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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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Emp-ire “The Angel On My Side.”

Hope everyone is having a good day. And I hope you all like seeing Ramirez a little more because he is going to be present a lot in these next stories. I hope you find this fun because I had fun writing it :)

“Relax would you, you look like…. Well you look like you're sitting in the dentist's office waiting for a root canal.”

Adam looked up from his hands as the shuttle rocked from side to side, “Sory, I just generally prefer to drive. This guy keeps dipping too shallow and it's making me nervous.”

Ramirez rolled his eyes and kicked back to take a look at the pamphlet he was reading, “Listen to this. I picked this up back on the station and it's pretty interesting read.” He cleared his throat, “Within the last eighteen months GA xeno planetary analysts have green lit twenty potential colony planets for human habitation. According to xeno-scientific experts, these planets are all perfectly habitable, and unlikely to ever produce sentient life of its own. Each of these planets has a suitable climate for a large population though xeno experts will be strictly limiting colonization in an effort to not destabilize the planetary ecosystem. Each colony will be heavily monitored by members of the xeno colonization taskforce. Efforts will be made to keep the natural landscapes of the planet as intact as possible. For these reasons the use of technology, and natural gasses are being strictly limited by the Interplanetary Energy Association. Some experts postulated that these limits on technological use might have a hand in deterring colonists, however this theory has proven to be false as slots for planetary habitation fill up quickly. Furthermore xeno cultural experts have been stunned at the sudden and rapid development of micro cultures within the colonies. The term they are using is called Rapid Microcultural Evolution, often these cultures are very specific and very niche to each planet often based on dead or outdated human cultures from history largely influenced by popular media.”

He set down the pamphlet, “Isn’t that cool, I was reading in here at it seems like there are “themed” Colonies now. Like the one we are going to is like wild west, but there is also a sort of greek/roman style one that popped up in the milky way, and even a victorian one out somewhere in andromeda.” Adam tilted his head, “Guess you and I are going to have to start a colony.”

“Alright, what theme are we gonna pick, can’t be sci fi because we live in that.”

Adam leaned back in his seat, “You ever stop to think that we only consider it sci fi because I watched too many space movies from the 2000s. Technically it's not sci fi its sci fact. I have a house on the moon, and fly a spaceship.”

“Good point.” He walked to sit over next to Adam, “So what time period do you think is cool.”

Adam tapped his foot on the ground, “how about…. Renaissance?”

“I was thinking vikings or WAIT Aztec.”

“Mmmm some of my ancestors were viking.

“And twenty bucks says some of my relatives were Aztec.”

Adam shrugged, “Just mix them together and make Aztec vikings and ‘bam’ you have the craziest space culture ever. Big ass viking men who drag you back to the ziggurat to pull your beating heart out of your chest for a good Maze harvist.”

The two of them laughed for a second until the shuttle dropped into upper atmosphere, and then the two of them went relatively silent as they prayed to make a safe landing as the shuttle rocked and bumped through the upper atmosphere. The sky on the planet was a very vibrant blue, almost more so than earth, and as they descended towards the barren open desert, they thought they might have seen a oup of horses riding north over the barren, rocky landscape.

When they landed, Ramirez stumbled from the shuttle and out into sunlight throwing a hand up to protect hi face.

It was hot, and the croaking of strange alien insects rose up around them. The site they were at was arid and mostly deserted with a single wooden building before them and a shiny new set of train tracks.

The two of them stared, “Awesome.”

Looking around, they could see miles and miles of open plane, mostly desert, but some tufts of strange looking scrub brush and more than a few rocky plateaus rising into the sky.

Then they looked around at the people.

They were not disappointed.

Men and women alike in jeans and suspenders, with wide brim hats and gun belts. Some of the women had on long skirts and decorative hats or even bonnets on a few occasions. There were a few horses tethered to the side of what they assumed to be the train station.

“I think we are a bit overdressed.” Ramirez said, leaning over to whisper to Adam.

He nodded, lets go change and then buy some train tickets to the capital. We have to find somewhere to get horses if we want to make this any sort of experience.”

Ramirez frowned as they made their way towards the train station, kicking up dirt in his wake, “Wait, horses, hold on I thought we were just going to kick up around town, go to the saloon, get drunk and maybe hit on a couple of bar maids or something.”

Adam snorted, “Please we can’t go to the cowboy planet and not put our equipment to use.’

They shoulder their way through the double doors, their feet clattering on the wooden flooring. A few faces looked up at them from the waiting benches, but mostly they ignored the two strangers.

Adam motioned ramirez towards the bathrooms and the two of them made their way over, Glad that this was at least one modern convenience that they got to keep. Ramirez took a little while to get his gear on, and when he stepped out of the bathroom Adam was already waiting for him.

Waiting for him leaned up against the wall, the brim of his hat low over his eyes. Ramirez was a bit surprised at how well the other man fit into the role. He was wearing a light blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the elbows, and a black vest over that, his hat was black and he had blue jeans tucked into black boots. A brown leather gunbelt hung at a canted angle on his hips.

When he looked up Ramirez grinned And adam shook his head, “You dumbass, do you even know how to put that on.”

Ramirez looked down, “What!”

Adam walked over, “I thought you lived in texas.”

He grabbed Ramirez by the shoulders and began adjusting his clothes, “Come on, If you are making me spend time with you, the best you could do is not look like a dumbass.”

Ramirez held up his hands Grinning as Adam grabbed the pistol from his holster and adjusted the belt.

“Hey Adam, is that your gun belt or are you just happy to see me.”

Adam looked up at him with a withering gaze, “I hate you you know that.”

Ramirez grinned, “I know.”

Adam flipped the gun around, “Holster Like this if you want to be authentic, now quit being a dumbass or we are going to find out what it feels like to get a bootheel to the balls.”

“Kinky.”

He didn’t see the short side handed slap that came for the side of his head but still felt it was worth it as he tugged on his hat.

His poison of choice was a white shirt and no vest with brown boots and the light tan hat from earlier. He thought he looked sexy as hell. In fact he would go so far as to say the both of them looked pretty hot. Two eligible bachelors out on the town…. Well one eligible bachelor and a slightly less eligible bachelor with huge baggage issues still hung up on his one and only love, but that was more of a mouthful.

Adam left Ramirez standing by the door and walked over to buy some tickets, which were also being purchased using credits as anywhere else. When he walked, his boots clomped over the floor and jangled lightly. No one bothered to look up as he went past making it clear just how common that occurrence was around here.

He came back later with two train tickets and sat on the bench next to ramirez leaning his head back against the wall.

Adam crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to be asleep, while some alien insects buzzed around the room rather annoyingly.

It was hot and Ramirez tugged at the collar of his shirt.

They were there for probably thirty or forty minutes before a distant train whistle jolted the two of them back into wakefulness.

Adam stood and so did Ramirez, the two of them jogging noisily outside onto the wooden platform in order to watch the train.

Though the train had wheels and ran on tracks, big, black and impressive, it clearly wasn’t run on coal or natural gas. However, whoever had designed the thing had clearly put great emphasis into making it look as realistic as possible, and the thundering roar as it rolled over the tracks was something to behold, vibrating in their bones in a way that just wasn’t captured by the maglevs of earth.

“Damn, that is cool.”

Adam smirked a little, “hey think the train will get robbed on our way back to town.”

Ramirez grinned, “If we don’t, I want my money back.

The platform around them started to fill up some, and they stepped back as the train pulled to a stop, urged back by a few conductors as a couple of passengers stepped out carrying bags. Some of them were cleary tourists, though there were a fwe who looked like citizens.

Stepping onto the train, the two of them were ushered into a car in the back and sat in an uncomfortable wooden bench as they watched the other passengers slowly filter onto the train. No one even looked at them twice, except, Ramirez noticed, a very pretty cowgirl who stepped o second to last and sat a few rows behind.”

He grinned and elbowed Adam in the ribs, who looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I think this planet is going to really benefit from….. A latin lover.” he whispered seductively.

Adam punched him in the leg.

He yelped, “Ouch, dude, no sense of humor.”

“I don’t know, I thought that was pretty funny.” The two of them shared a laugh as the train began to chug forward over the tracks, slow at first and then faster and faster until the landscape was rushing by below them.

The ride was rather bumpy and sort of loud, but they were ok with that.

The sun inched towards the horizon as the train moved, and the sky faded from blue to a delicate violent towards the horizon.

At some point Adam drifted off at his side and ended up slumping against the window.

Ramirez let the poor guy sleep and sighed.

It had been a rough time for the crew, and for him, but he hoped he was doing the right thing by coming out here and taking him on some sort of adventure. Sure he had selfish motives, and wanted to see cool things, but he liked to think this was mostly for his friend.

The entire sky was almost purple now, and the light of a distant city sprung up before them.

He nudged Adam awake, and the other man sat up blinking owlishly as he looked around. Little lanterns on the carriage had been lit, illuminating the interior of the train with dim yellow light. The train began to slow, and then pulled to a stop as they got to their feet and stepped off.

Walking off the wooden planks of the train station and down into the muddied dirt road of the Bramble Colony Capital: Two Sun.

The streetlights had already been lit though horse drawn carts and carriages were still being pulled through the streets.

Dogs barked on occasion and voices rose up from houses and establishments on either side of the wooden boardwalk street.

“Where to?” Adam wondered/

“The Saloon!”

“You are such a dumbass.” Adam said, shaking his head, but he followed after Ramirez. Walking down the street their boots clattering voer wooden boards and through mud the leather of gun belts creaking slightly as they walked.

“Dude I feel like such a badass.”

Ramirez turned to look at Adam eyebrow raised, for the first time since their trip started, he seemed genuinely excited.

“Glad I’m not the only one!’

“Hey!”

The two of them drew to a halt in the mud turning to the side where they spotted a man sitting on one of the wooden porches. Ramirez’s eyes widened as he saw the shiny golden star on the left side of the man’s chest, “Sheriff!”

The man Raised an eyebrow probably not used to being greeted so enthusiastically.

“You two new around here?”

The two of them grinned at each other as the man’s exaggerated rural drawl fell over them.”

The man narrowed his eyes.

“Yes sir, just visiting.”

“Well you see this building behind me.”

“Yes sir.”

“You two fools get into any trouble and you'll be behind bars faster than a thoroughbred from the starting gate, you hear me.”

Ramirez jumped up and down in his boots turning to look at Adam, “Wild west jail.”

“Not a tourist attraction Ramirez.” He turned to look at the Sheriff who was still eying them and grabbed his friend by the shoulders steering them clear, “We’ll keep our noses out of trouble Sheriff.”

Ramirez was still grinning as they made their way down the street, “Do you have a death wish?”

“He won’t kill me, but wouldn’t going to cowboy jail be a great story.”

“Getting dragged would also be a great story when all my skin pealed off.”

“Dragged?”

“Old west form of punishment where you get dragged behind a horse till dead.”

Ramirez shook his head, “I will go with a no on that one, also not a big fan of hanging, but I could do a firing squad as long as I was allowed to make a really bad pun before I go.”

Adam snorted with some amusement as they made their way towards the loudest building on the street. From the sound of the out of tune piano on the inside and the drunken singing , they were in the right palace.

Adam Grabbed Ramirez by the back of the shirt and dragged him away from the swinging doors, “Hold on, hold on.”

Ramirez stopped, “What.’

“Ive always wanted to do ths.”

“Do what?”

Adam cracked his neck and his knuckles before stepping towards the door and pushing both open. The clatter of his boots was loud on the floor and Ramirez waited for that expected moment when all of the sound would stop and everyone would turn to look at them.

That…. Did not happen.

In fact, no one noticed the two young men as they made their way inside the hot, cramped room smelling of liquor and sweat.

“My disappointment is immeasurable and my day has been ruined.” Ramirez whispered.

Adam frowned, “yeah my expectations were, well, expecting something better than that.”

Together the two of them made their way over to the bar, both leaning against it in exaggerated nonchalance before bursting into laughter. The bartender, a stern looking redhead walked over, “And what do you boys want.”

Ramirez patted Adam on the back, “me and my friend are looking to get very drunk very quick, think you can help us.”

The woman sighed, but ducked behind the bar.

Adam tilted his head at Ramirez, “I thought you didn’t like it when I drank.”

“When you drink alone, yes, but when you drink with me, we have a party.”

“Sure we do.” Adam snorted

The woman came back a moment later with two shot glasses and bottle which she set on the bar, “This will get you drunk.”

Adam flipped over the bottle to take a look, “Shit, Ramirez, this is practically paint thinner.”

“Tastes like to too.” The woman said as she poured two shots of the stuff and slid it over to them.”

Adam took it gingerly like it was a snake about to bite him.

Ramirez raised the glass, “Ready when you are, cowboy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Adam said raising the glass, and together they kicked it back bith grimacing and sputtering as they came back up to set the shots back on the bar.

Adam wiped his eyes, “Damn, Like…. Rubbing alcohol.”

Ramirez waved a hand in front of his face “Makes my eyes burn just thinking about it. Another!”

“Sweet heavens above.”” Adam Implored, but slid his glass back to the bartender, who seemed very amused.

“Are we going to end up in jail by the time this is over.”

“Probably.”

They took another shot.

It was about ten or so minutes later when Adam started to feel the warm fuzzy sensation inside his chest. Ramirez had already vanished somewhere tryin to woo the local population. No one was safe.

He took a seat at the bar head down staring at his glass.

Why was he thinking about Sunny all of a sudden.

“Someone break your heart.” The bartender said dryly. When he looked up, he expected her to be wiping at the same greasy spot of counter with an even greasier rag, but she was simply leaned against the bar staring at him.

“That obvious?”

“Nine out of ten times its the best guess, besides, most of the time two shots from that bottle can lighten anyone’s mood.”

“You got something….. Strong but like…. Good tasting?”

“You mean something brightly colored and fruity?”

“Yeah, something brightly colored and fruity.” She Smirked, “You're braver than most men at this bar.”

“I knew we were dressing as cowboys, but I didn’t know the 1800s let us borrow their views on drinks too.”

She laughed, and returned a few second later with a martini glass full of bright green liquid, “There that should do for yah.”

He sipped at it a little, and satisfied it wasn’t going to peel the first layer of his insides began to drink.

“So, this girl of yours… she leave you.”

“No uh…. I sort of left her.”

“You some kind of simpleton…. Idiot maybe/”

He sighed and slumped down in his chair. “That’s what I’m told… I left her…. So I wouldn’t hurt her. I don’t think she understood but….. I’ve been pretty messed up since the war.”

“A soldier huh.”

“Not much of one.”

“ANd your friend over there, the one dancing on the table, is he a soldier too?”

Adam turned around to look towards where Ramirez was standing on a table and dancing around like a moron to the flight of the drunken crowd below, “He sighed, do you know what a synonym for moron is?”

“What/”

“A marine.” He stood, “Hold on a second while I go get him, “

He walked over to the table hands on hips and looked up,”Ramirez, Get down from there.”

“Or, or you could come up here.”

“Or I damn well won’t.”

He turned around in a circle stamping his boot and clapping his hands.

“Come on! Have some fun.” off in the corner the piano was going loudly getting faster and faster.”

“If you don’t come here I pull out the shoe.”

Adam looked back at the bartender who looked more amused than she did annoyed. So he sighed and held up a hand, “help me up.”

Ramirez grinned and grabbed him by the hand, helping to haul him into the table, where the two of them linked arms and began dancing around in a circle in some horrible tandem rendition of square dancing mixed with swing dancing. The table wobbled dangerously back and forth threatening to tip over as their weight distribution swayed around and around. Laughing and Drunken chanting started up as the piano started to go faster and faster.

Those who were able to sing along in time with the words, soon stumbled over them, their lips tripping over the words that spilled from their mouths.

Adam and Ramirez stomped their boots and kicked up their heels in a wild tornado, both of them having surprisingly good rhythm. The piano grew faster and faster and faster until they were simply spinning around in a wild circle.

And then the door slammed open.

The piano cut off, and Ramirez went tumbling into Adam causing the two of them to pitch backward off the table and hit the floor with a loud “thud”. The room was dead silent except for the sound of boots rattling over the ground.

Adam ad Ramirez groaned rolling into sitting positions as they looked up at the intruder.

The man they saw was…. Greasy and unkempt with a snarled black beard and a pockmarked face. He wore a tatty black leather jacket and grimy fingerless gloves. His clothing was travel stained and filthy. When he walked into the room, his smell was just as present as he was.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He said, “it looked like we were just getting to the fun part.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing back here Louis.” the bartender snarled,”I thought we made it very clear that you weren’t welcome last time.”

The man raised his hands innocently, “Oh please, I am just here to/...collect charitable donations.”

“Get out! Or we call the sherif.”

“Sheriff is busy…. Chasing outlaws outside of town.”

Adam and Ramirez exchanged looks as they slowly got to their feet.

The man reached towards his belt, “You boys stay right where you are.”

Adam raised his hands, “Woah, no harm done.”

Adam glanced towards Ramirez, giving him a look as he began to inch quietly to the side. Adam moved strategically in the opposite direction keeping his hands up.

He tried to look as shifty as possible to keep the man’s attention, “I think you should leave like the lady said.”

“Oh ho so one of the twinkle toes dancing boys thinks I should leave.”

“I do, so i am going to ask politely first.”

“And then what.” his hand inched down hovering over the grip of his gun. Adam did the same, though his fingers had gone numb. He was a good shot, but dueling! He knew he would fumble! He just knew it.

“I’m going to stop you.”

He laughed, “Oh you wil,l will you.”

Adam stared hard at the man’s face watching Ramirez move into position behind the man’s back, “I will…. I have the angel’s on my side.”

The man started to laugh.

Ramirez struck, grabbing a bottle from the nearest table and cracking the man across the back of the head with it. The man went down hard but Ramirez doubled over clutching his hand,”Fuck….. My hand! I thought those were so supposed to break! Shit.”

Adam leaped forward pinning the man to the ground.

A few other men and women rushed forward to help and soon enough they had him hog tied on the floor.

He stood up heart beating with exhilaration.

Ramirez rubbed his hand and groaned in pain.

Adam pressed his knee into the man’s back.

The bar tender came around from behind the bar, “That was a dumb move boys brave but dumb.”

Adam looked over to where ramirez was still nursing his wound, “yeah, I think that describes us pretty well doesn’t it. I got this guy, the rest of you can go back to drinking.”

The bartender shook her head, “You buys drink free tonight.”

Ramirez grinned, “how can I say no to that! Drinks on me!”

Adam ignored the cheering of the bar for a moment, as he pulled the guns from the mn’s belt, and…. A very large knife. He noticed the decorative handle and, out of curiosity, pulled it out. It felt heavy in his grip, with good heft. He tested the edge against the hairs on the back of his arm, and they fell away smooth.

“Not bad.” he muttered.

Sunny would like…..

He paused

Looked down, looked around and then back down fighting with himself internally before.

Discreetly tucking the knife into his own, empty, knife sheath.”

Looking up he saw one of the serving girls staring at him.

He blushed and held up a finger to his lips.

She smiled, ruby red lips parting slightly, and winked at him, turning away exaggeratedly as if she hadn’t seen anything.

The door crashed open again a few moments later, and the Sheriff came barging into the room huffing and puffing like a bull, covered in dust, fingers stained with cordite. He paused in te doorway frowned at the scene before him and walked over, “Louis Grey.”

He looked down at Adam, and then Over at Ramirez who was taking advantage of his momentary glory.

“Thought I told you not to get into trouble.”

“You never told us not to stop it.”

He grunted and motioned to a few men to help him drag the body back to the jail, “Guess this is a thanks I owe you then. He has outstanding warrants in several counties, can never catch him though greasy little weasel.”

The unconscious man was dragged away only just beginning to stir. The sheriff shook his hand. “You boys be safe, and try not to do something so dumb next time.”

Adam touched the brim of his hat. “Yes sir.” He reached down to touch the knife at his belt, “We will make sure of it.”

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years ago

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Not Here for Me

If he had the choice, Dean never would have stepped foot inside this place. But Sam was curious - and curious is a hell of a lot better than the depression that clung to him day after day since Jess left him. So Dean swallows his pride, joins Sam as his babysitter. So he won't get find himself in any trouble. Trouble, however, is more likely to find Dean. In the bowels of his personal hell, can Dean resist temptations that have plagued him his entire life? Or will someone descend and lend a hand, showing Dean that the darkness he imagined only lived inside his own mind. And all that he feared was not as he seemed if he let himself step out of the shadows of his past.

(Dean/Cas, Human AU, 2000s-set, 8,113 words, tw: Dean’s childhood & upbringing by one John Winchester)

ao3

His ears hurt. Dean stares at a small puddle of maybe-water-maybe-vodka that collected on the bar top, focusing on it instead of the pounding bass drum and blender whirring that’s somehow considered music. At least that’s what Sam told him seconds after entering, meeting Dean’s disgruntlement with patented exasperation. Floppy bangs pushed back for its full effect. “You’re such an old man,” he said, “Can you pretend you’re happy being here?”

“That depends,” he fired back, brow raised. Pulled taut like a bowstring, retort knocked and waiting. He lets it fly, “How quick do you think I can get drunk?”

The answer – very quickly. Dean balked when Sam ordered them these bubbling potions the color of lava lamps mixed with Barbie vomit. Served in dainty glasses Dean could easily break if he applied even a fraction of pressure between his thumb and forefinger. Rim lined with salt and a wedge of lime. Sam suggested they cheers. He chugged his before Sam raised the glass. He flagged the bartender, ignoring Sam’s glare. “What the hell did I drink?” he asked.

The bartender pursed his lips, eyes dragging over Dean’s frame as if he were stripping him bare in the room; peeling away the layers of his jacket and plaid button-down and faded band tee like they were tissue, freckled-and-pale skin freed for the bartender’s enjoyment. He sowed seeds of unwanted fantasies. Dean cleared his throat, repeating the question, digging out those dropped seedlings before the bartender’s imagined wanderings might flower.

