#Also if this is bait: re-read previous tag. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

greenbriar-j · 3 years ago

Text

Muscle Memory, full wip, unedited 4.7k, scroll at ur own risk; tagging some people who showed previous interest @halleiswriting @chazzawrites @pe-ersona @druidx and also @pens-swords-stuff this is what I’ve been up to lately

Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church bustles with activity. It’s peculiar, for it being a weekday. More peculiar still that the bustling is being done by young men and women who could very well be engaging in… more satisfying summer indulgences.

The Youth Group’s power couple sweeps in an hour late, ever put together even when, by all rights, they ought to be melting right out of their fancy outfits. Cheers rise from the crowd when they appear, each splitting off in their own directions to their own stations.

Y Nhi beelines for the painters, flicking her sleek ponytail to make sure it’s out of the way. The girls hand her a brush while detailing what’s left to be done. Vinny bustles for the sound technicians - who, really, are already done for the day, but are staying for the social factor.

Two things to note about St. Joseph’s power couple:

Y Nhi isn’t sure she believes in God very much anymore.

They are not a couple, but it’s easier to let everyone think so than to correct it.

“Jude,” Mary says (everyone calls her Jude because she and Vinny made a big deal of it years ago), “Are you sure you can’t help out during the week?”

Y Nhi shrugs. She’s not busy or anything, but it feels wrong to shepherd children into a religion she’s falling out of - even if Vacation Bible School had been one of her favorite summer memories for her entire life. That’s where she met Vinny, after all.

Vinny, laughing with the guys at the sound booth. To be more accurate, Vinny himself is only smirking, but that’s as close to a laugh as he gets around here. Stupid smirk. Stupid boy.

“I have work. Unfortunately,” Y Nhi mutters, dragging her brush across a cardboard cutout. “Vinny’s taking the week off, so I’m picking up his slack.”

Mary grins widely at that. “I swear it’s like you’re married.”

For whatever reason, Y Nhi’s heart clenches at that. Picturing herself and Vinny in wedding attire on the altar sickens her, but putting a faceless someone in her place makes her feel worse. But it’s not like she likes him. She’s sworn to herself that she’d become a cat lady in her old age - her army has already begun with a fluffy black kitten. It’s not looking too good for her future; Toothless likes Vinny more than her. She’s already failed as a parent.

Belatedly, Y Nhi realizes she’s supposed to be engaging in a conversation, not thinking about Vinny and their co-parenting of a cat. If it can be called that.

“Don’t hold your breath. The wedding is a long way off,” she says tightly. Like. Never. Never is a long, long way off.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

This time, Y Nhi lets the comment slide. She paints while singing under her breath, as she always does. A long time ago, she had no qualms about belting it out, but time has weathered away her volume, reducing it to only this. No one’s noticed the change or found it strange.

The conversation turns to something - anything - else. Degrees, internships, other boys who don’t dress in all black and aren’t named Vincent Truong. Y Nhi listens, but doesn’t contribute.

By the time the call goes out for a lunch break, Y Nhi is finishing three tasks at once. One of the other girls brings her a burger, slathered with ketchup and mayo and tomatoes. Y Nhi thanks her and continues wrapping one of the white pillars in cardboard paper to simulate a palm tree.

Not long after, someone nudges her. Eyes flickering upward, she’s met with the bored eyes of her very best friend. “Bite.”

She doesn’t, not yet.

Vinny wiggles the burger he’s holding in front of her mouth. “Only half a slice of cheese. No tomatoes. Freshest patty of the batch. Eat.”

She still doesn’t take the bait, even though he’s tailored this burger to her weirdly specific tastes.

Vinny sighs. “Jude. No one’s watching you. I promise all they can see is my back.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” It’s true she had a complex about eating in public for a while, for reasons she’s never told anyone including him. “Just not hungry.”

“Not very Gucci of you to lie in the house of God.”

“Not very Gucci of you to breathe.”

“Jude! The fuck, man.” But he’s grinning. Not the half-assed grin he gives everyone else, but an honest, mirthful grin reserved for Toothless and Y Nhi only (usually Toothless. Damn cat).“Just eat this, okay? I’ll eat the other one.” His whole demeanor softens as he picks up the burger she had ignored - the one that is surely cold by now.

She is hungry. After all, the reason they were late is because Vinny had to coax her to every step of getting ready this morning. He even applied her eyeliner with the even strokes of a practiced hand - so practiced that even Y Nhi admits it looks like her own work. If she had a choice, she would waste away in bed for the day, but Vinny has never been much of a fan of that plan.

According to her own plan, Y Nhi had been wasting away since before yesterday’s dinner. Famished might be a better word to describe her present state.

But today is one of those days that she feels guilty cementing the married couple narrative any more than it needs to be. They’re not getting any younger, Vinny and Y Nhi, and just because she’s sworn off marriage doesn’t mean he has. How’s he supposed to get a nice girlfriend if she keeps hanging around?

Objectively, it’s a stupid reason to risk passing out in a church of all places, but something about him just makes her stupid. Always has.

The longer she ignores his peace offering, the twitcher he gets. He finishes his own burger in ten massive bites. When Y Nhi still doesn’t eat hers, he eats that whole thing too. “We’re leaving early. Say an hour? Think about what you want to eat.”

With that, he’s gone. Y Nhi is not hyper aware of his presence as it moves through the open space. She does not miss having him next to her. Not even a little.

Y Nhi writes, appetite??? in her journal when she gets home. It’s the third time something of this nature has appeared on its list which isn’t titled - but if it was it would be something like “Things About Vinny T. that Don’t Make Sense.”

Even after inhaling two burgers, he took her out for pho and Thai tea, and he ate so slow that his noodles expanded in the broth. Still, he finished a medium bowl with relative ease, and Y Nhi was content after she’d finished a small.

How does someone who eats like that look like that? It has to be some sort of stupid freaky metabolism. Genetic polymorphism, she thinks, then adds that she might be incorrectly using the term she’d heard in class about two semesters ago.

She writes freeloading on the list. It’s not technically true, but he spends enough time at her place to make it feel like it. Right this minute, he’s setting up the living room to sleep in, awaiting her delivery of the overnight bag he always leaves stocked in her apartment for emergencies.

That goes on the list too. Definition of ‘emergency.’

According to recent months, an alarming amount of things fit under this category of Vinny’s mind. It might be nearing time to stage an intervention, but who’s Y Nhi to tell him to relax when she’s the one bordering on anxiety attacks all the time? Only god knows how many times he’s clutched her shaking hands until they stopped.

Y Nhi closes the journal. Snaps the band over the cover. Shoves it under her pillow. Vinny wouldn’t dare read it to begin with, but for some reason, she doesn’t even want him to know of its existence.

Quickly divesting herself of the impeccable outfit she’d worn for the day, she slips easily into one of Vinny’s large, large shirts and the shorts she affectionately calls game day shorts. Ever since high school, she’s worn them for events that require equal amounts of comfort and courage - or just for comfort, to be honest.

“Hey, loser,” she greets Vinny, emerging from her room. He’s got her guitar in hand, and is humming some tune that she recognizes but can’t place. “Your stuff is on my bed. Have you seen Toothless?”

He nods, and keeps playing. It’s in experience, being stared at with such intense eyes while trying not to stare at the other party’s stupid pretty hands playing her guitar. Fuck him, honestly, she thinks angrily.

Leaving him there, she pours each of them a glass of water in the kitchen. A shadow looms on top of the fridge, and she jumps. “Toothless, baby. Please stop napping on the fridge.”

Toothless is not napping. He stands up, shakes his tiny body and hops to the counter, then to the floor, twining around Y Nhi’s feet before scuttling off.

Vinny is singing now. It’s a new song, she supposes, and it sounds like a love song.

Slowly, Y Nhi moves around the kitchen, making as little noise as possible while doing absolutely nothing. She just wants to listen to Vinny and his new love song without him watching her reaction.

Once she gets past the lyrics about gentle touches and midnight escapades, she realizes something. Re-entering the living room, she deposits his water on the table. “Is that my melody? Why would you steal it?”

The guitar is placed awkwardly on the floor, the neck of it leaning on the couch. “Oh, is that where it’s from? Thought it was familiar,” he says with mild disinterest. “Well, I wasn’t that attached to it anyway.”

“Are you saying it sucks?” Y Nhi settles on the floor on the other side of the table, pulling her knees into her chest. Glancing through her lashes, Y Nhi watches Vinny’s expressions.

“I’m saying I’m not taking your work, you brat.” Then he hesitates. “I mean. Can I, just for one person?”

“What the fuck.”

Vinny twitches, finally. “I… Wrote the song for someone… So I’d like to sing it for her, just once.”

Something vile rises in her throat, and she wishes Toothless would notice her distress. Hugging the cat might make her feel a little better about the fact that Vinny’s written a song about a girl using her melody - and it’s not about herself and for some odd reason, that bothers her.

“Can- Can I hear it?” Y Nhi asks in a tiny voice. It’s easier than No, you cannot take my song to sing to some other girl who will take you away from me.

“Haven’t you been hearing it?”

“Vincent.” Because that’s easier than You colossal idiot, what shit are you pulling after two years?

“Jude-”

She stands suddenly, fleeing to her room. Shutting the door, locking it, she tries to breathe. Of all people, Vinny should be the last person to push her to this reaction. She doesn’t know what to think.

Vinny knows.

Vinny knows where her hard limits are. Technically, he hasn’t passed them. But he’s pretty damn close.

Y Nhi slips into the shower, leaving it on the hottest setting to boil the emotions out.

For the next two days, Y Nhi doesn’t emerge from her room. Her phone dies, and she lets it. Her body self-destructs in hunger and dehydration from crying, and she lets it. She stays in bed for most of it. Whether Vinny continues to sleep on the other side of the wall for those nights, she doesn’t know. Nor care.

It’s punishment for believing she might be ready to give love another chance.

The third day, a letter slips under her door.

She almost flushes it down the toilet without reading it. Everything is in position to do so, paper fluttering in unsteady hands above the toilet bowl. But she wants to know. What can Vinny possibly say for himself?

Jude. I wrote the song for you. I didn’t mean to steal your tune - honest to god, I didn’t. But when I found out, I thought it was fitting that we’d worked on it together. (“Together”)

Jude, the song is up to your interpretation, but it’s yours. I wrote it from my core, and it’s yours. Charge your fucking phone and check the lyrics I sent you.

Take a shower, and call me when you’re ready. You have a few days’ worth of takeout in the fridge. Please take care of your health; I know you’re not right now. I mean it in the best way.

It cuts off there. Unceremonious and blunt, and so very him. She hates it very much.

Y Nhi charges her phone while she showers. Working quickly because she’s so unsteady on her feet, she does the bare minimum before stumbling into the kitchen for food.

While she nibbles on the stir fried noodles he left, she pens her own note.

Vinny,

I will not read the lyrics. I don’t want to know, and you don’t have to pretend it’s about me.

Your joke took two years to reach completion. Congratulations. I hope I was amusing and that my downfall wall be the stunning conclusion you wanted.

She tapes it on her front door so he’ll see it the next time he comes over. Soon, probably.

Momentarily, she wonders if she’s being rash. Is it so impossible to think that he could find romantic attraction to her?

Then she remembers. Y Nhi is not built to be loved, if her history is anything to go by. Even if she’s wrong, even if Vinny loves her for real, she will resist. Losing him this way is better than the alternative: watching him dissolve to some monstrosity while loving her.

Nothing changes after that. Apart from Vinny’s absence from her apartment, they interact in exactly the same way.

Vinny says something borderline rude.

Y Nhi retorts with something blatantly rude.

They laugh about it and move along.

There are no gentle touches to avoid because Vinny rarely touched her to begin with - despite the way he slings his arm around everyone else, he wasn’t like that with her. No arm around her shoulder, no hugs, not even extended contact with her hair.

