it, shushing him and curling around to hold his jaw closed. “The only reason I’m not going to choke you on it now,” Stark continues, as normally as if he were discussing the weather, “Is because when I do, sweetheart, I’m going to make it so you can’t talk when I’m done with you. And tonight, I want you to scream when I split you open and fuck you senseless. So perhaps I’ll fuck your raw throat in the morning. But for right now… I think I have another appointment to get to. And you, pretty boy, are going to stay right here and cook something for dinner while I’m gone. If there’s any kind of trouble, Jarvis is going to alert me, and not being able to walk or talk tomorrow will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?”

Unable to give a verbal answer with his mouth held closed by Stark’s curled fingers, he just nods.

Stark smirks, his eyes seeming to glow for a moment before he lets him go. He stands, wiping his hand on his pants. “Excellent. I’ll be back in an hour. I’d choose what you make wisely.”

Then he leaves without another word, leaving a dazed and horny Peter still on his knees on the kitchen floor.

[philip-ks-dick]

Philip K. Dick, For Dummies.

I’ve been researching PK.D for a few years now, as he’s my father’s favourite author and I’ve been watching movie and show adaptations of his work for the longest time. I have personally only read the books listed, here’s the order (I think) you should read them in, based on difficulty level and the knowledge you need of the PKD canon to understand the books that follow. This is purely my opinion based on knowledge of the author. by philip-k’s-dick (lol)

Beginner. (These books and stories allow readers to explore Dick’s pet themes and stylistic quirks without falling too far down the rabbit hole)

The Short Stories: Over the course of his life, PKD wrote somewhere in the range of 150 short stories. Naturally, it would be silly of me to dump all of them on you at once, but undeniably, the shorter format allows the big ideas of Dick’s work to come through more clearly, and even the screwier stories conform to relatively coherent shape, making them an excellent jumping off point, especially for an author who wrote almost nonstop throughout his life.

My Favourites:

In The Days of Perky Pat - In this novel, survivors of a global thermonuclear war live in isolated enclaves in California, surviving off what they can scrounge from the wastes and supplies delivered from Mars. The older generation spend their leisure time playing with the eponymous doll in an escapist role-playing game that recalls life before the apocalypse — a way of life that is being quickly forgotten. At the story's climax, a couple from one isolated outpost of humanity plays a game against the dwellers of another outpost (who play the game with a doll similar to Perky Pat dubbed "Connie Companion") in deadly earnest. The survivors' shared enthusiasm for the Perky Pat doll and the creation of her accessories from vital supplies is a sort of mass delusion that prevents meaningful re-building of the shattered society. In stark contrast, the children of the survivors show absolutely no interest in the delusion and have begun adapting to their new life.

(Elements of the story were later incorporated into Dick's novel The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, written in 1964 and published in 1965, in which a Perky Pat simulation game is induced by drugs and miniature models instead. Palmer Eldritch is not a continuation or sequel however.)

What the Dead Men Say - Death is followed by a period of 'half-life', a short amount of time which can be rationed out over long periods in which the dead can be revived—so that, potentially, they can 'live' on for a long time. When attempts to bring back important businessman Louis Sarapis fail, it's clearly more than mere negligence. Sure enough, Sarapis starts speaking from beyond the grave. From outer space, in fact. Yet no-one seems terribly bothered, other than those directly concerned in the plot mechanics. Eventually entire communications networks (phones, TV, radio) are blocked by Sarapis' broadcasts

(Philip's later novel Ubik is a continuation of What the Dead Men Say)

Autofac - Three men wait outside their settlement for an automated delivery truck. Five years earlier, during the Total Global Conflict, a network of hardened automatic factories ("autofacs") had been set up with cybernetic controls that determine what food and consumer goods to manufacture and deliver. Human input had been lost, and the men planned disruption to try to establish communication and take over control. They destroy the delivery, but the truck radios the autofac and unloads an identical replacement, then prevents them from reloading items. They act out being disgusted with the milk delivery and are given a complaints checklist. In a blank space, they write improvised semantic garble—"the product is thoroughly pizzled". The autofac sends a humanoid data collector that communicates on an oral basis, but is not capable of conceptual thought, and they are unable to persuade the network to shut down before it consumes all resources. Their next strategy sets neighbouring autofacs in competition with each other for rare resources and seemingly succeeds, but there is a hidden level

Beyond Lies The Wub - Peterson, a crew member of a spaceship loading up with food animals on Mars, buys an enormous pig-like creature known as a "wub" from a native just before departure. Franco, his captain, is worried about the extra weight but seems more concerned about its taste, as his ship is short of food. However, after takeoff, the crew realizes that the wub is a very intelligent creature, capable of telepathy and maybe even mind control.

Peterson and the wub spend time discussing mythological figures and the travels of Odysseus. Captain Franco, paranoid after an earlier confrontation with the Wub which left him temporarily paralyzed, bursts in and insists on killing and eating the wub. The crew becomes very much opposed to killing the sensitive creature after it makes a plea for understanding, but Franco still makes a meal out of him. At the dinner table, Captain Franco apologises for the "interruption" and resumes the earlier conversation between Peterson and the Wub - which now has apparently taken over the Captain's body

Human Is - Jill Herrick and her husband Lester are in the middle of an argument. Lester deflects his wife’s claim that he is “hideous” with cold indifference. He tells her that he will not allow their child in the house and will have him removed to government custody because he is interfering with his research. Before the distraught Jill can pass this onto their son Gus, Lester gets news that he will be taking a trip to Rexor IV. Despite Jill’s desire to go there and see the planet, Lester insists that he will go alone.

Later Jill tells her brother Frank and she is going to leave Lester. She explains how happy she has been with Lester gone and how he seems to be getting worse every year of their marriage. More cold and more “ruthless,” not to mention the incessant working.

Lester comes home a very different man. He praises Jill’s cooking and expresses disgust with his work on Rexor IV studying toxins. He says he prefers Terra and being home with his wife.

Jill reports these changes to Frank, while Lester is playing in the room with Gus. Frank has Lester brought to a lab for more studies under the guidance of the Federal Clearance agency. Before long they realize that Lester has had his body taken over by a Rexorian.

The Hanging Stranger - The protagonist, Ed Loyce, is a store owner who is disturbed when he sees a stranger hanging from a lamppost, but finds that other people consider the apparent lynching unremarkable.

He finds evidence that alien insects have taken over, manages to get out of town, talks to the police commissioner, who believes him, and after getting all the information about what Ed knows, explains that the body was hung to see if anyone reacted to it, anyone they didn't have control over. He then takes Ed outside and hangs him from a lamppost.

The Commuter - Ed Jacobson is a railway worker at Woking station. His life takes a turn for the worse when his son, Sam, begins experiencing psychotic episodes. When he is selling rail tickets at work, a young woman named Linda asks for a ticket to a destination called Macon Heights that is not listed on any map.

The Minority Report - In a future society, three mutants foresee all crime before it occurs. Plugged into a great machine, these "precogs" allow a division of the police called Precrime to arrest suspects before they can commit any actual crimes. When the head of Precrime, John Anderton, is himself predicted to murder a man whom he has never met, Anderton is convinced a great conspiracy is afoot

Full Books:

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter for the San Francisco Police Department, is assigned to "retire" (kill) six androids of the new and highly intelligent Nexus-6 model which have recently escaped from Mars and traveled to Earth. These androids are made of organic matter so similar to a human's that only a posthumous "bone marrow analysis" can independently prove the difference, making them almost impossible to distinguish from real people. Deckard hopes this mission will earn him enough bounty money to buy a live animal to replace his lone electric sheep to comfort his depressed wife Iran. Deckard visits the Rosen Association's headquarters in Seattle to confirm the accuracy of the latest empathy test meant to identify incognito androids. Deckard suspects the test may not be capable of distinguishing the latest Nexus-6 models from genuine human beings, and it appears to give a false positive on his host in Seattle, Rachael Rosen, meaning the police have potentially been executing human beings. The Rosen Association attempts to blackmail Deckard to get him to drop the case, but Deckard retests Rachael and determines that Rachael is, indeed, an android, which she ultimately admits.

Clans of the Alphane Moon - War between Earth and insectoid-dominated Alpha III ended over a decade ago. (According to the novel, "Alphane" refers to the nearest star to our own system, Alpha Centauri). Some years after the end of hostilities, Earth intends to secure its now independent colony in the Alphane system, Alpha III M2. As a former satellite-based global psychiatric institution for colonists on other Alphane system worlds unable to cope with the stresses of colonisation, the inhabitants of Alpha III M2 have lived peacefully for years. But, under the pretence of a medical mission, Earth intends to take their colony back.

Against this background, Chuck Rittersdorf and his wife Mary are separating. Although they think they are going their separate ways, they soon find themselves together again on Alpha III M2. Mary travels there through government work, Chuck sees it as a chance to kill Mary using his remote control simulacrum. Along the way he is guided by his Ganymedean slime mould neighbour Lord Running Clam and Mary finds herself manipulated by the Alphane sympathiser, comedian Bunny Hentman.

The Man in the High Castle - In 1962, 15 years after Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany have won World War II, Robert "Bob" Childan owns an Americana antique shop in San Francisco, California (located in the Japanese-occupied Pacific States of America), which is most commonly frequented by the Japanese, who make a fetish of romanticized American cultural artifacts. Childan is contacted by Nobusuke Tagomi, a high-ranking Japanese trade official, who is seeking a gift to impress a visiting Swedish industrialist named Baynes. Childan's store is stocked in part with counterfeit antiques from the Wyndam-Matson Corporation, a metalworking company. Frank Frink (formerly Fink), a secretly Jewish-American veteran of World War II, has just been fired from the Wyndam-Matson factory, when he agrees to join a former co-worker to begin a handcrafted jewellery business. Meanwhile, Frink's ex-wife, Juliana, works as a judo instructor in Canon City, Colorado (in the neutral buffer zone of Mountain States), where she begins a sexual relationship with an Italian truck driver and ex-soldier, Joe Cinnadella. Throughout the book, many of these characters frequently make important decisions using prophetic messages they interpret from the I Ching, a Chinese cultural import. Many characters are also reading a widely banned yet extremely popular new novel, The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, which depicts an alternate history in which the Allies won World War II in 1945, a concept that amazes and intrigues its readers.

Frink reveals that the Wyndam-Matson Corporation has been supplying Childan with counterfeit antiques, which works to blackmail Wyndam-Matson for money to finance Frink's new jewelry venture. Tagomi and Baynes meet, but Baynes repeatedly delays any real business as they await an expected third party from Japan. Suddenly, the public receives news of the death of the Chancellor of Germany, Martin Bormann, after a short illness. Childan tentatively, on consignment, takes some of Frink's "authentic" new metalwork and attempts to curry favour with a Japanese client, who surprisingly considers Frink's jewelry immensely spiritually alive. Juliana and Joe take a road trip to Denver, Colorado and Joe impulsively decides they should go on a side-trip to meet the mysterious Hawthorne Abendsen, author of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, who supposedly lives in a guarded fortress-like estate called the "High Castle" in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Soon, Joseph Goebbels is announced as the new German Chancellor.

Intermediate. (These are the books to pick up once you have the basics of what makes a PKD novel down. They’re obtuse enough to hit a little heavier, but don’t provide the full dose of surrealism Dick was capable of serving up. This is also good spot to jump in if you’ve experienced weird fiction before.)

Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said - The novel is set in a dystopian version of 1988, following a Second Civil War which led to the collapse of the United States' democratic institutions. The National Guard ("nats") and US police force ("pols") reestablished social order through instituting a dictatorship, with a "Director" at the apex, and police marshals and generals as operational commanders in the field. Resistance to the regime is largely confined to university campuses, where radicalized former university students eke out a desperate existence in subterranean kibbutzim. Recreational drug use is widespread, and the age of consent has been lowered to twelve. The black population has almost been rendered extinct. Most commuting is undertaken by personal aircraft, allowing great distances to be covered in little time.

The novel begins with the protagonist, Jason Taverner, a singer, hosting his weekly TV show which has an audience of 30 million viewers. His special guest is his girlfriend Heather Hart, also a singer. Both Hart and Taverner are "Sixes", members of an elite class of genetically engineered humans. While leaving the studio, Taverner is telephoned by a former lover, who asks him to pay her a visit. When Taverner arrives at her apartment, the former lover attacks him by throwing a parasitic life-form at him. Although he manages to remove most of the life-form, parts of it are left inside him. After being rescued by Hart, he is taken to a medical facility.

Waking up the following day in a seedy hotel with no identification, Taverner becomes worried, as failure to produce identification at one of the numerous police checkpoints would lead to imprisonment in a forced labor camp. Through a succession of phone calls made from the hotel to colleagues and friends who now claim not to know him, Taverner establishes that he is no longer recognized by the outside world. He soon manages to bribe the hotel's clerk into taking him to Kathy Nelson, a forger of government documents. However, Kathy reveals that both she and the clerk are police informants, and that the lobby clerk has placed a microscopic tracking device on him. She promises not to turn Taverner over to the police on the condition that he spend the night with her. Although he attempts to escape, Kathy confronts him again after he has successfully passed a police checkpoint using the forged identity cards. Feeling in her debt, he accompanies Kathy to her apartment block, where Inspector McNulty, Kathy's police handler, is waiting. McNulty has located Taverner via the tracking device the hotel lobby clerk placed on him, and instructs Taverner to come with him to the 469th Precinct police station so that further biometric identity checks can be performed.

Time out of Joint - Ragle Gumm lives in the year 1959 in a quiet American suburb. His unusual profession consists of repeatedly winning the cash prize in a local newspaper contest called "Where Will The Little Green Man Be Next?". Gumm's 1959 has some differences from ours: the Tucker car is in production, AM/FM radios are scarce to non-existent, and Marilyn Monroe is a complete unknown. As the novel opens, strange things begin to happen to Gumm. A soft-drink stand disappears, replaced by a small slip of paper with the words "SOFT-DRINK STAND" printed on it in block letters. Intriguing little pieces of the real 1959 turn up: a magazine article on Marilyn Monroe, a telephone book with non-operational exchanges listed and radios hidden away in someone else's house. People with no apparent connection to Gumm, including military pilots using aircraft transceivers, refer to him by name. Few other characters notice these or experience similar anomalies; the sole exception is Gumm's supposed brother-in-law, Victor "Vic" Nielson, in whom he confides. A neighborhood woman, Mrs. Keitelbein, invites him to a civil defense class where he sees a model of a futuristic underground military factory. He has the unshakeable feeling he's been inside that building many times before.

Confusion gradually mounts for Gumm. His neighbor Bill Black knows far more about these events than he admits, and, observing this, begins worrying: "Suppose Ragle [Gumm] is becoming sane again?" In fact, Gumm does become sane, and the deception surrounding him (erected to protect and exploit him) begins to unravel

Ubik - By the year 1992, humanity has colonized the Moon and psychic powers are common. The protagonist, Joe Chip, is a debt-ridden technician working for Runciter Associates, a "prudence organization" employing "inertials"—people with the ability to negate the powers of telepaths and "precogs"—to enforce the privacy of clients. The company is run by Glen Runciter, assisted by his deceased wife Ella who is kept in a state of "half-life", a form of cryonic suspension that allows the deceased limited consciousness and ability to communicate. While consulting with Ella, Runciter discovers that her consciousness is being invaded by another half-lifer named Jory Miller

Difficult. (This section comes with a caveat: within these novels you will encounter numerous hallucinations, drug trips, an entire trilogy about gnostic spirituality and mental illness, and more than a little unabashed nightmare fuel. It’s normal to get tangled up in what goes on in these books. It’s also normal to be weirded out. But with proper grounding, you’ll make it though with your faculties intact. Probably.)

The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch - The story begins in a future world where global temperatures have risen so high that in most of the world it is unsafe to be outside without special cooling gear during daylight hours. In a desperate bid to preserve humanity and ease population burdens on Earth, the UN has initiated a "draft" for colonizing the nearby planets, where conditions are so horrific and primitive that the unwilling colonists have fallen prey to a form of escapism involving the use of an illegal drug (Can-D) in concert with "layouts." Layouts are physical props intended to simulate a sort of alternative reality where life is easier than either the grim existence of the colonists in their marginal off-world colonies, or even Earth, where global warming has progressed to the point that Antarctica is prime vacation resort territory. The illegal drug Can-D allows people to "share" their experience of the "Perky Pat" (the name of the main female character in the simulated world) layouts. This "sharing" has caused a pseudo-religious cult or series of cults to grow up around the layouts and the use of the drug.

Up to the point where the novel begins, New York City-based Perky Pat (or P.P.) Layouts, Inc., has held a monopoly on this product, as well as on the illegal trade in the drug Can-D which makes the shared hallucinations possible.

The novel opens shortly after Barney Mayerson, P.P. Layouts' top precog, has received a "draft notice" from the UN for involuntary resettlement as a colonist on Mars. Mayerson is sleeping with his assistant, Roni Fugate, but remains conflicted about the divorce, which he himself initiated, from his first wife Emily, a ceramic pot artist. Meanwhile, Emily's second husband tries to sell her pot designs to P.P. Layouts as possible accessories for the Perky Pat virtual worlds—but Barney, recognizing them as Emily's, rejects them out of spite.

A Scanner Darkly - When performing his work as an undercover agent, Arctor goes by the name "Fred" and wears a "scramble suit" that conceals his identity from other officers. Then he is able to sit in a police facility and observe his housemates through "holo-scanners", audio-visual surveillance devices that are placed throughout the house. Arctor's use of the drug causes the two hemispheres of his brain to function independently or "compete". When Arctor sees himself in the videos saved by the scanners, he does not realize that it is him. Through a series of drug and psychological tests, Arctor's superiors at work discover that his addiction has made him incapable of performing his job as a narcotics agent. They do not know his identity because he wears the scramble suit, but when his police supervisor suggests to him that he might be Bob Arctor, he is confused and thinks it cannot be possible.

Donna takes Arctor to "New-Path", a rehabilitation clinic, just as Arctor begins to experience the symptoms of Substance D withdrawal. It is revealed that Donna has been a narcotics agent all along, working as part of a police operation to infiltrate New-Path and determine its funding source. Without his knowledge, Arctor has been selected to penetrate the organization. As part of the rehab program, Arctor is renamed "Bruce" and forced to participate in cruel group-dynamic games, intended to break the will of the patients

(If this one seems difficult to wrap your mind around, that's because its a fictionalized account of real events, and you may need to read about Philip's life at the time to understand the autobiographical nature of the book.)

The VALIS Trilogy

(Fictionalized account of religious experiences in PKD’s life.)

VALIS - In March, 1974, Horselover Fat (the alter-personality of Philip K. Dick) experiences visions of a pink beam of light that he calls Zebra and interprets as a theophany exposing hidden facts about the reality of our universe, and a group of others join him in researching these matters. One of their theories is that there is some kind of alien space probe in orbit around Earth, and that it is aiding them in their quest; it also aided the United States in disclosing the Watergate scandal and the resignation of Richard Nixon in August, 1974. Kevin turns his friends onto a film called Valis that contains obvious references to revelations identical to those that Horselover Fat has experienced, including what appears to be time dysfunction. The film is itself a fictional account of an alternative-universe version of Nixon ("Ferris F. Fremount") and his fall, engineered by a satellite called valis. (The plot of the fictitious film Valis was that of Dick's then-unpublished novel Radio Free Albemuth.) In seeking the film's makers, Kevin, Phil, Fat, and David—now calling themselves the Rhipidon Society—head to an estate owned by popular musician Eric Lampton and his wife Linda. They decide the goal that they have been led toward is Sophia Lampton, who is two-years old and the Messiah or incarnation of Holy Wisdom (Pistis Sophia) anticipated by some variants of Gnostic Christianity. In addition to healing Phil's schizophrenic personality split, she tells them that their conclusions about valis (which Fat had previously termed "Zebra") and reality are correct, and more importantly, that we should worship, not gods, but humanity. She dies two days later due to a laser accident caused by Brent Mini. Undeterred, Fat (who has now resurged) goes on a global search for the next incarnation of Sophia.