If Dean wanted to encourage attention, he’d have dressed like him. Mesh shirt with uneven holes, some stretched wider than most. Its woven fabric failed at hiding the sweat that dampened his obviously spray-tanned skin, strips of orange paint peeling like a rind. The bartender wiped his brow, a streak of bright white skin revealed. “A strawberry margarita.”

“Of course,” Dean nodded at the selection behind him, “got anything that doesn’t taste too… sugary?” A frown dragged every wrinkle and crease forward on the bartender’s face. He clarified, “A beer. What beer do you have?”

They didn’t have any. Dean asked for a vodka neat, Sam criticizing his choice as the bartender retreated. “You’re so boring.” That was three vodka neats ago.

Sam left his station beside Dean soon after his first drink, swept away in the tide of bodies pulsing in the center of the club. Each individual moving to a different beat. Their dancing unsyncopated and wild. Yet, despite how hopeless it looked, bodies acting independently from one another, the writhing mass shared one mind. Although, even assimilated by the crowd, Dean can keep track of his little brother. Head poking free of the mass like some odd periscope. Scanning every few seconds until their gazes met and then submerging once more.

Dean isn’t searching for him now. He studies his small puddle of definitely-vodka. He swiped his finger through it earlier and sucked it dry; cheeks hollow, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Dean heard someone’s glass shatter over the wretched din of noise, timed perfectly with his finger popping out of his mouth like a burst bubble. The sharp smell of alcohol fries his nose hairs. It dulls the throbbing ache caused by his surroundings, Dean’s frayed nerves sparking underneath, jumping like live wires since Sam detailed their plans for this evening.

“You wanna go to a gay bar?”

Sam rolled his eyes with so much force they rattled inside his skull like a novelty magic eight-ball, his hazel gaze landing on him, answer written neatly, ‘It is decidedly so’. Dean shook it again, scoffing. The answer changed. Not in Dean’s favor. ‘Yes – definitely’.

“Why?” Dean leaned across their small table, “Are you…?” He asks with a wry twist of his lips and a limp wrist.

“I don’t know,” Sam told him.

“You don’t know? Isn’t that a requirement for a – a gay bar?”

“Not necessarily,” he explained, sitting across from Dean finally. Sam’s windbreaker swooshed with every dramatic sweep of his arm. “I mean… sure, most of the people there are gay. But it’s not like they make you flash some official gay card at the door…” Expression pinched, he powered head, avoiding the conversational detour and sticking to the main highway of his argument. “Besides, there’s more than just gay.”

Dean nodded, “Like what?”

“Bisexual, Pansexual… Asexual, Demisexual –“

“I think I might be that,” Dean laughed, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “It means you’re attracted to Demi Moore, right? Because if Kutcher weren’t in the picture, I’d definitely be all up in her business!”

“Don’t be an ass, Dean,” Sam said, “Demisexuality is a real thing, okay? It’s only being attracted to people who you have a deep, intimate bond with.”

“Oh, is that so?” He stretched his legs out from beneath the table, knocking into Sam’s. “That what you’re learning in college? I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. Or were you a bit presumptuous when you made that e-mail, lawboy?”

“I still do,” Sam muttered, cheeks tinted a dark shade. “I… it was one of these classes I have to take, for my degree. Made me think about things I never knew about and – and stuff I said that, looking back, was… kind of offensive. That we joked about, what dad would say, sometimes…” Dean tuned Sam out partly, a refreshing static separating him from Sam’s words. Standard whenever Sam mentioned their dad, or if he saw something that reminded him of dad, or if dad cared enough to leave a voicemail for Sam on their shared answering machine. The little antenna on his brain’s radio drooped slightly, making Dean fiddle for the signal. He managed to catch the remainder of Sam’s monologue, barely. “…it’s a whole new world!”

“No, it isn’t,” Dean sighed, tiredly scrubbing his chin. “Sam, you’ve only ever liked girls.”

“To my knowledge!” Sam insisted, “I might’ve liked a boy, possibly. Maybe. I mean… do you remember Trevor?”

“Trevor?”

“Y’know, Trevor,” he fumbled through his memories, silence painstakingly ticking past. The clicking of their kitchen clock suddenly, obnoxiously loud. “That kid from that town we stayed at for about two months my sophomore year of high school, up in Montana.”

Dean remembered that town. GED burning a hole in his pocket, he bummed through town hunting for a job since dad hightailed it for a phantom thread of a lead on their mother’s murderer. Not many folks were hiring, but a stern man in a rough-hewn Stetson and bushy mustache needed an extra ranch hand. Introduced Dean to his son, Dean’s new co-worker. Steve was a nice boy, older than him by a few years, with a warm temperament, skin tanned like leather from a life of fieldwork, and legs bent further than Dean’s by riding horses since birth.

One day while tending the horses, Steve noticed how Dean’s focus drifted every few seconds, drawn to the saddles. “We can go for a ride,” he mentioned, “one night, around the property.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to get on a horse, let alone ride it.”

Steve chuckled, shoulders barely shaking from the act. His honeyed eyes were earnest and gooey in the filtered sunlight, distracting Dean more than saddles ever did. “I can show you,” he said, “it ain’t too hard.” He proved that by using their lunch break to teach Dean how to mount a horse. He demonstrated it, legs wrapping around its thick flanks, showboating and urging the steed forward by tapping his heels while Dean laughed, head dizzy from spinning, following Steve and the horse, as well as other things. “Think you can try it?” Dean didn’t. He shook his head, lip trapped between his teeth. Speaking felt blasphemous in that moment. “What if I helped?” Steve offered a hand, easily hefting Dean up atop the horse. They shared the saddle, Dean bracketed by Steve’s sturdy arms and supported by his firm chest. Dean felt every tug of the reigns as Steve guided the horse around the stable, and every whispered breath along his neck. Steve dismounted first, holding Dean’s hips and helping him down later. “Now imagine how nice that’d be, out on the plains, with nothing but the moon watching us?” He painted a pretty picture, even if Dean’s copied brushstrokes were shaky and inelegant. They made plans the following Friday.

John returned Tuesday, and they left Wednesday. He’d never been near a horse since.

But they weren’t talking about Steve. Why did he think of Steve? “Trevor?” Dean repeated, still unsure what Sam’s flailing meant.

“My lab partner,” he said, “We bonded over our mutual appreciation of Vince Vincente and the Goonies… there were some days he’d give me the extra sandwich his mom packed, for some reason?”

“You mean to tell me you had a crush on this Trevor kid?”

“I might have!” Sam rose, shouting, “He was… he treated me well, and I liked hanging around him.”

“He was your friend, Sam. Friend,” Dean sunk deeper into his seat, kicking Sam’s abandoned chair. “You have had friends in your life, right? I know I joke about you being a loser, but I never really meant it…”

“Of course I had friends,” he scowled, “I have friends.”

“And you’ve had girlfriends,” Dean reminded him, “Hell, you and Jess only broke up about a month ago! Did Trevor give you feelings like Jess did?”

Sam visibly faltered, stooping slightly. Footing lost as the ground trembled beneath his feet. “Well… no, I mean – not, not that I can recall…” Spluttering, his hands balled tighter into fists. “But maybe it’s different, feelings for a boy and – and feelings for a girl.”

“Sam, feelings are feelings regardless of who’s on the other end of ‘em. You just… you just know –“

Like he regressed two decades, Sam stomped his foot in a very childish way. Whining, “God, Dean, can’t you be a little supportive!” Immediately his face stretched in regret, rubber band snapping as he leaped forward in years to his appropriate age. It didn’t matter; the barb struck exactly where it intended, puncturing soft underbelly, unguarded by Dean’s calloused defenses.

Dean stiffened; gaze drawn to a whorl in the table’s finish. His thumb pressed hard at its center. He snorted, but it sounded more like an engine backfiring. “Supportive huh?” he asked, smile wide and wry, “You want me to be more supportive?” Thousands of examples flickered like a clip reel in his mind. Small things. Dean skipping breakfast so Sam can eat the last of their cereal. Wearing the same clothes, weeks on end, because Sam needed a new wardrobe, reedy body bigger than what they had. Risking arrest with every five-finger discount or hustled game or back alley trick; supporting the way their dad couldn’t.

Bigger things. Lying, letting Sam play over at other kids’ houses; Dean frozen, watching the door in fear their dad came home early. Hiding letters from admissions for Sam, secreted from beneath their dad’s nose. He was an ever-present figure during those last few years. A shadowy patrol that continually followed since they were old enough. Dad had more use for men then children. Dean went as far as distracting him one starless night while Sam escaped, then accepted the consequences of his actions. He joined Sam weeks later with Baby’s keys and a split lip caused by, who he described to Sam as, some jackass biker. It healed in time for an interview, for a job he still has. Six days a week spent under the hoods of cars, working long hours and earning money to support them both, like before. Giving Sam the very freedoms he’d been denied – time, luxury, and safety.

He held these words firm in his mouth, smoke bitter as it roiled. But, in his next breath, Dean released the past with a low hiss. Darkness rising, dissipating. “It’s okay,” he assured Sam, cutting off his rambling apologies. “Really.” He glanced at Sam’s outfit, fully taking in his choices. A color-blocked jacket of bright colors, reds, yellows, and oranges, that glowed over his tight, dark button-down. A hint of some printed graphic peeking behind the half-zippered flaps. Combined with a pair of Sam’s most distressed denim and flip-flops because It’s California, Dean, and you know how awful my feet sweat. As a whole Sam presented like a grade-A douchebag. Entirely unprepared for any bar, let alone a gay one. Dean’s instincts kicked into overdrive.

“Fine,” he decided, standing, too, “you want supportive? Then I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Sam trailed Dean’s wake as he left for his bedroom, cornering him while he slipped into some ratty white sneakers left by his dresser. “You’re coming?”

“Sure.”

“But… why?” Sam slammed his hand on Dean’s doorframe, blocking his exit. “You’re not gay.”

Dean frowned at him, “I thought you didn’t have to be gay to go to a gay bar?”

“Yeah, but –“ He knocked Sam’s arm loose, passing his brother on the way towards the door. Sam followed, buzzing behind like a mosquito. “You don’t seriously wanna go, do you?”

“Obviously not,” Dean said, sliding into an oversized leather jacket. Another relic of their dad’s. Dean couldn’t leave without it. He couldn’t explain why. “But since you’re insisting on doing this, I might as well make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.”

“That won’t happen.”

“You kidding? A guy like you, wobbling around like a fawn – a sort of gay Bambi… you’d get eaten alive instantly. Or drugged.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder, the finger of his other hand pressed into his brother’s chest like it was an intercom button, pushing so forcefully Dean thought it might burst through the other side. “I don’t need the stress of finding out you died at this gay bar because some idiot overestimated the amount of roofies they’d need to take down your elephant-sized ass.”

Sam cringed at his worst-case scenario but hadn’t shrugged his hand off. Instead he returned the gesture with his own comforting touch around Dean’s wrist. “Okay,” Sam said, “you can come. Don’t embarrass me though, by being an ass.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Hey,” Sam said later, Baby idling in front of a red light. Zeppelin blaring through her speakers, making conversation difficult. Dean lowered it for his brother. “What’d you think dad’d say, if he knew where we were going?”

Dad’s opinion, of his two sons wasting their night in a gay bar, would ruffle the feathers of Sam’s newfound sensitivity. He hears their dad’s voice clearly, delivering a tirade about their terrible choices. Dean spent his time at the bar drowning that voice since arriving. He drains his fourth-or-fifth glass of its contents. It all splashes like the others, into his empty, churning stomach. Dad’s voice, the awful music, his nerves and senses slip out of mind. He sees dregs of vodka left in his glass. He uses the same finger that swiped through the tiny bar puddle and swirls it there, coating in in more vodka. Again, Dean sucks on his finger.

Someone approaches while his lips graze knuckle.

“If you get tired of that finger…” a stranger says on his right, reeking of cherry-and-liquored stink. Dean’s face scrunches at the smell. “I’ve got this big thing you can suck on…” His gaze wanders to where the stranger is.

He’s a man with severely gelled hair, plastered back. A few strands were missed in the initial sweep and clung to his forehead, shiny and wet, making it seem like oil slowly bled down. He chokes on a gold chain that resembles a collar, broad neck seizing as he breathes. Steroids, Dean wagers, given how bulging veins snake past the sleeves of his stretched-thin shirt. Which makes him doubt the man’s ‘big’ claim. He arches a stupidly perfect, sculpted brow, leaning far past the bubble of Dean’s personal space. “You’d definitely have a lot more fun than playing with your finger,” he adds, taking Dean’s silence as an apparent invitation.

He can’t remember when his finger slid free, but it did and, while spit-slick, jabs at Roidy’s brick-wall chest. “Not interested pal,” he says, “Why don’t you try a different fella?”

“What if I don’t want a different fella?”

“Then you are s’stupid as you look.” Dean waves, flagging the bartender for his next vodka. “Why don’t you take your big package crap elsewhere?”

Undeterred, Roidy leans closer. Fingertips ghosting where Dean holds his glass as the bartender refills it. He tenses, squirming, imagining the very oil that drips from the man’s head coats his fingers, too, and through his touch smears it around Dean’s wrist. “Listen, you might not know this… but I made a promise tonight. That I would fuck the hottest, sexiest piece of trade in the club tonight. And congratulations… that’s you.”

Dean squints, mockingly cooing at the other’s assessment. “I feel honored,” he says, sarcasm heavy like the hand pouring his drinks this evening. “Special, even,” Dean continues, “don’t know how anyone could turn y’away after that.”

“No one does.”

“Then I guess I’ll be the first?” Dean asks. The bartender huffs softly under breath, he and Dean reveling silently. They connect over this interloper’s antics. With a subtle shift in the bartender’s gaze, a snide flash of teeth, Dean understands. He’s not the first, only the latest. Certainly not the last.

What he wants to be, though, is left alone. That doesn’t seem likely. Not with how Roidy gloms onto Dean’s side, an arm curling around his shoulders. Not if his biting smile meant anything, tearing through Dean’s dismissals. Not as Roidy whispers, barely audible because of the music, “If you’re going for discreet, I can do that… play along, that is. It wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy…”

Dean’s mood sinks under such nauseating charms. He looks for assistance in the bartender, but he swam to safer shores at some point, serving drinks elsewhere. Unfortunate. He was starting to like him.

Roidy snuffles Dean’s neck, alarms clanging within his head. Or possibly it’s coming from the many speakers placed throughout the bar. Either way that plus everything he drank, make thinking complicated and tortuously slow, like Roidy nosing along his collarbone. His thoughts fall apart before they make it to his mouth, Dean opening and shutting and opening his mouth hoping a few words can crawl themselves into existence. He manages a few garbled syllables that are greatly ignored.

As swiftly as Roidy began his assault, he’s being tugged off him. Dean gasps for breath, spinning, facing the dancefloor now. Glaring at Roidy who glares elsewhere, at the owner of the hand that cleaved this growth from Dean’s side.

It’s beautiful, for a hand. Tan, palm curled around Dean’s shoulder protectively. No cuts or scabs across the knuckles, nor any scars. If he were to touch it, he imagines the skin there is soft and smooth. Dean’s gaze travels, curious who might own such a gentle hand.

Chasing the sinewy lines of his savior’s arms to broad shoulders, Dean feels his chest tighten in a desperate need for fresh air. However, it’s not terrifying like before with Roidy. This is unique and comforting. He inhales, then exhales. He has no trouble breathing. He still feels that tightness. Crushing once he finds his savior’s face.

Marble. Statues are carved from stone – marble, specifically – he remembers from an old teacher’s droned lecture that returned with vengeance. Spoken during a field trip to some museum where Dean barely stayed awake as they flew room to room, always seconds from collapsing, waking momentarily for the next exhibit. Except when they entered a room of statues, and Dean managed fifteen minutes of attentiveness. Aided by chiseled features of a statue hidden between two columns near the farthest corner of the room. A man, naked, endowed, frozen in repose and staring into the distance. It might have been at a bathroom door, Dean’s memory supplied, but the statue saw beyond such borders. Dean wished he knew what existed where only statues can see. All he understood was the expression. Marble evoked steel. The statue displayed determination, tempered and ready for whatever barrels forward, with a hint of sorrow he must greet what is to come. The same expression shone on his savior’s face triggering his sudden recollection. Only his was brighter because of those eyes. An incomparable blue.

On first glance, Dean wonders if that statue perhaps came alive. Journeyed from wherever it stood, in that town whose name he can’t summon up, to save him. Except that’s impossible. That statue is most likely there, forever guarding the bathroom. Blue Eyes is a man with his own history, parallel to Dean’s until he jumped in playing hero. But why?

He can’t think of a reasonable explanation, because Blue Eyes finally speaks. “Hey babe,” he growls, Dean jolting from the pitch, like he stepped, shoeless, on glass shards littering the floor. An abundance of them must slip loose from Blue Eyes’ mouth whenever it opens after they shredded his vocal cords. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was crazy.”

What?

“What?”

“Didn’t you get my text?” he asks Dean. Then, subtly checking on Roidy who watches, fuming from the sidelines, he makes an odd clicking sound. “Or were your hands full, and you couldn’t check?”

“His hands were full all right,” Roidy interrupts, not waiting for Dean’s response. He tries shoving Blue Eyes back, but he refuses to budge. His strength real and not decorative like Roidy’s. He falters slightly; adjusts course and snags a fistful of Blue Eyes’ white button-down in case Blue Eyes wastes energy trying what Roidy did. “Why don’t you leave and let your babe hang with someone who’s there when he needs him?”

Blue Eyes squints, lips slowly stretching, like a match dragged across a striker, until the flame of a smirk dances into view. “I can assure you, that’s exactly who I am. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He does. He should. Blue Eyes listens for Dean’s answer, chin dipped patiently. Roidy’s is, as well. Both wait on him, Dean the difference between favor and disgrace. It’s a non-decision. He eases into his savior’s warmth, improvising by slipping his thumb through a belt loop on the other side. “Exactly,” Dean says, “you’re all I need, sweetie.”

Dean knows there’s no reason to turn from Blue Eyes. Temptation wins, and he chances a peek at the loser. Roidy fumes, his sneer somehow making him appear uglier. He wipes at his brow, disrupting those few, sticky strands, and reveals covered pockmarks. They appear horn-like, in the bar’s dim lighting. That cherry-and-liquor scent sours, suddenly pungent like rotten eggs. “Whatever,” he mutters, letting Blue Eyes go, “your boyfriend’s a fucking tease.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Dean drawls, laughing, squeezing Blue Eyes tighter. Encouraged by his presence. “At least you’ll know it’s consen-u-tal!”

Roidy departs dreadfully, saluting them with his middle finger. Dean responds with a raised glass that quickly empties itself down his throat. Slumping onto the bar, releasing Blue Eyes, Dean motions for the bartender’s return. “Hey,” he slurs, “another vodk-eh and, uh…” He scowls, studying the rack, an array of alcohol lined up. “Shit, man,” he asks his savior, “what’s your poison?”

“Tequila,” Blue Eyes tells the bartender, frowning at Dean, “You sure you’re good for this?”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“That you look like you’ve had enough.” Blue Eyes accepts the glass of tequila, tapping its rim against his chin, lime wedge hitting the corner of his quirked lips. “How many of those vodkas have you had?”

“’Bout this many,” he answers, hand open. Dean hums, considering the number. “Maybe one or two more. Or less? I must’ve lost count…” He shrugs, sipping at his latest drink. “S’okay, though, I once drank this meathead trucker under the table. A whole bottle of ol’ Jack at this… roadhouse off a highway somewhere east a’here.” Vodka sloshes with each gesture while he retells the story. “So I’ve got tolernance.”

“Clearly.” Blue Eyes chuckles, and Dean – not sure for what reason – joins him. He can’t hear much of it, but the bits of his laughter that break over the bar’s chaotic din make Dean giddy. “Thank you,” he nods at his tequila, “for the drink.”

“Hey, I’m the one thankin’ here buddy,” Dean says, “I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t stepp-epped in when you did. Probably somethin’ punchy.”

“He would have deserved it,” he finally tips his glass back. Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs in rhythm with Blue Eyes’, even if his drink rests miles away on the bar top. “Hey,” Blue Eyes continues, smiling, fiddling with the lime wedge, “what’s your name?”

“Why you wanna know?”

“Well, usually I know the names of the men who buy me drinks. Especially those who buy them for me after I’ve scared off pervy creeps.”

“You make a habit of this, then?”

“No,” Blue Eyes says, “you’re the first.”

Unlike with Roidy, Dean believes him. “Dean.”

“Castiel,” he reveals, simultaneously sticking the lime in his mouth. Teeth locked around it, he drains the wedge of its juice. Dean blushes, and the rush of blood to his head brings dizziness. Resting one hand on the bar doesn’t help. Neither does two. Castiel finishes his drink, placing the glass and shriveled lime near Dean’s hands, and yet his sudden lightheadedness persists.

Castiel must notice this queasiness, because he grazes Dean’s elbow. Uses words Dean cannot presently grasp. A wave of concern sweeps across Castiel’s features, transforming them. Drawing Dean closer, lost in his orbit.

A diversion is necessary. “So, Cas,” he starts, their faces inches from each other. To talk easier. “You gay?”

“Uh…” Belatedly, Dean realizes his stupidity. His jaw drops, as if he can vacuum the question back. Pretend he never said it. Castiel, looking saintly under the bar’s neon glow, recovers faster. Replies before Dean might withdraw. “Yeah, yes I’m… I’m gay. Be pretty weird if I wasn’t.”

“I must be pretty weird, huh,” Dean thinks aloud. He smacks his lips. They taste oddly like a morning where, after playing some hilarious prank on Sam, he came to with old socks stuffed into his duct taped mouth.

Castiel skews his head to the side. “Why are you weird?”

“Because…” It’s a bad idea. He recognizes how bad an idea this is. However, recognition and action are completely separate. And while he succeeds in the former, he fails spectacularly with the latter. “I’m not gay.” Then, slurring, he whisper-shouts, “I’m straaaaight.”