Y Nhi pretends not to notice when he goes through a full dinner with an arm draped over the back of his friend Justin’s chair. He leans on it, adding the tiniest space between himself and Y Nhi. He still passes her the condiments and spices she likes before she asks for them. He takes her home at the end of it.

This should be enough. Up until now, it always had been. These tiny acts were his long distance hugs. It had always been enough, but now it isn’t, and Y Nhi doesn’t know what to do.

Isn’t this what you wanted? For him to get a life away from you?

“How’s that girl?” She asks on the way home, just because the silence is killing her and perhaps because she’s a masochist. “The one you wrote the song for?”

Vinny looks at her for a brief moment, something like grief in his eyes. It’s a confusing expression. “She hasn’t really talked to me since.”

Y Nhi tries not to sit straighter at this revelation. “Oh, really? Hm. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Something about the word is profoundly heartbroken. She can almost feel the emotions hurtling off him in waves, but he doesn’t lash out at her. All it does is enclose each passenger of the car in a separate bubble. This is the closest they’ve been in a long time, but Y Nhi has never felt so isolated.

Her throat constricts, and her hands start to shake. “Do you… Know why?”

Vinny thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I think she doesn’t believe me. But I don’t really think it’s me, I think she thinks that love is meant for everyone except herself. She’s pretty bent on self-destruction now, as far as I can tell - No, don’t say anything yet.”

Every girl Vinny’s talked to in the last week pops up in her mind. Which of them seems most self-destructive? If she can’t keep herself by his side, he should at least have someone who can care for him. She could talk to them, probably, if she knew who it was.

“I… She thinks this is sudden, but I’ve been in love with her since I was fifteen. Or something. Like it kind of just happened over time, and I thought she knew.”

Fifteen means Vinny’s been futilely in love with someone else while she fell for the guy who ended up cheating on her.

They were happy in high school. It was college that broke them. Distance. The communications became less frequent in an inverse relationship to Y Nhi’s alcohol intake. Her grades suffered, and she convinced herself that she was too stupid for higher education. On his birthday, she drove for hours to his dorm to surprise him, only to find him making out with another girl. Sober.

Not that any level of inebriation could excuse him, but perhaps it would’ve hurt a little less.

Vinny isn’t done. “I fucking cut fruit for her every time we hung out. I did her dishes sometimes. I don’t know, I- I thought I did everything right. My mom thought I was doing everything right.”

“You tell your mom about your love life?”

Y Nhi doesn’t. Her parents don’t care enough to know anything about it beyond that she let go of a future doctor and that she’ll never find another because she’s past her prime. That’s what it feels like, anyway.

She’s literally twenty four. She has time.

“Not really. But they’ve met.” Vinny parks the car in front of her apartment, but he makes no move to get out or to let Y Nhi get out. “Jude, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” she says. Training her eyes on her kitchen window, she thinks about the dishes she hasn’t done yet, the fruit she hasn’t cut yet, and how she hates thinking about it because it reminds her Vinny is fading.

Human adaptability is a remarkable thing. One more week, and this new normalcy will cement itself.

“The girl I love is you. Okay? I’ve walked around the topic for years, and I understand if you’re still not ready for it. But I know you’re getting the wrong idea in that head of yours. It’s you, and it’s always been you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if you let me. I’ll also bow out forever if that’s what you need from me. But I need you to talk to me. I-”

Holy shit, is he about to cry? With wild eyes, she glances at him. If she’s made him cry, he’ll return the favor five-fold. No, she backtracks. That’s not Vinny. That’s the behavior of her second ex, the one that reduced her to a stiff puppet of a girl.

“Come back to me,” he says in a small, strangled voice. “I don’t even care if you break me in the process, but please come back to me. You can do whatever you want, as long as you do it by my side.”

For the longest moment, they say nothing. Then Y Nhi opens the car door. “Can you cut my strawberries for me? They taste better when you cut them.”

Vinny washes her dishes and her strawberries and quarters the already small fruit for her. He deposits the snacks in front of her and watches her eat - slowly, since they’ve just come back from dinner, after all.

“So it’s me?”

“Always has been.”

“And you never said anything.”

“I did. You ignored it on purpose.”

“No, I’m just a stupid hoe.”

“You’re not stupid. Or a hoe.”

“You’re always calling me stupid.”

“Not like that, stupid.”

“You’re going to have to undo a lot of damage if we date.”

“I know. I’ve been working on it already, didn’t you notice?”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna get worse if we date.”

“Have you considered therapy?”

“Vinny, I’ll be a pariah.”

“A happy one, maybe.” Hesitantly, he reaches for one of her hands. Halfway, he flips the palm up and waits for her to complete the gesture on her own. “You don’t have to decide right away. It’s just a thought.”

She puts her hand in his a little too eagerly, then pulls back a little too harshly. It feels like touching the flame of a candle.

A defeated look momentarily crosses Vinny’s eyes, but Y Nhi barely has the time to look at it before she steels her nerves and takes hold of his hand again. The coldness of his rings grounds her somehow. “We need a list,” Y Nhi says, “of things. First, you’re going to Google touch starvation.”

Her best friend jerks in a little victorious motion, jamming his knee unceremoniously on the table leg as he does. “Fuck, that hurt.”

“What was that about?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually touch starved or if you didn’t like men touching you.”

“And you didn’t ask?” Y Nhi is incredulous.

“How am I supposed to ask? ‘Jude, when I touch you, does it remind you of your sleazy ex boyfriends?’ You’d say no. Like a liar. Or so I thought.” He pauses. “Anyway, this means I can hug you now, right? 24/7.”

“If you ease into it.”

“And you’ll stop wearing those gigantic shirts that literally drown you.”

“...No. What?”

“Okay, never mind, nothing. What else? What other boundaries do we have?”

Of all questions she’s been asked today, this one is probably the most confusing. Her previous relationships are no help; she hasn’t exactly had the best exposure to “healthy relationships.” She’s aware that the bare minimum counts as decadence for her, so the question has her a little frozen.

After watching her face flicker through whatever emotions it’s displaying, Vinny rubs a thumb over her knuckles. “How about this: I have a specific thing I want your help with, and when things come up, we can talk about it.”

Y Nhi nods, though they both know she won’t talk about shit. But perhaps watching Vinny sort out whatever issue he needs sorted will give her inspiration on how to approach this. “Can we-?” She starts and stops abruptly.

Vinny blinks, then feeds her a strawberry slice. “Go ahead.” It’s a tactful move. Putting food in her mouth means she has to chew, meaning she has a few more seconds to gather herself and her thoughts, or at the very least, the desire to continue speaking.

“Can we not label this?” She finishes. “Whatever is between us.”

To her surprise, Vinny nods and acts like she hasn’t asked the bitchiest question of the night. “Sure.” You can do whatever you want, he’d said, as long as you do it by my side.

“And… Get rid of Jude.”

“What?”

“Jude. You remember why I picked that name?”

“Because of some fictional fairy queen that had the same name? You thought she was a conniving boss ass bitch and-”

“Shut up. Saint Jude. Patron saint of?”

Technically speaking, he hasn’t been wrong about the fairy queen bit. Unlike the suckers who fell for Cardan Greenbriar, Y Nhi’s wimpy ass was all in for Jude Duarte, mortal queen of the fae. And it was easier to admit that than to admit the truth that was dawning on Vinny’s face in 3… 2...

“Hopeless causes,” Vinny answers easily. Then his expression sobers. “Oh.”

Y Nhi nods. “But the me with you isn’t a hopeless cause. I don’t want her to be, anyway.”

There’s a lot that goes unsaid, but she’s certain Vinny hears it. Logically, she can’t keep relying on whatever instinct says, He’ll understand because he’s Vinny, but up to this point, it should work out okay.

Gently, he says, “Y Nhi,” reacquainting himself with the syllables of her given name. “Y Nhi.”

“Yes, Vinny?” She says just as gently.

He lowers his voice to a husky whisper, “You’ve never been a hopeless cause. You were a cause for hope.”

Vinny’s request is this: that Y Nhi teach him to be soft again.

The request makes her question if she and Vinny exist in the same dimension because who the hell convinced him he wasn’t soft? Hardened, prickly souls don’t master winged eyeliner for the sake of their loved ones. They don’t volunteer extra hours at Vacation Bible School while working graveyard shifts at the hospital. Don’t do the dishes because as much as they hate them, their roommate hates them more.

Vinny is soft, and Y Nhi is out for blood. “I need names, Vincent. And addresses if you have them.”

“My ex,” he says.

An awkward sound emerges from Y Nhi’s throat.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “What? I dated around. Didn’t think I should be hung up on you, but nothing ever went as planned. Anyway, my one ex did a really good job making me become someone I wasn’t. I didn’t like the person she made me, but it was kind of too late to turn around.”

Again, Y Nhi is confused. The narrative is promising, though, so she lets him continue in hopes that it’ll clear something up.

“If you don’t know me, how would you describe me?”

“Vinny.” She doesn’t have an answer, she just doesn’t want to say it. It’s not all good, and they just came back from an awkward fight. Was it a fight?

They’ve slipped back into their normal existence so easily. Nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything has.

“Just- The rings and the black and the tattoos. You’d think I drove a motorcycle or something, right?”

“You drive a Lexus. It’s the same in terms of your fuck boy vibes.”

“Y Nhi!”

“BMW would’ve sealed the deal. How many Hennessys do you drink a night, again?”

A pout settles on his face. She likes this version of him. “I see you get my point. I look like a baddie.”

“Yeah. Bad at life.”

“I swear to god.”

“Don’t do that, that’s a sin. Don’t use the lord’s name in vain and all.”

“Anyway. You of all people know I am soft, actually. She didn’t like that. And so I gained a second personality and-”

It’s rude, the way Y Nhi interrupts, but Vinny doesn’t seem to mind at all. “So if you’re always soft, what’s left for me to help you with?”

“You’ll see,” he says. “Actually. No, I’m going to tell you. I get embarrassed about my relationships. So if it ever looks like I’m pushing you away… I’m just really fucking embarrassed, at least for this first stage. Do what you will with that.”

- bonus/epilogue -

They return home for Y Nhi’s mom’s birthday. They’ve always rode home together, since they are neighbors no matter where they are. No one finds it odd that they hold hands more than before, that Y Nhi is still averse to touching everyone but him.

They appear at social events hanging on each other’s arms. Commentary about their status as a “married couple” breeze over their heads, but they never confirm nor deny anything. In public, they remain aloof to each other. They show tenderness in only the smallest of gestures.

In private, they are as they ever were. Vinny still does her eyeliner on her bad days, but now she cuddles him on the couch on his bad days. Between the two of them, there are a lot of bad days, days when they almost threw in the towel.

But they didn’t. Instead, they’ve introduced all manner of pet names (Vinny’s favorites to use are love, darling, and lately, em. Y Nhi’s favorites are Vinny and anh). They write songs to each other, for each other, with each other. Every morning, they make the choice to keep loving each other the way they have since they were fifteen - and while they joke that they wasted so much time, it was a necessary time for them to spend apart to learn how to exist together and how to choose each other even when it’s the harder choice than letting go.

Even I get lonely too

It’s not hard

Every question’s got an answer

And mine is you

Where you go then I will follow

All my life

You’re the name that I will whisper to the night

#musclememory.wip #it turned out differently than planned #but I hope you enjoy it!

21 notes · View notes

espejonight28738 · 5 years ago

Text

"Golden Time" & "Last Call" Meta

You know the deal: Destiel and Saileen positive, so don’t like don’t read.