Dick also offers a rationalist explanation of his apparent theophany, acknowledging that it might have been visual and auditory hallucinations from either schizophrenia or drug addiction sequelae.

Characters:

Phil (Philip K. Dick): Narrator (first person), science fiction writer, author of Man in the High Castle, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, and Three Stigmata.

Horselover Fat: Narrator (third person), a schizophrenic modality of Phil himself. (Philip in Greek means "fond of horses"; dick is German for "fat".)

Gloria Knudson: Suicidal friend of Fat's who Fat is unable to save.

Kevin: Cynical friend of Fat's whose cat died running across the street, based on K. W. Jeter.

Sherri Solvig: Church-going friend of Fat's, eventually dies from lymphatic cancer.

David: Catholic friend of Fat's, based on Tim Powers.

Eric Lampton: Rock star, screenwriter, actor, a. k. a. "Mother Goose"; a fictionalised version of David Bowie.

Linda Lampton: Actress, wife of Eric Lampton.

Brent Mini: Electronic composer, a fictionalised version of Brian Eno.

Sophia Lampton: Two-year-old child (personalised incarnation of Holy Wisdom within some variants of Gnosticism), said to be the daughter of Linda Lampton and valis and the "Fifth Savior".

The Divine Invasion - After a fatal car accident on Earth, Herb Asher is placed into cryonic suspension as he waits for a spleen replacement. Clinically dead, Herb experiences lucid dreams while in suspended animation and relives the last six years of his life.

In the past, Herb lived as a recluse in an isolated dome on a remote planet in the binary star system, CY30-CY30B. Yah, a local divinity of the planet in exile from Earth, appears to Herb in a vision as a burning flame, and forces him to contact his sick female neighbor, Rybys Rommey, who happens to be terminally ill with multiple sclerosis and pregnant with Yah's child.

With the help of the immortal soul of Elijah, who takes the form of a wild beggar named Elias Tate, Herb agrees to become Rybys's legal husband and father of the unborn "savior". Together they plan to smuggle the six-month pregnant Rybys back to Earth, under the pretext of seeking help for Rybys' medical condition at a medical research facility. After being born in human form, Yah plans to confront the fallen angel Belial, who has ruled the Earth for 2000 years since the fall of Masada in the first century CE. Yah's powers, however, are limited by Belial's dominion on Earth, and the four of them must take extra precautions to avoid being detected by the forces of darkness.

Things do not go as planned. "Big Noodle", Earth's A.I. system, warns the ecclesiastical authorities in the Christian-Islamic church and Scientific Legate about the divine "invasion" and countermeasures are prepared. A number of failed attempts are made to destroy the unborn child, all of them thwarted by Elijah and Yah. After successfully making the interstellar journey back to Earth and narrowly avoiding a forced abortion, Rybys and Herb escape in the nick of time, only to be involved in a fatal taxi crash, probably due to the machinations of Belial. Rybys dies from her injuries sustained in the crash, and her unborn son Emmanuel (Yah in human form) suffers brain damage from the trauma but survives. Herb is critically injured and put into cryonic suspension until a spleen replacement can be found. Baby Emmanuel is placed into a synthetic womb, but Elias Tate manages to sneak Emmanuel out of the hospital before the church is able to kill him.

Six years pass. In a school for special children, Emmanuel meets Zina, a girl who also seems to have similar skills and talents, but acts as a surrogate teacher to Emmanuel. For four years, Zina helps Emmanuel regain his memory (the brain damage caused amnesia) and discover his true identity as Yah, creator of the universe.

When he's ready, Zina shows Emmanuel her own parallel universe. In this peaceful world, organized religion has little influence, Rybys Rommey is still alive and married to Herb Asher, and Belial is only a goat kid living in a petting zoo.

In an act of kindness, Zina and Emmanuel liberate the goat-creature from his cage, momentarily forgetting that the animal is Belial. The goat-creature finds Herb Asher and attempts to retain control of the world by possessing him and convincing him that Yahweh's creation is an ugly thing that should be shown for what it really is. Eventually Herb is saved by Linda Fox, a young singer whom he loves and who is his own personal Savior; she and the goat-creature meet and she kills it, defeating Belial. He finally discovers that this meeting happens over again for everyone in the world, and whether they choose Belial or their Savior decides if they find salvation.

Characters:

Herb Asher: audio engineer

Rybys Rommey: mother of Emmanuel, sick with MS

Yah: Yahweh

Elias Tate: Incarnation of Elijah

Emmanuel (Manny): Yah incarnated in human form

Zina Pallas: Shekhinah

Linda Fox: singer, songwriter, Yetzer Hatov

Belial: Yetzer Hara

Fulton Statler Harms: Chief prelate of the Christian-Islamic Church (C.I.C), Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church

Nicholas Bulkowsky: Communist Party Chairman, Procurator maximus of the Scientific Legate

VALIS: agent of Yahweh, disinhibiting stimulus

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer - Set in the late 1960s and 1970s, the story describes the efforts of Episcopal Bishop Timothy Archer, who must cope with the theological and philosophical implications of the newly discovered Gnostic Zadokite scroll fragments. The character of Bishop Archer is loosely based on the controversial, iconoclastic Episcopal Bishop James Pike, who in 1969 died of exposure while exploring the Judean Desert near the Dead Sea in the West Bank.

As the novel opens, it is 1980. On the day that John Lennon is shot and killed, Angel Archer visits the houseboat of Edgar Barefoot, (a guru based on Alan Watts), and reflects on the lives of her deceased relatives. During the sixties, she was married to Jeff Archer, son of the Episcopal Bishop of California Timothy Archer. She introduced Kirsten Lundborg, a friend, to her father-in law, and the two began an affair. Kirsten has a son, Bill, from a previous relationship, who has schizophrenia, although he is knowledgeable as an automobile mechanic. Tim is already being investigated for his allegedly heretical views about the Holy Ghost.

Jeff commits suicide due to his romantic obsession with Kirsten. However, after poltergeist activity, he manifests to Tim and Kirsten at a seance, also attended by Angel. Angel is skeptical about the efficacy of astrology, and believes that the unfolding existential situation of Tim and Kirsten is akin to Friedrich Schiller's German Romanticism era masterpiece, the Wallenstein trilogy (insofar as their credulity reflects the loss of rational belief in contemporary consensual reality).

The three are told that Kirsten and Tim will die. As predicted, Kirsten loses her remission from cancer, and also commits suicide after a barbiturate overdose. Tim travels to Israel to investigate whether or not a psychotropic mushroom was associated with the resurrection, but his car stalls, he becomes disoriented, falls from a cliff, and dies in the desert.

On the houseboat, Angel is reunited with Bill, Kirsten's son who has schizophrenia. He claims to have Tim's reincarnated spirit within him, but is soon institutionalized. Angel agrees to care for Bill, in return for a rare record (Koto Music by Kimio Eto) that Edgar offers her.

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer is one of Dick's most overtly philosophical and intellectual works. While Dick's novels usually employ multiple narrators or an omniscient perspective, this story is told in the first person by a single narrator: Angel Archer, Bishop Archer's daughter-in-law.

Characters:

Angel Archer: Narrator, manager of a Berkeley record store, widow of Jeff Archer.

Timothy Archer: Bishop of California; father of the late Jeff Archer and father-in-law of Angel. Dies in Israel, searching for psychotropic mushroom connected with Zadokite sect. Based on James Albert Pike, Dick's personal friend, who was an American Episcopalian bishop.

Kirsten Lundborg: Timothy Archer's secretary and lover. Dies from barbiturate overdose after loss of remission from cancer.

Bill Lundborg: Kirsten's son who has schizophrenia, and who is obsessed with cars.

Edgar Barefoot: Houseboat guru, radio personality, lecturer. Based on Alan Watts.

Jeff Archer: Son of Timothy Archer, and deceased husband of Angel. A professional student who was romantically obsessed with Kirsten.

Thank you, if you read all of this. it took me six hours today to write this all 

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

new team - shoyo hinata

shoyo hinata x fem!reader

summary: you teach hinata some skills in middle school and to pay you back, he guarantees you a spot on the karasuno volleyball team.

warnings: NONE VERY FLUFFY

word count: 1,737

notes: i rlly rlly liked writing this bc i love my boy hinata and this just flowed so naturally and i’m rlly proud of it :’)

i also usually write gender neutral reader bc i’m nb and i wanna cater to as many ppl as possible and make them feel valid, but it was kinda necessary to the story for reader to be fem in this one

********************

after setting a ball to your friend, you noticed a short boy by himself in the corner of the gym with bright orange hair, setting and receiving against the wall. you made your way over to him, observing that he actually wasn’t too bad.

“oi, redhead,” you called out playfully. he turned around with a look of confusion on his face, as if to say ‘me?’ “yeah you. i couldn’t help but notice you’re playing all by your lonesome over here. any particular reason for that?”

his cheeks tinged pink at the callout, but he responded nonetheless. “w-well there’s not enough boys for the school to create a boys volleyball club, so i’m trying to get as many hours of practice in at school as i can.”

you nodded in recognition of his situation. “well, sorry to say you won’t get very far if the wall is your only opponent. but you’re certainly welcome to practice with me when my practice is over. if you’re interested, of course.”

“woah, really? you’d do that for me?” he asked in astonishment, eyes going wide as saucers.

“of course i would. i may not know much about you, but i can tell you have a passion for the sport, and it’d be a real shame for that to fizzle out,” you smiled genuinely. “i’ll help you practice...”

it took him a moment to realize you were waiting for his name. “oh! hinata! shoyo hinata.” he introduced.

“well shoyo hinata, i’m y/n l/n and i look forward to practicing with you.” you grinned. a whistle blew behind you, pulling you from your conversation with the boy. “sorry, i’ll see you later!”

sure enough, you found him waiting out by the baseball field, spinning a volleyball in his palm. after a short while of practicing, you realized you had underestimated this kid and the power he can pack in his spikes. it was clear he needed to improve in his receives, but he was in remarkably good shape for playing against a wall every week.

the two of you quickly became good friends, shoyo becoming your number one supporter - aside from your parents, of course. he attended all your games, cheering obnoxiously loud when it was your turn to serve.

over the summer from 8th to 9th grade however, the two of you didn’t see each other nearly as often as you used to. you had to admit it made you sad; the sweet redheaded boy had carved a special spot in your heart and you missed him dearly.

you attended karasuno high school, hoping to join the girls volleyball club and make some new friends. upon examining the club applications, much to your dismay, it appeared that such a club didn’t exist.

volleyball was your passion, and it hurt that you had no way of pursuing it anymore.

hanging your head in defeat and crumpling up the paper, you heard footsteps approaching rapidly from in front of you. before you could look up, a body suddenly collided with you, nearly knocking you over with the momentum they had built up.

“y/n!” a familiar voice cried out. you quickly realized the voice belonged to hinata, who’s arms were currently wrapped around you.

“hinata! i can’t believe you go to school here! i’ve missed you so much!” you squealed, hugging him back.

he pulled away, a look of surprise on his face. “are you kidding? i can’t believe you go to school here! you oughta be wherever the best girls volleyball club is! speaking of that, have you joined yet?”

you glanced down to the crumpled paper that still pressed against your palm. “well that’s the thing, it’s not even a choice on the club application form. unfortunately, i don’t think karasuno has one.”

shoyo gasped dramatically, jaw falling open in shock. “so what are you gonna do? you can’t just not play anymore, you’re so good!”

you smiled at the compliment from the boy, but your expression grew sadder. “thanks, shoyo, but i’m not sure what i can do. this seems like it’s out of my hands.”

a look of determination painted his features as he grabbed you by the shoulders. “no, i’m not gonna let this happen to you. don’t worry, y/n, i’ll find a way for you to play.”

he ran off, leaving you alone with your thoughts in the deserted hallway.

despite having absolutely no idea what he was planning, you trusted the boy. you knew he had your best interests at heart and would do anything to help you succeed, and you adored him for that. you just hoped whatever method he had to allow you to play wasn’t too embarrassing for you; you weren’t too keen on begging some team to let you play for them, but you had a feeling hinata’s plan wouldn’t involve that.

——————————

“please?” hinata begged.

“a girl? join the team? i don’t know hinata, you’d have to run it by the coach.” daichi uttered hesitantly.

“but you’re the captain, daichi, you have the final say!” he reminded him.

daichi sighed. “yeah, you’re right. what’s so special about this girl?”

he watched as hinata’s eyes lit up in excitement when he spoke about her. “well she was the setter in middle school, but that was only because no one else was good enough to play that position. she’s really versatile and she taught me practically everything i know about spiking! she’s also got some mean overhand serving skills; she’d be a great addition to the team! please, daichi, pretty please?”

he looked down at the boy to see him glancing up with a pair of puppy eyes, intent on winning him over. daichi felt he was powerless to do anything but give in, though his description of you did sound pretty great if he was being honest.

“alright, i’ll talk to the coach and see what he thinks. bring her to our next practice and introduce her to everyone.” he said, not missing the bright grin that donned the redhead’s face at his words.

“thank you so much, sir! you won’t regret it, i promise!” he ran back towards the basket of balls to practice serving once more.

——————————

“where are you taking me, shoyo?” you muttered. “can you take your hands off yet?”

he had cornered you back in the main building, insisting you accompany him to some unknown destination he had in mind. since then, he had been walking directly behind you, his hands covering your eyes.

“i’ll show you...” he waited until you took a few more steps. “now!”

you blinked your eyes open to find yourself outside of the gym building. “the gym? what are we doing here, hinata?”

you turned to him and he grinned. “volleyball practice is about to start.”

“volleyball - as in boys volleyball? what am i doing here? am i here to watch you practice?”

he donned a soft smile at your confusion. “no, you’re gonna practice.”

your eyes widened. “i am? i don’t even have any athletic clothes, shoyo, i just have my uniform!”

“i wouldn’t worry too much about that today,” he pushed you towards the doors. “i’ll just be introducing you to everyone today.”

“introducing...? what is going on here, hinata?” you questioned. he pushed the door open to reveal a large group of mostly tall boys, all staring down at you.

most of them looked friendly and approachable, but several of them looked rather intimidating. “everyone, this is y/n. y/n, this is your new team.” shoyo announced.

you gasped, turning towards hinata. “m-my new team? you got me a spot on the team?”

the look of gratitude in your eyes had him blushing a bright pink and he scratched the back of his head nervously. “it was nothing, really. y-”

he was cut off as you hugged him tightly, thanking him for allowing you to continue the sport you loved. “you don’t have to thank me, it’s not a huge deal or anything.”

“are you kidding? it’s a huge deal! i can’t believe you did this for me!” your smile nearly reached your ears.

he walked you around the gym, introducing you to his teammates. sugawara and asahi were incredibly sweet, even offering to set you a few balls to test your spiking abilities, though you declined since you were still wearing a skirt.

the intimidating one you saw earlier - tsukkishima, you had learned - was not as sweet as the others you had met and seemed rather distant, though you hoped that would fade as you got to know him.

tanaka and nishinoya were full of energy and practically gushing over you even though they hadn’t yet witnessed your abilities.

the one shoyo introduced as kageyama shot you a nasty glare. “what position did you play?”

“setter,” you murmured, slightly on edge from the look of intensity in his eyes. that intensity morphed into fury after your words, intimidating you further.

you quickly remembered this was the incredible setter hinata had mentioned several times before. “o-oh! don’t worry, i don’t plan on taking your spot or anything, i’m sure you’re far better than i am!”

“good.” you smiled at him nervously. “if you’re good enough, maybe i’ll send you a couple sets.”

and of course you met daichi, the captain to whom you owed your spot on this team. he was very friendly and personable and you suspected he was the type to give inspirational speeches before games.

kageyama pulled hinata aside, practicing quick attacks with him, leaving you with daichi.

“hinata talks about you quite a bit, y’know,” daichi murmured, catching your attention.

“he does?” you queried. “all good things, i hope.”

the captain smiled down at you. “he speaks very highly about you and your skills. i think he’s got a bit of a bias since you taught him what he knows, but i don’t doubt you’ll really prove yourself on the court.”

your eyes went wide at the faith he already had in you, despite never seeing you play. “thank you, daichi, that really means a lot.”

the boys divided themselves into teams, starting a practice match as you and daichi observed from the sidelines. your eyes found hinata in the back row, who gave you a wide grin and a wave.

you waved back, your heart warming at the gesture. you had only just met the boys, but you couldn’t wait for the next practice.

********************

i might make this a series? maybe?? maybe not?? idk but let me know what u think :D

tags: @aestosia​ @elysianslove​

not working: @akaashis-keiji @bloodydestiney 

[sevlgi]

opposites

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

contents: college!au, good girl!rosé, bad girl!reader

warnings: none

synopsis: They say opposites attract, and when the campus’s resident sweetheart falls for a bad girl, Rosé discovers just how true that statement is.

a/n: I’M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME OMGGGG  hope you enjoy, and I’m glad you like my blog ❤

word count: 3.6k

Chaeyoung has never quite believed that opposites attract.

To be fair, she doesn’t have much experience to go off of. Despite being attracted to basically every person she meets, she hasn’t actually dated much. (As her friend Jennie jokes, she’s not bisexual, she’s by herself.)

And obviously, she’s not only attracted to people soft and sweet like herself. Especially in college, it’s more likely to find people in sweats and ratty T-shirts than people in pink sweaters and cute dresses.

It’s no secret that Chaeyoung is a hopeless romantic, convinced that she’ll find someone who she just works with. It’s also no secret that she’s determined to find someone similar enough to her that a relationship would actually work out.

Imagine her surprise when her next crush is the complete opposite of her.

You’re utterly fascinating to Chaeyoung; every little detail about you absolutely contradicts her, and she thinks her parents would faint if they saw you. Unlike Chaeyoung’s usually well-styled hair, you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed to go to class. Your leather jackets and heavy denim look stiff to the touch, and your dark circles, tattoos, and piercings are enough to ward all your classmates away.

But somehow, all of it just draws Chaeyoung in more. She’d never dream of dying her hair as much as you do, or getting as many tattoos as you have, but for some reason, you intrigue her.

She still doesn’t believe opposites attract. You might be gorgeous, but Chaeyoung is sure that your personalities would clash, and a relationship, however imaginary it may be, would never work out.

Of course, she’s also not willing to admit that she’s wrong to her friends, all of whom insist that opposites do attract. She just knows Lisa would gloat, and Chaeyoung is never giving her friends that satisfaction. 

“Who’re you staring at today?”

Chaeyoung pouts at Yeri, who slides into the seat beside her with a knowing smile. Joy, on the other side, is already following where Chaeyoung’s eyes were earlier. “Hey. I’m not always staring at people.”

“Yes, you are,” the two other girls chorus. “Come on, you’re always searching for ‘your other half’ or whatever,” Yeri rolls her eyes. “You barely focus in class because of it.”

Studiously ignoring where you sit in the lecture hall (3 rows ahead and 2 seats to the left), Chaeyoung scowls and twirls her pen. “Rude.”

“You know I am,” Yeri smiles, beginning to scan the room as well. “So, come on. Who’s your pick of the day?”

Joy narrows her eyes; Chaeyoung’s a bit panicked to see that her friend is already zeroing in on you. “Wait… it can’t be her, right?”