“Really…” Castiel skims through tens of emotions Dean cannot discern with his vodka-addled brain. He settles on detachment, the tightness within his chest loosening as Cas inches backwards. Dean, instinctively, floats closer. That strain returns tenfold, like a python coiled itself around Dean. Squeezes him until Castiel bumps into a patron, bringing their chests flush together. Dean likes it even if he cannot breathe. Castiel smiles, but it’s noticeably different than those previously gifted. “If you’re straight, why are you at a gay bar?”

“You don’t have to be gay to be in a gay bar,” Dean supplies.

“It’d be a real plus though.” He barely caught Castiel’s mumbling. He can’t question what was meant, because Castiel clears his throat and repeats his question. “Why did you choose a gay bar for the evening?”

Dean glances at the dance floor. Sam hadn’t left, enmeshed between writhing bodies. “I’m not here for me. My brother – he thinks he’s gay… or somethin’ like it,” he tells Castiel, snorting when someone other than Sam rakes a paw through his hair. Awkwardness flashes like lightning, disappearing behind forced puppy-dog features and Sam’s too-wide grin. “He’s here expermimenting while I’m the… uh – the moral support.”

Castiel’s face publicizes his thoughts. The lines of his face twitch in simple patterns that are already familiar to Dean. And the pools of his eyes reflect the subdued variety of his feelings, providing needed transparency. With this change of his features, Dean guesses Castiel’s tensed mouthline and wishbone-bent eyebrows meant awe and respect. “That’s… very nice of you.”

“Least I can do,” Dean shrugs, tasting sock once more, “it’s not like I’ll need’ta do more. Kid’s straight as a… straight thing.”

Those pearled emotions seal themselves tightly in a clamshell, Castiel sending them back into murky depths. “How would you know?”

“Because I’ve known the kid all m’life, Cas. He’s a shit liar… at least to me he is.” Dean settles against the bar, past resurfacing. A clear memory from their younger years. Sam never finishing his dinners, but somehow dropping a clean plate into the trashcan every time. Followed by a question, like clockwork, about taking a walk. “Around the motel,” he said, “nothing further.” His father’s rules. Never plainly set, but strictly enforced. Dean learned of them the hard way. Sam agreed, not even fighting like he usually did. Maybe that’s why, one night, he left their motel a beat after Sam. Dean kept close tabs on his brother. Not stopping him as he disobeyed orders and crossed the street, nor when a crowd of adults poured out of some ritzy venue, stares scathing as he passed. He maintained distance, only toeing nearer as Sam slowed for a better view of the alleyway he paused at, of a three-legged dog hobbling out of a cardboard box, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Sam greeted him in similar fashion, kneeling at the edge where light and shadows gathered. He pet and pet and pet this stray, stopping only to reveal the portion of dinner he hadn’t eaten wrapped in several paper towels. Dean scurried off in the direction of the motel, asking Sam how his walk was once he returned. He relates all this to Castiel. “Sam loved dogs. Always wanted one assa pet…” If this was his chance, Dean figured he might help. Became more lenient. Gave Sam food from his plate, not that he ever noticed. Lied to John during those rare moments he was home. “Most of the things he got away with were only because I let him. I’m sure if he ever wanted a boyfriend he could’ve done it, and there I’d be covering his tracks like I did for his dog an’ his playdates an’ his girlfriends.”

“Wow, you…” Castiel trails off. Or perhaps he completed his thought, and Dean missed it because their arms are pressed together on the bar. Dean turns, watching the other’s soft contemplation instead of Sam. Castiel meets his gaze, those pearls reappearing. Shinier, too. “What happened to the dog?”

“Sam dropped off food the next two weeks, but by then our dad was dying to move on,” he explains, “I happened to overhear him bitchin’ on the phone and knew it’d be soon. So I took a personal day and brought his mutt t’the nearest shelter.” Hopefully Patchy found a good home, not that he cared.

“You’re a good brother.”

“I try my best.”

“Your best is better than a lot of people’s…” Castiel knocks his shoulder into Dean’s, Dean chasing after it. “My brothers’ idea of kindness is the occasional birthday e-mail, when the mood strikes them that is.”

“That sucks.” There’s more he wants to say, except Dean cannot make his mouth open again. When he finally unsticks his lips, he forgot all those words that seemed important moments ago. Replaced by off-tempo notes and cyclical phrases. Dean sighs, head lolling to the side while his lids slide closed over his eyes.

He exists in darkness. A warm, welcoming blackness, like being swaddled in a blanket. Hiding under it while winds howled and raged, sheets of rain slamming atop roofs and pelleting windows. Safe, protected.

That blanket is torn from him, Dean stumbling slightly. Castiel catches him and helps him stand upright, smirking. “Hey,” Dean whines, numb fingers twining loosely around Castiel’s wrist, “where you goin’?”

Castiel nods at the writhing mass, somehow larger since Dean last looked. “I feel like dancing.”

“No…” Dean tugs Castiel back towards him. He stays where he was. “Stay here,” Dean insists.

“Or…” Castiel says, prying Dean’s hand from his wrist. His needy fingers seep through the spaces between Castiel’s and he clings tight. “Or,” he repeats, breathier than before, “you can join me on the dancefloor?”

“I don’t dance, Cas…” His legs betray him, following Castiel into the fray. Vodka making his protests toothless. Vodka and Castiel.

He meant what he said, though. He does not dance. Men don’t dance. Real men. Normal men. Dad never danced, not even at his wedding. Even though mom begged, dad would tell them that he remained firm in his decision. “Never trust a man who dances,” he advised, Sam asleep feet from where they sat, beers in their hands. Dean was fourteen. “No man wants to dance. If he’s dancing, it means he’s weak enough to have lost that fight. And if he likes dancing, then that’s not the kind of man you want to be associating with.” Dean nodded, because at fourteen why not? Dad rarely gave guidance that wasn’t pointed, aimed directly at him. Cutting, slicing bits and pieces off and leaving them behind in whatever motel they briefly occupied.

With how Castiel moves, effortless and graceful, Dean bets he likes dancing. And if Castiel likes dancing, Dean wonders, truly, how bad it can be.

You want these people thinking you’re some kind of fairy? They already have, before he walked onto the dance floor. No son of mine is gonna dance with a man! Luckily, he won’t be dancing with one. He’ll dance, surrounded by men. Do you want to look gay, Dean? He won’t. Not if he says he doesn’t. Not if he says he isn’t.

A kid from his junior high days taught him that. How, by telling yourself what you do isn’t gay, suddenly you create your own version of truth. “Not for everything,” he warned. He paused, panting, as he – like Dean – recovered on the leather couch. Spent, video paused on his basement television, shorts – like Dean’s – around his ankles, “it doesn’t work all the time.”

“But for this?” Dean asked.

“Definitely this.”

Dean listened; those sacred words used sparingly over time. Mostly during clouded nights when the money ran out, as did their supplies, and Dean’s skills at the pool table or poker game couldn’t compare to those of his body.

He uses the words again. This isn’t gay. Castiel spins him, his chest plastered onto Dean’s back. He tries phrasing it differently. Dancing isn’t gay. Dean takes his free hand, the one not latched onto Castiel, and mirrors an earlier action he saw. Combs his fingers through Castiel’s dark brown locks. He amends and adds to it, too. Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing in this bar. That appeases the monster clawing at his mind, its voice, eerily similar to his dad’s, fading away. Dean smiles, then lets go.

The music isn’t so bad. Dancing isn’t as bad, either. Castiel is…

Dean focuses only on the music and dancing. It’s easy, losing himself in the rhythm. Forgetting who he is, where he is, and why he is where he is. He becomes nameless, another body in motion. Faceless as the strobe lights flicker and hide his features. Thoughtless, no room for anything besides what he hears. Dean doesn’t exist save for moments that jab at his awareness. Castiel squeezing his hand. The feel of hair then stubble then hair as his touch roams. Gasps at the base of his neck that elicit headier gasps from Dean. Firm press of chest-to-back, joined hands resting over his heart while Castiel’s free hand lays atop Dean’s stomach as they rock together.

Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing at this bar.

While it fascinates Dean, Castiel must tire of their arrangement, because he disturbs Dean’s oblivion by turning from back-to-chest to chest-to-chest. The wrong move, Dean thinks, as his vision blurs in such a violent way. The room spins and tilts long after he did, everything appearing off-balance. Save for Castiel, standing in front of him, not dancing anymore.

That’s why he throws his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, Dean’s mind comforts him with seconds later. For safety. For stability. Since he, too, wasn’t dancing anymore. His legs were useless, bent further than normal. Making him smaller. Forcing him to angle his head upwards to meet his savior’s searching gaze. Lips parted silently, asking a question with the ghost of his breath. Dean thinks he hears an invitation.

He accepts. Dives headfirst into it, vodka mixing with tequila and a spritz of lime. Castiel tastes better than any drink he’s had. He puts pressure on Castiel’s shoulder, climbing for easier access. Castiel helps; an arm braced around Dean’s waist steadies him. Guides their bodies into a holding pattern, a simple sway that won’t interfere with the others cavorting around them. Serenity made within the chaos of a raging sea; these waves don’t crash. Rather, they tenderly caress the shoreline before retreating in similar fashion. A line of sea foam, like the line of spit generously coating Dean’s mouth, the only proof it even hit.

Dean breaks from their kiss, panting. His forehead rests against Castiel’s. “That was…” he pauses, testing each word he thinks of and ultimately rejecting them all since they fail to describe what happened. He settles for, “Wow.”

“It was,” Castiel agrees, “Why’d you stop, then?”

“I stopped?” Dean sifts through his memories, those last few minutes entirely unforgettable but completely hard to recount. “I did?” he whispers, “Maybe it’s because I’m straight?”

“Are you sure?”

“I…” He can be, if he says so. Unfortunately, Dean forgets those little magic words. Trapped in limbo, the space between truths. “I’m not… I don’t know.”

Cas steps back, enough that Dean sees his entire face instead of those enchanting blue eyes. It eases the worry plaguing Dean’s mind. “Did you enjoy what just happened? What we did?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you certainly aren’t straight.”

Dean nods. He swallows a lump in his throat, feels it tear itself down into his stomach. He imagines blood spouting out of these gashes, building, climbing up in an escape attempt. He chokes on it. It might not be blood. Maybe-blood-maybe-drool leaks from the corners of his mouth as he asks, in a daze, “Does that mean I’m gay?”

“Or something like it.” Castiel reaches forward, combing through Dean’s sweaty hair in time with the music. “Hey,” he says, “it’s okay if you are. That you like… that you kissed me. It’s okay.”

It isn’t. Dean knows it isn’t. Not for him. Not with all that’s expected of him. The blueprint of who he’s supposed to be. Who Dean Winchester is. Torn to shreds and raining overhead like the actual confetti that floats down from high above. That were released without notice. Dropped there while he stands, in the middle of the dance floor, petrified by another man’s kiss. Dad’s efforts wasted.

“It’s okay,” Castiel repeats, “it’s okay…” He drifts further away; but before Dean can whine about his absence, he realizes his feet move, too. Castiel leads him from the belly of this ecstatic, partying mob.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere far, just off the dance floor.” They reach the perimeter, crowd thinned and weak; Cas releases his hold on Dean. Shrugs his shoulders, blessedly smiling at him. “Where you go and... what you do next, well – that’s up to you.”

He’s unprepared for such freedoms. The simplicity of making a choice. A foreign concept when all your life, every decision was already made for you. For other people. Keys don’t choose which doors they open. Hammers don’t make plans on which nails they’ll hit and which they’ll avoid.

Dean giggles, overcome by an intoxicating rush of getting to choose without any real consequence. No judgement, no threats, no guilt. If Dean told Castiel that kiss meant nothing and then bolted out of the bar, he would never have to deal with these conflicting thoughts, actions, and feelings. Never need to see Castiel again.

That isn’t what he wants.

Dean embraces the confusion because he, Dean, wants to. He kisses Castiel, driving them forward until they hit a wall, because he wants to. Tells him, “I want you,” because he does. Because it’s the truth.

And Castiel’s truth, “You can have me,” slots perfectly next to his.

Dean is intimately familiar with the art of kissing. Spent years practicing with ever-changing partners; girls from all over who were probably as bored as Dean felt. Girls who his dad saw and made him beam with pride. Enough girls, so that he called Dean names – different than the ones he thought Dean didn’t know about – like lady killer and chip off the ol’ block. Girls that were good kissers, bad kissers, and mostly unremarkable whatsoever. Dean lost his appetite for kissing, the act not being very fun for him. Not something he might look forward to, even if he said the right things and acted his part perfectly.

Kissing Castiel wasn’t good. Wasn’t bad. Not unremarkable in the slightest. It elevated the idea of kissing onto another level. A holy act. Placing Castiel on the same level as all his previous entanglements would be similar to heresy.

This isn’t just a kiss. It’s Dean sticking his face into a fuse box with all the switches flicked on. It’s Dean stepping out into a storm without an umbrella. It’s riding down an empty highway, no cops in sight, and abusing the gas pedal until the speedometer needle vanishes.

This kiss is apocalyptic, destroying the notion that anyone besides they two existed.

A hand joins the two roving his body, shaking his arm. Dean laughs, “How’d you do that, Cas?”

“Dean,” Not-Cas says, “hey, uh… Dean?” He turns, Castiel’s lips adorning his jaw with favor, and finds Sam on his other side. Watching. Aware of what he interrupted, given his pained smile and squinted gaze trapped elsewhere. “Sorry, but I’m…” he clears his throat, “I’m kinda ready to leave, if you… you are?”

His fingers curl where Castiel’s shirt is rucked up, dangerously teasing the line of his jeans. Castiel rolls his hips, rutting their cocks against each other again. “Yeah,” he tells Sam, “Yeah I can… we can go.”

Dean extracts himself from Castiel, slowly, taking care to disentangle themselves. Dean flattens Castiel’s mussed hair. He fiddles with the buttons of Dean’s shirts, inexplicably unfastened. Neither speak of how these things happened. “Hey,” he starts, still hovering inside the other man’s personal space, “Um… thank you, for everything. Tonight. From the bar to – uh… to he –!”

Castiel drags him into a kiss, one Dean returns heartily. His hands grabbing fabric while Castiel’s dance around his hips. Consumed by this, Dean ignores his cell phone being stolen. Only becomes aware of it when Castiel ends their goodbye with a smile, Dean’s phone in hand actively calling someone. “My number,” he explains, flipping his phone shut, “to use whenever. Hopefully soon.”

“…Thanks.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

He lingers. He opens his phone, closes it, then slips it back into his pocket. Sam mutters an unintelligible phrase at them, shoving Dean from where he stood. Dean blindly navigates his way towards the exit, seeing nothing but Castiel’s shrinking face that disappears once they step outside.

He expected heat. It’s cold. Not actually, but cooler than the room they left, where bodies and light and energy broke the thermometer. Fresh air brushes his skin, startling Dean from his stupor. Dean jolts awake. His heart plummets down past his ass, chest hollowing. He glances at Sam, about to ask if they ever entered the bar. Or if he hallucinated everything on the walk to it. Dean’s lips purse, then flatten. Sam already walked ahead. He jogs after him.

No one speaks for half their journey.

They pass a twenty-four-hour convenience store Dean remembers, and he knows Baby waits a block around the next corner. Sam chooses then to restart their conversation. “Looks like this trip was good for both of us,” he says, hands shoved inside his pockets. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Learned a lot.”

“Really?” He’s parched. Unbalanced. His feet won’t walk in a straight line, stumbling every few steps. He persists, “What?”

Sam shrugs, “I might have… over-examined that memory of Trevor.” Sighing, Sam kicks an empty, abandoned can into the street. “I guess I was searching for a reason why Jess and my relationship ended like it did. We were going so strong I… I figured it might have been me. That I wasn’t able to love her the way she needed because I couldn’t.”

“Sometimes people just don’t work,” Dean tells him, “and no amount of forcing it is gonna fix it.”

“Yeah…” He spots Baby easily, street deserted save his car and some poor, busted Beetle. Dean searches for his keys, struggling. Sam talks all the while. “And then there are some people who… who click immediately.” Dean tenses, breath stuttering. “How long have you been –?”

He’s back in the bar. He must be. How else could he hear this overwhelming, earsplitting ringing. The kind that makes him stagger, slump against the closest surface and collapse there into a tiny ball, protected from the voice that somehow talks louder than that goddamn ringing. The monster’s voice. The one that sounds strangely similar to his dad’s. Angrily shouting, calling him names. “I’m not,” he said, as always, “I’m not.”

Another sound overpowers the monster and that throbbing din. “Dean! Dean, hey… hey-hey-hey-hey Dean… it’s okay… it’s me, Sam. Sammy.” Someone touches his shoulder. Dean flinches from it. “Come on Dean… I won’t hurt you.” Their voice hitches, sounding waterlogged. “Please, Dean… wherever you think you are, you’re not. I promise. I need you, man. Sammy needs you.”

Look out for Sammy.

Dean forces himself into the present, a herculean feat as shadowed claws dig at him. Fight his attempts. He pries an eye open, then the other. There’s only Sam. Sam, kneeling in front of him on the sidewalk. Sam who, though he denies it, carries so much of their dad with him it makes staying calm near impossible. Dean sees a reflection of who Sam could be, that dad hoped Dean might be, that Sam wished he never would be. It was the reason why fatherly adoration came effortlessly when it was for Sam, even during days they hardly spoke. Dean acted as their go between. Hearing praise and relaying it; forever the messenger, carrying wounds and scars.

“Dean, are you… you’re with me, right?” Dean nods, tension melting away. He slides further, knees bumping into Sam’s. A wordless comfort. “Fuck I am so… so sorry. I didn’t, I never meant –“

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Dean. Fuck!” His shout echoes towards the moon, filling the space left by clear California night. “What if I asked you while you were driving, we could have…”

They might have died.

“Shit…” Dean hisses, rubbing his throbbing head, willing its silence so he can think. He gets one minutes. He uses it wisely, handing Baby’s keys to Sam. “Take ‘em.”

“What?”

“I drank too much anyway.” Wobbling when he rises, Dean proves that true. “You were gonna have to take it, regardless.”

Sam’s expression softens. In turn, Dean’s skin crawls. “Thank you.”

“Just go start the damn car.” Dean won’t follow. Rather sharpening his defenses for the inevitable. Bad music. Lawful driving. Plaintive whines and rhetorical questions, all in an attempt at making Dean talk. About tonight. About their childhood. About signs he didn’t see, how it felt being this while in dad’s presence. Sam will push and push and push until he’s flatter than cardboard. Contents neatly organized and fit for storage.

He hears the soft rumble of Baby’s engine, then that of his phone. A text.

Unknown Number 1 (650) 378-0914: In case you’re wondering, my name is spelled C A S T I E L ;)

Despite what a whirlwind these past few minutes felt like, Dean laughs. Giggles become snorting which become happier tears rolling across his cheeks, tracing over still-damp lines and erasing them from sight. He clutches his phone atop his heart, figure bent as he now wheezes.

Dean reigns in his giddiness. Stares at the message, wondering what he will do. Once Dean decides, he realizes his thumb was already halfway done.

He saves his number under Cas <3. Dean responds, snapping his phone closed quickly before he can reread and second guess.

Sam honks, watching with interest. A thousand questions waiting, hidden by the curious bend of his brows. Because of Castiel, Dean must face them. Will answer them. Is ready for them.

#spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #sam winchester #sam winchester is an ally #john winchester #john winchester's a+ parenting #fuck john winchester #tw: internalized homophobia #tw: abusive parent #tw: garden-variety homophobia

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katymacsupernatural · 5 years ago

Text

Rainbow Dust

Dean Winchester x Reader

2000 Words(Was supposed to be a drabble, oops)

Requested by: @madisyngatesii Her quote: "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us that you are a mermaid?"

Summary: Hit by a witches spell, you had no idea what it would do to you. At least Dean is on the way to help you figure things out.

Warnings: None

The witch’s spell hit you full blast, a shimmering cloud of pink and purple, filling up your nostrils and making you sneeze. “What the…,” you muttered, but before the psychedelic cloud filtered away, she was gone. Leaving you alone in her rainbow splattered apartment, wondering what the hell she had just hit you with.

“Great, how am I going to explain this one to Sam and Dean,” you muttered, thinking more about Dean than Sam. He hadn’t wanted you going on this case alone. “Damn it Y/N, it’s freaking witches,” he had argued over the phone, but you hadn’t wanted to wait the three hours it would have taken for them to catch up to you. So you went in, alone, and now you have a missing witch and a mystery spell.

The witch was fairly organized and she had left everything behind in her haste to leave. Colorful baskets were full of herbs and ingredients, books and wands. With no effects from the spell yet, you gathered everything you could, tossing it in the backseat of your jeep, sneezing at the mix of patchouli and bergamot. “Witches,” you mumbled, glancing in the mirror.

It looked like a unicorn had exploded on your face. Glittery green, pink, purple and blue covered you from your chin to your eyebrows. Your nose had a fine dusting of pink while your lips were green. It was grotesquely adorable and you couldn’t wait to wash it off.

Turning your jeep north, you drove a couple of blocks down the small-town city main street before stopping in front of the Victorian looking hotel. Two stories tall, it was painted a bright and cheery yellow, the doors teal. Your room was on the far left, away from prying eyes as you stepped inside.

There was only one bed, iron, covered in a white frilly bedspread. The Walls were a light purple with creamy white trim with lace curtains on the windows. It was much too girly for you, but all the other rooms had been taken.

Stripping off your clothes as you went, you were soon standing beside the ancient clawfoot bathtub, turning the water on as hot as you could stand. Stepping into the water, you felt it prick your skin, your entire lower half burning before suddenly turning numb. “What the…,” you muttered when the light tan on your legs blurred into teal?

Taking the washcloth, you quickly scrubbed your face, knowing you had to be imagining things. But where your two, slightly chubby legs had been was now a beautiful, shimmering, teal tail. A mermaid tale. All the way from where your toes had been up to your waist.

“No...no,” you whispered, taking the washcloth and rubbed at the tail. It was slightly slimy, the scales catching the washcloth, tugging painfully.