Hi! So, long story short, the two weeks after “Golden Time” I had so much homework I was sleeping an average of, like, 3 hours a day, didn’t have time to write meta. And when I finally had time, “Last Call” was airing the next day, so I kinda gave up and decided not to do a meta on 15x06. BUT BOY, last chapter just wrapped everything I wanted to say about the previous chapter, so I decided I´m just gonna mix both here.

I know it sound crazy, but trust me, I kinda have a point here.

First, we got back Eileen. I’m ecstatic about that. We needed the comeback of a female character and I’m so glad that is my BAMF girl. I love her. Now, you know my theories for the writers choosing Eileen as the character to bring back from the dead, if not they are here. But this time I became overwhelmed with fear that I didn’t knew why she was brought back inside the story, because this is writing inside of writing.

Like, we know that Chuck is controlling the story again (I´ll deepen in the ambiguity of how in charge he is in a minute) to some degree. Chuck decided to make Eileen appear, he decided to give Sam a half-done ritual he could use to bring her back. And that scares me, because Sam being happy (As he is with Eileen being domestic and adorable, my heart can´t handle them being this cute istg) isn’t what he wants for the endgame. So why bring her back at all?

And then, there is the fact that Chuck was… suspiciously absent in these two episodes. I mean, in “Atomic Monsters” we saw Chuck getting back into writing. In “Proverbs 17:3” we had Lilith directly address Chuck plan to some degree, for she was part of it. The fact that both MOTW were so… plain, and that fit so well with Becky´s complaining, we are being told that this is Chuck writing, everything is.

But then we have 15x06 and 15x07 and… nothing? I mean, yes, they are looking for them or whatever, but I feel like we lost this feeling of impending doom and helplessness that Chuck was making every move. Why?

It’s because Chuck isn’t as shitty writer as the last chapters were. I mean, Supernatural has mistakes and a little of oocness here and there, but it’s a good story, and it is Chuck’s. He can write things that doesn´t feel forced or scripted, he just was shaking the remains of that writer’s block. I think these two episodes were still written totally by him. After I reached that conclusion, everything made sense again.

Going back to the end of “Proverbs 17:3” we have a pretty fucked up situation. Dean is totally hopeless and broken, Sam is overwhelmed by everyone they have lost, from Jess to Rowena, and Cas is AWOL. That… isn´t a good place for main characters to be if you wanna write an epic ending, specially one as dramatic as the one Chuck wants. It’s like kicking someone who is already knocked out. So what did Chuck do?

He got everyone back in the game.

Dean gave up? Remind him of why he fights. Righter of wrongs. No matter who many years passed, Dean is the Righteous Man. “Why do you care so much, Dean?” “Because someone has to.” / “Then you fix it. You don´t walk away, you fight for it.” / “You really want to do this?” “No I don´t, but I kill monsters.”

We saw someone who was like Dean, but took another path, became a monster. Dean isn´t like that. He doesn’t walk away. And you got him back on the game.

Sam is overwhelmed with grief of the people the have lost in the last 15 years? Then let´s bring back someone. Let´s give him hope he can win, that not everyone they come across is damned to die. And what says hope as a pure, innocent love? Chuck knows his tropes.

And just like that, he's back on the game.

Castiel… this is has being bothering me for days, not gonna lie to you. It's clear that Cas has no place in Chuck’s ending, He hasn't appear in Sam’s visions, his doll wasn’t in the desk where Chuck was writing, and the “No one even mentions Cas” line was supposed to bring out attention to that very fact.

Then why bring him back to the game? I know that we have this collective theory as a fandom right now, where Cas is the key to freewill, and that the reason Chuck doesn´t want him there is because he keeps going out of script. But there has to be more to Chuck feelings on Cas because, quoting him, “I´ve rebuild Castiel more times that I can count.”

If he truly thought that Cas was a danger to his story, he would have stayed dead. We know that Chuck doesn’t control 100% of the actions, because if he did Dean would have killed Jack, and Sam wouldn´t have shot him. Is he the reason Cas just comes and goes? Why hasn´t he killed him as he has killed literally everyone else? Does Cas is so out of his control he can´t kill him in the story? Then why not snap him like he did with Jack? To which extent he wrote things? Was he being truthful in his surprise back in s4 with his “You´re not supposed here. You're not in this story” and Cas´ subsequent “Yeah, well... We´re making it up as we go”?

I´m with Dean in this, it is driving me crazy not knowing what´s God and what isn´t.

But my point here was that this, at least, is Chuck's doing. The fact that his determination comes at the same time that Dean and Sam´s is too perfect for it to be a coincidence.

Cas honestly came back out of spite. I mean, he did just lost friends, and his son, and his ex-boybest friend, and his other best friend because he is brother of the guy he just broke up with… and everything, just so you tell him God is still out there messing with their lives.

I would be kinda worried if he wasn´t angry.

And now he just goes to the bunker, and without even saying hi to Sam (I think he only greeted Eileen) he just throws this plan that he knows is dangerous for Sam and it´s like “okay let´s do it”. And okay, obviously Sam would be on board, he trusts Cas, but not even discussing the risk? What happened with “Nothing is worth losing you”?

But then it hit me, that was also Chuck. He needed to go quickly, make all of this before Dean came back. Go straight to the point.

He is setting himself up as the big baddie. He could have gone under the radar and work from the shadows, but he sent Lilith so they knew he was back. And know he set the bait and they think they have a chance to beat him. Now he can start working towards his end.

And that could be another reason to bring Cas back, right? Yes, as a device plot for Sam to get into Chuck´s head, but also as a tool for emotional instability, for both brothers yes, but specially for Dean.

He knows how broken and alcoholic and reckless and suicidal Dean gets when Cas dies. He wrote s7 and s13. An easy way to break him without killing Sam, for he needs both brothers for the Gran Finale.

Or if he decides to go for the Demon!Dean path, then he needs to kill Cas before he kills Sam because the Abel-Cain-Colette/Sam-Dean-Cas parallel. Or maybe have Demon Blood!Sam kill him so Dean gets the resolve to kill him. Basically, a device for angst.

Same, I suppose, as he plans to do with Eileen. Kill her in the right moment.

But in Castiel´s case, I do still think Chuck wants to kill him before he can mess his plan, so I feel his death a lot more imminent. Or I think it would be better to say that I do expect him to die at all, after all we still have all this Empty plot unresolved. Eileen is on Chuck´s plan, but I don´t think she will die. After all, is practically a confirmed fact that the end of Supernatural is a happy one. Maybe not he happiest, but happy, and poor girl being brought back and killed again in the same season is too much.

Next chapter we are getting Adam/Micheal back and… I don´t know what to do with that information. I know I just said that everything until now is Chuck´s script, but I do think it is a posibility that he just had forgotten about Adam/Micheal (I’m sorry but I mean, the “you let me rot in hell” is too personal to be Micheal, but I don´t see how Adam could possibly still be a functional human, so I don´t even know who are we gonna see). And this Micheal didn´t did the whole Apocalypse thing with God no coming back, so I´m not sure that he will be angrier at Him that at the Winchesters. I don´t know what´s gonna happen.

Obviously, there will be some ground to the midseason finale of a plan to beat Chuck that won´t work and make us all be at the edge of our sits in despair in March or something, but more precisely? I don´t know. I know there are some theory about Cas dying, and that Dean´s prayers in 15x09 will wake him in the Empty, and I like it, but I don´t think there is enough evidence to support it. So, I think the only thing we have left is wait and see.

Tagging: @metafest @verobatto-angelxhunter @legendary-destiel @agusvedder (Pls tell me if you wanna stop being tagged)

#supernatural meta #supernatural #supernatural s15 #spn s15 #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #castiel meta #dean meta #sam meta #eileen leahy #destiel #saileen #spn 15×06 #spn 15×07 #my metas

61 notes · View notes

freddiesaysalright · 6 years ago

Text

My Man

A BenHardy!Roger Taylor x Reader Fic Part II

Summary: Reader is a Broadway actress currently starring in a West End production of Funny Girl. She’s a widow, thanks to the Vietnam War, but it’s a well-kept secret. She also wants everyone to think she doesn’t care for rock music. She meets Roger Taylor when he brings his date backstage.

Word Count: 1.8K (it’s shorter but there’s more progress this time, I swear)

Tag List: @bohemian-war if anyone else would like to be tagged, let me know!!!

Part I

Part II here we go!!!

You lay awake that night contemplating Roger. His bandmates really made him more tolerable to be around. When he just brought his dates to your dressing room, you thought he was coarse and conceited, but with the rest of Queen in the room, he helped you with your jacket and then offered to walk you home like a gentleman. Just who was he? Which was the true Roger? Were either of them the true Roger?

With a sigh, you rolled onto your side and looked at the clock. It was well past two in the morning. Sleep eluded you once again. It always made you thankful your job was in the evenings. Working a typical nine to five would have killed you since your depression kept you awake when the night was as dark as your thoughts.

Every book and article told you to take moments like this to call someone. But who would be there for you? Your parents hadn’t spoken to you in nearly a decade. Your friends back home only made it worse. All of them still had their husbands, and most of them had children now. It was only a harsh reminder of what was taken from you. They were supportive, but they just didn’t understand a bit of what you were going through.

Forgoing sleep, you threw the covers off yourself and got out of bed. You padded out to the kitchen and opened your fridge. An unfinished bottle chardonnay sat front and center on the shelf, and you grabbed it by the neck. You yanked the cork out and took a swig. With a snicker, you thought of what your mother might say if she saw you now. Her proper little lady drinking wine out of the bottle and living on her own without a chaperone or a husband.

You took a couple gulps.

You stumbled a bit making your way over the couch. You switched on you TV and surfed through the basic channels. A late night re-run caught your eye. It was a fucking Queen performance they had done a couple years ago. Rolling your eyes, you downed the remainder of the wine. Your head began to swim as you realized this much wine was a mistake when you hadn’t eaten since the previous morning.

“Ugh,” you groaned. The camera panned to Brian and then Roger. You looked upward and addressed the heavens. “You’ve got a really awful sense of humor.”

Irritated, you smashed the power button and turned it off. Roger Taylor was just another man. Why was the universe forcing him on you?

That afternoon, you walked into your dressing room knowing you looked hungover. You had come across a bottle of vodka after the wine and drank a large portion of that as well to get Roger Taylor off your mind. It worked, but it cost you.

“You look terrible, Y/N,” Gary said as you shrugged your coat off.

“Get bent,” you returned.

“Rough night?” he asked, ignoring your rudeness.

“I had a normal night,” you said. “I just added some wine...and some liquor. Leave me alone.”

“You sure a certain drummer didn’t keep you up?” he teased.

“Gary, I’m gonna lose my shit on you.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Don’t bite my head off, girl.”

“Do not call me girl.”

“You are a girl,” he said. “You’re Funny Girl Fanny Brice and if you don’t start acting like it I’m calling your understudy.”

You flashed him a sarcastic smile.

“That’ll do for now. I need you on stage in ten minutes for warm ups.”

He smiled and wiggled his fingers at you on his way out the door. You took a seat in front the mirror, taking your ring off, and retrieving your makeup. You put it on carefully, thankful for something to focus on.

When showtime came and the curtain went up, you flipped the switch in your brain to be your actress persona. You became Fanny once again and were relieved that for a few hours, you could be someone other than you. You could escape inside her each night. When you were Fanny, you were free.

But then it ended. The curtain fell, the lights dimmed, and Fanny was just a character on a page. The real world snatched you back into its cruel clutches. After taking your bows, you returned to your dressing room.

You changed for the party Freddie invited you to, suddenly considering blowing it off. What could be gained by going? Feeling more lonely than ever in a house full of people? More infuriating confrontations with Roger? What was the point?

Well, you did really like Freddie. He was awfully sweet to you and it was kind of him to invite you at all. A lot of people would kill for an invitation like that. Sighing, you changed into your jumpsuit and heels. As you headed out the door, you felt your nerves start up. Then you remembered what George used to tell you when you were feeling insecure.