“Who?” Joy whispers in Yeri’s ear, and the youngest girl’s eyes widen. “Chaeng, it’s not her, right?”

The blonde attempts to play it cool, asking nonchalantly, “Who are you even talking about?”

Both girls point at your back, the dark leather of your jacket and the two empty seats on either side of you making it unmistakable that you’re the one they’re pointing at. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s not her, right?”

Y/N Y/L/N. Chaeyoung tests it out on her tongue silently before realizing her friends are still waiting for an answer. “It… maybe, what’s it to you?”

Yeri groans, and Joy shakes her head in what seems to be disappointment. “You have the worst taste, Chaeyoung. I mean, she’s cute, but…”

To be honest, the most surprising part of the entire conversation is that her friends aren’t even teasing about the whole ‘opposites’ thing. “What’s wrong with Y/N?” Chaeyoung can’t help but feel a bit defensive; after all, it’s her taste in girls that was being attacked.

Joy leans in conspiratorially now, despite the professor clearing his throat at the front of the classroom. “Okay, so, she’s kind of the designated bad girl? I don’t really know, but I heard she’s killed someone.”

“What? No, she set a building on fire,” Yeri argues, rolling her eyes when Joy opens her mouth to disagree. “Whatever, whatever. Anyway, she’s bad news. She’s a serial dater, too, and she doesn’t like cats. Who doesn’t like cats?”

Chaeyoung’s eyebrows scrunch together as her friends argue. It’s probably not likely that you’ve killed anyone or set a building on fire, but still… a serial dater? None of it sounds good.

“Anyway, she’s the polar opposite of you,” Joy sighs, patting Chaeyoung sympathetically on the arm. “You know, you’re sweet and soft, and she’s… her.”

Suddenly, the professor clears his throat again and raises his eyebrow at where the three girls sit. “Ms. Park, Ms. Kim, the other Ms. Park? Anything important?”

“No, sorry, sir,” Chaeyoung blurts out, cheeks red. She’s not even blushing because she’s been put on the spot, though; it’s because you’ve finally turned around to look at her.

Maybe it’s the eyeliner, but something about your gaze feels like it sees right through her. With the tiniest quirk of the corner of your lips, you turn back around and leave Chaeyoung fully flustered.

Yeah, definitely a player.

Every day, Chaeyoung attempts to work up the courage to sit a little closer to you. She’s not making much progress; to be fair, you can’t blame her, when you’re usually given a 3 foot radius of empty space by everyone.

However, she discovers something new about you every day. She discovers that you drink black iced coffee (she drinks tea), and that you use mint flavored chapstick (she uses strawberry). You prefer cinnamon gum (which Chaeyoung thinks is a bit gross), and you only ever wear black socks (she wears white).

Joy really wasn’t kidding when she said you were Chaeyoung’s opposite.

Of course, it’s just the blonde’s luck when the professor announces a group project, and your name is the only one out of 40 that Chaeyoung knows.

It takes a lot of energy for Chaeyoung to approach you after class. “Hey,” she smiles; you don’t return it. “So, I was wondering if you have a partner for the project? If you don’t, I was thinking we could be partners…”

You look startled at first, though it settles behind a mask of calm indifference immediately. “You don’t have friends?” At the blonde’s wince, you roll your eyes, lips quirking into a smile. “Kidding. Sure. Let’s work together.”

“Great!” Chaeyoung beams, looping her arm through yours. You look even more surprised now, but it’s cute. Everything you do would probably look cute. “I’m Roseanne, but you should call me Chaeyoung or Chaeng.”

“I’m Y/N,” you offer. Your voice is quieter than Chaeyoung had imagined, but that’s probably her fault for thinking your voice was demon-like or something. “You’re a sophomore, right?”

“Right.” Chaeyoung has no idea how you know how old she is, but she can roll with it. “You?”

You nod, looking anywhere other than Chaeyoung face. “Yeah. Same. So, do you have any ideas for the project yet?”

“No, sorry.” She can’t help the smile on your face, still shocked that you’re holding a conversation with her and not murdering her already. “Let’s get coffee? We can talk about the project. If you’re free, of course.”

“I am.”

And that’s all it takes for Chaeyoung to grin again, grab your arm, and lead you to the nearest coffee shop.

Chaeyoung likes the way you’re honest about what you want. When she offers to order, despite knowing what you want, you quietly ask for the iced black coffee and hand her 10 dollars even when she tries to protest.

You don’t ask about what she ordered, and you make sure she tipped the extra before opening your laptop and asking for ideas.

As the afternoon goes on, you seem to grow more comfortable, and Chaeyoung can let go of some of her slightly forced enthusiasm. She actually finds herself enjoying your dry sense of humor and sarcastic comments, though she can’t really make any of her own.

By the time she has to go to her next class, Chaeyoung’s actually making jokes of her own, and she has your number stored in her phone.

All in all, a successful day.

“Hi.”

You look surprised (or as surprised as you deign to look) to see Chaeyoung sitting next to you in the lecture hall the day after the project was turned in. “Uh, hey.”

“How do you think we did on the project?” the blonde asks, taking out her laptop. She ignores the way you stare at her, hoping that you didn’t want to just forget her existence after the project or something. 

“Pretty good. You’re smart, I just helped a little bit.”

Chaeyoung laughs softly, swatting at your arm. “No way, come on. You’re smarter than your leather jackets let on, too.”

“And you’re smarter than your overly sweetened tea lets on,” you tease, a smile twinkling in your eyes.

She scowls and swats at you again, but you dodge this time. “I thought we agreed never to mention that again!”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Chaeyoung misses the way you smile at her after she turns to the board.

It becomes sort of a routine to sit next to you during lectures and copy off your surprisingly comprehensive notes. Chaeyoung can’t help but fall deeper and deeper at your ever-tentative smile, at each offhand, yet sweet comment.

All the little details about you, the tiniest things you notice, only make Chaeyoung fall harder. You buy non-cinnamon gum especially for her and keep 2 packs in your bag in case she wants some. Sometimes, you show up with a cup of so-called ‘overly sweetened tea’ next to your own coffee.

You see everything about her, and you both make the most subtle changes so that the two of you complement each other absolutely perfectly. Chaeyoung starts carrying blue pens because you prefer them, while you carry black ones in case either of you forget. You even carry a strawberry chapstick just for her.

Even Chaeyoung starts unconsciously enjoying the smell of your sweet mint chapstick; she wears it sometimes, not because she likes it more, but because she’s curious how it’d taste on your lips.

It doesn’t need to be said that Chaeyoung doesn’t just want to be friends anymore.

At first, she just wanted to understand you a bit better, to relieve her own fascination with you, but the more she learns, the more Chaeyoung is pulled in. It’s more than just a crush now, more than simple butterflies in her stomach.

Now, it’s an unconscious smile always tugging at her lips when you’re not with her, laughing at a joke that wasn’t necessarily actually that funny. It’s adapting to fit with you, and it’s accepting that maybe opposites do attract after all.

The only thing left is to introduce you to her friends.

“Are you ready?”

You frown, tugging at the sleeves of your leather jacket. Chaeyoung’s heart warmed when you offered to tone down your look for her, but she didn’t want you to change anything about yourself, so you just went with your jacket. “Sure, I guess.”

“Great!” the blonde beams, waving at Yeri and Joy, who she sees a few yards away from the huge table the two of you occupy. Behind them, Jisoo, Jennie, and Lisa lag, though they’re too far away to clearly see you.

Yeri’s expression isn’t exactly favorable; she stops right in her tracks to talk furiously to the others, and Chaeyoung frowns at the unreadable expression on your face. “Um… don’t worry, Y/N-ah. They’re probably just… talking about what to eat?”

“Sure,” you mutter, looking down. As the other girl has discovered, despite all your bravado and sass, you’re quite self-conscious. “It’s not like pizza is the only food this place offers.”

There’s no time for the blonde to reply; Jisoo, ever the tactful one, sits first and offers a tight smile. “Chaeng, good to see you. And you are?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” If Chaeyoung didn’t know you well enough, she wouldn’t be able to see past the mask of bored confidence you put on. “Jisoo, right? I’ve heard of you.”

The oldest girl flushes and nods. “Um, these are Jennie, Lisa, Yeri, and Joy.” They raise their hands or nod when their names are called, though their expressions are hostile.

Just as Chaeyoung opens her mouth to try and break the awkward silence, Lisa leans forward with her eyes narrowed. “So. What do you want with Chaeyoung?”

“Lisa!” The younger girl is usually sweet and puppy-like, but she’s also notoriously protective of her friends. Chaeyoung doesn’t miss the way your eye twitches just the slightest bit, and she resists the urge to put her hand on your arm. “Stop it.”

“What? You can’t deny this feels an awful like you’re introducing your girlfriend to us, and she’s the worst girlfriend you could have,” Lisa scowls, crossing her arms.

You sigh, shaking your head and standing up. Joy actually lurches back in her chair, as if expecting you to beat her up, but you just toss a quick smile to Chaeyoung, picking up the leather jacket slung over the back of your chair. “I think we’re done here. For your information, I’m not dating Chaeyoung, even though it wouldn’t be any of your business if I was.”

All the other girls stare at you, including Chaeyoung, as you continue, “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t assume. I appreciate that you care for Chaeng, but this is not the way to show it.”

With that, you’re gone, a light brush of your fingers on Chaeyoung’s shoulder the only way for her to tell that you aren’t angry at her.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, though, she scowls at her friends, hissing, “What the hell, Lisa? It was not your place to say any of that.”

The younger girl looks sheepish now, rubbing at the back of her neck. “I… I’m sorry.”

Jennie, though, rolls her eyes. “Come on, Chaeyoung. It’s what’s best, you don’t want to be dating her. She’s only going to break your heart.”

“I’m not that fragile, are you serious?” It’s honestly pretty uncharacteristic for Chaeyoung to actually be mad, but she can’t seem to control her words when her relationship with you might’ve been ruined. “It’s not your business anyway.”

Jisoo bites her lip, reaching for Chaeyoung’s hand across the table. “Chaeng, please. We just want what’s best for you, and Y/N isn’t that. You understand, right?”

No, I don’t. I don’t understand any of it. “Sure. I understand,” Chaeyoung exhales, sitting back. Despite everything she wants to say to her friends, she knows that they have good intentions, however misguided.

She’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

You don’t show up to class the next day, and Chaeyoung sits alone in her usual seat, feeling empty when you’re not quietly making snarky remarks beside her.

It’s odd, and it really shows how much you’ve ingrained yourself into her life.

After a day of thinking, Chaeyoung has come to realize that, despite all her friends’ warnings, she does have feelings for you. She wants to be with you, to enjoy the little things and the small moments together, and she thinks you might feel the same way.

Obviously, she’s still too cowardly to actually go to you and tell you.

After you don’t show up for the next 2 classes, Chaeyoung dials your phone. You don’t pick up there, either, and she’s left to frown at her phone in the middle of the road.

She’s not a passive person, so she fully intends to do anything she can to make you talk to her.

On Monday, she decides she’ll text your roommate Miyeon, but she gets caught up in classes. On Tuesday, Chaeyoung thinks she’ll bring you some notes, but she forgets to write an extra copy. On Wednesday, she catches a cold and Lisa refuses to let her go anywhere.

A week passes exactly like that.

Finally, 9 days after the disastrous lunch, she manages to get your dorm room number from the office lady she bribes with homemade cupcakes. You’re always home for lunch, probably because you don’t eat with anyone but Chaeyoung.

Her heart thuds in her chest as she rounds the corner to head into your hallway, the buzz of other students around her drowned out by the ringing in her ears. She knocks three times- one, two, three- on your door and she waits.

You look terrible when you open the door.

The permanent dark circles under your eyes are ten times darker than usual, and your lips are dry and chapped. You wear a rumpled Disney shirt that Chaeyoung would tease you about if she wasn’t so concerned. “Um… cupcakes?”

“Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem.” The blonde watches you pour out some cheap, college-student coffee at the tiny desk in the corner of the dorm. “I was just concerned. You haven’t been to class in a while, you know?”

You sigh and hand her a cup of piping hot tea, already sweetened just like Chaeyoung likes it. “Yeah. I know.”

“Hey.” Leaning over, Chaeyoung places her hand on yours, ignoring the way her heart skips a beat at the skin-to-skin contact. Judging by the blush on your face, you feel the same. “You can tell me anything, okay? We’re friends.”

You almost seem to wince, though Chaeyoung doesn’t know what for. “Yeah. I’m fine though.”

“Was it my friends?” the blonde persists, her eyes searching yours for an explanation. “I know that they were really rude, but I promise I don’t care about anything they say, okay?”

Scoffing, you stand up, seemingly to get more coffee, even though your mug is full. “I’m not that shallow, okay?”

“Then what is it?” Despite knowing she sounds desperate, Chaeyoung’s mind is racing for an explanation, anything that could tell her why you’re avoiding her. “Please talk to me.”

The beat of silence that passes only makes Chaeyoung feel more anxious, like her brain is spinning in circles inside her head, and she almost jumps when you speak again. “Do you… do you like me?”

“I… of course I do! You’re my friend, I like you very much.” The blonde is well aware that that isn’t what you meant, but she can’t help but avoid what she really wants to say as she babbles on, “Why? Do you want me to show my platonic love for you more often?”

“Chaeyoung.” You place your hand on hers and lean forward with a serious expression on your face that honestly scares Chaeyoung. “I know that you won’t tell me honestly any time soon, so I’m just going to say it first. I like you. A lot, and not as a friend.”

As the other girl’s jaw drops, you continue on, the overly quick speed of your speech letting Chaeyoung know just how nervous you are to say all of this. “I know that I have a reputation, and I know that I’m too closed down or boring, but you’re nothing like that. You’re so sweet and gorgeous, and I just… really like you. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” Chaeyoung reaches for you again, eyes searching yours for any sign of insincerity. She doesn’t find any. “You’re not boring, Y/N, not in the slightest. And I like you too, every little thing about you.”

“I don’t think you know enough about me to say that,” you try to deflect, but the blonde shakes her head.

“You’re so sweet to me, Y/N, and it’s not your fault that no one else can see it, but I do. I see all the little things you do for me, and I fall for you more every day. Maybe I don’t know enough about you, but I want to learn. If you’ll let me.”

A short pause occurs before you exhale quickly, swiping away tears Chaeyoung didn’t notice were about to fall. “Okay. I’d love that.”

“Great.” Chaeyoung sits back again, but just as you’re about to get up, presumably to busy yourself with a drink or something, she blurts out, “Can I kiss you?”

The surprised look on your face is so endearing that she’s already grinning when you smile softly. “Of course you can.”

The moment that you bend down and press your lips to hers, so soft and gentle, is the best of Chaeyoung’s life. She can finally taste the sweet mint of your chapstick, mixed with the unique taste of you, and feel the way your lips are slightly chapped against her own. When you pull away, Chaeyoung loves the flush to your cheeks that mirrors hers, and she can only grin when you move away to get your coffee.

Maybe opposites do attract after all.

“Hey, can I ask you something again?”

“You already did,” you joke, then laugh when the other girl pouts. “Sure, Chaeng. What?”

“Do you hate cats?”

An offended gasp escapes from you, matching your expression. “No, who hates cats? I think that’s the worst rumor about me yet.”

The blonde protests, “What about the one about you murdering someone?”

Sniffing and sitting with your coffee, you say, “I stand by my case.”

Cupping your face with her hands, the cuffs of her sweaters brushing up against your cheeks, Chaeyoung presses another kiss to your lips. The taste of mint and coffee, strawberry and tea, is the most perfect combination she could ever imagine.

[futurequeenofravka]

Good Enough - Sirius x Reader

Summary:

After a spat with a Slytherin girl in your year, you’ve start to doubt your relationship with Sirius Black. While you are wildly in love with him, you start to question why he chose you, a “mudblood.”

Warnings: None, I don’t think? Just a little angsty!

A/N: this is my first piece! it’s a lil test of a fic I’d like to write eventually, and it was prompted by mmfd so I decided to tweak the dialogue from the show a little to make it wizarding world esque hahah. But I hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading, this is the first time I’ve ever shared my creative writing online so please let me know what you think (also please send requests)! Also sorry if the formatting looks a lil weird, posting this from my phone made it kinda wonky.

Word count: 2.2k-ish words.

—

Pst. Psssst.

Sirius’s whisper grew louder until I looked over my shoulder to where he and James were sitting a few desks back from Lily and I. He tried to silently mouth a question as Professor Binns droned on about last night’s reading. James and Lily quietly laughed as they watched Sirius try to repeat himself a number of times before ultimately giving up. I shot him an apologetic look for my lip reading skills, or I guess lack thereof, as I watched him rip up a piece of parchment and scribble down a message. He waited for a spare moment in which Binns had his back turned to the class to write something on the chalkboard and then tossed the crumpled up piece of paper at me.

“What’s it say?” Lily asked as I unfolded the piece of parchment that Sirius had thrown my way.

“Blimey is he fucking annoying.” I said letting out a small laugh as I read the note.

“Well?” She leaned in closer trying to read the note from over my shoulder.

I slid the parchment across our shared desk so that she could read the message as well. Hi. I just wanted to say you look beautiful today. Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at 7? Lily sarcastically groaned as she slid the note back over to me and we pretended to go back to our class work. I turned back around to see Sirius intently waiting for my answer, I rolled my eyes at the silly gesture but smiled as I gave him a small nod to confirm our meeting later.

“You two are so sickly sweet sometimes, honestly I think I might have a toothache.” She said loud enough to provoke a laugh from James who eyed her from a few desks over.

“Beats the headache I get from watching you and Potter dodge your feelings for each other.” I retorted, quietly laughing as I tried to refocus my attention back to my textbook.

After class had ended I said bye to Lily as I made my way to the library to study for my potions exam. Sirius had already promised James that he’d come watch the Gryffindors practice for the upcoming Quidditch match so I’d have to study alone today, which I didn’t particularly mind because usually with Sirius around I hardly got any studying done. He pressed a kiss on my temple before we parted ways. When I got to the library I took a seat in the corner as usual and began to sprawl my textbooks across the table.

In the midst of studying I heard giggles from a herd of girls a few tables over. Looking over I met eyes with Ianthe, a Slytherin also in sixth year, who was sitting alongside Sirius’s cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa. Though I had never spoken more than a few words to either of them, I knew I was not favored in the Black household. If anything, they probably hated me; although Sirius would never burden me with that confirmation, I knew how his family felt about me and “my kind.”

Being muggle born was still a rarity at Hogwarts, and one that pureblood families often had strong feelings against. Lily and I became fast friends because of this. Being two of the only Muggle born students at Hogwarts made fitting in quite hard sometimes. There were often things that we didn’t understand or we lost on. We relied on Marlene, Alice, and Dorcas a lot for explanations and now as of recently on the “Marauders,” as they called themselves, as well. But it was comforting to have Lily around, to have someone who understood experiences unique to us. Someone who understood what it felt like to miss basic muggle things while away at school, like televisions or even just pens.

I rolled my eyes at the giggling girls and went back to reading the next chapter in my textbook. Several minutes passed before my studying was interrupted again, this time I looked up to see the three slender girls approaching my table, a wicked grin plastered across each of their faces as they surrounded my table.

“Can I help you?” I breathed looking up from my book.

“Yes actually. Would you mind backing off of Sirius?” Ianthe mused as she flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Excuse me?” I asked, Bellatrix laughed at my response, a cackle echoing across the room.

“I thought dating you would just be his latest phase but it’s been almost 6 months. I expected that he’d come crawling back to me by now but you seem to be standing in my way.” Ianthe ran her fingers over my notes and shuffled my things around as she spoke.