“Y/N!” Dean called out as he knocked loudly on the door. Dean always seemed to have the worst timing ever, you thought to yourself as you tried to figure out your next step. But your tail had draped over the edge of the tub, and as you tried lifting yourself out, you just slipped back in.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Dean called out, the handle rattling as he tried it again.

“Just a minute!” You called out, your voice frantic enough that it alerted Dean.

“Y/N, we’re coming in,” he insisted, his shoulder banging on the door as you once again slipped back into the tub.

Giving up, you tried reaching for the towel, wanting to cover up until you could try to explain your situation. Leaning over, your arm stretched out, you could only watch as Dean broke the door, rushing in, his gun out and ready.

Sam wasn’t far behind him, but at least Dean’s wide shoulders blocked Sam’s view of your naked top half. Dean’s eyes widened when he noticed you sitting topless in the bathtub. “Sam, I think I’ve got it,” Dean assured his brother, hastily turning him around. “Go get another room, will you?”

Sam didn’t argue too much as he was pushed out the door. As soon as he was gone and the door was closed as well as it could be, Dean was by your side, his gaze riveted on your tail. “Dean, can you hand me the towel?” You asked your arms across your chest.

It was only then Dean’s attention was pulled away from your tail to your bare chest, his smile growing even wider. “Dean!”

Sighing, he handed over the towel. “It’s not like I haven’t seen those beauties before,” he teased. “But this tail. Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us that you are a mermaid?"

“Damn it, Dean, I’m not!” You argued. “Now can you help me up?”

He slipped his arm underneath your shoulder, attempting to help you up. It was tough going, the tail getting in the way, and you had no idea how to control it. But soon you were perched on Dean’s lap while he sat on the toilet, both of you soaking wet. “Now what?” He asked, but you started shivering, your skin tightening. “Dean, I think…,” you tried to say, but your tongue felt five times too big. “I..,”

“Y/N, I think you need to stay in the water,” he seemed to read your mind. Standing up, he placed you back in the cooling water. Immediately you began to feel better, taking a deep breath as your body immediately calmed. “So, not like the mermaids of lore.”

“Dean, I can’t just stay in the bathtub,” you insisted. “What are we going to do?”

Dean sat back down on the toilet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is the witch dead?”

You shook your head, noticing that your hair seemed longer than before, unruly and almost down to your waist. Your sense of smell was more pronounced, Dean’s aftershave almost too much for your sensitive nose. “No, she ran right after she hit me with that rainbow shit.”

“Rainbow shit?” Dean chuckled. “I’ll have Sam go back to her place, see what he can find.”

“No need. All of her stuff is in the back of my jeep,” you told him. “But while I sit here and wait, can I at least have a shirt on?”

Dean tugged one out of your suitcase and you slipped it on, your tail splashing uncontrollably in the small tub. Sam knocked on the door. “Can I come in now?”

“Yeah,” both you and Dean answered. Sam stepped inside, his eyes widening as he noticed the bright blue tail you were currently sporting.

“A mermaid,” he was mesmerized. “Y/N, you’re a mermaid.”

You stared down at your tail. It was beautiful, and something you had dreamed about such a long time ago. But it was not nearly as much fun as you had ever imagined. You wanted your two, short and chubby legs back. “Wow, I hadn’t noticed,” You muttered.

“Freaking witch,” Dean sighed. “Sam, Y/N brought her stuff back. Can you check it out, see if you find anything that would help. Y/N, you said you were hit by a…,”

“Rainbow. I was hit by a bright, colorful rainbow of a spell,” you sighed, knowing that once you were fixed you would never be able to live this one down.

Both Sam and Dean snickered before heading to your jeep. A couple of trips later they had brought most of the stuff in and began searching through the various books. You stayed in the tub, feeling strangely at home in the water. It made you wonder if...ducking down as far as you could, you opened your eyes in the water. You could see so clearly in the bathwater, and you quickly found out you could breathe. It was weird and unsettling, but it felt right at the same time.

“Y/N!” Dean exclaimed, pulling you back up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It felt right,” you argued. “I need more water.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. “Um, there’s a pool out back. I think at this time of night no one would notice.”

Dean gently picked you up while Sam led the way, a couple of books tucked under his arm. Most of the hotel lights were off, everyone already asleep. The pool was an oval shape, the far end deep while this side barely three feet deep. “Ready?” Dean asked you, and you nodded. Gently he placed you on the side, stepping back so you could slide on it. The water felt wonderful, cool against your tail.

Down you went, to the deep in, completely submerged, your tail moving smoothly as if you’ve had it your entire life. It was nervewracking at first, breathing underwater, but you quickly got the hang of it.

Splashing and moving around, you still kept Sam and Dean in the corner of your eye as they searched through the books. After circling the pool one more time, you came to the edge, hanging on and watching Dean.

Leaving Sam to research, Dean came forward, kneeling down until he was face to face with you. “How are you doing?” He asked, brushing back a wet strand of hair.

“Surprisingly well. But Dean, I don’t want to stay a mermaid forever,” you told him, staring up into the depths of his green eyes.

“I mean, you are freaking hot this way,” he insisted, his eyes glancing down at your wet shirt to your tail. “But I do like you better with those two freaking hot legs wrapped around my…,”

“I found it!” Sam exclaimed, holding up a notebook. The outside was covered in soft white fur, the words written in glittery pink. “The spell seems simple enough to reverse.”

“More rainbow dust in my face?”

Sam shook his head. “No, thank god. It’s just a couple of ingredients I saw in her mix. I’ll be right back.” His long legs ate up the ground, leaving you and Dean alone around the darkened pool.

“You were saying?” You turned back to Dean. Instead of speaking, he took you by the shoulders, easily lifting you out of the pool until your mouth was level with his.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” His lips were chapped against yours, warm where the water had chilled yours. It felt perfect, and you wanted to pull him into the water with you so you could wrap your arms around him.

“Got it!” Sam exclaimed, and Dean pulled away, letting you drop back in the pool. Speaking clearly, Sam reversed the spell, sprinkling something gold over your head. Instantly it took effect, your whole body shivering, burning up at the same time. Your tail twitched uncontrollably.

“Dean!” You called out, reaching for him but before he could grasp your hand you were sinking to the bottom of the pool, everything turning dark.

“I’ve got you,” Dean’s spoke, his hand brushing your cheek as you slowly opened your eyes. Water dripped down his chin, his hair soaking wet. He was holding you in his arms, both of you sitting on the edge of the pool. “You’re safe.”

You glanced down, past your t-shirt, to see two chubby tan legs where the tail had been. “The spell worked.”

“Yeah, it did. I’ve got my girl back,” Dean exclaimed. “With her ten cute little toes, and her legs that drive me wild.”

“These legs?” You scoffed. “They’re chubby.”

“And fit perfectly around my waist,” he insisted. “They are beautiful.”

He helped you to your feet. “And Sam has his own room, so I can show you just how much I love those legs.” Before you knew what was happening Dean had picked you up in his arms, carrying you back to that frilly purple room.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @bi-danvers0 @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#dean x reader #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #katy writes #dean x y/n #spn x y/n #reader insert #spn #dean #dean fic

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what-breaks-my-heart · 4 years ago

Text

I was tagged by @its-chelisey-stuff (WE LITERALLY JUST KNEW EACH OTHER BECAUSE OF MORE THAN FRIENDS)

1. What is the colour of your hairbrush? I don’t have a hairbrush but I have a comb 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

2. Name a food you never eat. Seafood because of allergies. I can eat fish and crabs though. Basically anything that stores sea water (apart from fish).

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? IT’S ALWAYS TOO HOT HERE. I miss the UK where I can just layer up if it gets too cold.

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? I just woke up 😂😂

5. What’s your favourite candy bar? Are there candy bars which are not chocolate???

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game? Does esports count? I went to Kuala Lumpur DotA 2 Major in 2018. Otherwise, I didn’t go to any.

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? “I’m printing it!”

8. What is your favourite ice cream? Strawberry. Life is already bitter as is.

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? Tea. I just had breakfast.

10. Do you like your wallet? Indifferent.

11. What was the last thing you ate? Fried rice. Not Uncle Roger’s style because I am not Chinese.

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Big fat nope.

13. What was the last sporting event you watched? DotA 2 online tournament. I have a team I have been supporting since I started watching it in 2015 and their game started really late last night (time zone thing)

14. What is your favourite flavor of popcorn? Just the plain one.

15. Who was the last person you sent a text message to? I texted my friend (whom I managed to make him watch his first kdrama) from school to prepare a box of tissue before watching episode 15 of More than Friends.

16. Ever been camping? Camping was an annual thing back in my primary school.

17. Do you take vitamins? I don’t go out under the sun, if that’s what you mean. But no, I don’t take supplements because I am too lazy.

18. Do you regularly attend a place of worship? Not since the pandemic.

19. Do you have a tan? At this rate, I call it sunburn. But I haven’t gone out much (apart from going to work as and when needed, groceries, and taking my car for a spin) since the pandemic so the tan line is becoming fader.

20. Do you prefer chinese or pizza? Pineapple on pizza. Sue me!

21. Do you drink your soda through a straw? I pour it into a glass and drink it like a champ. But I also try to reduce single-use plastics in my daily life.

22. What colour of socks do you usually wear? Black is always the safe option (yes it tells a lot about my personality huh)

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Yes, but only where the speed limit is stupidly too low. Otherwise, I rarely drive above 100 km/h.

24. What terrifies you? The list is too long, it should probably be a separate post. I project my issues on the shows that I watch so every now and then you would see me analysing characters or incidents while projecting my issues.

25. Look to your left, what do you see? A broken mirror (in my bedroom), just the perfect metaphor for my twisted perspectives in life.

26. What chore do you hate most? Scrubbing the toilet.

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? Please talk slowly so I can understand you (also applicable to any other languages tbh).

28. What’s your favorite soda? Carbonated lemonade.

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? I prefer hitting the Drive Thru so I can eat my food in front of my laptop in peace.

30. What’s your favourite number? 3 and its first 3 multiples

31. Who was the last person you talked to? My brother, when I passed him the printed material he asked me to print early in the morning for his chess coaching session (he’s a chess coach, yes).

32. Favourite meat? Chicken, because it’s the easiest to be eaten.

33. Last song you listened to? Late Regret by Ong Seong Wu (More than Friends OST). I even listened to the 1-hour loop on YouTube while editing my screencaps last night. And it took longer than the editing process so I also listened to the video with hangul and English lyrics afterwards. I am more comfortable with hangul than the romanisation so I guess my pathetic Korean lessons paid off.

34. Last book you read? I can’t even remember the last time I read a book. Probably mid last year?

35. Favourite day of the week? Saturday.

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards? Haven’t tried 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

37. How do you like your coffee? Latte. But I am not a coffee drinker and only started drinking occasionally this year due to the amount of work I had to put in during the first half of this year (yes, even during the pandemic)

38. Favourite pair of shoes? I only have 2 pairs of shoes to even have any favourite. 1 pair for work and another for casual wear.

39. Time you normally get up? Half past 6 if I have to go to the office. Otherwise, I’ll wake up for morning prayer and continue sleeping until half an hour before I have to clock in. On weekends, I continue sleeping until closer to 10 o’clock. If I stayed up the night, probably closer to noon.

40. Which do you prefer, sunrise or sunset? Sunset all the way, because it’s the beginning of my favourite time of the day. Yes, I’m a vampire who loves the night. I also love necks

41. How many blankets on your bed? One and only. It’s too hot to wear even a thin blanket but it gets cold around 3 am so I have to be prepared.

42. Describe your kitchen plates. I like the design of Portmeirion table set from the early 2000s.

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment. It’s not photography material, but it’s not dirty or messy or anything.

44. Do you have a favourite alcoholic drink? I don’t drink.

45. Do you play cards? No. I don’t play anything that requires other people to join me (yes, I am a lone ranger).

46. What colour is your car? The Nissan partner and distributor in my country calls it Dark Metal Grey. It does look nice.

47. Can you change a tire? I can, but I wouldn’t. With free towing service, why should I bother?

48. Your favourite state or province? I was practically born and raised here so I cannot pick a favourite.

49. Favourite job you’ve had? I would say my previous job, because our team had a fantastic working relationship, and everyone was crazy enough to entertain my antics as the maknae.

tagging: @kdramastuff (I know you don’t do this stuff but I just wanna tag you :p) @becausenothingtodo @aromaticcedarwood @dramaintherain @dohyunsoo @kuronekonerochan @park-joonyoung @psalm40speakstome @myechoecho @ambedoanxiety @outside-seoul (that is 10 tags right because I only tag the first one to annoy her :ppp)

#i got tagged #tagging stuff #tagging game #tag game #I don't remember how to tag this lol #personal

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pasteldnp · 5 years ago

Text

Everything Changes

Part of the Soft Place to Land Verse

Rated: T Words: 5.2k Tags: Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Emetophobia, Hospitals, Fluff

Summary: Dan and Phil return from the hospital and need to adapt to their life-changing news, but fear stands in their way.

Start verse here Read on Ao3 or below

It hadn’t sunk in yet that Dan and Phil were going to be parents. Once the parade of doctors and nurses finally thinned out and left them alone, Dan climbed back into the hospital bed beside Phil. They cuddled close together in the small space, Dan resting his head on Phil’s now hospital gowned shoulder as they talked abstractly about the baby and sonograms. If they tried too hard to grasp onto the concept that those pictures were of an actual thing growing inside Phil right now, the realities would be a little too terrifying. So, they put those thoughts off and instead debated whether their baby looked more like a peanut or a bean.

Phil was so relieved that Dan was with him for the ultrasound. The brief period when he was alone trying to handle the vagueness and uncertainty of the doctors was awful. But Dan was there now, and his soft curls tickled Phil’s chin while his right hand tightly held Phil’s left. He wasn’t sure if Dan was as relaxed on the inside, but either way, Phil was thankful that Dan was his security blanket.

When a young volunteer showed up at his door with a blue food tray, it struck Phil just how starving he was. His appetite had been very touch-and-go for a while, which he now knew the reason for, but he hadn’t had much to eat all day since the toast Dan made him. Phil thanked the girl graciously, and she bashfully smiled before scurrying away.

“Oh my god, I’m so hungry,” Phil groaned, grabbing the lid off the tray to see what they brought him.

“I completely forgot about dinner,” Dan said, sitting up with interest as well. He didn’t get any hospital food, but Phil wouldn’t mind if he had a few bites.

Both Dan and Phil recoiled at the sight of the meal. Bland peas and carrots sat on the plate beside unidentifiable meat covered in some kind of creamy tan sauce. Phil’s best guess was that it was chicken, but there was no way to tell for sure. He had heard the horror stories of NHS meals, but being presented with it was a different story.

“So… how about I bring you some McDonalds?”

Phil laughed at the hazy memory but shook his head. “I don’t want you to leave until you have to, I can handle some shitty food.”

“Are you sure? Phil, I might be a lover of all things dips, but I draw the line at mysterious gelatinous sauces.” Dan picked up a fork and poked at the meat to prove his point.

Phil took the fork from Dan. “I’m sure. Stay with me.” He turned and kissed Dan on the cheek.

“Of course, love,” Dan whispered sweetly.

They might be in a harshly lit hospital room, surprised with the biggest responsibility of their lives, but Phil felt more in love with Dan than he ever had before. The way Dan embraced Phil and this scary, exciting mistake with so much joy and support, comforted him endlessly and made all of the unknowns a little less daunting. He couldn’t imagine going through this with anyone else.

Just as Phil was about to start picking at his vegetables, a nurse showed up carrying a metal tray. He was tall and broad with bottle-blonde swoopy hair, and big muscles pulled at his scrub sleeves. The man’s style belonged in the 2000s, but his smile was dashing, and Phil was practically drooling. There were small medicine cups on his tray, and he set one down on Phil’s side table beside his food.

“These are your prenatal vitamins. One general prenatal multivitamin with folic acid, and a second prescription vitamin for carriers. Tomorrow you’ll get the prescription with your discharge paperwork, as well as recommendations for good over the counter prenatal multivitamins. You’ll want to take it about two hours after you eat, a nurse should be in to remind you.”

Phil nodded eagerly, and the nurse flashed him another bright smile.

“Let us know if you need anything. I know the food can be… rough. A little tip- the best vending machines are on the first floor,” he winked at Dan, “and congratulations!”

He left swiftly, Phil watching as he went. As lovely as that treat was, nerves bubbled up inside him. That was the first time he had been congratulated. It reminded him that they would have to tell people some time and celebrate the news with others. All Phil wanted to do was coop up with Dan and keep this their happy little secret, to protect himself and his baby with privacy. But eventually, that would be impossible.

“We’re having a baby and your ogling the sexy male nurse?” Dan sassed with one eyebrow raised high in judgment, but his lips playfully smiled.

Phil laughed and leaned against Dan, all of his sudden reservations disappearing as quickly as they came. They were having a baby.

- - - - - -

Dan was stressed and exhausted beyond belief. But he pushed all of that away as well as he could, trying his best to be there for Phil, who was pregnant, with their child. It didn’t feel real, but he knew that this bubble they were hiding in would pop soon. He was already itching to pull out his phone and google six million questions. They had already asked the doctors what they could first think of, but the shock had impeded his thoughts.

Obviously, he was so so happy and excited. Every time Dan looked over at Phil, the love of his life, with this new perspective and understanding, he melted with pride and adoration. Dan always wanted to be a father, and as the two of them continued through this wild journey they had created together, he was only more convinced of that fact. Phil was his partner through life, and now in parenting, even if it was sooner than they anticipated.

So, for now, Dan was going to focus on doing everything he could to make Phil feel comfortable and supported. This was supposed to be a joyous occasion, and it was not the time to weigh them down with all of his existential fears of biological reproduction and child-rearing.

“How are you feeling, babe? Do you need anything?” Dan asked Phil, who was cuddled against his side, tucked under his arm.

“I’m okay.”

“Only okay? Is something wrong?” He tried to look down and read Phil’s emotions, but his eyes were closed. It was getting late.

“I just wish I was home,” Phil said quietly.

“Yeah,” Dan sighed. “I don’t want to go.” But he knew he would have to.

He hated Phil being in hospital more than anything. It smelled weird, like cleaner and plastic. Every noise was unknown, and it set him on edge. And the lighting was absolutely atrocious. But the worst was how useless it made him feel. Dan would go to the ends of the earth for Phil, do anything and everything that man asked of him, and never look back. That was taken from him within these walls, and the care and well-being of his greatest love were left up to the doctors and nurses.

Seeing Phil after he had to change into a hospital gown honestly made him queasy. He was always beautiful, if not more so know that he was carrying Dan’s child, but he hated what that gown represented. It meant that at any moment, anything could go wrong, and Phil could be whisked away to be worked on, and that was frightening. Even if that was completely unlikely in this scenario, all Dan wanted was Phil to be back in his comfy jumper, and for them to be lying in bed at home.

“You promise you’ll be here right away to pick me up tomorrow?” Phil asked. His voice was so tiny and tired and scared, and it broke Dan’s heart.

“Absolutely.” He kissed Phil’s forehead. “First thing tomorrow and not a second later. And then we’ll be home together.”

***

The nurses almost had to drag Dan away. He didn’t want to leave Phil all alone in hospital, not after everything they had been through that day, and especially not now that they knew he was pregnant. It was Dan’s job to keep Phil and their baby safe and cared for, and he couldn’t do that if they weren’t together. But they were both sleepy, and he knew how important it was for Phil to get rest.

Their home was dark and quiet, and the familiarity embraced him after spending much of his day away. Dan headed straight to the bedroom en-suite for a shower. Now that he was alone, there was nothing else to hold back all of the questions and worries that were eating his brain apart.

Phil had alcohol and sushi and an unbelievable amount of coffee in the past seven weeks- how much would that hurt the baby? How often should they see a doctor? What were the best parenting classes to take? How far could they travel? Should he get Phil one of those giant body pillows? Would Phil be likely to faint again?

And even though he knew Phil was a carrier and they had talked about it and seen all the doctors, Dan felt so dumb about all of it. His science classes most certainly failed to teach him anything but a few paragraphs, and he had only done minimal research with Phil. And now he had to learn all about parenting too. Dan thought he was pretty okay at holding babies by now, but other than that, he knew shit about how to raise a human being. Would he even be a good father?

Despite his whirring thoughts and fears, exhaustion had a tighter hold on him, and as Dan settled into bed with an alarm set for early the next morning, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

- - - - -

Phil was relieved to be in normal clothes and not a hospital gown anymore. Skinny jeans and his purple striped jumper were much warmer and less exposing. He pulled his sleeves over his hands, impatiently waiting for Dan, who had just texted that he arrived and was on his way upstairs. Phil’s checkout forms were being processed, and all he needed were the papers from the nurse before he could go.

A doctor showed up very early that morning to double-check that he was fit to leave, and it had woken Phil up from whatever little bit of sleep he managed to get. But it meant that Phil got to hear the heartbeat one more time before their next appointment, and that made him less irritated.

The rhythmic swooping sound was magical, even when it wasn’t accompanied by the ultrasound images. Yesterday he was in shock when he heard it, still processing the fact that he was pregnant, let alone that what he was hearing was a heartbeat. Today he could really listen to how fast and strong it was, and start to understand that he was pregnant with this child who was healthy and growing.

Dan rounded the corner into the room and smiled tiredly when he saw Phil. They were both relieved to be with each other again. Phil got up from his bed and hugged his boyfriend, and he felt Dan press a quick kiss to his cheek before embracing. It wasn’t often that they were forced to spend the night apart.

“Good morning, love,” Phil greeted, his voice muffled in Dan’s jacket.

“I missed you,” Dan said and squeezed Phil once more before letting go.

“I missed you too. I got like no sleep in this stupid bed.” Phil motioned at the bed as he sat back down, and Dan took the chair beside it.

“I’m sorry. Are you feeling any better?”

Phil shrugged. “Sort of, I guess. The dizziness and headache are gone, but they said it could return if I’m not basically downing water all the time. So, I’m just blah. And I want coffee.”