You’re a goddess, baby. They just can’t handle your light.

Smiling to yourself, you stood a little taller as you walked out. That was what you’d always loved about George. He made you shine.

When you arrived at Freddie’s home, you didn’t let it intimidate you. You knocked on the door and a man you didn’t recognize answered.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a thick Irish accent.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you told him. “Mr. Mercury invited me over.”

“Did he now?” the man returned, skeptically.

“Uh, yes,” you said, annoyed now. “Why are you being such a di - ”

“Y/N!” Freddie’s cry cut across you. “Step out of her way, Paul, she’s a friend.”

The man named Paul obeyed and you stuck your tongue out at him while Freddie’s back was turned. When he faced you again, he pulled you into a hug.

“It’s wonderful to see you, darling,” he said. “How’d it go tonight?”

“Same as always,” you told him.

“Well then it was fucking fabulous, wasn’t it?” he said with a grin.

You beamed back. “It was, Mr. Mercury, thank you.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Beer is fine.”

He had someone bring it to you, and you thanked them. You followed Freddie to another room where you saw the rest of the band. Brian and John both had dates, but Roger had two women with him - one on each side. You fought a brutal urge to roll your eyes. Freddie disappeared to the beckoning of another guest, so you made your way over to the familiar faces.

“Evening, gentlemen,” you greeted. “May I join you?”

“By all means,” Brian said, pulling up a chair.

“Thank you, Mr. May,” you said, taking a seat.

You chatted with them for a bit. It was nice to interact with people, even though you had been scared before. The women there were also friendly. You felt normal for a little while.

After about a half an hour, a slow song came on over the speakers. Roger locked eyes with you and smiled. He got up and offered you his hand.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. “That is if your husband doesn’t mind.”

He pointed to a man in the corner, dancing wildly by himself. You laughed.

“Not my husband,” you said, taking Roger’s hand.

He led you out where there was some room and then placed one hand politely on your waist. You swayed with him for a moment, keeping a safe distance between you. The other couples were almost completely engulfed in each other.

“So, where is your husband this evening?” he asked.

You swallowed. “He couldn’t make it.”

“Awfully elusive, isn’t he?” he remarked.

“I guess you could say that,” you returned, looking down.

He took your chin in his thumb and forefinger and lifted your eyes to his. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, shaking him off. “Of course.”

A few beats of silence passed between you before you spoke again. “I didn’t take you for much of a dancer, Mr. Taylor.”

“I’m not usually,” he said. “But I have a weakness for a beautiful partner.”

“You had one,” you replied, not taking the bait. “Two, in fact.”

“Are you jealous?”

“You’re an infant.”

He laughed. “There she is.”

“Perhaps you were guessing who might be the best dancer,” you joked.

“Would that be you?” he asked.

“I am a classically trained ballroom dancer, Mr. Taylor,” you said, and it was true. “I know the foxtrot, the waltz, quickstep, et cetera, et cetera. And when I started doing musicals I learned to tap as well.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it about dance?”

He chuckled. “Fascinating as your resume is, that’s not what I’m after.”

“What can I help you with then, Mr. Taylor?”

“That’s what I’m asking about. You can call me Roger, you know. What’s with all the formality?”

That was a difficult question to answer. Your upbringing was so rooted in you in some ways. And calling a man who was not you husband by his given name was something you always struggled with. Especially when you didn’t know him very well. How could you explain the conservative brainwashing you’d received as a child?

“I was just raised that way,” you said. “Some habits are hard to break.”

“It just makes you sound like you’re in a Jane Austen novel,” he said.”

“Have you even read a Jane Austen novel?”

“Course I have, I went to university, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t ask if you were assigned Jane Austen. I asked if you actually read it.”

“For your information, I did,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Which one?” you wondered.

“Pride and Prejudice,” he said.

“Naturally.”

You paused again.

“Can I ask you something now?” you put forth.

“Fire it off.”

“How come you wanted to see me again? Mr. Mercury said you couldn’t stop talking about me. But I was really rude to you.”

“The first time, I didn’t want to see you again,” he admitted. “But then Jackie kept talking about how glamorous it was and - like I told you - we had a wonderful night together. I figured I’d give it another go even if you did annoy me. When you talked about your husband, you seemed more human. It made me think of Pride and Prejudice, actually.”

“You think I’m Lizzie Bennet?”

He shook his head. “No, I think you’re Mr. Darcy.”

Your mouth dropped and you stopped moving. “You think I’m Mr. Darcy?! Why?!”

“Because you’re rude but in a way that tells me there’s something deeper,” he explained with a chuckle. “And I think it’s got something to do with that missing husband of yours.”

He moved to begin dancing with you again, but you dodged his arm, looking away.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was only joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” you replied. “I’m sorry too, it’s just...it’s complicated.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Something like that.”

You bit your lip as you looked toward the door. “I should go,” you said before meeting his eyes just once more. “Good night, Mr. Taylor.”

You left before he could say any more.

247 notes · View notes

damienthepious · 5 years ago

Text

😘🦎💕

A Little Remedy

[ao3]

[companion piece to Toss and Turn In Undertow, and Keep Your Head Above The Blue]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sleep Deprivation, brief blood mention, Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday

Summary: Rilla can be a little cruel when she hasn’t gotten enough sleep, and recently she’s been finding herself exhausted much more often than usual.

Notes: Rilla is not exactly the MOST patient person, y'know? And I feel like Treacherous Heart specifically showed that keeping her from sleep is the best way to bring out her cruel side… anyway this happened and I’m tired and Hey! I finished the H/C trio. FINALLY. Title taken from the song To Noise Making (Sing), by Hozier. ]

Rilla needs to finish this experiment. She needs to. She’s so close to cracking the potency on a new form of pain salve she’s been trying to finalize for weeks now, trying to make it so the product is stable. Every previous attempt has lost efficacy increasingly from the moment it’s mixed together, a quickly lost battle with time that just leaves an inert gray goop by the end of the hour. If she can just figure out the right additive, if she can just get it to maintain potency for even a little longer, this could really make a difference in treating pain in long-term injuries and arthritic diseases.

She’s been digging through old herbalist tomes for hours now, trying to find a substance that will theoretically stabilize the mixture without interfering with the pain reduction, and it takes longer than it should for her to realize that she’s been reading and rereading the same entry over and over again without actually absorbing the information. She sighs, scrubs a hand down her face roughly and blinks a few times to try to clear the dryness of her eyes.

“C’mon, Rilla, just a little more,” she mutters to herself. “The sooner you find it…”

The letters on the page wobble and shift, and Rilla roughly knuckles her eye to try to make them stay still.

A little voice in the back of her head (one that sounds suspiciously like Damien) murmurs that her eyes are only going to grow more tired the longer she tries to work, that she’ll make better progress if her mind is rested, settled, but she scowls and hunches further over the book and forces herself to power through the last dozen or so pages.

“Research log, entry four four eight five,” she mutters into her recorder, glaring down at the offending paper. “Turns out the botanical survey from up near the Terminus was completely useless for the purposes of this project, so not only did I not find a binding agent, but I wasted hours going through the damn thing to try to find one. Not exactly back to square one, and it should at least rule out other surveys and guides from the area, but this is important and I can’t afford to be wasting time.” She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. “Side note that there is a subspecies of aloe from this region that might have other utility, specifically in advanced burn treatment, since it appears to have been enhanced magically in some way, but this is neither here nor there for the purposes of my current project. Research log concluded.”

She rubs her eyes again, shoving the book to the side and leaning her head back for a long moment, and sighs as she drags her hands down her face.

- thousand pointed claws - a mouth, no, maw, no, endless void - enormity beyond comprehension - clicking/biting/scratching - Damien, crushed, screaming - Arum, running and hunted and caught - Damien, and so much blood - fear fear fear - formless black torn at the edges, bleeding out - home, the Citadel, burning - home, her hut, burning - home, the Keep, burning -

Rilla wakes with a start, realizes belatedly that her head is slumped backward to rest on the back of the chair, her neck strained from the angle. She has to center herself, remember where she is. Safe, safe at home in her hut. Damien is asleep in the bedroom. She is safe. She is home. She is safe.

She exhales a shaking breath, shakes her head, and scowls at herself. “C’mon, Rilla,” she says again, and then she fights through a vicious sort of yawn, the kind that almost hurts her jaw and sets her eyes watering. “C’mon. Work to be doing, now. You can- you can try to rest when it’s done with.”

“And when, precisely, will that be, Amaryllis?”

Rilla jumps again, somewhat more violently this time, her chair scooting back a screaming inch across her wood floors, and when she whips her head to the side she sees the offending party standing beside the vague glow of the Keep’s portal. She hadn’t even noticed that when she’d come awake again. “Fuck, Arum, you scared me- how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that you are overworking yourself.” He stares at her, tilting his head to the side critically as the portal sinks and fades. “Yet again.”

“I’m fine, Arum. I’m almost done. As soon as I find this binding agent, then I can-”

“And will you find it before sunrise, do you think?”

She glares. “I’m close, Arum, I’ll find it and then I’ll-”

“And then you will find another angle upon which to focus.” He slinks a little closer and lets his eyes drift from her, scanning over her research. “Then you will decide you must turn immediately to the next step of your puzzle, and you will delay sleep for another night.”

“I… am… fine… Arum,” she bites out through her teeth.

“It is already near morning, Amaryllis,” he says, and thanks to the grayish light slipping around the edge of her curtains, she realizes that he is correct. Not that she’s going to admit that. “You did not sleep last night either, takatakataka.”

“I slept a litt-”

“A little,” he interrupts, and then he shrugs dismissively. “A ‘little’ sleep is a nap, Amaryllis, and that is insufficient for how long you have been awake. You know as well as I do, how detrimental a lack of sleep can be.”

“What, are you trying to nanny me now?” She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. She notes with a strange sort of amusement that her anger actually seems to be waking her up more effectively than anything else so far. “As if you’re some great example of taking care of yourself.”

Arum, surprisingly, doesn’t rise to the bait. He stares at her for a long moment, and his eyes slowly narrow. “I hope that you do not attempt to antagonize the poet in such a way when he confronts you. I cannot imagine that cruel words would glance from him without doing at least some damage.”

“Don’t- don’t bring Damien into this,” Rilla says with a scoff. “We weren’t talking about him.”

“We were not talking about my habits either, Amaryllis, until you brought them up.”

He’s right, again, and Rilla is furious about it. She narrows her eyes, standing from her chair and staring the lizard down. “Fine,” she says, voice icy. “Is this conversation over, then? Maybe if you actually let me do my work then I’ll be able to get to bed sometime tonight.”

He lets her words sit for another few moments, and her anger simmers as he stares. “I very much doubt you will sleep if I leave you now, Amaryllis,” he says.

“I can’t just abandon my experiments because I’m a little-”

“I very much doubt, also, that this is entirely to do with your work,” he interrupts. “This is because of the nightmares. Is it not?”

Rilla’s spine stiffens, and she takes the two short steps required to poke Arum in the chest, glaring up into his violet eyes. “That has nothing to do with this,” she bites out, one word at a time. “They’re just dreams, Arum, and I’m not a child.”

“I did not imply that you were, Amaryllis.” Arum stares down at her, neither stepping back nor appearing to grow irritated. “But they are not just dreams. It took some time for me to see the signs, but… I am perfectly capable of recognizing my own handiwork.”

“What…” That assertion is actually confusing enough that Rilla’s anger is somewhat defanged. “What are you talking about?”

“These dreams, Amaryllis. Did they, perhaps, only begin to manifest after the battle at Fort Terminus?” He pauses, watching her reactions carefully. “After your encounter with the… fear monster?”