“In your way of what? Stealing my boyfriend?”

“Precisely.” Narcissa chimed in from behind the blonde haired girl.

“Honestly, Y/N. It’s kind of pathetic how you constantly follow Sirius around like a puppy dog. One day I’m sure he’ll bore of having a little pet mudblood and finally come back to his senses.” Bellatrix said, her tone was cold and cruel as she knocked over a few of my things and proceeded with a sarcastic oops.

“I mean our families have been practically planning our wedding since before we were even born.” Ianthe said trying to refocus my attention back on her.

“Shove off, the lot of you.” I said trying to ignore anymore of their remarks.

“Feisty today aren’t we, Y/N. I would’ve never expected such boldness from a filthy little mud blood.” Bellatrix said cackling again.

“Just leave me alone please.” My voice strained this time.

“You really do ruin all the fun, don’t you, Y/L/N? But before we go, I just have to ask, dear. Does our darling Padfoot still like to have his neck kissed? You know, just above that mole.” Ianthe tapped her finger to the side of her neck.

“You’re all sick.”

“Maybe but at least we don’t have dirty blood.”

My heart beat fast as I picked up my belongings from off the ground, desperately trying to get out of the library as quickly as possible. I ran through the corridors back toward Gryffindor tower, tears welling up in my eyes and slowly beginning to fall despite my best efforts to hold them back. I ran past the other students and back to my dormitory praying that it would actually be empty for once. It was not. Lily was sat on her bed reading a book when she looked up to see me tears running down my face while I tried to keep a cool demeanor. Her face cloaked in worry as she asked if I was okay, her words triggered a visceral reaction as I finally let myself break down in tears. She came over to me and brought me back to her bed and hugged me for a moment, stroking my back waiting until I was ready to speak.

After my sobs and sniffles had mostly come to a stop I recounted the entirety of what had happened in the library. Sharing the words exchanged between me and the three Slytherin girls and the doubt that now seeped into my mind. Lily fumed, her anger rising as she listened to me talk about what had happened.

“Y/N, you don’t actually believe that do you?” She asked, her face still cloaked with worry.

“I mean why shouldn’t I? She’s right, I’ve seen the way people look at us.”

“What does it matter what they think?”

“It’s not what they think, it’s the fact that they’re right. You know exactly how Sirius’ family is, I’m probably just another conquest to him. Girls like Ianthe were bred to marry boys like him, to protect their bloodlines. They’ve basically been betrothed since birth, Lily!”

“Sirius is his own person. He is not his family. You should know better than anyone that that boy lives to break rules. And I seriously doubt it but if he doesn’t appreciate how absolutely brilliant you are just because you were muggle born then he’s not worth your time.”

I knew Lily was right, it was rare that she wasn’t. But my mind still wandered to a dark place that echoed with Ianthe’s comments. She stayed with me for another hour or so before she got ready to go over to the Great Hall for dinner. I didn’t realize how long we had been sitting in the dorm. I looked over at the clock surprised to see it was almost 7. I promised Sirius I’d meet him in the astronomy tower soon. Surely I couldn’t face him after what had just happened but my heart hurt thinking about standing him up.

“You going to be alright?” Lily asked before heading out the door.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll see you later.” I reassured her.

“Alright, if you need anything just give a shout.”

I sighed as she closed the door and headed off. I looked down at my mascara stained sleeves and quickly changed into a clean shirt and wiped away the smeared makeup from beneath my eyes. Regardless of how I felt, I had to face Sirius.

I walked through the empty halls over to the Astronomy tower. Springtime at Hogwarts had an underrated charm to it. The weather was ideal, chill but not too cold. Tonight was no different, the air tonight was crisp, the wind blew gently through my hair as I made my way up the winding staircase. When I made it to the very top I saw Sirius gazing across the school grounds. His face looking intently over the beautifully crafted buildings and through the lush forests around us. I stayed silent for a minute just to admire him. The handsome playboy that I always thought I loathed but whom had somehow not only stolen my heart but had also become my best friend.

When he finally sensed my presence he turned around, my heart fluttered just looking at the kind, dopey smile wiped across his face as he held out his hand for me. When I grabbed it, he pulled me in close. My face buried into his chest as he held me for a minute. I looked behind him to see a blanket laid across the ground a small picnic set up for us.

“Remus helped me bribe the house elves into sneaking me some food so we could have dinner up here.” He excitedly motioned over to the set up.

“It looks lovely, Sirius.” I spoke softly as if my words could be broken with just a tap.

“What’s wrong? Oh Merlin, you hate it, don’t you?” He asked worriedly.

“No it’s not that, it really is lovely. I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re doing this for me. You’re a pureblood and I’m...I’m a mudblood.” I took a step away from him, letting go on my grasp on his hand.

“What does that have to do with anything? You know I’ve never cared about any of that.”

“You should be going out with someone like Ianthe, not someone like me. Most people when they see us must be thinking, ‘oh he must be mad going out with that.’”

“That what” he said before raising his voice to echo the question, “that what?”

“You know exactly what, Sirius. Everyone does.”

“What the fuck are you on about? What does everyone have to do with how I feel about you? You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t fancy. That’s mine and mine alone. Now are you going to stop being a git or what?”

“Stop calling me a git, you’re the git.” I said trying to shove him away but his hands grasped my wrists before I could make my move.

Before I could say another word he crashed his lips into mine. His hands now releasing his grip on my wrists and instead caressing my face. Sirius had kissed me many times before but never with such urgency, like his life depended on it. Like if he didn’t kiss me in this exact moment that he’d never get to again. My hands now pressed up against his chest pulling him in closer to me as I savored the taste of him until we were breathless.

“You’re the git.” I whispered as we pressed our foreheads together, he let out a small laugh at my comment before he spoke again.

“Those twats, they aren’t my family. You are.” His thumb caressing my cheek softly.

“Sirius, I just—“

“You are my family.” He said firmly cutting me off before I could finish my sentence.

“Okay, you say that now but I just hate the idea that you’re choosing me over them. I don’t want you to wake up one day and regret your choice and start to resent me forever. I mean they’re your family, Sirius.” I rambled as doubt still riddled my brain.

“Y/N, listen to me, I will always choose you. I choose you today, tomorrow, and I’ll choose you forever for the rest of our lives. You are the only thing in this entire world I care about.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“Yes, just maybe not to James, Remus, and Peter. I think they might burst into tears.” He let out loud laugh as he responded to my question.

“I won’t lie, I’d like to see that.”

“I bet you would. Now can we please eat dinner, I paid off the house elves 10 galleons each just so that they would make your favorite!”



[deans-haunted-baby]

Dadstiel Shoulder Touch Analysis

I want to take some time to discuss something about this incredible father/son dynamic that I don’t think gets enough recognition. And that is their connection. A connection layered in so many different attributes yet primarily based on physical touch. Apologies this is going to be long. Despite my saltiness towards Supernatural as I feel the show squandered them during its run, I really love the amount of attention to detail that was put into Castiel and Jack’s relationship. It kind of has a Terminator inspired vibe going on which I can’t deny enjoying. The bodyguard and the future savior of mankind. And this bond was in development all the way back in season 12; long before Jack was born. 

During 12x19 it’s through his mother Kelly, that the son of Lucifer forges an emotional attachment with the trench-coated angel whom he imprints on to be his surrogate dad. From the moment Castiel puts his hand on her belly, and feels Jack, they instantly fall in love with each other. At first touch. Trusting each other completely without the slightest bit of doubt as they sense the other’s good aura. It’s a devotion unlike anything Cas has ever experienced in his millions of years. Even more than what he’s felt for Sam and Dean. And it happens before he and Jack even get to see each other. Their bond becomes intensely essential that it boosts Castiel’s grace, allowing him to protect Kelly and her son from Dagon as well as cause a rip in time and space.

After Jack is born and in the care of the Winchesters, scared, lost and confused yet curious as an infant in an adolescent body; the child wanders aimlessly searching for Castiel. All he wants in that moment is to be with Castiel because that is who he recognizes as his father. Missing him and needing to feel that same warmth, protection and compassion he felt from inside his mother’s womb. However, following the tragic circumstances that led to the angel’s unexpected death at the hands of Jack’s biological dad in 12x23, these two are forcibly separated in the beginning of season 13. Until Jack instinctively resurrects Castiel out of the Empty through his own will and desire alone at the very end of 13x03. Proving that no matter how far away they are, the tether between them can’t be broken.

These two don’t even need an introduction from Sam and Dean when 13x06 finally reunites them for the first time. Jack immediately knows who Castiel is going off on his mother’s memories. And their reunion comes so naturally. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation or apprehensiveness emanating from the angel’s presence. Jack just walks right up to Cas, puts his arms around him and tells him how much he missed him. Its as if they’d never been apart. And afterwards they spend nearly the entire episode practically inseparable. Getting to know each other as father and son. And that goes without saying, while Jack did bond with the Winchesters in person first, there is no comparison to the Nephilim boy’s emotional attachment towards the angel.

This special relationship is very significant to both of them. Around each other they’re at their most happiest. Castiel is constantly at Jack’s side; and ALMOST ALWAYS tenderly touching him, namely his shoulders or protectively holding him by the arm and the child wholly reciprocates this. In Castiel’s gentle physical touch Jack is given a sense of security, solace, reassurance and comfort. Same as he’d had as an unborn baby. Not only is this the angel’s way of demonstrating his affection, empathy and devotion towards his son but this is actually how he non-verbally tells Jack that he loves him. Its purely unconditional. And this gesture isn’t one-sided as I will acknowledge later. Jack desires Cas’s tangible nearness as much as his dad does which is why they’re so magnetically pulled together in all of their scenes on the show. 

Even when they’re at conflict with each other or arguing, Castiel never fails to let Jack know that he’s always safe and loved. That he isn’t afraid of him. His son could be in pain, angry, or vengeful in the moment and Castiel’s affection for that child will never waver. He’ll endlessly put his own life at risk in order to reach Jack; who is far more powerful than he is via his archangel half. Like the convivence store scene in 13x23 when Jack attacks a civilian believing he’d killed his friend and Cas does his best to subdue him. Whether Jack wants it or not at the time, he needs his dad’s emotional support; and the angel can’t stand the thought of his son harmed or hurting. He’s easily saddened whenever Jack refuses his touch as shown in 13x21 when he was very upset over Sam’s temporary death and rips away Cas’s hand as he’s trying to console him.

Supernatural really emphasizes the powerful connection Castiel and Jack share using physical communication in nearly every one of their episodes. Its these wonderful details they do onscreen that illustrates the depth of love these characters have for each other. Unfortunately though, they didn’t get to interact much during season 13. Yet the small portions in their four episodes together is exceptionally substantial. While we’re on the subject, the shoulder touches are definitely a Dadstiel thing. It’s their signature sign of affection and theirs’s only. Don’t believe me, let me give you an example of a specific scene in 14x19 between Jack and Sam; which takes place in the aftermath of Jack’s accidental killing of the Winchesters’ mother Mary.

Dean and Sam conspire to trick and lock away the soulless infant Nephilim in a mystical coffin as punishment with the intention of finding a solution that will end his life. Sam is the reluctant main player in this scheme of using his influence over the child in order to gain his trust and sway him into his fate. Just before Jack’s about to be led to the room and put into the box, scared and uncertain, Sam then puts his hand on his shoulder telling him they need to keep him safe while giving him an awkward grin. And look at Jack’s expression as this happens. It reads shattered. He immediately knows something’s wrong. Sam is touching him just like Castiel…except this is nothing like Castiel. His dad’s shoulder touches are always so tender and loving. 

Jack can literally feel Cas’s devotion for him in every tangibility. But here he doesn’t feel that from Sam at all. Its cold, fearful and empty just like he is on the inside. Rendering him even more nervous. Speaking of season 14 the father/son content we get between Castiel and Jack is even better that year as its all about their relationship growing and strengthening into something far deeper than it was in the previous seasons 12 and 13. It’s the year their bond is put through the ultimate test. Where Jack is made human after Lucifer steals his grace and Cas dominantly steps into his role as a father.  

Providing Jack with a certain guidance, boundaries, and stability in episodes 14x01, 14x02, 14x03, 14x09 and 14x10 unlike what he’d received from Sam and Dean. Castiel takes on all the difficult tasks of parenting ranging from scolding to teaching his son about death, responsibility, self-restraint, patience and the tribulations of growing up. He doesn’t raise his voice ever when he speaks to Jack. And is completely there 100% for his son from the beginning…and the end of his life. Although Castiel is an angel he is very much a pivotal link to Jack’s humanity and vice versa as well as a link to his celestial side. While he greatly admires and looks up to the Winchesters, its through Cas’s influence that the infant Nephilim aspires to be a good person. 

Jack never wants to become the monster his biological father was; desperate to break out of that mold once in for all. And he isn’t alone. Castiel is right there with Jack every step of the way. Ready to challenge and encourage his son whenever he does something decent or makes a mistake. He doesn’t hesitate to tell his son when he’s proud of him. And sometimes he’s there to coddle Jack during times of crisis as displayed in the 14x09 showdown with AU!Michael where the angel takes a second to heal Jack’s minor facial wounds. I just love that tiny focal point of Cas in the background, as the Winchesters are talking, putting his hand on Jack’s shoulder before using his powers on him. As if to keep him calm; like a parent reassuring their nervous kid that it won’t hurt.

Throughout the first part of season 14 we’re blessed with so much affectionate Dadstiel moments like the after-the-battle angst talk in 14x01 where Castiel reminds a very frustrated Jack “you’ve got me” as he declares he has nothing. Or 14x08 after Jack’s death and they’re bittersweetly reunited in Heaven with Kelly; all smiles, touching shoulders and hugging each other as if they can’t bear to be separated. Followed with that heartfelt moment of Castiel tenderly touching his son’s cheeks, sadly looking at him with so much adoration, as he sends his soul back to his body. Then there was their unforgettable father/son pep talk in regards to the vulnerability of Jack’s soul; Castiel just gives his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he leaves the room. Again, this is how these two say “I love you”.

And I couldn’t very go in depth of this analysis without mentioning 14x20′s Jack death scene 2.0; Castiel helplessly touches his son, who’s screaming on the ground in agony, trying desperately to ease his suffering. Yah this was particularly very hard for me to watch witnessing Castiel going out of his mind, completely unable to save Jack from enduring such a painful end to his life. Once was already cruel enough on me. And of course 15x01 continued that vicious trend of Castiel harrowingly protecting his son’s corpse, carrying him over the shoulder in a fireman’s hold as he runs through the cemetery, then gently lays him down on the floor in a mausoleum. I get emotional watching Cas cradling Jack’s head as he positions him comfortably; letting his touch linger unable to let go. He doesn’t even care what happens to him in this moment as long as his son’s body is safe. Very strong symbolism of a parent who will never abandon their child long after they’re gone. 

On a side note I want to quickly call attention to how much I revere the Dadstiel healing parallels in 14x09 and 14x14 plus BONUS: Jack almost-killing Castiel in 15x13 so he can talk to Ruby in the Empty. These just add some nice little textures in their dynamic which compliments their ongoing tradition of showing devotion through physical communication. And both the healing scenes and the temporary death scene are composited very similarly. Focused on Castiel and Jack’s hands in the process of relieving the other’s pain/life. 

Touch is exhibited as being a very crucial element for both of these characters when it comes to their iron-clad relationship. That palpable part of Castiel and Jack’s connection keeps them closely-knit. Its their familial instinct and how they express their feelings for each other. If they aren’t kneading shoulders, the angel duo is often standing beside each other or firmly linked at the arms. And this usually happens during moments of extreme stress, joy, sorrow, pain or fear. Jack relies so much on Castiel’s parental presence. He respects his authority, disobeying only when his actions feel necessary, and will go to the angel whenever he wants to talk or vent. Jack is also comfortable with Castiel enough to confide his darkest secrets no matter how awful they are. That’s the foundation of the everlasting trust built between them. They’re just tethered to one another in such a way that nothing will divide them. 

I’ll begin with the hospital scene from 14x07 where Castiel is being the rock to his ailing son who can barely stand on his feet. There’s so much anxiety radiating off him in this moment as he struggles with watching Jack suffer; holding him so close. Staring at his face you can tell this horrible situation is ripping him apart. Actually, the entire episode is basically just Castiel silently enduring the pain of Jack dying.

The second set of screencaps underneath are of 14x10; Jack is agitated by AU!Michael’s antagonistic claims that his family’s love for him isn’t unconditional. Reading into one of his greatest fears. But then Castiel instantly calls out to his son, grabs the crook of his arm; gently reassuring him none of this is true. And Jack doesn’t resist this as he knows his dad is sincere. He never has to question Cas’s feelings towards him as his physical touch alone is self-explanatory. But when it comes to the Winchesters, that’s a whole other conversation.    

Next, we have one of my favorite emotionally-charged Dadstiel moments in 14x14; where in a fit of panic because the anti venom wasn’t working Jack, going against Castiel’s warnings not to risk burning off his soul, is compelled to use his powers to save his dad. And I love this because this time its Jack who’s the one initiating all the physical contact. Just as the recovered angel demands what he’s done, his son responds with a soft “you’re okay” and the “I love you dad” shoulder touch as well as firmly gripping his arm.  

Finally stepping away from season 14 I’m going to briefly go over the caps from season 15. Let’s begin with 15x11 the Dadstiel reunion scene at the church which is so beautifully poignant. Castiel is so overjoyed to see Jack alive that he takes a second to look over his equally stunned son, touching his shoulders before they embrace. This is by far one of Cas and Jack’s top father/son moments on the show and it’s done so effectively. If you want a more in-depth description for what I love about this scene, you can read my post about it here.

After that is the 15x13 Dadstiel moment where Castiel, suspicious of Jo’s story about the Occultum, had asked Jack to temporarily kill him in order to go see Ruby in the Empty. Two things I really like about this; 1. even though Jack still doesn’t have a soul, is very concerned about and protective over Castiel because of that deal. And 2. again Jack is initiating all the touching in this scene; look at the way he grasps his dad’s arm as he returns him to life. It’s almost as if he’s hoping the touch of his hand will not only speed up the process but also reach his dad so his essence isn’t lost forever.   

And then we have 15x17. We didn’t get much Dadstiel interaction in this episode but the amount of times Castiel protectively holds onto his agonized child, who’d been turned into a cosmic bomb about to go off any minute, having no regard for the danger he’s in is so visually gut-wrenching. There’s a specific moment in the scene where, as Sam and Dean are arguing, Castiel is sitting on the floor just clutching Jack tight. Trying to non-verbally soothe him.

And this is followed up in the first half of 15x18, aka THEIR VERY LAST EPISODE TOGETHER ever on Supernatural. Here is where everything about their connection comes full circle with Castiel refusing to abandon Jack no matter the situation. Demonstrating the extent of his devotion by willing to die for his child just as he’d sacrificed his happiness to save Jack from the Empty. Because that is his son and nothing not even death itself can ever destroy what they have. Much as the young Nephilim boy begs for his dad to stay away, yells that he doesn’t want to hurt him; Castiel kneeling to Jack’s eye-level doesn’t leave his side. Then when Jack disappears to the Empty and reappears back at the bunker reformed, Castiel’s hand remains firmly glued to his son’s shoulder. He doesn’t want Jack to feel afraid or traumatized any further.

This was such an intense part of the episode I mean just look at how stressed out these two were. The anguish in their expressions. Simply put, Cas and Jack cannot bare to live without the other. They’re each other’s home; two sides of the same soul. Castiel loves all of Jack; the good, the bad and the ugly. This is an EPIC father and son’s love that knows no bounds. So powerful and pure that it transcended the loss of Jack’s soul, Lucifer’s DNA, the Empty, Mary Winchester’s death and everything else in between. Oh, and guess what, their “I love you” Dadstiel shoulder touches aren’t limited to just their hands. Its in every single one of their hugs too.  