Dan pouted and reached out to hold his hand. “We’ll make sure to keep you hydrated, my little houseplant,” he teased, “and they did say you could have a cup of coffee a day.”

“But that’s not enough,” Phil groaned.

Restricting his caffeine intake was one of the seemingly endless restrictions he should take. When a nurse came back with his prescription, she presented him with a navy blue folder full of pamphlets and papers for them to look over before seeing his specialist for the rest of his care. And she said it was only an overview. He would be getting a full rundown from the specialist about how to change his lifestyle to accommodate growing a person, not to mention all the websites and books they were getting recommended.

They glanced through the folder on their ride home, and while Dan seemed eager to read it all, Phil wanted to chuck it out the window. Not only did he get sent home from hospital feeling only mildly better, but it was with a reassurance that it wouldn’t get much better, and the doctors said it with a smile. ‘Congratulations, no one can do anything to make you comfortable, and you're going to love it.’

It felt nice to get back to their flat, and he could tell Dan had burned one of his favorite candles before leaving. It smelled warm and musky, and that helped Phil feel better. But before he realized what Dan was doing, Phil’s coat was taken off his shoulder, and he was guided to their bedroom.

“Oh?” Was all Phil could think to say.

“You have had a very long week and deserve to spend the day in bed, resting. Anything you need, I’ll get for you,” Dan told him as he tucked him under the comforter.

“Really, Dan, you’re sweet, but I don’t need to-”

“So, you’re not tired at all after a whole day and night in hospital?” Dan raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Phil did admit that morning that he got awful sleep. He was planning to power through it on his one ration of coffee, but a nap wasn’t a bad idea either. And their bed was so soft, pulling him deeper into the mattress.

He gave in. “Okay, fine.” However, he had a condition. “But only if you lay with me.”

Dan smiled cheekily and climbed in next to him without hesitation. Phil turned to his side so he could be the little spoon and hummed contently as they slotted perfectly against each other.

“I love you,” Dan whispered into his ear, “and our baby.” He slipped his hand just under Phil’s sweater, and his fingertips traced along the flat of his stomach.

There was nothing there, of course, their little peanut nestled deep within him, but it made Phil shiver. Maybe that was the coldness of Dan’s hands, but the idea that someday soon there would be a round bump there made his heart flip. It wasn’t all excitement that simmered within him, but Dan didn’t need to know that.

“I love you too.”

- - - - -

Dan woke up, disoriented in an empty bed, and he frowned. It was terrible enough when he got up alone this morning, knowing Phil was away from him. But when they snuggled up for a nap, all of that was forgotten. He should still have his love tight in his arms. His phone told him it was later in the afternoon, so it had been a few hours. That would explain why his brain was slow to catch up to him. Dan grumbled and found slippers, padding out into the flat in search of Phil.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Phil was sitting at the table working on his laptop. It looked as if he had a shower, with his quiff styled and contacts in. This was not what Dan intended for when they came home. He knew all too well about Phil’s overworking tendencies, and he wanted at least one day where they could put work away and enjoy the news by themselves.

“You’re out of out of bed,” Dan grumbled, a tad whiney.

Phil looked up from his laptop. “Well, it’s two in the afternoon, yeah. But I enjoyed our nap.”

“I wanted it to be a lazy day.” He sat opposite Phil, and crossed his legs in his lap, stealing a sip of coffee from the Mario mug on the table.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Phil took the mug back in an instant, holding it against him protectively. “If I only get one of these a day, there’s gonna be no more sneaky sips. I’ve gotta savor it.”

Dan rolled his eyes endearingly. “If you’re going to make it last, then you need to make sure you’re drinking water in between.”

“Trust me, I’ve got it.” Phil shut him down, just a little snippy.

Dan let it roll off him, he knew that some of the food restrictions would be tough.

“I’ve scheduled some stories from yesterday to go up to keep the fans occupied. Right now, I’m working on a video idea that I want to get out fast; that way, everyone can move on and won’t notice anything is up. Sound good?” Phil rattled off, not even looking up from his typing.

Dan blinked at the change in topic. He figured they would have to deal with the fans at some point, especially since Marianne had sent them a long email about how to handle this online. But that conversation could’ve waited for at least some time, considering all that had developed since they had last contacted family and their team. No one even knew that Phil spent the night at hospital.

“Okay… yeah, I guess. What are you going to say?”

Phil pulled up his phone and handed it over to Dan. “That everything is fine. Focus on the fainting, distract them with brain stuff. I recommend you do something, too, since they’ll know you were there.”

“Sure…”

Dan knew that Phil didn’t always like it when parts of their life that were explicitly private crossed over with their public life like this. It made personal matters, business, and business matters, personal. They tried to avoid that by keeping every bit of control they could, and in this situation, they were very out of control. But Phil’s blunt attitude about it was abrasive and unsettling.

Dan reached out and stilled Phil’s hand on the computer mouse. “Hey, just stop a sec.”

Thankfully, he seemed to get the idea that Dan wanted a little sincerity and tilted the laptop screen down.

“Are you okay, Phil?”

“Yes, I promise. I’m actually feeling better than I have for most of the week. That’s why I’ve been trying to get stuff done.” Phil’s voice and features softened, and that’s what Dan wanted.

“That’s good. I just don’t want you overworked right out of hospital.”

“I won’t, don’t worry,” Phil said gently, “and since I’m not as nauseous, why don’t we have Dominos? I think we deserve it.”

Dan smiled widely at the idea. It was perfect, and he should’ve thought of it first. “Definitely. I’ll order in a few hours after I get some work done myself.” He unfolded himself and got up from the chair, walking around behind Phil. “And we can look over that folder more tonight, yeah?”

He could see Phil’s hesitation in his shoulders. “Um… I’d rather not. I’ve just had too much medical stuff to deal with already, can it wait?”

Dan rubbed the tenseness out of his boyfriend's shoulders and leaned over to kiss him on the top of his head. “We’ll watch something instead.”

***

Phil put off talking about the pregnancy folder for several more days. Dan could tell they both were referencing it since the location of the folder kept moving throughout the flat. But it seemed like they could never talk about it together. And honestly, he wasn’t sure if Phil was actually reading through the information, or just hiding it away from the obvious places Dan would leave it.

It was infuriating trying to corral Phil, the master of avoidance, into having at least one serious discussion about the baby. The doctor's appointment was coming up, and they needed to be on the same page. And since Phil wouldn’t simply talk to him about what was going on, Dan had to ask or help without being asked. He hoped that ‘Mr. I’m Fine’ was as unbothered by symptoms as he said he was, but that was overly optimistic.

Dan’s endless googling made it worse. At first, he was only googling words and concepts from the information in the folder that he didn’t understand. But then he fell down holes of research, and an unnamed file on his desktop was soon overflowing with saved documents and webpages. And of course, his good-intentioned questions and inquiries pulled up forums and research papers about debates and dangers and worst-case scenarios. Dan’s secret researching was overtaking him; it distracted him from work and kept him up at night with worry about Phil, who was right there next to him but not letting him in.

- - - - -

If Phil were honest with himself, he would say that he was doing a poor job of adjusting to being pregnant. All of the rules he suddenly needed to obey were overwhelming, and the unpredictable nature of symptoms made him feel so out of control of his own mind and body. Sometimes it really did feel like he was the host to a tiny little parasite that wanted to suck the life out of him.

Morning sickness was more like night sickness, with nausea always hitting the worst at night. He would lie awake for hours on end, unable to fall asleep, his stomach lurching. During the day, he was usually able to smile through the exhaustion from not sleeping, barely getting by on his one cup of coffee. But the tiredness always caught up to him and left him drained and weak. He would crawl away from his laptop and curl up on the sofa or in bed to nap, and as if his body knew how desperately he needed some rest, nausea would kick in again. It was a wicked cycle, and Phil was powerless against it.

It terrified him. This wasn’t Phil. He always took every opportunity handed to him by storm, trying his best to do great work. Now he was pregnant, a door opened that he and Dan thought closed on them a long time ago. He should be grateful and happy, planning to give their baby a wonderful life, appreciating these precious few months because it probably wouldn’t happen again.

Instead, Phil was hiding in their dark bedroom, avoiding Dan and that stupid blue folder. He loved his boyfriend so much, but if Phil had to hear one more nagging question, he was going to lose his mind. The pestering started with the folder that Dan seemed so desperate to bring up anytime they were together and not busy. It was important, and their doctor's appointment was in two days, but the sight of all those handouts about pregnancy and parenting taunted him. They were just another reminder of the daunting months ahead and his failure to be excited for them.

At some point, Dan let the folder go. Instead, he took it into his own hands to help Phil with every single thing. The back massages were sweet, and he appreciated not having to do the dishes or laundry as often, but Phil wasn’t incompetent. He could make his own food, reach for things out of the way, and open the damn door.

As Phil lay in bed, he could feel the sickly turbulence bubble up in his stomach again, and he groaned. At this point, he was getting anxious when he could tell nausea was coming and anxious when it wasn’t there. He was tired of it. Phil tossed the blankets off and clambered out of bed. The blobby peanut parasite wasn’t going to take another perfectly fine evening from him. There was a whole list of things that needed to get done, and at the top of it was making his video about him fainting.

After a quick touch up in the bathroom, Phil bounded up the steps, ignoring how his sudden energy was upsetting his stomach even more. Dan looked up at him from the sofa, where he was playing on the Switch, and paused the game.

“Whatcha doing?” Dan asked, curiously.

“Making a video. I just needed those MRI scans.” Phil walked past him without stopping and into the kitchen, looking on the counter where they kept important papers.

The manila envelope that held his brain scans was where he left it, and the navy-blue pregnancy folder was also there. In his flurry, he almost wanted to ‘accidentally’ drop it behind the counter where it would be lost. But he felt Dan’s scrutinous gaze on him and only took the envelope.

Dan was still watching him as he walked back to the stairs. “You’re doing it now?”

“Yeah. You know I like filming in the evening.” It wasn’t lost on Phil that it was already ten at night, and by the time he got properly started on the video, the ‘morning’ sickness would be in full force.

He thought he heard Dan yell something else after him, but Phil ignored it and went into his AmazingPhil room. He flicked the overhead lights on and straightened the iconic bedspread. The sound of his boyfriend’s feet on the stairs followed him, and Phil rolled his eyes. Of course, he knew something was up. Dan always knew when Phil was acting off, and while it was nice to have his partner know him so well, he didn’t need this right now.

Dan lingered in the doorway as Phil plugged the lights in.

“Here, let me help you,” Dan offered, reaching towards the bundled extension cord in Phil’s hand.

That simple gesture was all it took to make him snap.

“I don’t fucking need help! Can you back off for once?” Phil yelled.

Dan stumbled away, his eyes wide with shock at Phil’s sudden outburst. “Oh… okay. There’s no need to yell,” Dan muttered timidly.

“I’m perfectly capable of filming my own video. I’m pregnant, not injured.” His voice wasn’t as loud but still raised. Phil waited for Dan’s retort, ready and willing to carry on the fight he just picked, but it never came.

Dan had withdrawn, and he shrunk down like a kicked dog. “I’m sorry.”

All of the pent-up frustration that Phil was carrying fizzled out as quickly as it came. He looked at Dan, his loving boyfriend, who just wanted to help, and the hurt in his eyes. Dan didn’t even try to argue with him and backed down almost immediately, which was entirely unlike him.

It made Phil sick with guilt for being so aggressive and defensive. In his moment of pause, his stomach, disturbed by the forced energy, rolled violently. Phil’s hand flew to cover his mouth, and he was going to be ill.

- - - - -

Dan knew what that pale, frantic look meant, and he leaped out of the way, making room for Phil to run past and into the bedroom. He followed behind quickly, one hand on his boyfriends back as they rushed to the en-suite bathroom. Phil knelt over the toilet bowl and sicked up his dinner, while Dan rubbed his back through the intense convulsions.

Once it seemed to stop, nothing left but the occasional dry heave, Dan stood up at the sink and wet a grey flannel. Phil was sheet white and panting, and he was still clutched onto the rim of the bowl with dear life. Tenderly, Dan eased him away and against the wall so he could flush the contents away. He took the cold, wet flannel and wiped at Phil’s face and mouth, tossing it into the bathtub when he was done.

“There you go, are you feeling a little better now?” Dan asked, brushing his hands through Phil’s quiff to fix it.

The look in those pale blue eyes was so pained, and they quickly spilled over with tears.

“Oh no, Phil, it’s okay,” he soothed, reaching out and pulling his boyfriend into his arms.

Phil wrapped his arms around Dan’s shoulders, crying into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Phil whimpered.

“Shh, I know, you don’t have to worry about that.” He still wasn’t sure why Phil was crying; they had argued plenty of times before, and it had sometimes gotten a lot more heated than that. “There’s no need to cry.”

Phil pulled away and looked up at the ceiling, blinking away tears. “I don’t even know why I’m crying, and it makes me cry more.”

“Well, I think that’s normal because of hormones.”

Dan crawled to sit next to Phil against the wall. The tiled floor was cold and uncomfortable, but it seemed like they were finally at a place to talk. So be it if it was in the stale smelling bathroom. Phil had calmed down, apart from a few sniffles.

“Ugh, I hate it.” Phil groaned.

“Hate what?” Dan wasn’t sure if he was referring to the vomiting, crying, or… “Do you not want to be-”

Phil grabbed Dan’s arm, reassuringly, “No, I do; I really want to have our baby. I promise. You know it’s something I’ve always wanted. I just didn’t think it would be like this. It like, really fucking sucks.”

Dan snorted lightly at the cavalier attitude. But then he frowned. How long has this been going on? How awful has he been feeling, while Dan was clueless?

“I didn’t know. You haven’t been telling me anything, Phil. I want to be here for you.”

“I know you do, and you’ve been so caring,” he leaned his head against Dan’s shoulder, “but I feel useless. I’m sick at night, tired during the day, and completely terrified all the time. We went to hospital and then suddenly everything changes, and I’m responsible for making this life. It’s so much pressure, and it’s scary, and there’s all this stuff to read and plan and do, and I don’t know how.”

Their hands found each other and intertwined, and Dan brought them up and pressed a kiss to their locked fingers.

“We’ll figure it out together, okay? I’ll let up on the over-helping, but you’ve gotta tell me what you need. You’re not alone in this.”

He felt Phil nod vigorously and then tilt his head. Dan looked down, glad to see the tiniest smile. It had been a couple days since Phil’s looked happy, and he missed it.

“And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll look over the folder with you. I know that’s important to you- to us- and the peanut.”

Dan smiled back. “Tomorrow. But how about we get ready for bed. Should I draw you a bath?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Dan separated himself, getting up to start the bathwater. Phil eased himself from the floor and brushed his teeth. He was starting to feel better about how this whole expecting-parents thing was going to work, even if it scared him too. As he struck a match and lit the cupcake candle in front of him, two broad arms circled around his waist, and Phil kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad.”

#phanfic #phan #hurt/comfort #angst #mpreg phil #hospitals #emetophobia #fluff #soft place to land verse

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needdl · 5 years ago

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Nejiten Month Day One: Gender Bend

As usual, I can’t seem to write under 2000 words, not even for an event that has a prompt for every single day. which is part of the reason this is so late. anyway. This will be uploaded to fanfiction.net and AO3 within the next few days.

NOTE: This story is rated M for non-graphic sexual situations and some language.

Tenten was twelve years old and so, so glad that she managed to land on one of the few genin teams that had two girls.

Nejiko Hyuga wasn’t friendly, exactly, or even very nice, but she was a girl, so it meant that Tenten would have someone else to lean on and commiserate with while Gai and Lee ran around each other in circles, ignoring the two of them in favor of their newfound bond.

When it became clear in the next few weeks that the favoritism of Lee was going to be permanent, Tenten had expected Nejiko to speak up in her demanding Hyuga way- because Konoha practically worshipped the Hyuga Clan, and its members acted that way too- but instead she had watched Nejiko swallow her words and keep her silence.

So Tenten had bellowed at Gai-sensei and Lee that the two kunoichi were going to the edge of the field for target practice, and they spent several quiet hours letting their kunai and shuriken thump into the targets.

Nejiko eventually broke the silence. “I have several techniques with my kekkei genkai that I’d like to practice. Will you spar with me?”

Tenten shrugged and glanced at Gai and Lee- not ignoring the kunoichi, exactly, because the team trained together all the time, it was just that the two got tunnel vision sometimes- and replied to her teammate, “Sure.”

And so they went.

Being a kunoichi was hard enough with two of them on the team. Tenten didn’t even want to contemplate what it would have been like if it had just been her.

Tenten was fourteen years old, and had a giant, embarrassing crush on Temari no Sabaku.

She was the kunoichi who had brutally defeated her in the chunin exams, who would have killed her if she had been given the chance, who had betrayed the village- but now she was a diplomat, the villages were allies, and Temari was just. So. Hot.

Ugh. Tenten wrenched her eyes away from the sight of Temari’s crossed legs, sleek and tan in their protective mesh. What kind of kunoichi let herself get so addled by a lust-based crush? A pathetic one.

“Tenten.” Based on the impatience in Nejiko’s voice, she had been trying to get Tenten’s attention for a while now. Tenten crinkled her nose guiltily. “Sorry, what?”

The two of them were close now, after the disastrous chunin exams when so much of Nejiko’s family life had been laid bare. The daughter of the unfavored son, condemned to bound servitude as she watched her cousin be bent and broken into the role of heir, Hinata’s own sister- “the spare”- ready for the moment she faltered.

Nejiko’s conflicted emotions over Hinata made perfect sense to Tenten- because she was forced to subjugation despite her talent even as her cousin was forced to lead despite her incompetence of mind, body, and spirit. Hinata lacked the strong Hyuga fighting techniques, she did not have the seemingly necessary cruelty of the Clan Head, and she had no desire whatsoever to be the heiress.

So Nejiko both understood and envied her cousin, and those conflicting emotions boiled over in a match that ended with Hinata in the hospital and Nejiko in a seething, desperate rage.

(“Fight back!”

“I- I can’t-”

“YOU ARE THE HEIRESS. YOU ARE THE REASON FOR MY SUBJUGATION.” (Nejiko’s voice had cracked.) “PROVE TO ME THAT YOU DESERVE IT! FIGHT BACK!”

Nejiko came into Tenten’s hospital room not to visit, but to have a place where she could let all of her tears- complicated, angry tears- run dry in privacy.)

And then Naruto had stumbled onto the scene, loud and brash and golden-haired (and golden-hearted), and Tenten had learned things about Nejiko that made her ache for her teammate.

But she kept it to herself, because Nejiko never wanted pity. But it seemed like she wanted friendship, now.

Also, she was pissed at Tenten for ignoring her. “Stop staring at her.”

Tenten felt hot and itchy. “I’m not staring at anyone.”

“Liar.” Nejiko’s flat voice and blunt words made Tenten grit her teeth. “You are staring at the Suna kunoichi who defeated you in the chunin exams. For some reason that lies in anger, I assume, because you would not be so stupid as to develop feelings for someone who betrayed our village.”

Tenten sputtered, completely thrown off. Nejiko narrowed her eyes at her and waited.

Finally, she blurted, “Well, you have feelings for Naruto!”

“Only sometimes,” Nejiko responded, surprisingly honest. “Most of the time he’s too stupid.”

Tenten forgot her anger and grinned. “You think everyone’s stupid, though, so you may as well crush on someone who really is stupid.”

“Shut up.” Nejiko gave her a look- it was one of the ways she smiled now, because she still tried to hide it a little bit but let parts of it show, where her lips would purse and her eyes would do all the smiling for her. “We have training. Let’s go.”

She set off down the road, hair flowing behind her, and not for the first time Tenten was struck by how differently Nejiko was from her cousin Hinata, even just physically- she was the tallest girl Tenten knew by far, with lean muscle and narrow shoulders.

Maybe once she was done with her lusty crush on Temari, she’d get one on Nejiko.

The thought made her grin spread even wider and a chuckle simmer in her throat, but she swallowed it down when Nejiko snapped her fingers at her impatiently, not even bothering to turn around. Crush alleviated, she ran past her teammate and towards the training field, tugging on Nejiko’s silky hair as she went by.

Nejiko let out a small gasp- of indignance, presumably- and gave chase.

Having a friend who was also a girl was nice. When Tenten unexpectedly got her period on a mission, Nejiko had extra tampons. She also let Tenten do up her hair in elaborate styles for festivals, because it was a hobby that Tenten enjoyed but rarely got to practice. They went to the hotsprings together once a month and got lunch together on their days off. They were best friends, probably.

Tenten was sixteen and the blood sang in her veins.

They had just finished a day of team training and Tenten had staggered away from a spar with Gai with a black eye and and sore muscles, but they’d also had a great time practicing nunchucks together. Nejiko was planning on escorting Hinata to the hotsprings and they’d asked Tenten if she’d like to come along, then somewhere along the way Sakura and Ino were invited. It promised to be a fun time, and Tenten set off for her apartment to get changed and grab her bag before she met up with the Hyuga cousins.

She paused long enough to scrub some of the residual sweat and dirt off her face, then, adrenaline still buzzing from her day of sparring, ran to the Hyuga compound.

Hinata and Nejiko were just outside the gates and beginning a slow walk towards the springs. Tenten jumped down from the rooftop and landed next to them, splattering Nejiko with the water droplets that had been caught in her hair. “Hey!”

Hinata greeted her quietly in return, while Nejiko flicked water off her face and back onto Tenten with an irate frown. Tenten grinned guiltily.

“Sorry, did I get you?”

“Yes.” Nejiko made a face. “Why are you so wet, anyway?”

“Washed my face before coming over.”

“Why?”

Tenten squinted at her. “Is that a trick question?”

Hinata shifted on her feet awkwardly, and Nejiko glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Whatever. Let’s go.” She marched out, arms folded over her chest and plainly expecting them to follow.

In the changing room, after Nejiko had stalked out of the room with Sakura and Ino, Tenten quietly asked Hinata, “Did something happen at the Compound? She was in a good mood after practice…”

Hinata stilled, then slowly resumed putting her bag away. “She was called away to talk to Father and the others. I am unsure of what transpired, only that it was brief and she seemed upset for a few minutes before becoming… angry.”