That clicks into Rilla’s head like two gears finally catching together, and Rilla realizes that Arum is correct about this as well. The connection hasn’t occurred to her before, she hasn’t noticed that the timeline matches up so damn well. Mostly, she hasn’t noticed because the dreams started small, unobtrusive, easy to brush aside and dismiss, and have only become a problem by degrees. “What exactly are you trying to imply, Arum?”

“Not an implication,” he says. “An observation. The Keep confirmed for me that you slept much more soundly - when you deigned to sleep - during your initial stay within it.”

“You’re having the Keep- keep tabs on me?” Rilla says in a low, unpleasant voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arum says. “You insist on calling it my mother, Amaryllis, and I know that a part of your insistence on that front is because you are aware of how it frets over me. That attention and care extends to both yourself and Damien now, obviously. It has been worried for you.”

Rilla blinks in shock, then quickly tries to brush aside the pleased surprise she feels at the idea of the Keep caring about her, because- “Hang on. Don’t- don’t try to distract me. You’re saying that the nightmares are from the damned fear bug? It’s long dead, Arum, how does that even make sense?”

“If I remember Damien’s telling of the story correctly, you bore the brunt of the creature’s ire at least once, did you not?”

“They’re just nightmares, Arum,” she says, and it isn’t enough of a denial to keep him from smiling grimly.

“Then why are they growing worse, Amaryllis?”

“I don’t know, Arum,” she says, and she realizes just barely too late that she’s halfway to yelling, and she can’t actually tell how loud she’s being as she continues. “But apparently you have an idea you’re just desperate to share, huh? Fine. You think this is the fear monster? Go ahead and explain how the fuck a dead bug is keeping me from sleeping. I’m sure you’ve got everything figured out.”

Arum’s smile fades, and he sighs. “It was in your head, Amaryllis,” he says gently, and she snorts out an angry laugh.

“It was in all of our heads, Arum.”

“It was in your head,” he repeats, voice flat. “The creature was made to act subtly at first, and incrementally increase the fear response it created. What it did to you and your knights… that was not how it was intended to attack. That was brute force from a lockpick, Amaryllis, and from what I have observed in you lately, I believe it left wounds in your mind that have been festering rather than healing.”

“I would know if I was injured, Arum.” Rilla’s heart is hammering with her anger. She feels nearly lightheaded from it. “I am a doctor. I would know.”

“Rilla?” Damien is in the doorway of the bedroom now, sleep muddled and wearing a vague frown. “What… my darling flowers, whatever is the matter?”

“Great,” Rilla says without inflection, turning away from the door. “Fantastic.”

Arum’s expression softens, and he crosses the room to run his claws carefully through Damien’s pillow-mussed hair. “Nothing to concern yourself over, honeysuckle,” he says. “You should return to bed.”

“But-” Damien leans into Arum’s hand, overcome momentarily by a yawn. “But- there was shouting. What-”

“It’s nothing, Damien,” Rilla says, leaning over her worktable and glaring at the useless remains of the latest trial of her salve. “Go back to bed. Arum was just about to leave, and then it should actually be quiet enough for you to sleep. And for me to finish my work.”

Arum’s mouth presses into an even thinner line, and he gives Rilla an unimpressed look as Damien frowns in earnest. “Are- are the two of you- arguing?”

“Damien-” Rilla cuts herself off, just barely below a volume that could be called yelling, and presses her hands flat to the table. “Please go back to bed.”

With Arum’s arm slowly curling around his shoulder, Damien stares at her, his expression blooming from confusion into worry. “But… it’s nearly dawn already, my love,” he says.

Rilla’s eyes flick to the windows again, to the light growing brighter around the edges of the curtains, and she huffs out a furious breath as she pulls one of her books across the table towards her, trying to engross herself (pretending to engross herself) back into the research. “Okay. Okay. Fine. Then you should go do your exercises,” she says dismissively. “Either way I need to get back to work.”

“Did you not come to bed at all tonight, my flower?” Damien asks softly behind her, and Rilla clenches her jaw to keep from snapping in response. “I was… I was quite sorry to wake without you beside me.”

Five or six possible responses flit through her mind, all of them unreasonably cruel after the softness Damien is offering. She grits her teeth against them all, because Rilla is exhausted and frustrated and unfocused, but she’s spent far too much time in the effort to convince Damien’s anxious mind of how much she loves him, and she’s not going to jeopardize that with careless verbal sniping just because she’s not operating at full capacity tonight. Or- this morning, rather. Ignoring him isn’t exactly kind either, but she can’t think of any way to respond that isn’t unnecessarily cutting.

“Her nightmares are interrupting her slumber again,” Arum says, and his voice is casual though his eyes fix to hers in a determined way when she whips her head back to glare at the lizard. “She is attempting to outrun them by avoiding sleep entirely until she injures herself.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Rilla says with a scowl. “That’s not what I’m doing. I already told you, I can’t just put my work aside because I’m a little bit tired. This has nothing to do with dreams I might be having.”

Rilla… does not lie often. This particular one feels sour on her tongue, but if she can just get them to leave her alone then she can finish her work and figure out a solution for sleep on her own. She can handle this; there’s no reason for them to get all worked up about it.

“When… when did you last sleep, my love?” Damien asks, gripping Arum’s hand in a nervous sort of way.

“Yesterday,” Rilla says dismissively, turning back to her book. “I’ll be fine, Damien.”

“She slept for twenty minutes and woke herself by thrashing out of a nightmare,” Arum says. “The night before that, she managed perhaps an hour and a half before she gasped awake and slipped from bed, thinking I would not notice.”

“Rilla-”

“I can manage my own sleep just fine without interfering lizards keeping a running tally of my daily schedule, thanks very much,” Rilla hisses, gamely not looking at the pair of them and arbitrarily flipping pages without reading a single word upon them. “Really goddamn rich, honestly, the pair of you trying to micro-manage my- honestly. Honestly.”

“You do seem… rather exhausted, Rilla,” Damien says, his tone still confused and gentle. “Can you not just… come rest, just for a while, and find the solutions you seek with a refreshed mind?”

“I would rather find my solutions now, thanks.”

“Your book is upside-down, Amaryllis,” Arum says blandly.

Rilla growls under her breath and slams the book closed, spinning to face them again. Arum still has an arm encircling Damien’s shoulder, and another of his hands is clasped with Damien’s, and the both of them are staring at her. Damien flinches when she turns, his expression verging on distraught, and Arum is still holding his steady, observant gaze upon her.

“Okay,” she snarls, “I think that’s enough. I don’t need the nervous nag and the self-care hypocrite creeping over my shoulder and making it even harder for me to make any progress. I would go to bed a hell of a lot faster if the both of you would just leave me alone instead of arguing about my sleep habits.”

Arum’s expression finally hardens, and she sees his fingers squeeze Damien’s shoulder. “Enough… enough is right, Amaryllis. You need to sleep. You are not yourself, and we cannot discuss these nightmares until you are thinking more clearly.”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be ordering me around about the way I’m handling this, Arum, considering these damn nightmares are apparently your fault in the first place, you monster-”

“Rilla.” Damien clutches Arum’s arm, looking at her aghast. “You don’t truly-”

“No,” she says, the instant, instant regret making her shoulders sag, making the dull buzzing in her head all the more intense. She hugs her arms around her chest, exhaling an unsteady breath. “I know. I know. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean- I don’t actually-”

Even worse: the way Arum is looking at her. The way he seems unbothered, unsurprised by having the blame laid upon him. The way he doesn’t even flinch.

“I didn’t mean that, Arum.”

“I am well aware, Amaryllis,” Arum says evenly, his eyes never leaving her.

“I just- you’re both-”

“Trying very hard to help you, despite how stubbornly you are insisting on this attempt to drive us away so you may continue to suffer alone.” Arum sighs, then lifts a hand towards her, and she only barely catches the edge of desperation in his expression. “Please. Come away from your work. Just for a moment. I believe I can speak for Damien as well when I say that I have no desire to fight with you.”

Damien nods, and his hand raises on the other side, his expression open and distraught.

Rilla knows that if she lets the both of them hold her, she’ll be done for. She won’t be able to make herself go back to her work after that. Hell, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her damned eyes open if she lets them wrap her up in their arms.

She edges a step towards them, then glances at the disaster of research strewn across her table, still stubbornly refusing to present her with a solution.

“Please,” Arum says again, and Rilla breaks.

She stumbles the last couple feet towards them, and they fold her into their embrace as easily as… as easily as a metaphor she’s sure Damien would be able to produce in an instant, even if he were as tired as she is right now. She realizes how tightly she’s been holding herself as she leans into them, as her muscles relax one by one under their hands.

“My lovely flower,” Damien whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Oh, why did you not say anything? I know how strong you are, but you need not bear such pain alone merely because-”

“I’m not- it’s not like I’m doing this because I want to,” she says, because she wants them to understand. She’s never been a good liar, and the only reason it’s taken this long for this to come out is because she’s been doing her best to avoid thinking about it at all when she’s around them. “It’s just that- it’s easier to sleep through them if I’m exhausted first.”

Damien makes a soft, sympathetic noise, clinging tightly to her. “Sleep through them? So you still have them, you just-”

“Look, I don’t even know how much of it I remember, you know? But- if I wear myself out really well, I can at least sleep all the way through the night. Or- well, you know. I can at least get five uninterrupted hours. Six if I’m lucky.”

“So it has been that frequent, Amaryllis? That intrusive?” Arum’s tone is carefully controlled, but she can feel how he stiffens, thanks to the way he’s wrapped around her.

“It… yeah. Sometimes. It’s been getting… worse, but it comes and goes, I guess. Lately… I don’t know.” She sighs, not exactly pleased to admit this. “Yeah. It’s been bad. I didn’t want to worry either of you,” she continues quickly. “I know you’ve both got your own- I just didn’t want to add to the pile, you know? I can handle this. I can handle my own- whatever.”

Arum tightens his grip on her for a heartbeat, nuzzling his snout into her hair before he pulls back enough to meet her eyes. “You once told me, Amaryllis, that telling the both of you when I was in distress was the only way to ensure that I would be helped.”

Rilla flushes, a little taken aback that Arum remembers her words so specifically. “But- but it’s not like either of you can do anything about this. It’s just dreams, Arum, it’s not like either of you can-”

“I believe I can help you, Amaryllis.” Arum gives her a wry smile as she jolts in his arms, looking up at him incredulously. “The nightmares stem from the fear monster. The monster that I helped create, as you so helpfully pointed out not terribly long ago.”

“Arum, I-”

“I take no offense,” he says, tone soft. “I am well aware of the ills I caused. If you had informed me of the severity of the problem sooner, I could have eased the effects before it progressed this far.”

“You…” Rilla stares up at him, the buzzing in her head and the softness of the embrace making it hard for her thoughts to coalesce into anything that makes sense. “You could?”

“The fear monster was primarily tested upon myself,” he explains, “as I do not typically keep sentient test subjects on hand. I always found that too distasteful a business, and more of a hassle than it was worth.” He glances aside, visibly uncomfortable. “So, obviously it would not do, if I did not have a way to mitigate the damage done to myself in the testing process.”

“Damage…” Damien tightens his grip around Rilla, and she assumes he’s hugging Arum tighter as well. “Not… not permanent damage…?”

“No, honeysuckle.” Arum sighs and smiles in the same moment, and draws a hand through Damien’s hair to soothe his distress. “Not permanent. The condition has been exacerbating itself in our herbalist because of her sleep deprivation and because it is going untreated, but it is reversible.” He wriggles himself back an inch or two away from the pair of them, just enough that he can reach into the folds of his clothes and pull out a small vial of wine-red liquid.

Rilla raises an eyebrow at him, her irritation bleeding back for a moment. “You just had that on you?”