Notice how their chins or faces just comfortably rest on top of each other’s shoulders. And except for 14x20 their eyes are shut, as if to savor every single second of that closeness. Jack just buries himself against Castiel like he’s never felt safer with anyone else in the whole universe. And both of them hold each other; giving and receiving the other’s love with their whole self. Like I can’t even begin to describe how much Castiel and Jack’s softness towards each other just melts my heart. Their relationship, despite the horror tongue-in-cheek atmosphere of SPN, is surprisingly sweet, healthy and endearing. They are the epitome of true unconditional love and a great contrast to the Winchester brothers. In my humble opinion Castiel and Jack’s father/son dynamic is the best thing to happen to this show in a long while.

For the closing segment of this analysis I want to do something special before I discuss the paralleled-angst driven Dadstiel shoulder touches in 15x15 and 15x18. First off, I can’t shout enough praise from the rooftops about the insanely remarkable chemistry between Alexander Calvert and Misha Collins. Just brilliant casting. They embody these characters heart and soul and make this relationship feel so real, genuine and grounded. The fact that they look so similar in appearance really sells the idea that these two could actually be father and son. Forget the scripts, the quiet subtly these two bring to Castiel and Jack is the true magic of their relationship.

Let me start with the Dadstiel centric 15x15 aka THE BEST EPISODE of Supernatural season 15. This amazing masterpiece of art is everything I could’ve asked for and more; giving me so much precious father/son content that I will cherish forever. I really enjoyed seeing Castiel and Jack in those matching ties, bonding with each other over a case while they save the day. It’s a shame this show never let these two have more solo adventures together because they’re truly a joy to watch onscreen. Fingers crossed for that spinoff.

But I digress, the car scene in question happens at the very end of the episode in which Jack reveals the alarming truth that he has to die in order to stop Chuck and Amara. And Castiel, visibly and outspokenly distraught by this news, has to be assuaged with that infamous shoulder touch by his son; who’s in just as much pain. This is without a doubt one of most emotional scenes between these two characters out of the last three seasons of the show and quite possibly one of Misha and Alex’s strongest acting moments after the Dadstiel church reunion in 15x11. They killed it with the feels here. I like the attention to detail, the shadows and the colors in the shot, the melancholic score as well as how it seamlessly switches from Jack’s perspective to Castiel’s. Seriously watching this scene always makes me cry its so devastating.

 Lastly, we have the Dadstiel car scene in 15x18; and Castiel and Jack’s LAST ONE-ON-ONE together. I’m kind of disappointed by this if I’m being honest. Its not that its bad its just not that definitively great for a final scene between these characters. Especially after four seasons of development. Where are the stakes? Why don’t Jack and Castiel seem as concerned about their situation? Cute as that smile was it doesn’t fit the tone. And where’s that punch in the gut knowing something is going to separate these two any second? It’s too light and doesn’t come off like a goodbye or a cathartic bookend which is what I wanted to take away from the episode considering its title “Despair”.

I mean if they were going to follow up on that heartbreaking car scene at the end of “Gimme Shelter”, the 15x18 scene wasn’t the way to do it. So, the weight of this final interaction feels almost non-existent. Maybe if it had taken place at night and the dialogue solely focused on them not the Winchesters it would’ve faired better. But since this isn’t a rant post I’ll cut to the chase by saying that the only saving grace this moment has happens in the last part. Jack’s in tears telling his dad how scared he is that he can’t use his powers to protect anyone. Coming off very childlike and vulnerable; needing that parental protection that Castiel was always known for. And sure enough, he gives Jack that final “I love you” shoulder touch which I swear had me choked a little. 

Rethinking about it now that the show is over actually makes their final moment together really sad as incomplete as it is. I not only look back on how much these characters were drastically underutilized but how much the Dadstiel storyline could’ve been executed better with all the development that it was given. Well there you have it my full Dadstiel shoulder-touch analysis. Hope you’ve enjoyed!

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Ambiguous

There has been something I need to write about and shout into the void. It has been tearing me apart, and I don’t know how people will react elsewhere, so I figured this was the safest place. This will be the soft reveal before even speaking about it to my friends. Or maybe I will never speak about it ever again. Maybe I will feel fine after writing it this way.  For my entire life, people have mistaken me for being Indian, to the point where actual Indians walk up to me and start speaking in their dialect. My mile-long blank stare makes them realize that I am not Indian, and one of two things happen - they either apologize and explain they mistook me for Indian, or they exclaim, “You’re NOT Indian?”

I’m Cuban and Colombian. I grew up in New Jersey. I am an American citizen but it gets confusing when you take into account that my mother flew to Santiago, Chile to have me there because of a clinic that specialized in geriatric pregnancy at the time, so my “birthplace” reads Chile on my passport. That’s always a mouthful to have to explain and it further confuses people, so I end up saying, “I was born in New Jersey”.  My skin tone is best described as ambiguous. I could be many things. I’ve gotten Middle Eastern, Indian, and specifically “Egyptian”. I have no idea why “Egyptian” but. Whatever.  I have always lived in some liminal space where people ask the dreaded question, “What are you?�� Now here’s the most frustrating thing of all - not everyone who has asked me that was white. Growing up, I thought that I could relate to someone who wasn’t white to understand how I feel. Black people have asked me that. Indian people have asked me that. Middle Eastern people have asked me that. Cubans and Colombians have asked me that.  Throughout my youth, I was paranoid that maybe I was adopted or something, given how people didn’t seem to connect me with my parents. I was told that my Cuban side hails from Spain, but my Colombian side is shrouded in mystery. My dad never liked to talk about my family. I never knew anyone past my grandparents. Well, I did meet my great-grandmother once when I was seven, but she had practically turned back into a baby at that point, banging on the table demanding food and needing to be spoon-fed. My own people don’t recognize me, and they often say things like, “You don’t LOOK Latino!” or “What? You’re LATINO?” and the best one yet “You don’t SOUND Spanish!” The worst offenders, however, would laugh and say, “¡Pareces Hindu!” which means “You look Hindu!” Hindu is the religion, dumbass. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can be racist and slip some “micro-aggression”. I am not fluent in Spanish, but I can write and understand every word in Spanish. I often inadvertently offend Spanish-speaking people when I reply to them in English when they thought they were being sneaky by talking in Spanish around me.  The reason I don’t speak Spanish as fast as my peers is because of two reasons:  1. My parents at the time when I grew up believed in the misconception and pseudoscientific belief that children will be “confused” if two or more languages are spoken in the house.  2. Central New Jersey, where I grew up, hadn’t yet seen many Hispanic people, so locals at the time often leered at people who spoke Spanish in public.  When my mother took me to our local Gymboree, I spotted a butterfly and shouted in Spanish, “¡Mariposa! ¡Mariposa!”. The other mothers kept staring at me, and then distanced themselves from us.  The weirdest thing ever was experiencing white people who studied the Spanish language better than me and making fun of me for actually being Spanish but being unable to speak it fluently. I had a crush on this girl whom I’ll call “Anjy” in freshman year of college. It took me until now to realize that I think she had a Latino fetish. Anjy only exclusively went out with Latino men, but never seemed to openly admit it. The only thing she did admit was that, “I can only be with a man who speaks Spanish. It’s so important to me.” So obviously I wasn’t a contender, despite being Latino. Anjy doesn’t have an ounce of Spanish in her. None. But she studied it since high school and fell in love with it and became Spanish’s #1 fan. I was so jealous of how fluent she was. She could roll her r’s and speak it beautifully. Since we became friends, I said to her, “Oh, I can finally practice my Spanish with someone!” We tried, but she laughed at me and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. You sound like a gringo.” It’s a very topsy-turvy world where some white girl uses a derogatory term on me, a derogatory term from my culture that describes an outsider, used to describe me. She went to Costa Rica after we graduated, lived there for a few years, and came back home with a husband.  (That’s when I fully realized just how much she fetishized us.) A few years ago, my now-fiancée gifted me a DNA test for my birthday. That came out of left field for me, and opened up a range of emotions that I wasn’t ready for. She said she remembered how I wondered aloud why I looked the way I looked and about my ancestry.  I sat on the DNA test for a while. 

I stared at it. 

I held the kit in my hands. 

I opened it and closed it.  What if I really was Indian? What if I found out something that made me feel so much worse? But how bad could it be? I was also wary about the company keeping my DNA for nefarious reasons. However, luckily enough, my fiancée had bought the kit from AncestryDNA - the one DNA company that has responded to people saying they would delete their DNA at their request. I bit the bullet and sent my sample.  When the test came back, I opened it up and everything made sense. It made so much sense that I laughed out loud. It’s so funny how nobody has guessed the only other possibility for my skin tone that is what I actually am.  I am pretty much half native to the Americas.  I’m not sure what that’s called. Native American seems to be associated exclusively to North America. So Native South American? Native to the Americas? Native American (et al)? The Colombian side can be traced through turmoil in South America, up through Mesoamerica, and into North America. So many spots lit up all over the Americas. And like the Cuban side said, I was indeed from Spain as well.  I was split right down the middle. 50/50. The native side and the European side were practically screaming at each other in my genes. I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from me that I didn’t even know was there. I knew for a fact that I was my parents’ son. I had an explanation for why I look the way I look, and it made sense and it was obvious. It didn’t end there though.  I didn’t feel Native American. I had no cultural connection to anything “native”. I tried thinking in terms of my personality though. I always had a strong belief in saving the land and respecting the dead. I did vandalize a construction site back in my high school days to preserve farmland. My family did like to decorate the house with Aztec and Mayan statues. Aside from that though, I had about as much personal connection to native culture as Olive Garden does to Italy. The thing about my parents being from Cuba and Colombia is that those were two very violent and turbulent places in the past century. After I tell people where my families hail from, they always asked me with wide-eyes, “Oh have you been there???” Well, I dunno man. If you have any inkling of what’s going on the world you would know the awkward relationship that the United States has had with Cuba, and what it means to be a fucking exile. And the fact that Colombia has seen gang wars for the entirety of my life. So no. I haven’t. When I was a little boy I asked my parents if we would ever visit Colombia or Cuba, but they told me we shouldn’t go back. Colombia was violent, and Cuba’s government watched everyone. My mother was afraid of what would happen if she tried going back. Maybe they wouldn’t let her, or us. Maybe they’d let us through but I wouldn’t even be allowed to return if they knew I was the son of an exile. Worse yet, they might detain my mother. You never know when your family had beef with the government and was told to leave.  And what really drives a knife in my heart is hearing people ask that really annoying question. “Have you visited???” As if they were hot and exotic touristy locales. No. Because my parents were forced to flee, because they needed a better life.  “Wouldn’t your mom love it if you got married in Cuba? She would get to visit her home!”  You don’t get the trauma she has. You don’t understand how much of a toll it would take on her to return home and see all the things she once knew and love gone or tarnished. She received word recently that the farmhouse she grew up in now became a restaurant. The house that my grandfather built by hand. Strangers now sit and eat there. Maybe tourists. The hotel that my great-grandfather used to own now doesn’t belong to us anymore - the government said it was theirs. There is nothing for her to go back to but loss.  I felt distraught when I saw a former college classmate who has become an Instagram influencer immediately visit Cuba once travel restrictions were eased. She posted all about it and acted as if she were an expert about it. She used to be a lawyer in Washington D.C. until she decided to “take hold of her life” and “follow her dream” and go to Bali and now lives everyday in tropical paradise. It seemed like some people were pointing out the hypocrisy in her posts about life given the lifestyle she leads, since she felt the need to say something about it. She made a video where she tried to relate to her followers. She said how “it’s still hard” for her, that she “has to work every day”, and meanwhile literally the next fucking day she posts a picture of her having lunch by a waterfall, or napping in her hammock by the beach. But when she visited Cuba, and took pictures and wrote a long post about the country, I just lost it. She met up with some other white Instagram influencer friend, and they took selfies at a café and lectured about the region and--- That’s supposed to be my country, my culture. I’m supposed to feel that way about my people, not you. I went to a wedding recently in July. This black man slapped me on the back after I cracked a joke and said, “Hey, where you from?”

“New Jersey.” He laughed. “No, but really though. Where are you from?” “New Jersey.” “I mean originally. Your background. What are you?” It was the first time I had been asked that question since I got back my DNA test results, and for some reason it hit me so much differently.

I really wanted to say, “I don’t know.” It’s ironic how knowing what I am made me feel more confused, more alone and more isolated than ever before. I am bad at speaking Spanish, and when I try to practice with other Spanish-speaking people they laugh at me and say, “You sound like a gringo” and say they can’t bear to practice with me. I don’t look Latino. I might look Indian or I might look Middle Eastern. With me, everyone assumes things about me, no matter what they are. Some people have the luxury of automatic and unspoken assumptions about their background. Then there’s me. Not quite tan, not quite white. I don’t raise enough suspicion at the airport to warrant a search but at the same time I have to jump over one extra hurdle when they ask me one extra question: “Where are you from?” or “How long are you staying here?” or “What are you here for?” It’s very subtle and deceptively innocent. Nobody else who is pasty white gets asked any questions. They just stamp their passport and wave them away. I’m just ambiguous enough to warrant that extra step - just in case, you know? I envy people so much who can have a clear culture and place to point and say, “I’ve been there. I’ve been where I come from.” I envy people who can recognize all the idiosyncrasies of their family’s region. I don’t belong to any country or culture or identity. There are only a few scant pieces of culture that my parents passed on to me. “Oh, on Christmas we do this” or “We say this once and a while. That was a common expression there.” I envy people with huge families who have not been estranged by government and bloodshed or lost to time. I envy people who can trace their families back to their grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great-grandmothers. As a kid I wish I was able to say something like, “My great-granddaddy fought Nazis in the war!” I will never know anyone beyond that one old great-grandmother who no longer recognized anyone’s face. Everyone else is a name on a tombstone, or a whisper in vague oral history. I envy people who can firmly say, “I am *insert nationality here*” Because I always mumble at that phrase.  I am. . .a. . . I am from. . . . uh I am. . .  I am. 

[writingsbychelle]

I Quit

Summary: While touring with 5 Seconds of Summer, you suddenly have a bad asthma attack, causing things to shift between you and Calum.

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Request: /

Warnings: description of an asthma attack and uh,,,,smoking?

Word Count: 2.019

(A/N: actually really like this fic! thanks to Amy for proofreading this and helping me❤️)

    “Do you mind?” Calum asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as you both leaned against the tour bus, waiting for Luke, Ashton and Michael to finish packing up so you could head to the next destination of the tour. 

    “Not at all,” you smiled at him and tucked your phone into your back pocket before turning to look at him.

    You were currently touring with 5 Seconds of Summer as their opening act, and you guys were close to finishing the tour. After almost four months on the road, it was safe to say that you were ready to return back home and get some well-deserved rest. However, as much as you were longing to curl up in your bed and binge-watch Netflix for the rest of your life, you also never wanted this to end. The shows, the audience, spending time with the guys to whom you had grown incredibly close to over these past few weeks and overall the atmosphere of being on the bus with the band. 

    But most of all, you were going to miss your late-night talks with Calum. 

    Generally just being with Calum. 

    You had already been friends before going on tour. But ever since it had become your routine to talk outside the bus during stops, Calum usually lighting a cigarette while you took sips from your bottle of water until it was time to step back into the bus and turn in for the night. You felt even closer to him than ever before. 

    That was probably going to be the thing you’d miss the most: your bus stop routine with Calum. 

    The way his eyes shone in the streetlights, the smoke leaving his lungs in long breaths, him asking if it’s okay for him to smoke next to you despite already knowing your answer, his teasing eye-rolling whenever you’d say, “that’s gonna kill you one day,” while pointing at the cigarette resting between his plump lips.

    Him. 

    You were going to miss him. 

    Logically you knew you’d still be able to see him, especially since you only lived about 20 minutes away from him. Still, the thought of not hearing his soft snores every night and having deep conversations at random rest stops in the middle of the night ate you up on the inside. It was pretty obvious what you felt for the bassist, but admitting it was something you didn’t even dare to dream of. Especially while you were still on tour and it could create unnecessary tensions between you, him and the band. Still, you couldn’t help but wish for things to be easier, for the tour life to go on forever and for you to spend the rest of your life with the man leaning against the bus next to you.

    “What are you thinking about?” Calum ripped you out of your thoughts.

    Shrugging your shoulders, you replied, “I’m gonna miss this.”

    “Me too,” he took another drag of his cigarette, “touring is always so much fun; it’s hard to believe it’s almost over.”

    “That’s not what I meant,” you mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

    No such luck, Calum raised his eyebrows, silently asking you what you were hinting at. Before you had the opportunity to embarrass yourself, you heard loud voices coming towards you, Luke and Michael arguing about God knows what while Ashton was following his bandmates, typing something into his phone before tucking it away when he saw Calum and you leaning against the tour bus.

    “We’re all packed up and ready to go,” Ashton informed you after Luke and Michael had already disappeared into the bus.

    “We’ll join you in a minute,” Calum answered, holding up his cigarette for Ashton to see.

    “No rush,” he teasingly winked in your direction as he walked up the few steps into the bus.

    Ashton was the only one out of the four guys that knew about your crush on Calum. He had figured it out some time ago while you were touring in Europe and since he had become like a brother to you, you had approached him and asked for advice. The drummer had told you just to follow your gut feeling, which at first sounded like shit advice to you but the more you thought about it, the gladder you were for his ‘words of wisdom’.

    Before you managed to get lost in thought once again, Calum exhaled one last smoke cloud, putting out his cigarette before asking, “Ready to head inside?”

    Just as you opened your mouth to answer him, you were hit with the smoke he had blown out just a few seconds before. The moment you breathed in the smoke, you felt your throat closing in and began coughing violently.

    “(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” Calum asked, but you weren’t able to answer him, your chest tightening and you gasped for breath, feeling almost like someone was squeezing all the air out of you.

    “I-,” you tried taking a deep breath, which just ended in another coughing attack, “c-can’t...breathe.”

    Black dots started dancing in front of your eyes, vision blurring as you continued to gasp for breath. Calum helped you sit down, opening your water bottle for you and urging you to take a sip while yelling for someone to call an ambulance. All of this you didn’t notice, too busy trying to get at least some oxygen into your lungs. The water helped slightly, but you were still wheezing, coughing and gasping for breath. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Luke rush out of the tour bus, phone pressed against his ear. Your throat felt tighter and tighter with every passing second, and the last thing you saw before passing out, was Calum looking at you, eyes full of fear.

    That night the ambulance had taken you to the nearest hospital. The second they arrived, the paramedic had pressed an oxygen mask against your face, helping you breathe as you were loaded into the vehicle. You had woken up after a few moments of being unconscious, still barely able to breathe. Calum sat right next to you, your head in his lap, him holding onto your hands and speaking reassuring words to you. You didn’t really understand any of them, but the sound of his voice and his presence were enough to help you calm down a little bit. Once you were on the stretcher, you had asked if Calum could come with you, and apparently, the paramedics decided to make an exception and let him ride with you in the ambulance, holding your hand the entire time until you were wheeled into the examination room. 

    After a few tests, you finally got a result: asthma. The smoke from Calum’s cigarette had caused quite a bad asthma attack, but luckily the doctor had told you if you kept an inhaler at you at all times, the chances of having another attack that bad were pretty slim. With the diagnosis, and the advice to take it a bit slow the next few days, you were released. All four guys of 5 Seconds of Summer were waiting for you and crowded around you once they saw you walk into the waiting room.