“Oh.” Tenten watched the end of her teammate’s hair flick around the corner. “I’ll talk to her later, maybe, and hopefully the hotsprings will have eased some of the tension.” Hinata nodded.

They walked into the spring, chatting about easier subjects- like the advantages of senbon over shuriken, but the superiority of kunai over both (which was a stance Tenten would not budge on, no matter what, ever.)

Sakura and Ino were both slowly melting into the water, looking pleased, but Nejiko sat stiffly in the water, staring straight ahead. Tenten sat the way she usually did in the water, elbows propped on the sides of the spring as she stretched out her back.

“Ahh, that feels nice.”

Ino cracked open her eyes to look at her. “Always such an old man, Tenten-senpai.”

She ignored her, and they all sat quietly for the next few minutes. The only sounds were from the water rippling softly against the walls, the steam in the air, and their breathing.

Tenten cracked open her eyes from where she had closed them in time to catch Nejiko giving her a half smile and turn away again, her shoulders finally relaxing. Tenten smiled at her profile before closing her eyes again and sinking even deeper into the water.

A few minutes later, Nejiko said, “Tenten.”

She blinked up at her sleepily. “Hm?”

“You’re humming.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are,” Sakura chimed in. Hinata nodded in agreement, and Ino said, “Sounded nice, though.”

Tenten flushed a little. “Uh, thanks.” Nejiko was smirking at her, and Tenten stuck her tongue out at her in response.

Hinata, Sakura, and Ino departed together half an hour later to do some shopping before Sakura’s shift at the hospital, and Tenten and Nejiko settled into the water again after saying goodbye. Tenten faced forward and watched her teammate through half-closed eyes, wondering when the best time would be to bring up her earlier anger.

She should have known better than to try to watch a Hyuga discreetly.

“What is it, Tenten?” Nejiko hadn’t even opened her eyes.

Tenten twitched a little. “When we left training today, you were in a pretty good mood. Hinata told me you had to talk to some Elders, and then you were pissed. What’d they do?”

As she had been talking, Nejiko’s shoulders had slowly stiffened again, until she was ramrod straight and staring ahead once more. “Nothing.”

Tenten rolled her eyes. “Nejiko, come on.” She stood up and crossed so she was next to her teammate- who had blushed and averted her eyes at the sight of Tenten’s naked torso. (It was flattering, maybe, because Tenten still didn’t know if Nejiko liked girls too, but it was definitely a cute reaction.) She grabbed Nejiko’s arm so she’d meet her eyes again. “Tell me. Please.”

Nejiko seemingly couldn’t look at Tenten, staring at some spot next to her face. “It is the same as usual. I am a Branch upstart and must settle into my place. Every achievement I make reflects poorly on the strength of the heir. This time it was brought on by my recent promotion to jonin.”

Tenten grimaced. “That sucks.”

Nejiko nodded, her gaze falling to the waterline. She seemingly had nothing else to say.

Tenten released her grip on her arm and sat back again before realizing that she’d inadvertently flashed Nejiko again. She didn’t really care, personally, but Nejiko went full crimson and slammed her eyes shut.

Tenten chuckled low in her throat. “You have breasts too, Nejiko.” So saying, she reached out and poked the upper part of Nejiko’s chest, at the very top of what could be considered breast and not collarbone. Nejiko startled like a cat, and Tenten laughed outright (and tried to ignore the pink of areola that could be seen rising from the water, and the pretty flush working its way down Nejiko’s neck and tops of her breasts.)

She grinned at her teammate, saying “Wow, and I thought only retired ANBU were that jumpy-” when Nejiko suddenly set her mouth in a determined line, staring at Tenten with a blazing expression. Tenten blinked. “Uh, what-”

She was cut off as Nejiko jerked forward, and pale, soft lips pressed against her own.

"Perhaps, if I had been a man, my burdens would not be so heavy," Nejiko mused to Tenten once. "I would have that advantage, at least."

Tenten lifted her head up from where it was pressed against her hip, Nejiko’s long fingers carding through her hair. “And then things would be all that worse for Hinata.”

“That’s true.” Nejiko ran her fingertips over Tenten’s mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids. “And I would not have you.”

“Yes you would.”

“You do not like men that way.”

“Yes, I do. I just like women more usually, is all.” She peered up at Nejiko through her lashes. “And I like you no matter what.”

“Mm.” Nejiko smiled tenderly and resumed the steady motion of her hand through Tenten’s hair. She rested her head back down at her lover’s side.

Tenten was twenty and in love.

The single, slight advantage they had over the Hyuga Clan and its antiquated views and traditions was that it never even occurred to them that when the Hyuga prodigy went to spend the night at her female teammates house, it was because they were fucking all night long.

Two women? Having sex? No indeed, just gals being pals. Tenten thought to herself giddily as Nejiko flipped them around so Tenten was beneath her, then grabbed her hands and raised them above her head. The position stretched out her torso and pushed her breasts against Nejiko’s ribs, and she smirked as the Hyuga paused to take in the sight of her.

Under that pale gaze, she narrowed her eyes and smiled, preening like a smug cat.

Nejiko responded by covering her mouth in a harsh kiss and dipping her hand into those lacy red panties that matched the lacy red bra that Tenten had been wearing under her little black dress, both of which were now somewhere on the floor along with Nejiko’s beautiful kimono.

So yes, Tenten told Lee later, date night had gone very well, but she would spare him the details.

But there was still a residual somberness to Nejiko that hadn’t been there before the war, before Hiashi was killed and the clan forced Hanabi and Hinata to fight for the position of Clan Head. Hinata would never truly regain the use of her right arm- Hanabi was always more forceful and dutiful than her sister- but the sudden and abrupt heart attack of one of the Elders had halted proceedings, and Hinata and Hanabi were doing such a smooth job jointly running the clan that the Hyuga Council had just let the matter go for now.

(It had been the most hilarious coincidence of timing that Tenten had ever seen, when Hinata and Hanabi were preparing to clash again and the Elder let out a little “hurk!” and keeled over. There were definitely some branch members who had walked away with a little spring in their step.)

By Tenten’s own diagnosis, the cure for Nejiko’s PTSD and somberness was lots of kissing, cuddling, and sex with her girlfriend. Also the Hokage-mandated group therapy sessions.

Nejiko was mostly just living with Tenten at this point. They split rent and utilities and groceries, most of her clothes were in the larger dresser they’d just purchased together, she slept almost nightly in the larger bed they’d just purchased together, she’d moved all of her personal knicknacks into the apartment, and- most intimately of all- Nejiko’s tea set, the one left to her by her parents, was used every morning by the Hyuga to start their day together.

Tenten was just waiting for Nejiko to officially state her desire to live together. Whenever she was ready.

One night Nejiko was dropping by the Hyuga compound to meet with Hinata, Hanabi, and a few choice Elders, so Tenten was alone for the night. She dropped by the hospital to chat with Sakura over her break, then at the medic’s request brought Ino a container of something labelled “Biohazard” (and Ino had looked manically pleased to receive it, then squinted at Tenten and hissed, “No questions!” Tenten had just held her hands up innocently and backed away.)

She found herself in a bar, chatting lightly with Shikamaru and Temari as they stumbled their way through flirting with each other. It was fun to watch- like a spectator sport, where both teams were working towards the same goal and also tripping and flailing and getting flustered every time they made eye contact but determinedly trying to get the other team into their pants.

Shikamaru was briefly called away to chat with another person from Shizune’s office staff- he wasn’t officially an advisor, but he was in every other way- and Temari turned to Tenten. “So, how are things with Nejiko-san?”

Tenten grinned, always delighted to talk about her girl. “Pretty good! Huuuuuuuuuge sex increase after the war, because we’re both fuckin’ traumatized and want physical comfort!”

There was a long, drawn out silence.

Tenten wrinkled her nose. “Hm. I’m more drunk than I thought.”

Temari did not do a good job stifling her laugh. “No- um, you seem- uh, really coherent. Full- full sentences and everything.”

Tenten mock-toasted her. “I’m not too drunk to discern a terrible lie, though.”

“And use such fancy vocabulary.” Temari clinked her glass against Tenten’s with that fierce grin that used to make Tenten go weak in the knees. The thought made her blurt out, “You know, I used to have such a crush on you.”

Temari set her cocktail down with a jerk. “You- you did?”

“Yuh-huh.” Tenten nodded sagely. “After you kicked my ass at the chunin exams. I was so pissed and you were so hot and I was going through puberty and just so horny all the time and everything boiled over and if you so much as looked at me I melted.”

“O-Oh.” Temari blinked at her, mouth opening and closing as she searched for words. “Well, thanks?” Tenten threw back her head and laughed, the absurdity of the conversation finally catching up to her.

After her giggles had petered out- Temari had buried her own laughter in her arms, propped on the bar in front of them, so at least they both looked ridiculous- Tenten opened her eyes, head still tilted back, and found the softly smiling eyes of Nejiko staring down at her.

She lit up. “Hey!” Nejiko leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Hello.” She turned to Temari and gave her a much less loving smile, but no less warm. “Good evening, Temari-san.” Temari stifled her last giggles in her hand, weakly waving in greeting at Nejiko.

Tenten watched, enthralled, as Nejiko turned back to her. “Would you like to stay any longer, or should we head home?” Her mouth was so fascinating when she talked, lips pressing together and separating, tongue tapping against teeth, words forming and falling from the back of her throat.

“I love you,” Tenten mumbled. That lovely mouth parted in shock, then a soft, wonderstruck smile curled the lips upwards.

“I love you too.”

“Noice,” Tenten blurted. She was so pleased she fell off her barstool.

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joanofsnarrrk · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: as iron sharpens iron (Burn Notice) - 4K words & counting

SUMMARY: Somewhere along the way, at one point or another, Madeline tells them, “The three of you need to stick together.”

And that, more or less, is what they do.

So I know Burn Notice Week isn’t for a few weeks, but my work schedule is insane, and while I had a rare day off and moment to post, I seized it. More chapters will follow (one for each season) eventually. But for now, please enjoy the first part of as iron sharpens iron.

Can also be found on AO3.

————————————

Though one may be overpowered, Two can easily defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

—Ecclesiastes 4:12, NIV

—————————————

Somewhere along the way, at one point or another, Madeline tells them, "The three of you need to stick together."

And that, more or less, is what they do.

—

Even before he opens his eyes, Michael just...knows he's in Miami. Besides the humidity (he can feel the sweat pooling at his lower back) and the brilliant sunlight pouring through...wherever it's pouring in from (caves set high in the mountains of Afghanistan don't usually get a lot of natural light), he can hear the faint trace of calypso music coming in from outside.

So he doesn't actually need Fi to kick him with what feels like an especially sharp boot, but she takes it upon herself to do so anyway. Not that he knows it's her immediately. No, that little realization doesn't occur until after he momentarily blacks out from the pain (she was always a great markswoman, so it only makes sense that her foot connects directly to every single one of his cracked ribs) and before his head promptly begins pounding.

When he does finally see her (and hear her—he'd recognize that Irish brogue anywhere), it's...a lot. Especially since he halfway thought he would never see her again. Besides cosmetics (her hair's lighter, no bangs—she's tanner, too), she looks the same as she did the last time they were...together. And now she's here, in the flesh, complaining that he still has her listed as his emergency contact (he knew there was something else he needed to submit to H.R. when he last updated his W-4). It's equal parts comforting and completely unnerving.

There are countless questions running through his mind as he struggles to sit upright (who burned him, how can he contact his handler, is Fi still mad that he left, etc.?), but at least one of them is answered when Fi cheerfully admits that she contacted his mother.

Welcome to Miami.

—

Soon after, she ditches the accent. Buys a whole new wardrobe.

From a tactical standpoint, it makes sense—using camouflage to blend into your surroundings makes you a harder target to spot.

From a personal standpoint, it's still—well, she's—the whole thing is...it's a lot.

—

Sam Axe is what would happen if Magnum, P.I. ever did a reunion special where Magnum—a few decades older and well into retirement—started mooching off every widow and bored housewife in Oahu. And yet, unlike Magnum, with Sam it's a whole lot less grating and more...well, endearing.

With the exception of Fi (though even that might be stretching it at this point), he no longer has a secure network of people he trusts. Most of them, he assumes, went up in smoke alongside his job and identity the moment his burn notice was issued. That said, it's nice to see the familiar face of an old friend in the midst of it all.

Even if that friend sticks him with the bar tab when all he ordered was water.

—

It's practically an ambush, all things considered.

When Sam mentions his money laundering contact, Barry, and follows it up with, "We have to bring you up to speed, brother," Michael assumes he means an in-person introduction.

And it is, for all intents and purposes, an in-person introduction when Michael meets up with the two at Carlito's the next day...

But mostly, it's an ambush.

"So you're tellin' me Mike was absent for the whole dot-com boom?" Barry asks, as if Michael isn't sitting right there next to him. He's staring at Michael like he's the most fascinating installation at the Peréz Art Museum.

Sam, on the other hand, keeps looking at him with an almost insulting amount of pity. "'fraid so," he admits miserably, draining the last of his mojito. "Although he wasn't really absent, per se, just swamped with the whole covert black ops—"

"Sam," Michael cuts in, smile strained. "How about we avoid divulging classified intel to the stranger with the movie villain goatee I just met?" He looks Barry over once and holds up his hands placatingly. "No—well, some offense."

Barry frowns. "Some taken."

"Listen, Mikey, Barry's practically family," Sam says as he signals for the waitress to bring him a refill.

"Well," Barry clarifies, "estranged at best."

"Sure, fine." Sam redirects his attention back to Michael. "The point is: now that you're back in Miami, you have to be able to talk about non-job related topics. And that's pretty tough when you're not up to date on the last decade of popular culture."

Michael shifts uncomfortably. "I'm cultured," he insists, looking between both Sam and Barry. "For instance, the 2000 election? Here in Florida, there were hanging chads and—" Off their pained expressions, he switches tactics, having to dig deeper. "What about...?" He brightens. "J-Lo! She's still considered popular, right?"

Sam chuckles. "Not for the same reason you're thinking, Mike."

The waitress comes by with their drinks. Sam thanks her—his concluding wink almost subtle—but Barry looks like he might be sick.

"So, like...no American Idol?" he wants to know, his tone taking on an edge of urgency. "No Brangelina?" Michael shakes his head, wondering idly if Barry has started speaking Spanish somehow. "What about the Hilton twins? Or, even, Tom Cruise?"

"Wait, yes! He's the, uh, Top Gun guy."

"He was the Top Gun guy," Sam corrects. "Now he's just crazy."

Barry scrubs a hand over his face before downing his cocktail in one go. "I don't know, Sam. This is a much bigger job than you let on. I mean, I'm gonna have to clear my appointments for the day," he points out wearily, "and then I'm gonna have to deal with pissed off clients—wealthy and powerful pissed off clients."

Sam brushes him off. "Barry, this is for a worthy cause." He gestures over to Michael. "I mean, look at him!"

"I'm sitting right here," Michael reminds them through gritted teeth.

Ignoring him, Barry sighs and pulls his Blackberry out. Within seconds, he's shot out a half dozen texts containing haphazard apologies for the cancellations. "Fine," he relents. "Let's start with the basics."

"And make sure we touch on the 'Phins," Sam insists. "The last player Mike could name was Marino, and he hasn't been with the team since he retired in '99. It's embarrassing."

Michael emits a strangled sound of protest before he lets his head drop to the table with a soft, defeated thud.

—

No one is more surprised than Fi when Madeline, of all people, calls to invite her to play poker with her and some of the ladies from the neighborhood only a few short weeks after she makes the move to Miami permanent. With the exception of her sister, Claire, Fi has never really had many female friends. Not for lack of interest or trying, certainly, but the job does tend to have a frustratingly imbalanced male-to-female ratio.

So, obviously, she says yes. After all, it's not as though she could possibly decline. Not when Madeline had ended their phone call with an incredibly touching: "Fiona, honey, you're welcome over any time." And especially not when she can provide such crucial insight into Michael's early years.

In preparation, she finds the least threatening sundress she owns (A-line skirt, a floral pattern of goldenrods and peonies), and brings along a variety of snacks (surely these types of get-togethers operate like more civilized, less mind-numbingly boring stakeouts?).

When she arrives, Madeline greets her warmly with a hug (a bit of a surprise considering they've only ever spoken on the phone and haven't actually met in person before), places her snacks on the counter, and introduces her to the rest of the group. It's...nice. They're a friendly bunch: adorable retirees with a penchant for gossip and neighborhood intel that would put any spy to shame. A couple hours later, though, when she's down by nearly two hundred dollars, she has the sneaking suspicion it all may be a ruse designed to lull her into a false sense of security.

Oh, they are very good.

"So, Fiona," Evelyn asks her. She raises and throws a couple chips onto the growing pile at the center of the table. "How do you know Madeline's son?"

Fi takes in Evelyn's shockingly bright orange dye job as she thinks about how best to answer that question. Ex-girlfriend? Colleagues? Both invite their own share of difficult and obtrusive questions. She could go with "wife" (Michael would positively burst, she's sure of it), but Madeline would see right through that.

"He's my boyfriend." It's not...not true.

"How wonderful!" Madeline's other friend, Phyllis, exclaims. She has been knocking back Corona Extras like she hasn't had a spot to drink in months. "How long have the two of you been together?"

In addition to Madeline's affinity for nicotine, Evelyn seems to share her love of taking all of Fi's money. Fi folds and tosses her cards on the table.

"Oh!" she says suddenly playing at bashful and giggling. "It's—well, it's still kind of new—" Again, not...not true. "—but it feels like we've known each other forever."

She almost feels guilty at the way Madeline's face lights up, how her smile warms at her little fib. But she barely has time to dwell on it before the front door opens. When she turns around, she's met with the sight of Michael—in tan chinos and a light blue oxford—slack-jawed and cradling a casserole dish. She playfully waggles her fingers at him.

"Ma," he says carefully, only glancing at her briefly, his smile too forced to be genuine. "I thought you, me, and Fi were having dinner tonight. You said seven, right?"

Madeline brightens as she directs him and the casserole to the kitchen. "We are. Me and the girls are just finishing up." To the rest of the group, she says, "Ladies, this is my son, Michael!"

"Hey...Hi." He waves at them all awkwardly before taking the empty seat across from Fi, next to Evelyn. She shouldn't laugh, truly, but his discomfort in the face of the group's sudden enthusiasm over his distinctly male presence is palpable. She tries to hide her amusement by draining the contents of her beer bottle, but judging by the way Michael's brow darkens and his mouth practically thins into nonexistence, she is nowhere near successful.

Madeline is the last one to fold before Evelyn takes the pot. As she rakes in her winnings, Phyllis leans over toward Fi and makes it a point to say not at all quietly, "He's very handsome."

This time when she looks at Michael, unable to hide her amused grin, he smiles at Phyllis appreciatively before fixing Fi with a look of quiet desperation.

"Oh, he is!" She sighs dreamily and winks at him, relishing his discomfort only a little. He frowns back. "I'm the luckiest girl in all Miami."

—

It starts out innocently enough. Fi merely offers Sam a simple suggestion for how to properly apologize to Veronica—that unfortunate woman—yet somehow that evolves into him wanting to talk about all his "lady problems" with her.

(Seriously, that poor woman! She must be positively unwell. Perhaps she's deaf or blind? Best case scenario: she's deaf and blind, and this relationship is simply court-ordered community service outreach to the elderly.)

At first, Fi relished the thought that he picked her over Michael (who has all the emotional sensitivity of an unstable IED) to confide his most vulnerable secrets to, but it soon becomes too much. Phone calls, text messages, then phone calls and text messages. Eventually, she has to draw a line, demonstrate at least a little pride.

Plus, she's still pissed about the whole "him-costing-her-a-lot-of-money-because-he-interfered-with-her-legitimate-business-deal-with-the-Libyan-arms-dealer" thing, y'know? No one has ever accused her of letting go of a grudge too soon.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam." She sighs dramatically as if talking to him is positively exhausting (which, it is) before she slams the trunk of her car closed, yoga mat in hand.

He blocks her path forward before she even has a chance to turn around. "Fi, you don't understand," he says desperately, and a small (fine, large) part of her finds a simple delight in his suffering. "This could be it for Veronica and me. She still hasn't forgiven me for the last job we pulled, and I—"

"Sam." Even saying his name is taking a lot of self-control at the moment. She manages to slip past him and dart across the street. To his credit, he keeps up and corners her in front of the studio. "I'm just too busy right now, and I'm going to be late." She holds up her mat pointedly and pushes past him to the front door. "So unless you want to join my Bikram yoga class, I—"

"Fine."

The little bell at the top of the door rings a second time as he follows her inside. As he not-at-all-subtly rakes his gaze over a couple of women in yoga pants on their way out, she gapes at him.

"What?" He shrugs when he catches her staring. "I told you: this is serious."

So that's how she finds herself some fifteen minutes later watching Sam—drenched through his linen slacks and hideous Hawaiian print shirt—struggling with downward facing dog on the mat right next to hers.

"Geez, Fi," he huffs, his gold chain now dangling over his chin, "you do this for fun?"

She watches as beads of sweat roll down his bright red face in rapid succession. It takes everything in her to keep a straight face.

"Why do you even pay for this?" he continues as if interrupting her meditation isn't enough. "If I wanted to exert myself in this much humidity, I'd ask my old CO to ship me back out to Kuwait, or hell, I could just as easily go outside.

It takes an immense amount of concentration for her to regain her balance (physically and spiritually) and counteract the irritation she's feeling, but she finally asks, short of snapping, "Wasn't there some...Veronica issue you wanted to discuss?"

"Fi," he says, breath haggard, "she's pissed about the car again."

She blinks as a bead of sweat hits her eye. "Well, of course she's pissed about the car." A little quieter, she hisses, "You practically blew it up!"