“I have been growing more suspicious that my handiwork was the cause of your lack of sleep for some time now, Amaryllis. I became sure of it within the last two days, and when I came here tonight I had only just finished…” he tips the vial back and forth for a moment. “I was hoping to find you sleeping, and when you woke I intended to broach the subject with you.” He stares down at her, something vulnerable just barely slipping past the careful blankness of his reptilian face. “It would go down easier with a meal, but… you may take the treatment now, if you like.”

Ordinarily, Rilla would probably insist on knowing exactly what was in that vial, on knowing how he made it. Hell, she’d probably insist on making the treatment from scratch herself, just to be sure that she understood exactly what it was and how it worked. Now, though, her head is already foggily swimming, and the idea of trying to muddle through some sort of serum synthesis in this state makes her feel even more exhausted, if that’s at all possible.

She sticks a hand out, and Arum drops the treatment into her palm. She pulls out the cork and downs it in a single swig, and the alcohol burn almost overpowers the vague taste of limeflower that lingers under her tongue. She hisses out a breath, wrinkling her nose against the aftertaste as she hands the vial back.

“Single application, or will this require multiple treatments?” she asks reflexively, watching as he tucks the vial away again.

“If you sleep properly, your mind should begin to heal itself. If the dreams become difficult again I can provide another dose.”

“Hm.” Rilla squints up at him. “You’re gonna show me how you made that.”

“If you would like,” he agrees, unbothered, “but not right now. Now, you should let us bring you to bed, I think,” Arum says, his tone balanced quite carefully between soft and stubborn, and Rilla finds that she has no defenses left.

She sighs, dropping her head until she can rest her cheek against Arum’s shoulder. “Clearly I’m not going to get anything else done tonight,” she admits under her breath, and as Arum adjusts his grip to swing her up into his arms her surprised gasp devolves into a barking laugh. “You are so ridiculous,” she says, voice still threatening to bubble over with laughter. “Can’t keep your claws off us for a moment, can you?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking down over his snout at her with false haughtiness. “Why should I deny myself?”

“Ah, for once I am not the one manhandled - rather, monsterhandled,” Damien mock-whispers, but the levity leaves his face rather quickly, and then he leans closer to press his forehead against her own. “I… I am sorry, my flower. I should have seen that you were in pain so much sooner-”

“To be fair, Damien,” she says with a self-deprecating smile, her eyes already trying to slip closed, “I was trying pretty hard to keep you from noticing. Sorry.”

“My brave, brilliant herbalist,” he murmurs, and then he kisses her gently. “Brave and brilliant… and perhaps, occasionally, just the littlest bit headstrong.”

Rilla laughs and swats at the knight halfheartedly, and Arum chuckles lightly above her. He leans down and indulgently lets Damien press a kiss to his cheek as well, and then Arum turns and carries Rilla into the bedroom, Damien following in their wake.

Arum moves the sheets aside with one set of arms and then sets her down, nestled among the pillows. He slips onto the bed himself, then, wrapping his long body entirely around her before he pulls the blankets up over the both of them, a muted, subtle purr already starting in his chest.

“Ah, such a tempting tableau,” Damien sighs, leaning down to stroke his hand through Rilla’s hair. “I have only recently risen from these very sheets and yet I could be counted content to curl by your sides for hours longer. For the whole rest of the day, even-”

“You’ll be furious with yourself if you neglect your duties,” Arum reminds him wryly. “There isn’t any cause to worry now, honeysuckle. She will sleep soundly. She’s practically unconscious already.”

“Practically,” Rilla mutters, poking Arum in the side with her eyes still closed. “He’s right, though, Damien. Go start your day. According to the expert here, I should sleep just fine, and you can berate me for being headstrong over dinner tonight. Okay?”

Damien pauses, then sighs. Rilla, somewhere in her sleep-muddled brain, suspects that her lovers have just made significant eye contact over her head, but she can’t really bring herself to care. “Alright, my love,” Damien says eventually, and then he leans down to kiss Arum, and then to press a soft kiss against her temple. “I love you,” he says, his lips still brushing her skin. “Rest well, my most lovely flowers. May Saint Damien still the troubled waters of your mind until I return to you.”

“Love you too,” Rilla says, and she smiles as Arum echoes their words, though she can’t quite muster the effort to open her eyes to watch Damien leave. She hears his footsteps hesitate in the doorway - she imagines him turning to give the pair of them another lingering, dramatic look - and then he’s gone, leaving Rilla safe and warm with her heart feeling full and heavy in her chest, too tired now to do anything but sigh, settling even deeper into Arum’s embrace.

Arum nuzzles against the back of her neck, humming tunelessly.

“Sorry,” Rilla breathes. “I know… I know that I…”

“I already told you, Amaryllis. I took no offense.”

“Why?” she asks, curious more than distressed. “You have every right to be furious with me-”

“Amaryllis…” he shifts, drawing her closer, shielding her from the world with his body. “Have I not snapped at you and Damien often enough in vain bids to hide my own vulnerabilities?” He laughs softly behind her. “I could not possibly hold it against you, if you are guilty of the same strategies under duress.”

“But…”

“Amaryllis, your words are in no way the worst consequence that sleep deprivation in a creature I care about has had upon me.”

Rilla snorts out a laugh despite herself, mostly because he’s completely correct. And- she could keep questioning Arum, could try again to apologize in a way that feels right, but… it’s getting harder and harder to resist the pull of sleep. Harder and harder to resist the soothing pressure of his arms around her, the calming background noise of his purring.

She falls unconscious somewhere between when she decides she should thank him and when the words actually reach her lips, and Arum only smiles at her wordless sleeping murmur.

Sometime close to sunset, Rilla will wake with a yelp and the sudden realization that she can just store the two components of her salve separately, and only combine them immediately before use, negating the need for a binding agent at all, and she will feel more than a little bit foolish. About that, and about everything else.

For now, though, Rilla sleeps. She sleeps, and her monster curls careful and protective around her, drawing his fingers through her hair when even a hint of worry crosses her sleeping face, her head pillowed on his gently rumbling chest.

For the first time in weeks, under the vigilant watch of a monster, with the blessing of a saint left with the kiss upon her brow, not a single nightmare dares to trouble her sleep.

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #sir damien #a;dlkfja;ldkjfadf #i am Concerned. if people will actually enjoy this one #byeeeeeeee #things will be better

46 notes · View notes

choiceslife · 6 years ago

Text

When Worlds Collide: Part Five (Limited Series)

Disclaimer: Based upon characters in Choices - Endless Summer, It Lives in the Woods, The Royal Romance, #LoveHacks, Home for the Holidays, and The Elementalists series. All characters presented are the property of Pixelberry Studios. I claim no ownership. This story is purely the work of the poster as fanfiction.

Overall Series Rating: 18+

Warnings: Adult Language, Adult Content, Sexual Discussions. Future chapters may contain SMUT and Gratuitous Sexual Descriptions

Overall Series Summary: The sisters are together again and Ava Cunningham believes only they can help her.

Author’s Note: This Limited Series is a companion/sequel to Divided By Circumstance. I suggest you at least read that series in order to understand this one. As with most of my stories, this is a crossover and is part of my interconnected Chromatic AU. My MC’s are as follows: Carrissa Monroe (TRR), Abby Bennett (#LH), Scarlett Joy (HFTH), Taylor Reed (ES), and Donovan Bailey (TE). Previous Chapters can be found in my Master List located in my header.

Tag List: @cinnamonroll-duffy @darley1101 @debramcg1106 @brightpinkpeppercorn @katurrade @ladynonsense @luxurylives @regrettingnathan @teamtomsato @akrenich @riseandshinelittleblossom @kinkykingliam @jlouise88 @eileendannie @marshmallow-ortega @littlecrookedheart @i-choose-liam @tmarie82 @bobasheebaby @boneandfur @europeanguy @walkerismychoice @pixieferry @sstee1 @endlessly-searching-for-you

***

New York City, New York

Carissa, Abby, and Scarlett removed their hands from the amulet that Ava had instructed them to hold. They couldn’t believe the visions the ornate piece of jewelry projected into their minds. As sad as the three women felt to learn of the terrible price their mother paid to bring them into this world; just knowing the lengths she went to protect them gave the sisters some closure.

“So our mom knew about the powers we possessed? And she knew that birthing us would kill her?” Abby wiped a stray tear from her eye. Knowing the sacrifice her birth mother made broke her heart.

Ava placed the amulet back into the black velvet bag which Cora kept it stored. She could have told the sisters the lengths Cora went to hide them from the world, but Ava thought it better for the three to see for themselves. “From what I could gather from the amulet and Cora’s journals, Anastasia figured out sometime after the first trimester that she was carrying babies with extraordinary abilities. It was Cora that let your mother know the likelihood of her surviving the birth was extremely low. Carrying three of the most powerful beings in the universe takes a toll on the human body.”

“What about the fact that the late Senator Vega is our father?” Carissa questioned. “Mom clearly feared him finding out about us.”

“Thankfully we won’t have to worry about him.” Abby placed her hand onto Carissa’s shoulder to calm her worries.

“Are either of you upset that everything we have is because Cora set things in motion to keep us apart as her way of keeping us safe?” Scarlett questioned. Tears were also in her eyes as she looked at the tall woman standing before her. “Why couldn’t she find us when we became adults and tell us about our birthright?”

“I think Cora did what she felt was best. She certainly nudged some things, but you three are where you are because of your own strengths.” Ava took a seat across from the sisters. She took a deep breath, knowing that the trio had a lot to process. “Perhaps we should...”

Carissa rose from her seat on the couch, which immediately silenced Ava mid-sentence. “It seems that Cora went to great lengths to keep my sisters and I apart. Fate of the world and all that. But you’re wanting us to use our powers for some purpose that you haven’t quite explained. Why risk something that Cora worked so hard to prevent?”

“Fate actually brought you together with your sisters after Cora’s death, Your Majesty,” Ava answered. It was true. Without Cora Pritchard around, the universe set in motion to bring The Sisters back together. “When you three came together, you felt something. A spark. You broke Cora’s binding spell. My original plan was to come tell you about your powers and then re-engage the binding spell with some tweaks so that mere touches between each other wouldn’t break it again.”

“Original plan? What changed?” Carissa asked.

___

The groups stepped away to mingle, giving Ava some private time with Carissa, Abby, and Scarlett. The shaggy haired pilot found a corner of the room that gave him a vantage point to watch the others while he got lost in his own thoughts.

Cade mingled with Griffin and Zeph, taking a moment to feel the former’s biceps, while Lucas teetered on the edge of the group. Stacy seemed to marvel at Shreya’s fashion, while Donovan and Beckett snuck flirtatious little finger grabs with each other. Mara checked up on Eagle Eye stationed outside the door, as Dan pulled up a seat beside Jake.

“You’re never much for group chats are you?” Dan questioned as he playfully punched Jake on the knee. The pilot smiled back with a low laugh that caused Dan to tingle inside. Something kept pulling him back to the gruff smart ass he’d known for all of a few days, despite Jake’s attempt to steer him towards Lucas. Dan liked Lucas for sure. He’s smart, attractive, and a phenomenal friend. Yet something was missing. Dan didn’t feel that spark. His breath didn’t hitch in his throat like it did the first time he saw Jake. It was wrong to feel this way. Dan knew he was here to help Jake get Taylor back; but part of him imagined a future involving the brash, ex-military guy with a penchant for nicknames.

“Not particularly Mop Top, but I don’t mind talking to you.” Jake flashed that underwear dropping grin of his and Dan swore he felt himself tighten against his jeans. Jake noticed, but before he could give his new friend grief, he spotted the Queen approaching out of the corner of his eye. “Your Majesty,” Jake said jumping to his feet and pulling Dan up with him in the process.