    “So…I have asthma apparently,” you shrugged, holding up the inhaler you were given.

    “You’ll be alright, though, right?” Ashton asked.

    Nodding your head, you replied, “Yeah. The doctor said to take it easy, and if I feel like my throat is closing in again, I’ll just have to use the inhaler, and it should be fine. She also said that I could finish the tour, so that’s good news too.”

    “Thank god,” you heard Calum mumble as the others cheered, pulling into a group hug.

   Only two weeks later, the tour had officially come to an end. 

   To celebrate the great success of it, you gathered at Michael’s house together with the people that had helped make the tour possible. You had been wandering around the house for some time now, trying to find a certain bassist, but so far you had no success. After feeling like you had checked every inch of the house, you decided to go into the backyard, wanting to catch some fresh air and hoping to find Calum out there, maybe having a smoke and trying to get a few moments away from everyone himself. 

   Calum had felt distant lately. 

   Ever since your little hospital scare, he hadn’t really been spending time with you. No more late-night talks outside of the tour bus while waiting for the guys to finish up or while the bus needed to refuel. You were scared you had done or said something wrong, and after going over it with Ashton, you finally got the courage to confront him and ask him what was going on. Opening the door, you took a step outside, inhaling the chilly night air and letting out a sigh—finally some fresh air. You let your eyes drift around the backyard until you finally spotted Calum sitting underneath a tree that was decorated with some fairy lights. 

   “No cigarette?” you asked as you approached him.

   His head shot up upon hearing your voice, obviously ripping him from his thoughts.

   “No...I’m...I quit.”

   “You quit? Smoking?” you sat down next to him, his body visibly tensing as you did.

   “Cal...what’s going on?”

   “What do you mean?”

   You sighed, “I mean, that you’ve been avoiding me since my asthma attack two weeks ago. And now you apparently quit smoking? What’s going on, Cal? Did I-did I do something wrong?”

   Tears were rising in your eyes, afraid that something you did, something you were unaware of, had ruined your friendship with the bassist.

   “(Y/N), no. No. You did nothing wrong. It’s just-fuck,” he ran a hand over his buzzcut in frustration and whispered, “I’m the reason for your asthma attack.”

   “Cal…it wasn’t your fau-”

   “Yes, it was! I was smoking next to you and the smoke caused your attack.”

   “The smoke might’ve been the reason for the asthma attack but I had asthma before! If anything, I should be thanking you right now because if it hadn’t been for you and your smoking I probably never would’ve known I have asthma and would’ve kept wondering why I’m always coughing at night and running out of breath after singing on stage.”

   “(Y/N),” he took your face in his hands to force you to look into his eyes, “it is my fault. Whether you like it or not. I quit because I never want to see you like that, lying on the floor, gasping for breath. You-you looked like you were going to die, (Y/N). I can’t risk seeing you like that ever again, do you understand?”

   “You quit for me?” you whispered, not quite believing your ears.

   “Yeah, I did.”

   “You know you didn’t have to.”

   “I know. I wanted to. For you. And obviously also for my health,” he chuckled slightly, face slowly moving closer to yours.

   “Cal, I-”

   “Shh,” he gently shushed you before placing his lips on yours.

   His lips were warm and soft, tasting slightly of the alcoholic drink he had earlier that evening. Your hands, almost instantly and instinctively moved to the back of his neck, your nails slightly scratching his scalp in the process, causing him to let out a low groan. His lips parted slightly, his tongue slowly tracing your bottom lips, slipping inside your mouth once you parted yours. Roughly his hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled you into his lap before wrapping around your body and pulling you impossibly close. 

   A loud cheer from inside the house broke you apart, your head flipping around, afraid you had been caught, just to see everyone still busy drinking and partying inside Michael’s house.

   “You wanna go back inside?”

   Calum’s voice sounded hoarse and lower than usual.

   Shaking your head you replied, “How about we get back to my place?”

   To make your point clear, you rolled your hips, grinding against him and causing a moan to slip from Calum’s lips.

   “Sounds like a plan to me.”

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[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 1

Behold, my attempt to rectify the appalling lack of into the mind fics in the BNHA fandom.  :P

AO3

FFN

.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He stood on top of the stairs to the beach, looking down on them.  With the sun rising behind them, his pupils were pinpoints, his irises shockingly bright. He wore a thin windbreaker over a t-shirt that read ‘tracksuit’ and a pair of sweatpants with his signature red shoes.  His expression was strangely flat and blank.  He had never looked at them like that before.

“Deku?” said Ochako, uncertainly, taking a step forward, her hand half raised, as though she could reach him despite being so far away.

The commission instructor flung out an arm, stopping her.  He was staring up at the boy, too, his eyes blown wide, lips pulled back with something like worry, something like fear, and something like avarice.  “Whatever that is,” he said, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.”

.

Aizawa reviewed the program the commission had sent to him, ignoring the gentle bumping of the bus and the barely controlled chaos of the students around him.  It looked fairly straightforward, all things considered.  The requirement was new, and Aizawa felt it was illogical to test students like this, when they could simply have the material added to the course load, but, overall, he’d seen worse.  

So why did this bother him so much?

He scanned the paperwork again.  He was going to be getting the same certification as his students, had arranged to be part of the same general ‘cohort’ even, because he didn’t trust them on their own.  At all. Ever.  

But that shouldn’t be an issue.  Even when they did get split up, they’d be going in groups of five and—

Ah.  There it was. Groups of five, with any odd numbers being used to fill out other groups who were undergoing testing on the same day, most of whom were adult heroes, if he recalled correctly.  

With the addition of Aizawa, there were twenty-one of them.

Calling on years of experience, Aizawa didn’t groan.  The thing was, Aizawa knew, even before arriving and having numbers and groups assigned, who the odd one out would be. There was only one student who could be so problematic without trying or indeed having any control over the variables that went into causing the problem.  

Midoriya.  

Aizawa almost suspected that Midoriya had some secret trouble-attracting quirk on top of the lightning-spitting bone-breaking insanity and the randomly appearing eldritch abomination tentacle things.  It would fit right in.  

Sadly, Midoriya’s ability to find trouble didn’t seem to go away when Aizawa stared at him, so he had to acknowledge that the kid was just that unlucky.  

If Aizawa let Midoriya go off to complete the course on his own, he would probably discover that, oh, pro hero Wash was laundering money from an overseas smuggling operation disguised as an environmental clean up charity.  Or, somehow, locate a villain, despite being at a secure hero commission building. Like he had during the provisional license exam.  Or break a bone.  Again. Or discover a previously unknown aspect of his quirk.  Again. Or get into a fight with Bakugo. Again.

No way.  Not if Aizawa had anything to say about it.  

.

Izuku bounced in place, excited.  He was attending a professional development course given by the Hero Standards and Practices Commission.  It was like a dream come true!  Literally!  He dreamed about this!  Of course, he’d had the dream when he was seven, and he’d just learned about the HSPC and what it did, and All Might had been the course teacher, which he wasn’t going to be for this course, and which was also a little redundant, because All Might (Mr. Yagi, Toshinori, Eight) was already his teacher, and the reason behind this course, and making everyone with any kind of hero license take it, was a bit disturbing, and he’d had to opt out of some of the course features, because reasons, but, regardless—

“Midoriya,” said Jiro, tapping on his shoulder, “they’re calling for you.”

“Oh!  Thanks!” said Izuku, nodding vigorously, and, man, he really had to cut his hair soon. It was getting long enough to fall in his eyes when he did that, and that would be distracting in the field. Good thing it wouldn’t matter for today!

They weren’t going to be doing anything physical, after all.

He walked up to the table, showed the person with the clip board his provisional license (he could still hardly believe he had it!  It was so cool!) and received a card with a number on it.  

“Pin that to your shirt,” said the man, hardly looking at him.  

At least, the man was trying to look like he was hardly looking at him.  Maybe he recognized him from the sports festival and didn’t want to make things awkward?  But it had been a while since the sports festival.  They tended to drain from common memory pretty quickly, and—

Oh, no, he’d been holding up the line.

He sketched a quick bow and ran over to where the rest of his classmates and teacher were waiting.  

“So,” said Aizawa, looking as exhausted as ever. There was a spark of something in the man’s eye, though.  Vigilance. Had he noticed something amiss? Should Izuku be on alert as well? “We have consecutive numbers, so most of us should be together in the same groups.  Problem child.”

Izuku jumped to attention.  “Yes, sir?”

… It was kind of sad that he answered to the name ‘problem child,’ wasn’t it?

(Was it sadder that he almost liked the nickname? It was nicer than what some of his other teachers had called him.  It didn’t have the same bite.)

“Trade numbers with Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku blinked and looked at Yaoyorozu in surprise.  “Um,” he said.  “Okay?”  He unpinned his card and held it out to his classmate.  

Yaoyorozu took it carefully, frowning at the number.  “Why are we doing this, sensei?” she asked.  

“Because knowing his luck, Midoriya is going to be the odd one out, and you’re the only one I trust not to kill someone or get kidnapped if you’re left on your own.”

Okay.  Harsh. But fair.  

“What about Iida?” asked Kaminari.  

“I know what I said.”

Harsher—Wait.  Aizawa knew about that?  Since when?!

“Didn’t she go off that one time, though?  At Kamino?”

Aizawa turned to stare at Mina, who held her hands up. “Forget I said anything, sensei!”

“No, no, you’re right.  Hagakure, you take Midoriya’s number.”

“Eh, me?” asked the invisible girl.  

“Yes,” said Aizawa.  

“Er, are you sure?  I don’t know if I could survive a Midoriya-level calamity!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop a little.  Was that what they were calling it now?  Rude.  

“The calamity won’t happen if he isn’t there,” reasoned Aizawa.  

Which.  Okay.  True.  But also, rude.  

Izuku wasn’t that bad, was he?

Izuku took Hagakure’s card.  The number put him between Uraraka and Aizawa, so he’d probably be with at least one of them.  On reflection, Yaoyorozu’s number had put him on the other side of Aizawa.  Which probably wasn’t a coincidence.  

The rest of the class got through registration shortly thereafter, with several of his classmates trying to trade their own numbers, only for Iida to scold them.  Which was typical, really.  It was almost calming, and Izuku needed calm after… that.

Was his luck really that bad?

Now he was much more nervous than before.  Except, before he’d been excited, and, now, he was really—

Not.  

He fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, trying not to pick at his scars or cross the line into overtly fidgeting and being distracting.  He wished he’d brought one of his grip strength training tools.  At least with those he could pretend their only purpose was working out, unlike his other fidget toys.  

Oh, gosh, was that pro hero Rosemary, the memory hero? And Strato!  The high altitude hero!

Wow, he’d been so worried he almost hadn’t noticed how many amazing heroes were here!  There were even some he didn’t know!

And then they were being called up, number by number.  

Hagakure, true to Aizawa’s prediction, was placed with a group of confused-looking strangers, including Rosemary.  Izuku was almost jealous.  He’d love to learn how her quirk worked.  

Actually…  All of the people in that group were heroes with mental quirks.  How interesting!  Izuku would have to ask Hagakure if they gave her any tips.  He was sure they’d have different insights than the other people in their class, especially considering the subject matter of the course.  

The subject matter being combating mental attacks.  

That’s why Izuku had to opt out of being a ‘subject’ for the course.  He didn’t entirely understand it, not yet, but One for All definitely had a mental aspect, and he didn’t know how or if that would show up in a simulated attack like the ones they’d be demonstrating.  It was better to play it safe.  His quirk was already weird enough as it was.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage to talk Aizawa and his classmates out of being suspicious after blackwhip came out.  Most of that day was a blur.  

Izuku suspected that things would not have been smoothed over nearly so easily if Nezu hadn’t known about One for All.  

He also wasn’t looking forward to the reaction when the other user’s quirks started coming out – Even if being able to use them was going to be really cool.  

Anyway, his own group had resolved itself to consist of Aizawa, Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki.  He was relieved.  Todoroki looked relieved, too.  That made sense.  With what Todoroki had told Izuku about his history, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with people he didn’t know, either.  

But Todoroki would have opted out, anyway, right?  Or did Endeavor not let him?  Honestly, that would be par for the course for Endeavor. Todoroki said he was getting better, but…  Izuku had doubts.  He liked to think that people could always be saved, even from themselves, that most villains could be reformed, even if the government didn’t think so, that people like Endeavor and Kacchan could see the error of their ways. But.  

But even though Kacchan was better than he was before didn’t mean that he didn’t still do things that Izuku… didn’t like.  

And he couldn’t imagine that Endeavor was changing faster than Kacchan.  

“Who will they have us do first, do you think?” asked Uraraka. “I mean, I know they’re going to go through all of us, but all of this is making me so nervous.  I have a lot of embarrassing memories, I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but, ugh, that didn’t come out right…”

“Well!” said Iida, energetically.  “If they let us volunteer, I shall go first!”

“What?” said Izuku, surprised.  “You didn’t opt out?”

“Opt out?” asked Uraraka.  “That was an option?”

“I mean, yes?” said Izuku.  “I mean, I had to file a bunch of paperwork and get Mom, All Might, and Principal Nezu to sign off on it, but, I mean, it’s an option for people who know secrets that shouldn’t be exposed.”  Like Iida.  What was he thinking?

“I… did not know that was an option,” said Iida, who had evidently now realized he was in deep, deep trouble.  

Izuku resolved to protect his friend’s secrets as best as he was able, even if it meant he didn’t get a good score in the training.  

“I didn’t think there was an opt-out option, either,” said Todoroki, frowning.  He reached towards his face but tugged on his hair instead of touching his scar.

Okay.  So.  “Am I- Am I the only one that asked?  L-like, it wasn’t easy, I had to get a bunch of signatures, but it was doable, I…”  He shrugged, helplessly.  

“I wasn’t informed there was an opt-out,” said Aizawa, grumpily and a little… suspiciously?

Izuku cringed.  He did not need his teacher to be suspicious of him.  He did not need people looking into his life.  Into his past.  Into his quirk.  

Maybe, if they couldn’t keep Iida’s and Todoroki’s secrets quiet, he could play his reluctance off as pertaining to those.  Even if the idea made him feel incredibly guilty and unworthy of his friends.  

He would just have to do his best to help them.  

Before any more conversations could be had, their group was called into one of the rooms.  A set of six cheap futons laid on the floor.  Monitoring equipment lined one of the walls.  Two commission personnel, a man and a woman, were waiting for them.

When the woman saw Izuku, she frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket.  What was that about.

“Hi,” said the man, who had a rather hooked nose and very bright, almost glowing, yellow eyes.  “I’m Ito Kenzo, and I’ll be your instructor for today.  You can call me Ito-san.  This is Saito Yume, we’ll be using her quirk for today’s demonstration.”

The woman smiled brightly, putting away her phone quickly. “The way my quirk works is that I can put up to five people into a shared dream state modeled after a sixth person’s mind.  All six people lose consciousness when I use my quirk, and the perception of time in the dream state is usually altered, although by how much varies depending on the group.  The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass.  However, I’ll be making the rounds once an hour to pull everyone out and let you move on to the next person in the group.”

“I’ll be joining the dream state with you, to help point out tactics,” said Ito.  “Although the person the dreamscape is modeled on won’t be completely aware of what’s going on, the goal is to familiarize you with what it feels like to have your minds invaded in a safe, secure environment.  Saito-san’s quirk is similar enough to that of several known villains to be a good example of what to expect.”  Ito paused.  “Any questions?”

Uraraka raised her hand.  “Who’s going first?” she asked.  

“Ah, that would be—” He broke off as Saito tugged on his sleeve and showed him her phone.  The man did a double take, then paled, slightly.  He glanced at Izuku.  “Er,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in this group.”

“Yes, I-I am,” said Izuku.  “This is- This is my number?  It matches?”

Ito glanced at Saito.  Then his phone rang.  “Oops,” he said, looking at his phone.  “It looks like I’m in the wrong group.  You kids are supposed to have Suzuki-san, I was, was requested by another group, so sorry! He’ll be here in a minute!”  Ito retreated through the back door at high speed.  

Izuku swallowed.  Something was going on behind the scenes.  This wasn’t about the suspected traitor thing again, was it?  Izuku had thought, after the training camp, that it was pretty obvious it had to be a teacher…  And it couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei.  He’d almost been killed by the noumu.  

(Also, he was the best teacher Izuku had ever had.)

A new, much taller man walked through the door.  “Hello,” he said.  “I am Suzuki Takami.  I am your instructor.  Apologies for the mix up.”

“No worries!” said Saito.  “Everyone, go ahead, lie down, get comfortable.  Midoriya-san, you’re first!”

“What?” said Izuku.  “But, I, um, I opted out?  I filled in the paperwork and everything.  I got a signature from Abe-san, and Kondo-san, and, and—” He fumbled to pull out his paperwork.  He’d kept copies, just in case.

Saito and Suzuki didn’t so much as look at it.  

“This course doesn’t have an ‘opt-out,’” said Suzuki.

“Excuse me,” said Aizawa.  “He clearly has paperwork for an opt-out.  Maybe you were misinformed.  Like you were about the room.”

Suzuki shook his head.  “I don’t know who you talked to,” he said, “but they were either mistaken about what course you were referring to, or you misunderstood them.”

“But,” said Izuku.  

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “if you want to sit this out, it’s fine.  I can go with you, so you won’t be alone.  No one’s going to make you subject yourself to a quirk you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He can do that,” said Suzuki, “but he’ll lose his provisional license.  He’d have to go through recertification entirely.  When’s the next licensing exam?”

“Hold up,” said Aizawa, “you’re doing this course two more times, aren’t you?  I know I was given multiple options for getting this certification.”

“Sure,” said Saito, “but it’s still going to be my quirk.” She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger, stressed.  

Izuku’s mind was racing.  He couldn’t lose his license.  He couldn’t lose his ability to help people.  He—What would All Might think?  He couldn’t—

“It-It’s-It’s fine, sen-sensei, I’m um.  It’s fine!  I’ll- I’d have to do this anyway, right? Mi-might as well get it over with, huh?”  He walked over to one of the futons, and set down his backpack, trying to hide his trembling hands.  “So, is-is there anything special or specific I have to do for your quirk to work?”

“Nope,” said Saito, cheerfully, “just lie down and close your eyes.  Come on, everyone lay down.”

Aizawa moved slowly, which was nothing short of shocking considering how eager he usually was to crawl into his sleeping bag.  He put the bag down on one of the futons.  “You’re sure there’s no way for Midoriya to opt out?”

“Positive.  We’re really sorry,” said Saito.  

“Illogical,” grumbled Aizawa.  He got into his sleeping bag nonetheless.  “You sure about this, problem child?”

“I-I’m sure, sensei!  Plus ultra, right?”  He laid down, trying to get comfortable, but the panic rising in his veins really didn’t allow for that.  He could, distantly feel One for All (and all it contained) pressing up against the back of his mind with something like concern.  He swallowed.  Don’t think about it.  

His classmates were, hesitantly, picking out their own spots. Iida looked like he wanted to say something.  Uraraka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed.  Todoroki was difficult to read, as always.  

Suzuki was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.

Izuku closed his eyes.  

“Alright!” said Saito.  “Here we go!”

.

Yume left the room with Midoriya Izuku in it, feeling just slightly dazed.  She paused for a moment in the back hallway.  She had dozens of other groups to set off, and she was running late after that little snafu.  

Midoriya Izuku was supposed to be in a group with Suzuki-san and four other specially picked professional heroes.  Heroes who would get to the bottom of why and how he had multiple quirks, who would find out who he really was, who would figure out how he was in contact with the League of Villains and why they decided to pick some random quirkless nobody—

Assuming that’s what Midoriya Izuku really was.  The initial investigation had uncovered some discrepancies in his family records.  