"I—" The instructor tells the class to transition to triangle pose just as the ventilation system switches back on, pumping more hot air into the confined space. Sam has to account for the increased sound, and the fact that her back is now to him when he clarifies, "That was for the job, and you know it, sister! It was either that, or a Czech assassin would have made mincemeat outta you, me, and Mikey."

She twists, fingers stretched out toward the ceiling. "Well, it's not about any of that for Veronica, Sam. It's...it's more like if you can't cherish her car, how could you possibly cherish her?" she explains as if it's the most obvious thing in the world (which, it is).

Sam's quiet for a moment—the instructor has them shift into chair pose—before he glances over at her. He swipes his soaked through hair out of his face. "Cherish, huh?"

She turns to him and nods, somewhat impressed that he has both made it this far in life being dense and that he hasn't passed out quite yet.

—

"So, neither of you will help me with this?"

Sam and Fi exchange a lazy glance before looking back at Michael from behind their respective sunglasses. Fi sighs dramatically. "It's not that we won't help, Michael. It's more like we..." She looks over at Sam for back up. "I want to say...can't?"

Sam laces his fingers behind his head and shrugs. "Sure, 'can't' works."

Michael throws both of them an unimpressed (and admittedly, envious) look from over his shoulder as he pauses his work on the Charger's carburetor. They're both set up in slightly rusted out poolside chairs with their feet soaking in a plastic kiddie pool that doesn't look a day younger than the early '70s. Probably some artifact from when he and Nate were younger.

He sets his 3/8" combo wrench on top of the engine. "Right, and you both can't," he probes, now leaning against the Charger, facing his two friends, as he gestures for them to continue, "because...?"

"What do you want from us, Michael?" Fi demands listlessly. He watches as she slides her bikini strap (she and Sam are both wearing bathing suits) off her right shoulder, so she can evenly apply more sunscreen. He swallows, possibly lingering longer than necessary (she's...well, it's...still a lot) before redirecting his attention anywhere else.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, snagging the tube of sunscreen out of Fi's hands, despite her protests. "You're the one that called for a debrief on the hottest day of the whole damn calendar year."

Michael pointedly ignores the rivulets of sweat soaking into his beater and, worse, the waistband of his jeans. "It's not the hottest—"

Sam cuts him off. "Historically high temperatures, Mike. I overheard your mom talking about it."

"Overheard me talking about what?"

Michael looks up, while Sam and Fi turn—almost in unison—as Madeline exits through the back door, a tray of iced tea in her hands. When neither Sam nor Fi rushes to help her (at least they're consistent, Michael thinks to himself bitterly), he walks over and helps her place the glasses on the small fold out table set up between the other two.

"Thanks, Maddie." Sam noticeably has no issue exerting himself to pick up his drink. Before he can take a single sip, however, Madeline snatches it out of his hands and replaces it with a beer. It may just be the widest Michael has ever seen Sam smile. "We were just saying how insanely hot it is today—"

"—and how only a certified sociopath would expect his dearest and most loyal friends to perform manual labor in this kind of weather," Fi finishes for him. She flashes a seemingly innocent smile at Michael from over the rim of her own glass. He responds in kind with something between a frown and a grimace.

Meanwhile, Madeline takes in his disheveled appearance. "And what happened to you?" she demands, handing him the iced tea that had previously been Sam's. He takes it, grateful. "You're soaked!"

"Yeah, I know, Ma," he says calmly, trying to restrain himself. "I've been out here fixing the Charger, but it would go a lot faster if I had some help..."

She follows his accusatory gaze back to Sam and Fiona and gasps. "Well, don't look at them, Michael!" she blanches as if he were asking them to help him bury a body, which...would not be an unreasonable scenario in his line of work. "It's hot outside!"

Michael stares up at the sky as if willing God to grant him the patience he is so quickly losing.

—

Virgil and...his mom.

—

Virgil and...his mother.

—

His own mom and...Virgil.

—

He's gonna kill him.

—

...Right after he drains a quart of bleach.

—

"He's here."

Maricruz doesn't bother looking up from her register. Their manager gave them a strict deadline for completing their cash counts today. "Who's here?

"The guy I was telling you about, the one who's in here all the time?"

Suddenly, Maricruz remembers. "Oh, yeah! The dude with all the yogurt, right?"

Her co-worker, Olivia, nods, cracking her gum in the process. "He only ever buys weird stuff, like screws and duct tape, never food—well, except for the yogurt. And, occasionally, beer." She pauses, then: "I think he might be a serial killer."

Maricruz finally looks up and watches as the man examines a box of 45-watt lightbulbs. She frowns, then turns to Olivia. "This guy?" she wants to know. "The one who dresses like some rich kid's hot, investment banker dad, who sometimes attends a lot of backyard barbecues?”

"Yes."

They pause in their conversation as Olivia rings up an elderly woman purchasing a bag of spinach and last week's People magazine. She waves goodbye to her and then once she leaves through the store's front doors, she zeroes in on her friend. "Hold up—are you saying hot people can't be serial killers?"

Maricruz rolls her eyes. "No. Duh, of course not. We both watched the same Ted Bundy documentary.

"True. Wait...are we saying Ted Bundy was hot?"

"I am not having this conversation with you."

Maricruz rings up her own customer (single mom with two toddlers, tons of sugary cereals) before looking back at Olivia. "There's no way this guy's a killer. Didn't you say he sometimes shows up with his supermodel wife?"

"Well, yeah," Olivia admits, "but, hello, ever heard of Scott and Laci Peterson?" She blows a bubble with her gum than pops it with an audible crack. "Also, for the record, I've never actually seen hot-might-be-a-serial-killer dude with a ring, so I think the supermodel's just his girlfriend.

Maricruz watches him grab a different pack of lightbulbs off the top shelf for an elderly woman behind him and sighs wistfully. "It totally figures he has a girlfriend." She stares a little longer. "I mean, serial killer or not, look at his arms."

Suddenly, Olivia clears her throat super loudly, snapping her out of her reverie. "Oh, my God, Maricruz, shutupshutup. He's coming to my lane!"

She looks over, and sure enough, the guy walks over to Olivia's lane and empties the contents of his basket onto the belt: a pack of lightbulbs, zip ties, rope, and two packs of blueberry yogurt. Olivia shoots Maricruz a look over his shoulder that seems to say, See? I told you so!

"Hi," he says with a bright, exaggerated smile, oblivious to their non-verbal conversation. It takes a moment for Olivia to recover while he digs in his pocket for his wallet and to respond back like a normal, human person.

"Welcome to Milam's Market," she says, totally using her Customer Service Voice as she rings up his items. "Did you find everything you need today?"

"Hmm?" He looks up from his phone, and the frown he was momentarily wearing transforms easily back to the smile from earlier. He snaps the phone shut and looks back up at her, somewhat sheepish. "Oh, uh, yeah. Even got a great deal on yogurt, so..."

Olivia gives him his total, and before he grabs his bags, he thanks both of them and tells them to have a great day.

As they watch him leave, Maricruz turns to Olivia. "Are we sure the supermodel is his girlfriend and not just his, like, insanely hot sister?" she asks desperately as she cranes her head to follow his exit beyond the store's double sliding doors.

Olivia nods sadly. "Yeah."

—

She tells him it's not good enough, but he doesn't know what else to say. He's never been good at this. He even has the scars from Dublin and Germany to prove it.

He feels slightly self-conscious, standing there shirtless, reminding her that they were profoundly unhappy together, nearly a decade ago. Ten years is a long time, and he's not exactly getting any younger—neither is his physique, frankly. He hasn't let himself go, by any means, but there's definitely a softness to his lower stomach that wasn't there the last time they were, uh...they last time they were...together. Fi doesn't mention it, or even really seem to mind much, however, when her foot connects with it just a few moments later.

He knows he's in trouble when his first punch accidentally lands, and she looks up at him afterward with that familiar fire in her eyes, the one that's equal parts terrifying and enticing.

He knows he's a goner when that same peculiar mix sends a jolt way down past his (grudgingly soft) gut while she deftly traces her lips along the lines of his palm.

And he definitely knows he's in way over his head when she lets him pin her to the mattress—when their eyes lock, and he anchors her face in his hand, while her hips cant slightly to meet his own. Admittedly, his self-control grounds to dust long before then, but it's only when his lips capture hers that he finally does the one thing he has wanted to do since the CIA dumped him in that trashy hotel with her all those months ago—

He finally gives in.

#burnnoticeedit #burn notice week #my writing #my fic #burn notice fic #michael westen #fiona glenanne #sam axe #madeline westen #fiona x michael

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xadoheandterra · 6 years ago

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Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Prompto Argentum, Ardyn Lucis Caelum Tags: 10 years older!Prompto, Ardyn is a flirt, disabled character Summary: Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should’ve realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

Prompto stretched his arms up into the air and let out a relaxed sort of groan. He scratched at his goatee and breathed in the air and the feel of the ground beneath his feet. Half a second later and he bounced around to his chocobo ride and scratched her just under her beak.

“Such a good girl,” Prompto cheered, and then looked over to his traveling companion who was happily tending to his own bird. His lips curled into a bit of pleased smile at the sight, at how Ardyn lavished praises on his black chick with a soft voice and carefully offered greens. “You know you’re spoiling her, pretty’n’pink,” Prompto said even as he offered his own bird some greens before her turned on heel and practically danced over to the other man.

“Hush, Luna, don’t listen to the little speed daemon,” Ardyn murmured sweetly. The chocobo warked and groomed lightly at the long locks of hair which gained her a laugh.

“Oi!” Prompto practically pouted and poked Ardyn in the shoulder. “Rude, man.”

Ardyn snorted, but he made sure the tack and bridle held from where they’d put the birds up before he started into the muck of the marsh. “Are not you, yourself, always, though?” Ardyn teased back. “Pretty’n’pink, and princess, is not that what you say?”

Prompto shrugged and bumped into Ardyn teasingly. “As if it ain’t true?”

“So crass,” Ardyn laughed, but he didn’t deny Prompto’s words and Prompto took that as the win it was meant to be. Ardyn scuffed a hand through his hair and tightened his cloak about his shoulders. “Come, Silver, into the abyss we go!”

Prompto snorted. “She better like this gift of yours, for the trouble we’re going through,” Prompto said under his breath and Ardyn rolled his eyes.

“Jealous, dear?”

Prompto huffed, but no he wasn’t jealous and Ardyn should know that well. Instead he sarcastically uttered, “Oracles aren’t my type, dude. Too much,” Prompto struggled for a word, and just waved his hand with an explosive, ��muchness.” For a moment Ardyn watched him, the genial smile on his face faded off into a faint frown, but Prompto slapped him on the shoulder and began to practically dance his way through the muck and into the overgrowth and trees.

Ardyn sighed, replaced his smile, and briskly limped after him. He said, softer, “You are still hurt by her words,” almost as if he was afraid he’d hurt Prompto more by saying that now. Prompto huffed out a breath and fingered the belt of knives hooked to his waist.

“Not exactly,” Prompto said. “It was a year ago anyway. I’m over it!”

Ardyn shook his head. “I am not blind, my friend,” he said. “I know her words hurt you—yet I feel in time she will warm to you, you just have to wait.”

Prompt didn’t bother to respond; Ardyn knew him well enough by now to know that Aera’s words had hurt. No one liked to be relegated to ‘thing’ and that was precisely what Ardyn’s bride-to-be had called Prompto upon their first meeting one year ago. Some soulless automata; created and not birthed—and Prompto frowned lightly and shook his head. What the Oracle thought didn’t matter. What Ardyn thought did and so Prompto plastered on a smile and skipped ahead to look at the various stone carved columns and pillars that marked the area, bases covered in mire muck and wet earth.

Ardyn followed after Prompto with that faint, almost pleased curl to his lips while Prompto focused on the carved markings carefully etched into the stonework. His eyes grew fairly wide, and with barely a thought Ardyn pulled a stack of papers and a bit of charcoal that he handed over to the excitable blond. Prompto knew he could get sucked in when he saw something interesting and this—this was interesting.

Ardyn leaned against the edge, careful to balance his weight as he watched Prompt scribble and read. “Something interesting, darling?”

Prompto laughed. “Define interesting,” he said, and his grin was positively infectious. “This discusses rites of passage for the dead, Ardyn! The dead! Look, here, see this passage?” Prompt pointed out a barely there scribble of something that Ardyn couldn’t read. “This talks about pilgrimages that would be undertaken by funeral processions—processions that would move miles and for days just to bring the dead here to bury! And here—this one talks about—” Prompt squinted. “—ah, something called ‘sending’? No, that’s not right. The tenses are all off…” He chewed on his lip.

“Steyliff?” Ardyn offered, and Prompto nodded.

“Yeah, yeah that’s got to be it…” he scribbled something more and then dropped the papers into the armiger a second later. “I’ll have to go over this later, though. We’re here for you.”

Ardyn laughed and swung an arm around Prompto’s shoulders who squawked about being suddenly smothered by a giant. Still, in a rather good mood they continued onward.

Solheim ruins were strange; Prompto never knew much about them when he was twenty, and the things he knew now that he was thirty still left him in this small humble sort of awe and terror. Something about Steyliff boggled Prompto’s mind a little bit, even as he and Ardyn relaxed on the steps outside the closed entrance.

“Mm, I hate this part,” Ardyn mumbled lazily from where he dozed in filtered spots of sunlight. The stone beneath him felt blissfully warm, and Prompto knew the warmth could very easily lull the man into slumber if he weren’t so attentive on Prompto and the scribbles he’d begun to hastily mark at the entrance.

“Yeah,” Prompto said exasperatedly. “Gil would just be yelling at us both by now about patience.”

Ardyn stretched. “Come here, Silver. The ruins will keep,” Ardyn practically whined and Prompto rolled his eyes, but he dismissed the papers even as Ardyn beckoned and said softly, “Attend me.”

“You,” Prompto said wryly even as he dropped down next to Ardyn and begun to calmly tug the mans cloak off, and then the sleeves of his darker top, “are spoiled.”

“And you,” Ardyn hummed when Prompto began to dig his fingers into the pained points of his shoulders, “have such wonderfully gifted hands, dear Silver.”

“Princess,” Prompto snorted, and Ardyn let out a low moan at the feel of knots being worked out, and the way the hands moved down his back toward the sorest points. Prompto knew the drill well enough by now—he’d been there when Ardyn gained the injury to his back and hip, one that almost killed him if not for a timely intervention of a Phoenix Down.

“Be my Prince, then, and soothe these aches and pains of mine,” Ardyn said tiredly. Prompto sighed but did as Ardyn asked if only because he wasn’t blind and could see the toll the long trip had already taken on the other man.

For a while between them there remained silence while Prompto worked to kneed at the muscles and ease the pains of the Healer King. Ardyn dozed in the falling light of the sun, happy for the warmth of Prompto’s hands against the aches that never could leave him quite be. Eventually Ardyn began to murmur words under his breath, small offerings of conversation to somewhat fill the silence in the way Prompto used to five—ten years ago.

“How Gil must be, in Civitas Lucii, without our pleasant company to bear witness to?”

Prompto hummed. “I still think it was mean of your brother to pull him back.”

Ardyn rolled his shoulders and the curled into his right side as he gazed up at Prompto who rocked back on his thighs. For a moment Ardyn’s gaze was inscrutable as he looked at Prompto, at the tan to his cheeks and the freckles that were almost like a map in their own right. Eventually he sighed and looked away. “Som’s…insecure,” Ardyn said. “I leave him alone for so long I…” Ardyn rolled into a seated position.

“You spoil him,” Prompto said, “and this is coming from me.”

Ardyn chuckled and scrubbed a hand through his hair even as he tugged back on his tunic. “I raised him, my Silver. Do I not then have the right to spoil him?” Prompto watched Ardyn’s skin as the tunic came up, and breathed a faint sigh of relief when he didn’t see the Scourge make an appearance. “He favors Gil, you know,” Ardyn said after a moment, “and with the Confirmation to soon be upon us, well, I worry for Somnus.”

Prompto frowned, but Ardyn shook his head and ruffled Prompto’s own locks until the blond let out a squawk and struggled to get out. After a second they both turned their gaze toward the sun as it dipped down into dusk, and then Prompto looked to the door to Steyliff and sighed.

“We best get moving, pretty’n’pink,” Prompto said cheerfully, and helped Ardyn to his feet. “Your bride-to-be’s gift is waiting in…that mess.”

Ardyn eyed the door and sighed. “Joy. More souls lost to the pits of Scourge, now await us in hungering, festering darkness.” Ardyn pulled out his blade from the armiger. “Why did I say we were to come here again?”

Prompto laughed. “That Oracle of yours likes tombs.”

“Ah, yes, my dearest Aera. The things one does for love….”

Prompto knelt over one of the Solheim panels in the ground with a soft hum under his breath to match Ardyn’s off-key singing. The royal haired pain in Prompto’s ass strolled around the room with his fingers latched onto the ruin walls, gaze somewhere into the middle distance whenever Prompto glanced in his direction. He seemed perfectly content to meander instead of search for whatever bauble he said existed here that the Oracle would love, and seemed quite happy to allow Prompto his moments to geek out over ancient Solheim magic and technology.

“This panel is different somehow,” Prompto eventually said when he stood back up and dismissed his half-thought sketches and drawings. He rubbed at his goatee and stepped around the small circular space in the floor.

“Oh?” Ardyn questioned. He turned and nearly toppled over when his left knee buckled, but caught himself on the wall a second later and brushed Prompto off with a wave of his hand. “Continue, Silver. I find myself curious as to what you have discovered in such a dreary old place.”

Prompto snorted. “You like these dreary places just as much as your Oracle, admit it!”

Ardyn huffed. “I do not.” He narrowed golden eyes in Prompto’s direction. “I am surrounded by philosophers and historians who prefer to drag me into every Six damned death trap they possibly can.”

Prompto flushed and muttered a short apology to which Ardyn just shook his head.

“Oh, precious, just tell me what you have found before it devours you,” Ardyn sighed, so Prompto obliged.

“We know the panels up by the entrance works as a quick exit to these tombs,” Prompto said abruptly. “The temples, too. Is this a tomb, or a temple actually?”

“Does it matter?”

Prompto shrugged. “Not really, man, I was just curious. But yeah, those take you out which is good when the suns up and the doors locked.”

Ardyn laughed. “Good old Solheim,” he said tiredly. “I wonder how often they suffered from their folly of magical locks before they ensured a route of escape?”

Prompto laughed. “Then there were the panels in the other room—they worked on some sort of loop, right?”

“Mm, distorting time itself….” Ardyn mused with the faintest keen of interest.

“Yeah, that. Now there’s this one—and it’s coloring is completely wrong compared to the others. The writing is older too, actually. See this here?” Prompto knelt back down and pointed out a few of the etchings on the panel. It took Ardyn a second to stride right back up to his guardian, but when he did he slapped a hand on Prompto’s shoulder and leaned forward to see what Prompto pointed out.

“Hm, is that supposed to be ævi or andlát?” Ardyn questioned.

“Actually, I think it’s a derivative of home,” Prompto murmured. “See here? This is clearly heim.” Prompto gestured to a small cluster. “Then over here we have stiltr, and that there is almenniligr I believe.”

Ardyn blinked, then murmured as he pointed to another cluster, “Well by that reasoning this would then make the word skjótr, wouldn’t it?” Beside him Prompto blinked and then vibrated in pleasant surprise.

“Yes! Yes, that makes perfect sense—so here it would be—huh,” Prompto cocked his head and blinked. “Language, I think? Something about language.”

Ardyn hummed in agreement. “I can see what you mean; this one is quite odd for a passageway for the dead, no?”

“Exactly!” Prompto slammed his fist into his palm and positively beamed up at Ardyn. “It talks about some sort of journey, travel and time and language. Something about home and control? But it doesn’t make sense in any of the context of the other panels. I’ve seen these before,” Prompto gestured toward skjótr and stiltr. “Those are on the panels that take you from place to place. But the rest? They don’t match any of the other panels.”

Ardyn hummed to himself as he stared at Prompto whose grey-blue eyes practically glistened with curiosity, and then looked back to the panel. “I wonder…” He reached out a hand to touch, the inexplicable urge just to see what the panel did, when Prompto grabbed his wrist with wide eyes.

“Ardyn!” he said sharply, a sort of pained gasp caught in his throat. “Don’t touch the strange and confusing panel from Solheim!”

Ardyn pouted and said, “I am curious, my Silver.”

“We don’t know what it does!”

They stared at one another before Ardyn relented under Prompto’s wide, almost terrified stare. Instead Ardyn pulled his wrist from Prompto’s grasp and, with a hand on Prompto’s shoulder to steady himself, pushed back away from the panel with a murmured, “As you say, darling.”

Prompto breathed a sigh of relief and pushed from his crouch back to a standing position. He turned to follow after Ardyn, but his heel caught on a chink in the stone and before Prompto knew it his balance upended. Prompto let out a shout of surprise as he tripped backward, right onto the panel he just warned Ardyn away from.

The world lit up red and Prompto had a second, a brief second where he saw Ardyn’s horrified face, before the world ripped away in a familiar manner and Prompto thought—oh. That’s what it does—before he crashed into the ground and smashed his head onto the hard stone enough to daze.

#fic: the path untrodden #fanfic #final fantasy xv #ardyn lucis caelum #prompto argentum #time travel au #fic: the burning of solheim

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suit-lady · 7 years ago

Text

Picture Perfect.

Pairing: Sam Holland x Reader

Summary: In which reader is an amateur photographer who doesn’t believe in their skills, and Harry is honestly just trying to help. Sam... gets pushed into the mix.

Warnings: Swearing. Are you surprised? Also the reader is a little self-deprecating towards her talent as a photographer.

Word Count: 2000 exactly (nice)

A/N: Okay this is really cute and really dumb and has been about half-done since November and I’m so sorry that I’m such a fuckin scrub. PS, still no taglist. Message me if you still want notifs of when I write things.