“Please, you don’t have to do that. Sit, sit. Call me Carissa. You’re Jake, right?” The Queen inquired, extending her hand to the shaggy haired man before her.

“Yes ma’am...err...Carissa. And this here is Mop...Dan.”

“Pleasure to officially meet you both.” Carissa took a seat beside the two men, gesturing for them to sit back down. Although she didn’t know him, the dog tags around his neck gave her some confidence that Jake would be trustworthy and honorable enough to be forthright with her. She had been through so much in Cordonia before marrying Liam and her emotions were on overdrive the past week after meeting her sisters. And now she had a gaggle of strangers telling her that she was part of a powerful witch trio. To say that her mind was blown would be an understatement. At this point, Carissa was beginning to doubt her sanity. The scariest part to her was that she believed them. Hell, someone could show up next week and tell her that Justin was abducted by an evil corporation and replaced with a murder prone robot and she’d believe it. “So Jake, tell me something. What made you believe Ava’s words? I have to think a military man like yourself isn’t someone that is easily swayed by simple stories.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated Carissa’s question. Why did he believe Ava? His very first interaction with her, she used her friend Dan as a thirst trap. Yet it worked and after speaking with the two, Jake felt a level of comfort that was quite rare for him. The last time he trusted that quickly was the day he met Taylor. “To be honest Carissa, I wasn’t swayed by Ava’s words. Something inside told me that I could trust her and Dan.”

“She believes that Taylor left a bigger impression upon you and your friends than Vaanu expected. The feeling Ava got from her interactions with Taylor was that he was supposed to fade from your memories in short order after he left, but the love you all have is willing him back into existence.”

“Sounds like Taylor,” Jake chuckled. “Things happened on La Huerta that nobody will ever know. Taylor saved the world, but he also saved me as a person.”

“Thank you Jake,” Carissa said as she clasped his hands between her own. She left the two men back to return to their conversation while she rejoined her sisters.

“So? What do you think?” Abby asked with baited breath. Her mind had been made up rather quickly. Abby thought it would be super fun to experience magical powers. It must have been Ben’s comic book imagination rubbing off on her. Scarlett was a little more reserved, but was willing to try if precautions were in place. All that remained was Carissa.

___

Griffin gathered his friends beside Ava. It was time for them to return to Penderghast. The had work to do on their own mission. “I wish we could stay cousin, but circumstances beckon us back home.”

“Yeah. Donovan has Thief practice tomorrow and he’s gonna need to focus. Especially since he missed the first game,” Zeph remarked.

“Thief practice?” Stacy arched an eyebrow at Zeph’s words.

“It’s like flag football,” Donovan answered. “Just with magic.”

“Yes. Well, while you all entertain yourselves with sport, I’ll be studying in the library,” Beckett scoffed.

Shreya and Zeph chuckled at Beckett’s expense before the two groups said their goodbyes. Cade hugged Griffin just a little longer and tighter than the others, much to Stacy’s chagrin. Ava watched her girlfriend forcefully whisper to their friend after his embrace as Griffin’s friends made their way back through the mirror portals.

“So you’re all going to forget about this as soon as you go through?” Ava questioned as she hooked Griffin’s arm before he could depart.

Griffin nodded to his cousin. He knew she was slightly sad that he’d forget seeing her again after so many years apart. “It’s for the best. The Sisters need to stay safe. Just remember what I told you about the potions and the talisman. If they agree to help you, the talisman will keep your location hidden. I imagine magic that powerful will be sensed by many attuned beings rather quickly. Once you’ve completed your task, use the potions for binding and memory alteration.” Ava hugged her cousin one last time before watching him disappear through the mirror to rejoin his friends.

___

The Queen and her sister’s gathered the attention of those that remained. “I’m surprised to see your cousin leave us so soon Ava,” Carissa said, a hint of dejection in her voice

“He and his friends have some matters to handle back in their realm, but I assure you that Griffin put precautions in place to keep your secrets safe. He also provided me with a few items that should assist with the spell if you, Abby, and Scarlett are willing to help.”

Carissa looked between her two sisters, both of whom were smiling greatly before confirming to Ava their willingness to try and restore Taylor to the timeline. “We were talking between ourselves about what to do. Something you and Jake mentioned struck a chord with us. You said Taylor has been trying to will himself back into existence. And Jake mentioned that lots of things went down on La Huerta. If we are going to have the best chance of being successful, I think we need to go where Taylor’s Earth presence was strongest.”

“You’re saying we need to go to La Huerta,” Jake grinned.

“Precisely.”

“Well then Your Majesty, I’m sure you’ve got access to a Royal jet. Think you can take this motley crew with you? I need to make some phone calls and arrangements for some others to join us. If we are going to be successful, then we won’t only need La Huerta. We’ll need those that still have Taylor in their hearts.”

The Queen nodded in agreement while Stacy practically bounced off the walls, excited no doubt to get to fly on a luxurious royal airplane replete with every amenity imaginable.

“Excellent,” Jake replied. “I’ll send you the coordinates and let Malfoy... errr, Aleister know we’re coming so arrangements can be made for your arrival. La Huerta here we come.”

***

(To be continued)

#playchoices #choices fanfic #choices fandom #endless summer #the royal romance #it lives in the woods

25 notes · View notes

heyktula · 6 years ago

Note

Hey! Loving DtD to bits but seeing some people getting nervous, maybe add a few tags? "Light and consensual forays into BDSM territory" or something? (to avoid "fisting" and "rope bondage" because these would not do justice to what's really happening I think). Absolutely brilliant work, so happy it's now a series!! 😍

Hey! My sincere apology for this, I should have tagged more assertively in the first place so as to avoid this.

And, before I get going on the rest of the post here--thank you very much for getting in contact with me. I do my best to ensure that I’m not upsetting people or making them nervous, and sometimes I fuck it up, and I really, REALLY appreciate it when people reach out, and will always do my absolute best to fix it! If anybody ever has any questions about my work--please do reach out. I always have anon turned on for my tumblr, and it’s for precisely this reason. I have no issues discussing the reasons why I did things, or specific content in current or upcoming chapters, or helping you figure out whether or not a thing is gonna be a good experience for you--because I want you to have good experiences. (Or, I mean, let me break your heart with my writing--but in a good way, damn it.)

I’ve added the tag suggested, and also updated the chapter to include a tag in advance, and then updated the chapter summary at the end in case people want to read a summary first before deciding what they want to do with the chapter.

For people who were nervous about the chapter--I’m very, very sorry about that, and I should have been more responsible with communicating the purpose/functionality of the new content here. FWIW, this is the only chapter that rope bondage occurs in, and we’re back to our regularly scheduled DTD whatevers for the remaining four chapters.

(In case there were concerns, I should also specify here--Kylo has a good time. But Kylo has a good time doing anything with Armitage--and that’s been consistent right from the beginning of the series.)

(Also, if you don’t wanna read more about rope bondage, nope out of this post now! I’m discussing some plot-related stuff below re: the function that rope bondage served.)

The foray into rope bondage here was functional for plot purposes--it does not represent a drastic shift in character dynamics between Kylo and Armitage, but, moreso, a deepening of the emotional whatever between them (I’d call it a bond, Kylo would call it a bond, and Armitage has probably already left the room to get a beer.).

I pulled rope bondage specifically for this story because I wanted to connect Armitage’s previous work, which was industrial and unconnected to people, to Armitage’s current work, where he’s struggling with--how, exactly, he’s supposed to handle the changes that are happening in his life right now, and it was a really effective way (in my mind, at least) to basically bash Armitage’s past and his present together, and let him struggle with that. (This, obviously, does not excuse my lack of tagging--but what I’m trying to get at here is that this isn’t a bait-and-switch where suddenly we’re just gonna live in the BDSM club. If either Kylo or Armitage had an interest in being at the BDSM club, believe me, they would have gone before now.)

(For people who are disappointed that we’re back to the usual after this--may I suggest Foxtrot, it’s full of BDSM and power dynamics that are purposefully being sought out.)

#fic: dollars to donuts #ktula writes #ktula apologizes #seriously i am so sorry for this!#i should have thought this through more clearly than i did #i hope that this helps #and if you've gotta nope out of the story #you've gotta nope out #but we're back to the typical dtd things after this #Anonymous #ktula answers

10 notes · View notes

thewhiterabbit42 · 7 years ago

Text

The Memories Remain

Part 7 of Home for the Holidays (Masterlist)

Summary: You receive a reminder that the past hasn’t always been unpleasant, leading you to be more reluctant about sharing the parts that have been.

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Written for: @stone-met - “You’re cute when you’re freezing.” / Blanket

Word Count: 3712

Tags/Warning: Fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, smart ass friends

Author’s Note: No warnings for this chapter. The original, full idea for this prompt carries over into the next part as well.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

<<Previous Chapter The Memories Remain Next Chapter>>

The first snow of the season was always your favorite.

It had been a long time since you’d been anywhere you could see it, and a warm, nostalgic feeling washed over you when you’d woken up to find the first flutter of snowflakes circling the yard. You’d crept quietly out of bed, not wanting to wake Gabriel, but not before tucking your blanket around him to protect against the dampness that swept in with the storm.

You’d stopped in the kitchen to fill a thermos full of your special hot chocolate before bundling up and heading outside. The sky was blanketed with clouds, but the grey that replaced blue was distinct, far different than the dreariness that often accompanied rain. Like before, it tickled at memories, causing them to shake back to life. As the dust lifted from their surface, the images that danced across your vision lit embers in your chest you had long thought burned out.

You didn’t know how long you sat on the porch, watching the world turn white beneath the falling flakes, as you slowly swayed back and forth on the porch swing. You had helped your friends build it late in the spring, just before you left. The recollection made you realize just how much you missed them.

“You’ll always have a safe place to return to, even if we’re no longer here.”

You pulled off your glove, your fingers absentmindedly running beneath the armrest. The intricate indentations in the boards brought you comfort. Despite how exposed you were, you might have been sitting in the safest spot on the entire property with how many protective wards had been carved into the wood.

Your mind drifted back to a simpler time when you hadn’t had to worry about hunting or being hunted, back when monsters weren’t supposed to be real, and the worst things that happened were skinned knees and being told no ice cream until you had your peas. You became so lost in thought that you never heard Gabriel step outside to join you until he spoke.

“What’s that look for?”

You glanced up to find him watching you curiously, his face unreadable. The circles beneath his eyes were still there, but ever since you started secretly snuggling, they had been improving. Sleep clung to his features, and you realized he must have come straight down after waking.

You patted the seat beside you, waiting for him to sit before you handed him your mug to hold. He did so without question, his eyes watching curiously as you reached down between your legs. You pulled out your thermos along with an extra cup you’d brought in hopes he’d be out to join you.

“Did you know I used to live up here somewhere?” You asked as you poured him a drink. “Not here here, but somewhere in New England. Some place also with an endless supply of trees and mountains.”

You handed him the mug full of steaming liquid in exchange for your own, which you took a moment to top off.

“You don’t remember much about it?” He inquired.

Late night laughter bubbled up from beneath your window sill. Stolen moments in fresh fallen snow punctuated by dramatic dips and twirls as a couple swayed within each other’s arms.

…

Tiny footprints trailing behind much larger ones. Fumbling feet that tried to keep up and a set of gentle hands that kept catching you before you hit the ground, guiding you back up so you could keep going.

…

The smell of peppermint washed over you as you were rocked back and forth in front of a crackling fire, the soft, off-key tones of a deep voice lulling you to sleep.

...

“Mama, Mama, Look!” Excitement had your small voice carrying clear across the yard as you waved your arms. “Look what I made for Tony!”

You stepped aside to reveal the small, misshapen snowman you and your father had built.

Your mother smiled as she helped your brother walk unsteadily over to you. “It’s wonderful! Look what your sister made, Tony.”