In any case, he was not supposed to be in a group with his little friends and overprotective teacher.  

Oh, well.  Except for Midoriya, they were all clean.  If they were really heroes, they’d do what was right.  

Yume pushed off the wall (when had she started leaning on it?) and stumbled.  Something bright and red caught on the periphery of her vision and she looked down.

Her nose was bleeding.

She licked her lips, tasting copper.  It shouldn’t be bleeding.  That only happened when she overused her quirk, when she tried to put too many people into one dreamscape or tried to combine two dreamscapes into one. She’d been pacing herself.  This shouldn’t be happening.  It shouldn’t be bleeding like this, like she had just put more than a dozen people under.

Suzuki Yume promptly passed out.  

.

“Wow,” said Uraraka, looking around in delight.  She was still worried about Deku.  He’d looked really bad right before Saito-san activated her quirk, and she and Suzuki-san had been acting kind of shady, but—

But—

This place was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but be a little in awe.  She’d kind of expected dreamscapes to be more… Mushy, maybe?  Darker?  Her dreams usually weren’t very clear (except for the nightmares, and those didn’t count).

But Deku’s dreamscape was as bright as he was: a beautiful beach and a cerulean ocean at sunrise.  Or was it sunset?  Either way, the sun hovered above the ocean, its light gleaming off the waves.  

“Wow,” said Todoroki, approaching the breakers on the beach.  He crouched, looking at the sand.  “It’s really…”  he poked the sand, “detailed.”

“As expected of Midoriya!” exclaimed Iida, waving his hands. “His attention to detail is unparalleled!”  

“Hm,” said Aizawa.  “Too bright…” He put on his goggles.  

“Excuse me,” said Suzuki.  “If I can have your attention, please.  I apologize for the deception, however—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

[hezurkubo]

When D’jinn meets Gene or “Dramatic Pot Twist!”

Hey there! Just wanted to start off by saying that in order to give this story the desired outcome I was looking for I added in some extra events that I thought could have canonically taken place during certain key moments in “The Last Adventure!” While we as the audience don’t know what happened to everyone else while the main characters were off driving the main plot along I still tried to come up with a side story that seemed plausible at least in terms of timing.

If I overlooked anything and it comes off as complete nonsense that throws off the original plot than please consider this an AU where the side characters play a more proactive role in kicking the butts of F.O.W.L.’s lackeys while our main cast took care of Bradford. This is mostly to satisfy my craving for a meeting that never happened in canon and I still hope that whoever decides to read enjoys this dumb story of mine. With that said.........

“SHABOOEY!”

That was all Gene managed to exclaim before he felt himself vanish in a dramatic flash. He found himself being dragged through the pocket void between realities, a place he’d frequented many times since his existence had been tied to the trinket he’d been forced to call home. While he had yet to feel the familiar power of the ‘Seal of Solion’ connecting him to his lamp, he knew it was only a matter of time.

 “Huh, wish I coulda at least thanked her for saving me. Guess now it’s back to the good ol...”

His thoughts were interrupted by a rather abrupt tug to the side through a sudden blinding light, giving Gene just enough time to let out a yelp before tumbling beak first onto a cold hard surface. Groaning as he got to his feet, the duck had to double-take as he got a first look at his surroundings. 

And it was, unfortunately, a very familiar site.

He’d become well acquainted with the row upon row of containment units in which the people F.O.W.L. saw as threats to their ‘final goal’ were imprisoned.

“Oh-keeeeey, so.... another dramatic plot twist, shoulda expected that in a ninety minute finale, though not so much for a short cameo appearance.”

Although he was pretty sure what would happen, and despite knowing the repercussions, Gene focused his power and winced in painful anticipation as he tried to will himself out of the current space he occupied.  

“Okey three, two, one...SHABOOEY!”

He felt a small spark of magic begin to bubble up within him, allowing him to hope that maybe he could....

ZAP!

The genie doubled over as a short but powerful electric shock coursed through his body. He had been unfortunate enough to witness others struggle for freedom and receive the same treatment, and while he doubted it’d be different for him he felt that he at least had to try. After all, he was magic and it couldn’t possibly hurt that bad....right?

He had been partially correct, but it was still VERY unpleasant.

Thankfully the shock wore off quickly, but rather than test his chances again he moved to the center of the cubicle and sat in the dark, drawing his legs into himself as he rested his arms atop of them and let out a sigh.

 “Guess old Blotty really made sure I couldn’t get out of dodge.”

“Not like I’d have a choice anyway...” Gene couldn’t help but think bitterly while resting the the bottom of his beak on his arm. He’d already exchanged one prison for another, so what difference did it make? 

Gene let the moments tick on by as he attempted to drown out everything else, which had so far been surprisingly easy despite being surrounded by people....

...And then, despite his best efforts, a familiar thought reared it’s ugly head.

Many of these people were trapped here because of him.

Because the Blot had used his power.

Because he had given him the information needed to capture them.

And he had watched helplessly, his screams for them to run drowned out by their own as they were zapped of their magic, easy for the Eggheads to swoop them up and bring them to this hopeless place while they waited to be done away with for good.

 And now Gene was here. He supposed it was fitting, as unwilling as an accomplice he had been in all of this, he still felt deep despair for having been used as a tool for the inevitable destruction of so many innocent lives.

And he would join them. Gene buried his head further into his lap, holding back sniffles as he felt his eyes stinging.

“...At least it’s roomier in here...”

“KA-BOOM!”

“Gyaaa!!! Bees!!! AAAHHH!”

The genie’s head quickly shot up, eyes widening as he took in the commotion echoing off the library’s lofty walls. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed to the front of his cell, pressing his ear against the glass. 

Someone was fighting out there, and from the sounds of it they were facing off against Steelbeak. 

The kid that had freed him, her friends were still fighting F.O.W.L.

Gene couldn’t fight the small smile that began to spread across his beak despite his teary eyes.

He would never be free, not even if he got out of here. But everyone else still had a chance. There was still hope that this could be made right.

“And the plot thickens!”

 __________

Faris Djinn watched helplessly from his prison as Scrooge’s allies valiantly fought against the rooster F.O.W.L. Agent. Clenching his fists to his sides, the desire to unsheathe his sword and join them against these honorless enemies boiled within him, but he knew it was of no use so long as he was trapped like this. Still, that gave him all the more reason to wish to help the group of birds somehow. This was finally everyone’s chance to escape! 

The canine warrior had been brought to this strange place after being ambushed and knocked unconscious by his cowardly foe, whom he had barely caught a glimpse of. When he woke up, he was surrounded by blocks of blacked out cubes in what looked like a giant storage facility. After about a day or two, he learned that his first assumptions had been somewhat true. 

From what he’d gathered through listening to hushed conversations exchanged while the security guards were busy, and from a few familiar faces detained with him, including his good friend Amunet, he came to realize they had been brought there because they had been labeled as dangerous by simply knowing or associating with Scrooge McDuck and his family. 

From close family members and friends to bitter enemies, or from good and bad to neutral, nobody seemed to be spared. It made D’jinn seethe at the injustice of it all, while villains such as the Beagle Boys and the infamous Magica de Spell may have deserved such treatment, this F.O.W.L. organization was indiscriminately locking away so many innocent people. He had even seen them lock up a couple of elderly ducks that could have easily passed as Scrooge’s own parents 

(Impossible, he thought, for a man of McDuck’s age)

 but not before the old woman had let loose a string of unintelligible words that D’jinn was pretty sure were some colorful expletives.

It appeared that the enemy had overlooked nothing, and any means of escape had been locked away along with them. The canine began to lose track of time as freedom seemed more and more impossible.

But D’jinn remained resolute that if anyone could pull off the impossible, it’d be Scrooge McDuck.

 Then, a strangely dressed duck decked in a dark flowing cape and hat swooped in, followed by his heavily armored companion, and while they were acting antagonistic towards each other the dog had a feeling they had come to help. His hopes soared even higher when Scrooge’s pilot crashed in after them. At last help had come.

Then that nefarious Steelbeak had chosen to fight underhandedly, controlling the Beagle Boys and the dread sorceress herself as the heroes fought valiantly back before being imprisoned as well, and any hope of freedom appeared to rest on the shoulders of Launchpad McQuack, Scrooge’s pilot.

 D’jinn winced as the poor duck was thrown about and beaten to the ground, unfairly outmatched in strength and numbers.

“Get back up!”

“You got this!”

As big and strong as he seemed in appearance, the warrior canine doubted the pilot could last at this rate, watching from the dark with urgency as he struggled to lift his head.

“Ugh... I’m sorry, I’m no hero...”

D’jinn shook with righteous indignation.

‘No! You cannot give up...!’

He couldn’t just stand by, there had to be something he could do to help, anything....

“That’s ridiculous! You helped inspire me to be a hero!”

He watched in anticipation as Launchpad gathered enough strength to look their way, unsure gaze focused on his friends as they encouraged him to keep fighting.

“And me pal.”

A new source of light brought their attention to the square that held the young red headed duck and the strangely proportioned robot child, both looking back at Launchpad with hope and confidence.

“Same here.” 

The prison above them lit up, revealing a familiar Moonlander.

“I as well, Earth Launchpad.”

The room quickly grew brighter as, one after another, everyone stepped forward to show the duck that they believed in him. 

And so did D’jinn.

His cubicle lit up as his hope returned.

“Blabbidy-Baloonersize!”

....Later....

Gene watched elated as scores of people poured out from their now-opened confines and began to wreak havoc on anyone unlucky enough to be a F.O.W.L. lackey. It was an unspoken call to arms, inspired by Scrooge’s pilot and, while the genie hadn’t seen what had actually happened, Steelbeak running away while screaming in terror was a pretty clear indication that the good guys were gaining the upper hand. 

Gene was so relieved that everyone had been freed, he almost missed Launchpad and company dashing towards the main entrance before slipping out of sight. 

He took another look around him, and couldn’t help but quirk the edges of his beak up in a mischievous grin.

  “Well.... dunno how long I’ll be sticking around for, might as well be part of the fun...”

“SHABOOEY!!!”

_______

There was low buzz followed by a click, and suddenly the front of his enclosure swung open. Eyes narrowing in careful focus, D’jinn stepped out from his prison and into what was quickly becoming a losing battle for F.O.W.L.’s remaining underlings.

Scrooge’s family had been triumphant, and he was now free to assist in thwarting what remained of their foes once and for all. The canine reached for his hip, unsheathing his sword and slicing it through the air before resting it with his arm against his side. The McDucks may be fighting greater forces, but that didn’t mean there weren’t loose ends to tie up.

“SHABOOEY!”

Ears perking under his keffiyeh, D’jinn turned to the side and lifted his head just in time to see something rather peculiar rounding the corner. It appeared to be a small duck, but he was gliding through the air as if there was nothing to it, a trail of smoke billowing from his lower body.

For a single moment, D’jinn lost his carefully guarded composure as his eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped.

It was as if all those fantastic stories he’d heard growing up had come to life in front of him.

He recalled the hushed conversations among a few of his fellow prisoners, all regarding the terrifying power the Phantom Blot wielded when he came after them. 

However, what now came to the forefront of D’jinn’s mind were their descriptions of the strange and obviously magical little guy smooshed to an impossible degree within the Blot’s gauntlet. He didn’t quite understand what they could be referring to, but now, despite his usually serious demeanor, D’jinn couldn’t stop the small bit of wonderment from rising up in him, momentarily forgetting where he was.

“Could it really be...?” 

A loud crash from above followed by a chorus of screaming Eggheads brought him back to reality. The warrior shook his head, scowling to himself for losing focus.

“No, I must not waver! The task at hand requires a warrior’s spirit!”

Sword at the ready, D’jinn quickly made his way towards the sounds of fighting, the lingering thoughts of his ancestors replaced with the challenge to come. He still chanced to glance back one more time at the spot he had last seen that duck, hoping that he’d be able to see him again once all of this was over.

....Later....

With F.O.W.L. defeated and it’s remaining agents scattered, everyone wasted no time in congratulating the heroes of the hour, rushing at McDuck and family as they made their way down the library tower. It was a whirlwind of joyful cries and relieved sighs as the exhausted but happy family meandered amongst the crowd, breaking up into teams to prepare for their departure.

With everything finally settling down, Gene casually sat in midair as everyone else began to disperse and make preparations of their own, all the while chatting amongst each other. He figured it must have been a sense of camaraderie that came with surviving such an ordeal, and while he wished he could fully indulge in the same feelings of comfort, he couldn’t help but feel on edge. 

The powers that bound him to the lamp hadn’t reclaimed him yet. 

He knew that couldn’t last much longer, whatever forces the Phantom Blot had used to disrupt the seal’s power and separate him from his prison

....no, home....

wouldn’t be able to hold on their own, now that the Blot was gone and Gene was free from any magic-proof confinement. 

Earlier, before the extra trepidation had sunk in, he did try to enjoy his temporary freedom for as long as it lasted. 

And oh, how he wished it lasted. 

The genie chatted briefly with the young sorceress that had freed him, but not until after she and a younger hummingbird finally stopped hugging the pink clad girl, who he recognized as the little spitfire who tied him up and interrogated him during the entertaining fiasco that was Donald’s wish for a ‘perfect family’. 

Despite the now growing feeling that this would all end soon, Gene had enjoyed himself. It was nice to just interact with others again and not be at someone’s beck and call. While he did like using his powers to have fun with mortals, there were more than enough terrible things he’d been forced to do, and the ability to simply be among people he knew couldn’t demand something of him was a rare reprieve.  One he probably wouldn’t be getting again.

Now, with the excitement beginning to wind down, Gene decided to take in the busy atmosphere, not expecting anyone to notice him up there with how preoccupied they all were. 

“Pardon me...”

The duck quickly spun around in midair, looking down and catching the sharp gaze of a rather serious looking canine all dressed in dark, save for a few splashes of red. He was staring up at him so intensely that Gene jokingly thought if he looked at him any harder lasers would shoot from his eyes.

“Hmmm... an interesting side character, guess a little more mingling wouldn’t hurt.”

Without missing a beat, Gene floated down from his place above the crowd to hover at eye level with the stranger.

 “Well He-llo there! Always nice to meet a new face!” he said eagerly, flashing a grin that he hoped came off as charismatic and giving a wink.

The dog’s eyes widened for a few seconds before returning to his serious expression. Trying to act nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm, the duck waved his arm to conjure a neon sign above him, his name spelled in blinking lights. Smile unwavering, he held out his hand.

“Name’s Gene! Nice to meet ya!”

The dog stared at the outstretched appendage, his hesitance causing Gene’s excitement to falter. Luckily, it wasn’t long before he was reaching out and gripping his hand in a firm but friendly shake.

“Faris D’jinn. It is an honor.” He said, head bowing slightly.

“Woah, an honor? Kinda formal, but I think I like it.”

Gene suddenly perked in realization. ‘Faris’, if he recalled, meant knight or horseman, and he couldn’t help but think how it suited the noble looking gentleman in front of him. And with a surname like ‘D’jinn’, well, why would the genie not find that interesting? He became so uncharacteristically lost in these thoughts that he almost failed to realize that his companion was staring at him a bit oddly, and he was suddenly aware that he was still holding his hand. 

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Gene hovered back slightly while relinquishing his grip, trying to hide how awkward he felt by widening his smile.

He was sure he looked half crazy.

“Well Mr. D’jinn, I must say it’s a pleasure to meet such polite and proper ol’ gent and- Ooooh!”

Gene was at his side so fast that the warrior nearly jumped away in surprise as the genie’s eyes sparkled with curiosity at the sight of his sword’s hilt peeking from his robes.

“Oh-hoho, that’s quite a blade you got there. It almost looks like... I wanna say late Mamluk dynasty, Burji maybe...? But that can’t be right, unless it’s a really good replica.”

If D’jinn was shocked by his educated guess he hid it well, although Gene did notice the dog’s brow raise slightly from were it was hidden under the hem of his headdress.

“You are quite wise, although I would not expect anything less from a great and mystical genie.”

Gene’s eyes shot up from the finely crafted blade to the canine’s face. The gaze that met him was serious but not in a way that came off as cruel or accusatory. Still, that look, accompanied by such a bold statement, made the duck want to buckle his knees and shrink into himself.

Just who was this guy?

“Are you not a genie?”

The duck suppressed the urge to gulp at the quiet forcefulness behind the simple inquiry. It was after all a sensible question, he did more or less fit the description of his kind, though he liked to think he set himself apart with his showman’s flare because, servant or not, he still liked seeing others smile.

Now, his inner showman was currently at a loss for words, opting for wanting to hide his face in his turban.

“Get it together Genester! You heard him, how ‘great and mystical’ do you think you look right now?”

Trying to shake of the awkwardness, he disappeared from D’jinns side to reappear in front of him in a puff of smoke. 

“Yessir! One-hundred percent bonafide and certified wish-granting genie, that’s me!” Gene exclaimed, conjuring up a laminated license that read ‘Certified Genie: Gene C. Baba’ complete with a photo of himself smiling awkwardly while donning a thick pair eyeglasses and suspenders.

D’jinn stayed unwaveringly quiet as the duck nearly shoved the card to his face.

“He he... yeah, funny thing though, the whole ‘wish-granting’ part of my deal is a bit... compromised at the moment. Y’see, only the holder of a genie’s lamp can control said genie, i.e., me” Gene pulled an arrow out of thin air and pointed towards himself “and big bad and Blotty left my lamp behind along with the rest of the lost treasure of Collie Baba when he sucked me into that fancy oven-mitt of his, you’d think with all his magical know-how he wouldn’t forget that important tidbit, right?” 

Why did he sound so nervous?

“And I tell you what, I’m glad I’m not strapped to that thing anymore...!”

D’jinns eyes widened as a grim realization dawned on him.

“So, it is true. The device the Phantom Blot carried with him, the one he used to steal the magic from those he hunted...”

“I swear it was totally against my will!”

The canine shook his head. “No, I heard of its use from other captives, some who were brought here months before F.O.W.L. found me. Gene, how long have they kept you prisoner?”

The genie awkwardly rubbed one of his arms, looking away from D’jinn as the mood shifted drastically. While he may had been a little uncomfortable before, now he wanted to focus on anything but the dog in front of him. He might end up saying something that would break his facade, and he couldn’t....

“Technically, was already a prisoner. Y’know, the whole ‘genie in the lamp’ deal.”

“What are you doing?! Stop talking before...!”

“It’s like, I dunno... I’m almost glad this happened...”

“Idiot...”

“I mean not that I helped capture all those people or anything, because I still feel real bad about all that! It’s just that, whatever he did, even after I escaped, I’m still here. This right now is the closest I’ve ever felt to being...”

A sudden feeling of a hand gently enveloping his own prevented him from saying anything else. Momentarily shocked out of his train of thought, Gene dared to look back at the stranger he had begun to admit his sadness to.

He expected to see pity, but the eyes that looked back at him held something different. They were narrowed and serious, but not like before. There was fire in that glance, and as D’jinn’s grip on his hand tightened it only seemed to burn brighter.

“You shall be free, that I promise you.”

If Gene’s eyes got any wider he thought they’d escape out of his head. Heck, there was a better chance of that happening than what the man in front of him had just said. 

“Heh, Being trapped in that pickle jar must’ve done a number on my ears. Y’know everything’s muffled in there, might not have heard ya right....” 

He tried to laugh, to call the his bluff.

The dog said nothing, nor did he change his  determined expression. He simply gave Gene’s hand a quick but firm squeeze, as if to reaffirm what he said. 

“But why....”