Photography was awful when Harry wasn’t around. This summer, he was gonna be off with Tom all the time, promoting Spider-Man: Homecoming across the world. It was really cool, sure, but it pissed you off that Tom was stealing your best friend away from you. In an attempt to keep him close without bothering him at all hours of the day (you just weren’t sure when he was awake, alright?), you took a beginner photography course at a local uni (you told your mother you were just trying to get ahead), but it just made you miss him more.

“Your angle on these is all wrong,” Harry told you on a phone call. You were lying in bed, having a lazy Sunday lie-in while Harry was probably on his way to bed.

“I know! It’s the same thing I always do.” You sighed. “They would have been perfect if you would have been with me.”

You could almost hear Harry roll his eyes. “Please, (Y/N). You’re an excellent photographer. You just need to believe in yourself.”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “That’s not true.”

Harry’s heavy sigh caused a loud noise in your headphones, causing you to flinch slightly. “(Y/N), do I need to remind you who won the photography competition they held at the city fair a few months ago? It wasn’t me, in case you need a refresher.”

“It was me…” you muttered, barely audible.

“What was that?”

“It was me!” you said louder, with a huff of frustration. “It was my picture of you at the fountain from last winter.”

“Yeah, see? That means you’re—”

“No,” you stopped him before he could praise you. “It was just because of how much fun we were having and how happy you looked. The night was perfect, that’s all.”

“God, (Y/N), you’re impossible.” Harry’s voice was strained. “I’m trying my hardest to encourage you, but you won’t take any of it.”

“Harry, I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Look, whatever. Your work is amazing when you aren’t so focused on getting everything perfect. You just need to chill out and have a fun day where you take pictures of whatever you want.”

“Sure, I guess,” you said as you heard rustling on the other end of the line.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Tom’s voice greeted you. He sounded like he was eating a sandwich of some kind. “Sam is at home, all alone, studying for exams… You and Harry are basically the same person… Take him with you. He could use a little fun.”

“Oh, I dunno.” Blush spread across your face at the thought. “He and I aren’t very close.”

“Sure,” Harry’s voice had returned, but it was farther away now. You were on speaker. “But he’s a little like me and a little like Tom, and you’ve hung out in groups enough for it to be fine.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon there, right? This would be the perfect time to shoot! It’s almost that golden hour that Harry always talks about,” Harrison chimed in from even farther away than Harry.

“So,” Tom’s voice again, but no speaker. “What do you say? You both need to get out a little.”

Rubbing your neck awkwardly, you agreed, “Sure, that should be alright.”

You stood at the entrance of the park, wearing your favorite pair of jeans and a nice sweater (why on earth did you care so much?). Though the wind was blowing, it wasn’t all that cold. You were terribly grateful because you hadn’t thought to grab a jacket although it was early November. Glancing at your watch, you wondered why you had to be so damn early to things. Sam probably wouldn’t show up for another ten minutes, and he’d still be five or six minutes early at that.

You sat on a nearby bench and began to fiddle with your camera, taking pictures of cars that passed on the street and the trees. Though you knew you shouldn’t, you flipped through a couple, and you were extremely disappointed in the quality. The angle was all wrong, as usual. As you heaved a sigh, your shoulders slouched. Why did you ever agree to this?

Right as you unlocked your phone to text Sam, tell him to forget it, your phone buzzed with a simple “I’m here!” message from Sam. You huffed in frustration. You almost got out of it. Standing, you typed a quick reply, letting him know where you were.

Not too long later, you heard a familiar voice. “(Y/N)! There you are!”

You turned, and you felt all the air rush out of your lungs. Had looking at Sam always been like that? “Hey Sam! Wanna get started?” you asked, averting your eyes from his tan sweater and lovely features.

He happily agreed, smiling widely at you. As you felt your insides melt, to your complete surprise, you guided him to the more wooded area of the park. You began setting up your camera while Sam wandered around the clearing you’d chosen, deciding where he wanted to stand for the first few shots. Under his breath, he was humming something that you’d sworn you’d heard before, but you just couldn’t put your finger on what it was.

Unable to contain yourself, you just began shooting Sam as he walked, trying to capture the far-off look in his eyes. The setting sun casted a beautiful golden light over his dark hair, and your chest swelled as you looked at him. Had you ever noticed how gorgeous he was before? You mentally shook yourself. What the actual fuck were you thinking? This was Sam, your best friend’s brother. No way. That was gross.

But, as soon as you’d finished the thought, you raised the camera to your face again, trying to get the perfect image of his lips, half parted as he hummed to himself. The light bent around him so perfectly, as if he was made to have pictures taken of him… The technique came so easily to you when it was him. You couldn’t explain it. Maybe it wasn’t that he was made for pictures… Maybe it was you who was meant to take pictures of him.

“What do you think about—oh, you’ve already started.” A light pink dusted Sam’s cheeks, and you felt yourself bite your lip. What the fuck?

Then, he started posing. He stood with his back to you, hands casually in his pockets. A half-smile gracing his lips, he turned and looked at you—no, the camera. This was about the photoshoot, not you. You angled your camera to capture his image, and he moved again the moment you lowered the camera. As he stood at a ¾ angle to you, stopping his left hand in an absentminded run through his hair, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The word breathtaking sat in the forefront of your mind, and you couldn’t shake it out of your thoughts.

The two of you went on like this for nearly fifteen minutes, you following Sam around the clearing in a pleasant silence as he worked his magic. Magic, you thought. Is this what magic feels like? You waved off Sam to take a break while you flipped through a few of the images. The lighting, the angles, the poses, the model, all perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect… picture perfect.

“Y’know, you’re better than Harry said,” Sam commented from over your shoulder.

You jumped and took a step to the side with a noise of surprise. Deep red colouring your features, you replied, “Oh, ah, thank you… But I think you’re the one making the pictures so lovely.” What the fuck?

Sam blushed at your words, awkwardly waving them away with his hand as the other rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, please.”

“Oh, yeah? You think it’s me? Then try to look stupid. We’ll take some horrible ones to prove me right.”

Laughing, Sam challenged, “It’s on.”

Immediately, he raced off to the other side of the clearing and stood in the position he’d first chosen. This time, however, when he turned to look at you, his eyes were crossed and his tongue was lolling out of his mouth. Trying to stifle your laughter, you took several shots of him making the most ridiculous faces at you—your camera. He ran towards you—no, past you. Before you could stop yourself, you were chasing him around the clearing, taking photos whenever you slowed to catch your breath. You knew every last one of them were going to be absolute rubbish, but you didn’t care. You felt like it’d been years since your lungs hurt from laughing like they did in that moment.

And then, suddenly, you collided with Sam. Neither of you had been looking in the right direction for the other and managed to cross paths perfectly. You both ended up on the ground, you lying perfectly on top of Sam. Eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, light pink dusting his cheeks, Sam looked up at you. You looked down at Sam with what you figured was an identical expression. Then, you hid behind your camera for a moment to save the look on his face forever. You flipped to the image you’d just taken and went to show it to him.

“See? It’s you that makes the picture, not…” you trailed off when Sam’s expression changed. “What is it?”

He gently took the camera from your hands and placed it softly on the grass next to you. As your heart pounded against your ribcage, his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as your fingers tangled themselves in Sam’s hair. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

The kiss was better than anything you could have imagined. From the moment your lips connected, the amount of passion that you felt was indescribable. How long ago had you fallen for Sam without realizing how you felt? How long had he felt this way without telling you? Had he known before today? Your head was spinning and your heart was exploding and you couldn’t remember being happier ever before in your life.

“No, (Y/N),” Sam said as he pulled away after was felt like forever but was still far too soon, “it’s you that’s perfect.”

You ended up lying there together for hours. Completely unaware of the time, you snuggled up to one another, talking and kissing (and kissing some more) until the sun had long set. You stargazed together until neither of you could really keep your eyes open anymore. After a long, very drawn-out goodbye, you went your separate ways. You sent some of the pictures you’d taken to Harry before falling asleep that night and woke up to a very prideful “I knew you could do it!”

A month later, Tom, Harrison, and Harry finally returned. You were hanging out with Sam, watching some movie that neither of you were really paying attention to, when the trio burst through the door. The two of you jumped in surprise. After a long pause consisting of very confused looks from the newcomers, Tom broke the silence.

“See? I told you guys he liked her! But neither of you divs would listen to me!”

You both blushed as Sam asked, “Was I that obvious?”

“Nah,” Tom replied with a laugh. “But something about you two made my spidey senses tingle.”

After a chorus of “shut the fuck up, Tom!”s, the three boys waltzed into the kitchen, probably to raid the house of any and all food. You turned your attention back to the movie, but Sam’s attention never strayed from you. As you focused on the figures onscreen, he did his best to memorize the way your face looked right then. He may not have been able to capture moments with a camera like you could, but you always looked absolutely perfect to him.

After that, you never had problems with angles again.

Fin.

#wow can you believe that i did this #sam holland imagine #sam holland x reader #sam holland #my shit #what the fuck

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marcopollio · 11 months ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Aero Aeropostale Blue Long Sleeve Womens Shirt Size Small Cute top shirt y2k tan.

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arganoilsidighanem · 5 years ago

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Producer Moroccan Black Soap

No doubt that Morocco is known as the land of spices and also known for its aromatic scents and argan oil. Moreover, the most famous beauty products that greatly use in Morocco is Moroccan black soap and argan oil. The tradition of hammam or hot bath and use of black soap in Morocco sorts after beauty rituals.

Furthermore, Moroccan black soap is 100% pure natural product as this contains Argan oil, olive oil and macerate black olives that nourishes skin. Moreover, this black soap, no doubt has all the texture of smooth butter. It is useful for curing different kinds of skin problem as it is rich in Vitamin E which is an essential nutrient.

We at Oriental Group offer high quality, pure Moroccan Black Soap in bulk wholesale. We add nothing to it but deliver as it originates directly from resources. There are many benefits of this using this Moroccan soap. First of all, it purifies your skin. Not even this, but also exfoliates your skin from dust, dirt and dead cells. Moreover, black soap contains properties that help in reducing the in-grown hair. It not only moisturizes your skin, but also give a glow to it.

In contrast to other artificial products in the market, it gives your skin soft and clean touch. Rather than other soaps, black soap works as skin mask for protecting the face from skin tanning.

In conclusion, now everyone can enjoy the beauty ritual from traditions halfway all around the world with this Moroccan black soap.

Furthermore, Moroccan black soap enriches with eucalyptus oil as well that gives youthfulness to your skin. Similarly, it repairs damage and rough skin and suitable for all skin types.

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Above all mention, benefits state that using Moroccan black soap is best for your skin. Not even this, but also it helps in even dark spots, removing scars, razor bumps, eliminates bacterial infection and to fight with oily skin.

But what ingredients make it so useful and beneficial? Let’s find out the answer

Moroccan Black oil Ingredients

1. Olive oil

2. Water

3. Macerate black olive oil

4. Potassium hydroxide

However, in conclusion, the black soap is no doubt a great remedy for healing face acne problems as well as body acne problems. You can use this soap as a natural product that fights in battle again the bacterial infections and protects your skin.

How to apply it

However, there is no hard rule to use Moroccan black soap. It uses similarly as regular soap, but produces less foam. For better results, use this soap while taking a hot bath. Massage of this soap over body moisturize skin and make it beautiful.

Furthermore, don’t over massage it, slightly scrub your skin for fighting against dead skin cells.

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nobantucelemyot · 5 years ago

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A different perspective, A gift of inspiration !

I gained new perspectives on the process involved in research and on the different experiences my group and I will have as we embark on our research journey. Annually, fourth-year occupational therapy students present their research projects that they have been working on since the second semester of their third year. We as third year students were called to witness their hard work on that day called Research day. It was important for us to be part of the event ,as third years we are introduced to research and the end product is a research proposal. In fourth year, the proposal is refined, and the research project commences. This was a good learning experience for me, I was inspired by the quality of presentations I saw, all the presentations were delivered with confidence and the students showed passion for their research topics. I look forward to Research day next year with my classmates.

(Office for Human Research Protections, 2019)

Polgar & Thomas (2013) state that health research is a systemic and principled way of obtaining evidence or data for solving health care problems and investigating health issues. Their definition is applicable to occupational therapy as it is a health science profession. Occupational therapy is unique because of the use meaningful activities as part of its intervention, an individual’s participation in those meaningful activities is restricted if they have a physical or mental health problem. Research has assisted in informing the occupational therapy practice of how physical and mental health problems could serve a barrier to participation in occupations. To me, research means discovering new information, leaning to see things from a different perspective and developing a better understanding of something.

The fourth years presented very diverse and interesting topics , it was interesting to see their relevance to the occupational therapy practice. The first group presented their study on how Albinism impacts the occupational functioning of the individual and themes that emerged were interesting, informative and linked to the OT practice. Another group’s project was about Systemic Lupus erythematosus (SLE) , while another group’s research was on university strikes that impacts every university student every year. I enjoyed watching and listening to the group whose topic was about the impact of strike on university students. The way they delivered their presentations was very compelling. It was great to see how the group unpacked the topic to reveal to those who do not know the feeling of packing your scrubs in your bag and walking to the bus stop then only wearing your scrub on the bus because you are afraid to be called a “sell-out”. This is how some students feel during strikes on campus, I fully relate to this as I also live on campus and use the bus provided by the school to go to practicals. The golden thread through all the research projects was that they were all linked to the OT practice. They all informed OT practice which then sent a challenge to other occupational therapists and students to begin addressing some of the problems now that we are aware of them . They have made a request for people to act now that the problems have been discovered.

Research should not be something that must be done to pass a module or secure yourself a title, but research should be used to change lives, change how people think and make a difference; having begun my research journey I think this is what will drive me. The fourth years also gave us advice on how to succeed and work effectively as a group . It was beneficial to hear perspectives from different students with different personalities and different work styles. They spoke about conflict and resolution within a group, people are unique and have different personalities therefore conflicts will arise. Tan (2012) reported that it is mostly emotional conflict that is common in groups, it is when two people always seem to find themselves holding opposing viewpoints and have a hard time hiding their personality animosity. Different working styles are also a common cause of emotional . The fourth years reported that effective communication is important within a group as it helps develop cohesiveness. Members must report their concerns to the group, and they should know their strengths and weakness to be able to divide the work according to what everyone knows best. Many issues arose within my group as well, the way we dealt with the issues affected the group dynamics. However, I have no doubt that the suggestions provided by the fourth years will be useful knowledge in the future.

As I embark on my research journey, I am realizing a lot about myself. I prefer working alone or in a pair with one person at a time. When I am working alone , I am free to choose the direction, there are no distractions and there is no need to explain to another person. I am a hard worker and I dislike being held accountable for other people’s work. I benefit from working with another person , they give me immediate feedback on my choices which makes my decisions much more reliable. However, working in a group has always been a different experience because of my unique personality. I have learned to positively view working in a team, collective brains can achieve greater results that working alone. The healthy debates and respectful disagreements while working as a group are the strongest catalysts in helping us else at anything we are expected to do. Overall , Research day helped me to deepen my understanding of the importance of research in our profession and the benefits of understanding ourselves and others within a group.

(Group Work at Brock: Tips for Effective Collaboration, 2019)

References

Group Work at Brock: Tips for Effective Collaboration. (2019). [Image]. Retrieved from https://brocku.ca/blogs/futurestudents/2014/10/16/group-work-at-brock-tips-for-effective-collaboration/

Office for Human Research Protections. (2019). [Image]. Retrieved from https://www.hhs.gov/ohrp/education-and-outreach/about-research-participation/informational-videos/index.html

Polgar, S. and Thomas, S. (2000). Introduction to research in the health sciences. Edinburgh: Churchill Livingstone

Tan, R. (2011). Variant Conflict Management: A Conceptual Model on Varying Conflict Management Approaches within Work Teams. SSRN Electronic Journal. doi: 10.2139/ssrn.1872913

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fitnesshealthyoga-blog · 5 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/dermatologists-tips-to-get-your-skin-ready-for-summer-part-1/

Dermatologist's Tips to Get Your Skin Ready For Summer-Part 1

Is your skin ready for summer? The two, biggest concerns people have about exposing their skin in the summer are:

Being sure their skin looks as good as possible so that they are not embarrassed by it; and

Having the right sun protection to prevent UV damage and future wrinkles, uneven pigment, sun spots, and skin cancer.

You’ve got approximately two, square meters of skin. It’s going out in the public on display once weather warms up and you put on shorts and short-sleeved shirts. Bathing suits expose even more of it. It’s time to get ready in advance!

You know that tank tops, shorts, sandals, and sun dresses are in your near future because you’re starting to click on adds for summer’s breezy fashions and bathing suits. There’s no denying it – arms, legs, chest, and back skin will soon be on display. Feet will be, too.

Whip your skin into shape fast with my dermatologist’s skin care tricks. Protect your precious, two square meters of skin with the right skin care. As a dermatologist, I’ve helped my patients do this for years. I do it myself and for my family every year.

Here are my dermatologist’s 4 top tips for summer skin care:

Tip 1: Reveal smooth and hydrated skin that you’re proud of.

Get your skin ready for public viewing with a good exfoliation routine for your arms and legs. Use physical exfoliation and chemical exfoliation for best results:

Body exfoliation: My Ultra-Fast Triple Action Body Smoothing Kit will have your arms and legs looking great. It combines physical exfoliation (the Salux Shower Cloth and the beads in the Triple Action Scrub) with chemical exfoliation (strong glycolic acid lotion and glycolic and salicylic acid in the Triple Action Scrub). This does heavy-lifting exfoliation for the best and fastest results. Polish your skin to a youthful, dewy sheen that you can be proud of. Use the kit on your body skin at least twice a week.

Moisturize daily for dewy, youthful and hydrated skin. Apply a good moisturizer every day within 3 minutes after toweling dry after your bath or shower. You can use the Glycolic Acid daily or you can alternate it with a good moisturizer enriched with botanical oils that replenish lost skin lipids necessary for hydrated skin. My Natural Lotion is an ideal, head-to-toe moisturizer for the entire family – hair skin included! Keep one by every shower so it’s easy to apply within the magic 3 minutes after stepping out of each shower.

If your feet are rough and scaly, get them sandal-ready with my Soft and Smooth Feet Kit. This is professional skin care that fixes rough feet fast. I depend on this for my own feet, which want to have rough calluses on the heels, balls of my feet and sides of my big toes – Noooooo not happening!

Tip 2: Get a healthy warm skin glow that’s better than a tan!

Add a smart, warm glow to your skin that’s safe from skin cancer by using a self tanner. Apply it under your moisturizer or Glycolic Acid Body Lotion to warm your skin tone and hide flaws like varicose veins, etc. You probably already know that self tanners can make skin look dry so daily moisturizing and regular exfoliation are important. My favorite self tanner is the Avene Self Tanner because the color is great and the lotion is lightweight so it’s perfect under my Glycolic Acid Body Lotion. This is what I’ve used for years and I’m always pleased with the results.

An additional bonus tip for a warm skin tone is to eat lots of carrots or drink carrot juice for a warm beta carotene glow to your skin. This glow comes from the inside out. Beta carotene is also an excellent antioxidant to help fight UV- free radical skin damage and general, free radical physiologic stress.

Did you know that the warm glow from beta carotene has been proven more attractive than a sun tan? It’s true.

Dr. Ian Stephen, an experimental psychologist at the University of Bristol in England, performed a study where he showed volunteers a series of photographs of both men and women. Some were sun-tanned and others had loaded their skin with betacarotene by eating a beta carotene-rich prescribed diet. The volunteers consistently rated skin attractiveness higher for the beta carotene glow compared with the tan from the sun. Veggies win over UV rays! Carrots get the beta carotene glow on fast. Sip carrot juice daily and glow up!

Be ready – warm weather and outdoor fun are here. Let’s take our two, square meters of skin and go play outside – with our best looking skin safe from UV skin damage!

Click here for Part 2. Find the final two dermatologist’s key tips to have your skin in top shape for summer !

References

Facial Skin Coloration Affects Perceived Health of Human Faces, Stephen ID, et. al., Int J Primatol, 2009 Dec;30(6):845-857. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2780675/

Santosh K. Katiyar, Anaibelith Perez, and Hasan Mukhtar, Green Tea Polyphenol Treatment to Human Skin Prevents Formation of Ultraviolet Light B-induced Pyrimidine Dimers in DNA1, Clinical Cancer Research, Vol. 6, 3864–3869, October 2000 http://clincancerres.aacrjournals.org/content/clincanres/6/10/3864.full.pdf

Joi A. Nichols and Santosh K. Katiyar, Skin photoprotection by natural polyphenols: Anti-inflammatory, anti-oxidant and DNA repair mechanisms, Arch Dermatol Res. 2010 March ; 302(2): 71. doi:10.1007/s00403-009-1001-3. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19898857

About The Author

Cynthia Bailey, MD Dr. Bailey Skin Care Dermatologist (888) 467-0177

425 South Main St

Sebastopol, CA

95472 US

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Source link

#acne #acne treatment #current health news usa #dermatologist #Dr. Cynthia Bailey #latest health news usa #skin care #skin care products #skin problems #skin treatment #us public health news #Skin Care

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hangxachtaythailan-blog · 5 years ago

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TOP 10 loại mỹ phẩm Thái Lan được khách hàng đặt mua nhiều nhất tại Hàng Xách Tay Thái Lan

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DERMOVATE là corticosteroid dùng tại chỗ có hiệu lực rất cao được chỉ định cho người lớn, người già và trẻ em trên 12 tuổi nhằm làm giảm các triệu chứng viêm và ngứa của các bệnh da đáp ứng với steroid.

Trên đây là câu trả lời cho câu hỏi bỏ sỉ mỹ phẩm Thái Lan xịn 100% ở đâu. Hy vọng sẽ đem đến bạn những thông tin hữu ích nhất trong quá trình tìm hiểu. Chúc bạn thành công và có được mức giá sỉ phù hợp nhất cho mình.

>>>XEM THÊM: Quy trình mua sỉ mỹ phẩm Thái Lan

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TỔNG KHO SỈ HÀNG XÁCH TAY THÁI LAN UY TÍN & GIÁ RẺ

Website:https://www.hangxachtaythailan.vn

Hotline: 0949.053.123

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