Just then, he felt it.

It wasn’t how he expected it to happen, but he knew.

A panicked glance down confirmed his suspicions as he saw a bright light spread from the tip of his shoes, gradually making its way up his body, a familiar emptiness growing with it. 

His time was up.

“No, please, it can’t be over yet...”

He felt D’jinn grab his other hand.

Even as he felt himself fading away, as he began to feel despair weigh him down further and any lingering hope drained from him, Gene again dared to look up at his companion.

He was greeted by the kindest smile he had ever seen.

 “Because, it is the right thing to do.”

 A single flash, and the genie was gone.

___________

D’jinn was left standing at the now-empty space in front of him, hands outstretched to cusp something that was no longer there as his smile disappeared, allowing the heaviness of the moment sink in. 

That silly little duck hadn’t been at all what he expected. The stories his grandmother told him painted a picture of genies as powerful and filled with fiery intimidation, as well as being wiser than any mortal born of flesh and bone...

“Technically, I was already a prisoner.”

  D’jinn’s frown deepened. Those words, they certainly weren’t spoken by some mighty cosmic being, but by a man, who could feel sadness and fear just like anyone else.   

D’jinn thought back to the story of his ancestor and a kind servant trapped for eternity, until she saw it in her heart to exchange that eternity for a lifetime of love and happiness. This was certainly a different situation, but wasn’t it still the right thing to do?

And those eyes.

The look of desperation in those beautiful gold-colored eyes as he vanished were now burned into his memory. It was a cry for help, and the warrior ached to answer it.

He had made a promise, and while it may had been spoken in a passionate spur of the moment, he would honor it.

Resolute, he scanned the enormous crowd, his well-trained senses focused and on high alert for any sounds or scents that would lead him to his quarry. The minutes ticked by as his stoic expression masked his growing apprehension. 

“There!”

It was faint among the throngs of people surrounding him, nearly undetectable, but his keen canine nose picked up on a familiar smell of dusty tomes mixed with the metallic scent of coins. With extreme calculation, he allowed his tracking instincts take the helm as he stealthily maneuvered through the crowd, ears perked beneath his keffiyeh for any signs of...

“Della, Launchpad! How’re the plane repairs comin’ along?”

Quiet relief washed over D’jinn when he noticed a familiarly distinct top hat poking out from the crowd near the library’s entrance. Making his way towards the fellow adventurer, he couldn’t help but notice just how tired the old man looked, uncharacteristically showing his age. 

“Scrooge, my friend.”

Caught off guard, the duck tensed so hard that he nearly lost his balance before turning to the canine in surprise.

“D’jinn? Bless me bagpipes that villainous vulture nabbed you too?” 

Scrooge shook his head as he adjusted his spectacles, expression shifting back to exhaustion, his browsed creased upwards in guilt.

“I’m sorry lad, you lot were all dragged into this mess because of me. I cannae imagine what you must ‘ave endured at the hands of those fiends.”

D’jinn’s eyes narrowed as he placed his hand on his chest, expression serious but sincere. 

“Noble Scrooge, the only true guilty ones are the villains you speak of, those who would seek to harm the innocent indiscriminately and use them for their own nefarious means.”

Scrooge’s sighed heavily at the canine’s statement.

 “Aye, like me poor darlin’ Webby.”

Like Gene.

“I have dedicated my life to righting such wrongs. I hold nothing against you my friend, I could not let such transgressions against an ally stand. That is why we are here. You have many on whom you can rely, and friends are part of the journey as well, are they not?”

Scrooge stared at D’jinn for a moment, absorbing the man’s insightful words before breaking into a gentle smile, eyes shining with gratitude.

“Thank you, I... needed to here that. I know I can rely on my family when I need ‘em, but it takes times like these to remind this stubborn old fool that ‘family’ can be many things.”

Scrooge silently laughed at himself.

“Sorry, been feeling a little more sentimental than usual.”

Nodding in understanding and knowing that he’d soon depart, Djinn decided to waste no time and reached into his robes as he lowered himself onto one knee, startling Scrooge with this sudden change in demeanor as he withdrew a blank scroll along with a quill.

“Not all has been made right, and my journey must continue.”

The look of determination that met the old duck’s gaze startled him with its ferocity.

“Scrooge McDuck, I simply need a moment to ask you some questions, and the rest will fall to me.”

Scrooge stared back for a moment, perplexed. His family would be leaving soon, and he needed to help them prepare. However, the weight of the severity in the canine’s request, along with the deep sincerity with which he’d said it, told him all he needed to know. Nodding in affirmation, Scrooge watched as D’jinn unraveled the scroll in front of them, quill raised and ready.

“I wish to know about the lost treasure of Collie Baba, and the lamp that is hidden there.”

I’m so sorry, that took MUCH longer to complete than I wanted it to, l have more projects planned and hopefully once courses are over they won’t be as bad. Also sorry for the poor writing quality, I’m kind of rusty. Still I hope that whoever took the time to read this found something entertaining about it. Thank you for your interest, until next time!

[marvel-mistress-padawan]

The Man In The Green Tie (NSFW)

Sometimes Emma hated these formal dinner parties and other times she quite enjoyed them. Tonight was one of those nights that she felt a little of both emotions. She was dressed in her signature white and wore a diamond pendant on a gold chain just in the right place to display her cleavage. It was working. Half the men in the room had noticed her. Of course they noticed all the other beautiful women in the room too. Men were fickle like that. Some of them even went after the plain looking and ugly women, believing they had a better chance with them. Emma didn’t care for hearing all their thoughts of conquest tonight, only the ones concerning her.

Frost International was her Company and this dinner with partners, investors, and associates, was important for future relations. She had met almost everyone here in previous dealings. Everyone except one man. He had longish black hair and wore a black suit with a green tie. He sat at a table with Justin Hammer and some journalist whose name Emma couldn’t remember. All she knew was that the man in green tie was one of the most fascinating men she had ever had the pleasure of ming reading. He wasn’t paying much attention to the women in the room. He noticed them of course, but only briefly. He wasn’t thinking about money or power, in spite of being associated with Justin Hammer and attending her dinner in the first place. No, his thoughts were thoughts of amusement at being able to deceive Justin Hammer so thoroughly. He had only one weapon to sell. There were none in production, no test models or protypes, just the one, and Hammer was willing to pay a signifigant amount for a supply that did not exist.

Emma got down from her place at the bar and approached Hammer’s table, making sure that her slinky white dress still clung to her in all the right places.

“Miss Frost?” Justin looked up as she stopped at his table. “It’s a pleasure to see you here tonight.”

“Mind if I join you?” Emma didn’t wait for his reply. Justin wanted her to go away and not ruin his business deal. She wasn’t going anywhere. She pulled up a chair. “Those barstools do a number on a girl’s ass,” she said, waiting to see if either of them would look. “Your little table over here looked so much more comfortable. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Emma,” she offered her hand to the stranger in the green tie.

To Emma surprise, the stranger did not take the opportunity to look at her backside. In fact he mentally told himself not to. Instead he took her hand and he kissed it like a true gentleman. What shocked her even more was that she actually felt something in response to his polite manners.

“My name is Lucas Olsen,” he told her with such sincerity that had she not been a telepath she might have believed it was true. Lucas wasn’t his name. He was thinking about his name. It was Loki. He was not human. “This is a lovely party you’ve created here,” he told her.

Most men would have made a point to say something about Emma herself being lovely as well. Loki didn’t. He didn’t even think it. Emma couldn’t figure out why that irked her so much. It wasn’t that he didn’t think her pretty. He was as distracted by the placement of her diamond necklace as Hammer was. He wasn’t lacking in confidence like some of the men in the room and yet he did not pursue her. Why?

“I appreciate the sentiment but I wouldn’t call it lovely. It’s an unfortunate necessity of this business. I can think of a lot of things more fun to do on a night like this,” Emma told them, her gaze entirely on Loki.

“One ought not mix business and pleasure,” Loki said with a hint of a smile. He had understood her insinuation and was more interested in playing hard to get than in chasing after her.

“W-what things?” Hammer spoke up. “What fun things would you do?”

It was in that moment that Loki thought Hammer to be a sad pathetic little man who wouldn’t know how to win a woman if she were handed to him. The journalist who sat with them, and whom Emma had neglected to greet, got up uncomfortably and left. Emma wished that Hammer would do the same.

“You’re an inventor Hammer. I’m sure you could think of something,” Emma barely disguised her annoyance.

“Well, I’m usually too busy to do much of anything fun. That’s part of being a hard working, stable...single...American,” he said, trailing off and failing to deliver his intended confidence.

“Plenty of hard working Americans know how to have fun. Maybe you’re just a buzzkill,” she told him. It wasn’t nice but she wasn’t known for being nice. “Maybe you’d like to get me a drink?”

Insulted, Hammer got up and left. He didn’t come back.

“I would say that was a little harsh but…” Loki began.

“But you don’t like him any more than I do,” Emma knew it to be the truth.

“I may not like him but he is still useful,” Loki said with a shrug.

“You know what else is useful?” Emma crossed her legs beneath the table and allowed the foot of her open toed shoe to touch his leg. “A little rest and relaxation, don’t you think?”

Loki did not respond to her touch as she expected. Oh he was interested but there was something of amusement in his response. Maybe it was because he was alien. Maybe his people couldn’t be expected to respond like humans.

“I suppose we could all do with a diversion here and there,” he agreed.

It was then that his thoughts became clear. He knew. He knew she was a telepath. He knew she was toying with him, and he was toying with her just as much in return.

“How did you…?” Emma began. This had never happened to her before. She had always been the one in power over men. Her beauty and her ability to read minds, her education as a sex therapist had given her a distinct advantage. And now this gorgeous man was playing her?

Loki smiled. “I have certain abilities. I may not be able to read a person’s thoughts from moment to moment but I can see their memories if I touch them. You gave me your hand and from there I knew the truth of it.”

“Then why didn’t I realize that until now? How are you able to block out at least some of my telepathic abilities?”

“Magic,” he said simply.

“So you can read memories, and do magic? Anything else?”

“It’s a rather long list,” he said demurely.

“Fuck,” she muttered. This was all falling apart now. It had been six months since she’d taken a man to bed. Most of them had been too stupid and self centered to bother with. After six months she was starting to get desperate but not so desperate that anyone would do. She had thought when she came to Hammer’s table to meet his friend that her chance had finally come. Apparently she’d be spending another night alone.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her word. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

For the first time in years, Emma found herself blushing over something a man had said to her.

“Should I take your blushing as a yes?” he asked her.

Emma felt entirely out of place in this scenario. Never in her life had she been deposed of her power like this. And yet she couldn’t say that she hated it. Not at all. “Yes,” she said, all her hesitation ended. “How about a dance first?”

Loki led her out onto the dance floor and he turned out to be an expert dancer. He pulled her rather close to himself and took in a breath. She had never danced with anyone without knowing his every thought and desire. Some of Loki’s thoughts broke through but they were vague and even unclear. She had never felt so powerless, never so anxious, and certainly never so intensely turned on.

When the song hand ended Emma went to the bar and downed a drink. She wanted this, but it was so weird that she definitely needed a drink. Loki followed her and watched her with concern.

“If you’re not ready, there’s no need to rush,” he told her.

Emma spun on her heel to face him. He was being polite. He was truly concerned that he might be pushing too much too quickly and was too well mannered to do that to any woman, despite his desires. Emma dropped the glass in her hand and it shattered at her feet. Such kindness was rare in the men she had met. This one was dangerous. She had picked up that much from his thoughts, but he had standards. He would not harm a lady. She wasn’t accustomed to being thought of as anything other than an object to be lusted after and yet this man would never treat her as such.

“No, I am ready,” she said, stepping over the glass to return to him on the dancefloor.

The second dance was slower this time and both of his hands rested on her backside. She wrapped one arm around his neck and pressed close enough that she could feel his hardness against her center. The entire dance was not appropriate for a business dinner but she lacked the ability to care. It had been so long and he was more enticing than any dance partner she had ever stood across from. He leaned close enough that his breath was warm against her neck and Emma felt wetness between her legs.

The song came to an end all to quick and the sound of tinkling glass broke apart the few couples dancing. Charles Blake her CFO was making an announcement. She had forgotten that she had requested for Charles to do this speech. It was going to take a good twenty minutes followed by a formal dinner being served.

“I can’t leave, probably not for hours,” Emma said, frustrated. “I did set this up after all.”

“There’s no need to leave,” Loki told her. “I can give you exactly what you want, right here.”

“I’m not sure I can be that discreet,” she said, an eyebrow raised. “Not in this dress.”

“Who cares about the dress?” Loki said. “You’re a telepath. I have magic. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Her jaw dropped open. “You mean…?”

He nodded. “You sit at your table and I’ll sit at mine. No one will be the wiser.”

Emma went back to her seat at the bar and Loki back to his table where Hammer had been. She was barely seated when the thoughts began to hit her. Not just thoughts but images and sensations, very real sensations. This was going to be more complicated than she had thought.

It seemed as if Emma were no longer in the banquet room at all but instead in a bedroom with large open windows to a view of a world she had never seen. Loki’s homeworld. It was so real that she could smell a far off ocean breeze as well as the same scent she had smelled on his collar when she danced with him. He took her hand and pulled her to the bed, unzipping the back of her dress and letting it drop to the floor. Then he was kissing her. It felt so entirely real that Emma worried she wasn’t remaining still in the real world.

Emma worked on pulling off his clothes while he kissed her starting with the green necktie. His hands were on her breasts, his tongue in her mouth and Emma had every intention of pushing him over and climbing astride him. He gently pushed her back and crawled atop of her, resting his weight on his elbows and continuing to kiss her. She lifted her hips to encourage him to continue. She had waited so long for this that she didn’t need further preparation. She was already so wet, so needy, that she didn’t want to wait a moment longer. He pushed his way inside her and she let out a moan. He went still.

“Oh god don’t stop!” she told him, desperate for friction.

Loki grinned a little at her plea but he heeded her words and started moving again. He moved in and out of her slowly at first and Emma sought his mouth for more kisses. He gave them to her and then he moved to kiss down her jawline and her neck and beneath her earlobe. His pace increased and she lifted her hips a little higher to find her center of pleasure.

“Harder?” she asked of him and he gladly obliged, plunging into her deeper and harder than before.

Emma could not stop the moans that came from her and they were only increased by hearing his grunts of pleasure. Then the moment came when she could finally let go of the building tension. Her body pulsated in relief.

Emma came to herself and found she was still in the banquet room. Charles was still going on and on about financial matters and no one in the room was aware of what had just transpired in her mind. She had apparently kept still and silent. The stool beneath her was a little wet where she sat. Her eyes met Loki’s across the room and he grinned knowingly. Emma suddenly felt warm and she reached for a folded paper dinner program to fan herself with. Loki smiled more broadly at her flush face and she wanted to slap him as much as she wanted to laugh.

Once Charles had finished his little speech, Loki crossed the room and sat next to her at the bar.

“I can’t actually stay long tonight. Now that I’m done with Hammer, I’ll be leaving. I know where to find you though. My mind can reach across great distances, if that’s something you wanted anyway?” he asked her.

Emma bit her lip, intrigued by his offer. A telepathic lover? “I don’t want to wait six months until the next encounter..”

“Believe me, you won’t,” he told her.

“And you’re going to send me telepathic flowers and chocolate?” she teased.

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” he leaned into her space and placed a kiss, not on her lips but on her forehead. “Goodnight Emma Frost, until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again,” she told him as she watched him go, shaking her head at herself. Somehow, his green necktie was still in her hand.

[abigailnussbaum]

The Handmaid's Tale 4x07, "Home"

My reaction to this episode feels like a litmus test for my feelings about the show as a whole. Three and a half seasons into its run, do I trust The Handmaid's Tale to see June as a flawed, damaged person, whose suffering has revealed a profound capacity for rage and violence, but who is nevertheless infinitely superior to a woman who (not to keep harping on this point, but the show keeps ignoring it) was one of the architects of the violent overthrow of democracy and the establishment of a fascist police state where LGBT people and the disabled are exterminated, women are kept as sex slaves, and young girls are handed over to be beaten and raped by men old enough to be their grandfather? Or do I think the show remains addicted to so-called dramatic irony, and expects us to take a scene in which June speaks nothing but the god's honest truth to Serena, and Serena expresses a remorse that is surely motivated only by fear of her circumstances, as somehow comparable to the many abuses Serena inflicted on June when she was the one with power? Am I meant to come away from this episode feeling that June and Serena are, however risible the very notion, somehow the same?

To a certain extent, the answer is clearly yes. There is no way to take the superimposition of June's monologue about Serena's particular brand of evil with images of June, Luke, and Nichole frolicking happily in the park (only hours after June and Luke had what was, at best, a dubiously consensual sexual encounter), than as a superimposition of the two women. When June says that all of Serena's behavior is motivated by deep misery and a desire not to feel it, the conclusion we're meant to draw is obvious.

What's less obvious is whether the show intends for us to understand what is nevertheless different between the two women. Chiefly, that wherever Serena's misery comes from, June's comes from Serena, from Gilead, and from the PTSD they've left her with. So sure, June bullies Serena, and later assaults Luke, because it stops her from feeling bad. But another way of putting that is that watching the woman who abused you for years beg for mercy on her knees feels a lot better than having a panic attack by the bottled water display. And, well, yeah? Can't really argue with that line of thinking?

(Another problem with this juxtaposition is that it actually fits June a hell of a lot better than Serena. I mean, sure, maybe Serena does what she does because she's in pain. But after three and a half seasons of observing the character, we certainly don't know that for a fact. The thing is, there's no explaining Serena because she doesn't actually make any sense. Real fascists and religious fanatics aren't much like her - not least because they tend to be racist as well as misogynistic. Serena is the way she is because the show enjoys the - sigh - irony of an elegant, smart, independent-minded woman who makes herself the instrument of misogynistic fascism, but despite Yvonne Strahovski's best efforts, it has never crafted a believable human being out of those ingredients, and it's probably not about to start now.)

The episode is on surer ground in its depiction of June's reluctant integration into her family's life in Canada. If you want to criticize her for something, let it be for the obvious fact that, for all her joy at being reunited with Luke and Nichole, ultimately she just does not want to be there. Look at the way the episode hinges around her conversation with Moira, Emily, and Rita, all of whom have struggled to leave Gilead behind them, and backslid in the process, but who were nevertheless trying to get out, physically and emotionally.

Until that scene, June is sleepwalking, stung by the realization that Luke and Moira have formed a well-oiled co-parenting unit that has left no space for her, but not obviously interested in taking her place in their family. But look at the way her face sharpens as the women start talking about Serena. Look at the way she awakens to rage when she learns about the pregnancy. Unlike her friends, June isn't interested in healing. She still wants to fight.

There's a lot of interesting questions raised by this scenario. Is June selfish for not wanting to get better? Is it selfish to demand that she try? Is there some part of her that wants to stop fighting, or has she made a conscious decision to be this person? If she goes back to Gilead (which feels like a foregone conclusion at this point), would that be an act of heroism, or a symptom of trauma? It's just that in order to ask these questions, the show has to treat her as a flawed, damaged, but still fundamentally lovable person, and I'm not sure that it wants to.

More and more, it feels to me as if The Handmaid's Tale hates June, or wants me to hate her. That this is the way the show keeps its prestige TV credentials while its story becomes more and more ridiculous. Sure, it seems to be saying, you can have a brave heroine who fights fascism, but she's going to be an anti-heroine! Isn't that bold and dramatic? And well, the result is that a freedom fighter is treated as morally identical to a murderous fascist. I'd like to believe that the show knows better than this, but I'm not sure I have enough trust in it left to do that.