Tiny hands reached up, fingers flexing beneath their mittens. He moved forward, body wavering before he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around the creation.

“No, silly, you’re not supposed to hug it,” you giggled, helping him stand up again.

A soft smile touched your features. “I remember enough.”

That world was so different that it might as well have been an alternate reality. You closed your eyes, letting the serenity of the morning chase away the bittersweetness that swept in on the wake of your memories. A slight breeze picked up, but beyond the momentary chill that kissed your cheeks and the slight rustling of your hair, you wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Listen to that.” Your eyes re-opened as you glanced over at Gabriel.

His head tilted slightly, forehead wrinkling with concentration. “... I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly,” your smile widened.

Over the years, silence had become an entity all its own. Learning to read the subtle, varying degrees to which it existed had sharpened your instincts and helped you survive. Anywhere else, this would have been too quiet, and you had forgotten how much peace could be found in the absence of all sound.

Gabriel brought his mug up toward his face, inhaling, his brows nearly hitting his hairline when he caught on to what made your hot chocolate so special. “Are you drunk?”

You laughed, the sound unexpected and almost sharp in contrast to the quietness. “It’ll take more than a thermos of this stuff to do the job.”

“Ok, but seriously, hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps… for breakfast?” He said. “Why?”

What he really meant was what’s wrong by the look he gave you.

“Why not?” You challenged. He was the last person you’d expect to be questioning decadence at any hour, especially when it involved chocolate.

He looked down at his cup, giving a half-shrug before diving into it. The large swallow he took drew forth a low, appreciative sound. “This is good.”

The wood creaked as he leaned back, his arm stretching out along the top of the backrest. His fingers began to drum just over your shoulder, creating a steady albeit restless cadence in contrast to the natural serenity surrounding you. The movement wasn’t enough, and before long, his foot also began to rock, causing the swing to gently sway.

“Have you spent a lot of time up here?”

A different set of memories flared beneath your skin, bringing with it those bitter barbs that burned so far down it had eaten its way into bone. You unconsciously rolled your shoulder, loosening some of the stiffness that seemed to transfer to the rest of your body.

You gripped your mug tightly, trying to focus on the warmth radiating through the ceramic. “More than I imagined.”

Gold grew more intent, catching something beneath your words.

“So, how long should we keep dancing?” He asked.

“You’ve been alive how long now, and you still haven’t found a better use for your mouth?” You demanded. You pretended to be tired of hearing him run it all night while you and your brother looked for ways to stop his family.

You’d never admit how much you enjoyed his company, obnoxious rambling and all.

Believe me, there are plenty of other things I’d rather be doing with it right now.” His brows danced playfully as you glanced up, doing your best to give him a baleful look. Your lips twitched in betrayal, and his curled up further in triumph.

“I don’t believe my brother is interested, but you’re welcome to keep trying,” you told him dryly.

“I’ve got standards you know,” he huffed, pretending to be offended. “For starters, the kid’s way too young for me.”

Your brow rose sharply. “You know he’s only two years younger than me, right? Physically. Emotionally, two is debatable. Might be closer to ten.”

“Feel free to keep talking like I’m not even here,” your brother snarked, though the fact he didn’t bother to look up from his book suggested he was already over it.

Gabriel snapped, conjuring up an expensive and highly effective set of headphones. It wasn’t connected to anything but must have magically been set to Tony’s music of choice by the way he threw a thumbs up at the archangel.

“I imagine any human would constitute robbing the cradle at this point in your existence,” you baited, idly flipping the page as you moved on to a section about archangels and their wings.

Gold resettled on you, mischief sparking bright.

“Some of you are wise beyond your years… as are your mouths.” You blinked and suddenly he was lounging provocatively on the bed alongside you. “I could also think of some better things you could be doing with yours.” The look he gave you bordered on outright lascivious and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. As if you’d believe he’d proposition you with your brother sitting right there, let alone be interested in someone like you.

“You know what else we could be doing?” You bit your lip coyly, almost losing it at the way his brow immediately shot up. A smug smile stretched across his features and you could only imagine what would happen when you blinked this time. As expected, he moved, this time next to you, his arm draped across the headboard you were leaning against.

He was good, you would give him that, closing in just enough to be convincing, but not actually leaning close enough for it to mean anything.

“I’m all ears, sweet tart.”

You turned your head, leaning close enough for your noses to almost touch, and a conspiratorial hush overtook your tone. “Something about your brother being out of his cage.”

He didn’t hesitate to roll his eyes at you, his entire head following the movement.

“With how often you bring him up, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe you don’t have a thing for him,” he teased.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if someone would just throw us a bone.” Your tone lost some of its playfulness as you gave him a serious look.

“Oh, believe me, I’m trying.” When he turned back toward you, this time your noses did touch and you felt your pulse explode in your veins. His eyes dipped down to where your lips unconsciously parted before flicking back up to meet your gaze.

You smiled sweetly at him, hoping it might hide your initial response. “If you’re that desperate, Gabe, go fuck yourself. Some of us have a world to save.”

Your words held no judgement. You understood his dilemma and never once had you pressured him like the Winchesters had. You didn’t expect him to come riding in on some white steed to slay his brother and save the day. You simply wanted a clue as to what you should be looking for.

You tossed your book down the bed, crawling after it before re-settling onto your stomach. It was always a flip of the coin whether he’d take the hint and move on or if he’d keep after you. Tonight, he was particularly persistent. He flopped down beside you, head propped up on an elbow.

“I’d much rather stay and dance,” he ran his finger sensually along the top of the page. “I’ve got all the time in the world for a partner like you.”

You tilted your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips. “Thought you had all the time in the world?”

If you were honest, you’d done so much dancing, with him and others, you weren’t sure you knew how to stop.

He let out a puff of air through his nose, and you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad until you caught the slightest twitch of his lips. “How long did I stay that night?”

Not long enough you thought as you remembered falling asleep with him next to you, only to wake up the next morning to an empty bed and his lingering presence.

You shrugged. “Late. Early. Depends on how you look at it.”

Something warm touched his gaze, his mouth curving in a half-smile. Then, everything vanished as he dropped his eyes to his mug and gave it a swirl. “We should talk, y/n.”

You had been waiting for him to be ready. Now that he was, you felt reluctant. Instinctively, you shied away. Wherever you had landed with him was comfortable and simple. Talking would change everything again.

“Even the Winchesters know to at least ply me with strong drinks if they’re going to skip the foreplay.” It was meant to be a dry remark. You hadn’t intended for the venom to slip into your tone, but the moment their name left your mouth, you felt the poison leeching back into your veins, tainting the calm you had found.

His gaze narrowed, the swing suddenly halting, as did his fingers behind you. “Did they do something to you?”

You debated deflecting, but really, what was the point? He was right. You needed to speak to each other sometime.

“I promise we’ll talk about it, ok? Just… not right now.”

You were desperately trying to keep hold of the peace you’d found this morning along with the fond remembrance that had accompanied it. You weren’t sure if some part of that registered in his awareness or if he simply didn’t want to fight you on it. Either way, he let it go, much to your relief.

“Soon,” he insisted, the swing beginning to rock once again.

“Soon,” you agreed.

***

“So is the plan to stay outside and freeze all day?” He asked. You had to admit, he’d lasted longer than you expected without a single complaint. Your only measure of time was how much snow had collected, and judging by the few inches that now blanketed the area, you would guess you’d been out there for an hour if not more.

“Just long enough to improve the scenery.” You caught the odd look he gave you and smiled. “You’re cute when you’re freezing.”

You’d never seen him with much color on his face except for those rare moments when he lost his temper. Even then, it was somehow controlled, just like every other aspect of him. The red that now splashed across his cheeks and over his nose was imperfect, the edges slightly asymmetrical, and the tip of his distinguished profile was a deeper shade than the rest. You weren’t sure what it was about it that drew you in but, like the beginnings of the beard he’d been intermittently scratching, it was undeniably appealing.

“I’m cute regardless of what state I’m in,” he retorted. “Though I fail to see how turning into a popsicle improves that.” Despite the wryness beneath his words, there was a not-so-subtle plea within gold.

“Come on. Let’s go get something warm to eat.” You gathered your things and rose, pausing to take one last look at the large, wet flakes that fell so steadily you could no longer see the horizon, let alone anything past the property line. You could have sat out there for hours, and part of you wished he was more tolerant of the cold so you could.

You turned, taking a few steps toward the door when your brows suddenly drew together. “Wait a minute, didn’t you say you chose a Norseman as your vessel for the sake of authenticity?”

He nudged you forward, eager to return inside. “Keep moving, sweet cheeks. His ass might have been used to the cold, but mine certainly isn’t.”

***

Your initial plan when you got inside had been to wrap him in a blanket and fill him with more hot chocolate to warm him up. When you caught the way he shivered, you decided to send him up to the shower instead while you foraged for breakfast. You knew your options were limited. You had planned to run to town today for more groceries, but given the storm, that was off the table. You’d just have to make do with what you had, which appeared to be oatmeal and fruit.

Gabriel was going to be thrilled.

The gas burner gave a familiar click before igniting, and you got everything started before moving on to your second agenda item: caffeine. You started some coffee, sticking your mug directly beneath the drip so you didn’t have to wait. Once your cup was set, you swapped it out for the pot. Gabriel surprisingly was also a fan of the drink, especially when it was flavored, and it wasn’t long before the rich smell of hazelnut filled the room.

You parked yourself at the table, just digging into your meal when your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, your lips pulling thin as a message from W. Ender (The Big Dumb One) flashed at the top of your screen. You sighed. What did Sam want?

Everything ok?

You almost immediately deleted it, but you realized if they were checking in, they were worried. If they were worried, they probably had new information.

What did you find out?

Nothing substantial yet.

You sighed. That was Winchester for nothing we care to share.

You refrained from telling him to not bother you until they had an actual clue.

You refrained from telling him to not bother you until they had an actual clue. They knew how you felt about them, and as much as you hated to admit it, you needed their help. So long as that help stayed far, far away from Gabriel.

A frown creased your mouth and you could feel your good mood slipping away. Determined not to let them ruin anything else, you scrolled through your contacts, though as you did a chill ran along your shoulders, dancing its way down your back. You pulled your arms in tighter, your focus shifting slightly as you entered a different text message.

You’re spending how much to get all these floors redone but you still haven’t replaced the furnace?

Your friend’s response was almost immediate.

Thanks for the place to stay, Roxy. I appreciate your hospitality.

You smirked, the Winchesters already fading to the back of your mind.

You know what I’d appreciate more? Being warm.

You know all those fireplaces aren’t just for decoration right?

You took a sip of your coffee, formulating your response when a flurry of separate messages followed.

There’s also blankets.

Sweaters...

Body heat.

You choked, nearly spitting your drink back out. It figured her first mention of Gabriel would be that.

Or I could just use all this spare flooring as kindling and light a bonfire in the middle of the foyer.

You’re the one that never shut up about him when drunk.

Warmth infused your cheeks. Maybe it was a good thing that Roxy hadn’t been waiting for you. You weren’t the only one who was a chatty drunk, though you imagined you’d be catching plenty from her while she was sober as well.

Something soft and warm enveloped you, a set of hands lingering at your shoulders to keep whatever it was in place. “You looked cold,” Gabriel hovered over you, his presence suddenly filling your awareness. You jumped, your finger swiping at the screen as you hastily tried to get rid of the conversation before he saw it.

You turned your head, your hand reaching to draw the blanket tighter around you. The scent of fresh soap and cleanliness filled your sense, along with something else that you could only describe as him. He must have been wearing the cover before giving it to you, and his thoughtfulness brought a small smile to your face.

“So what’s on the menu this morning?” He raised his arms above his head, giving a languid stretch. His shirt rose up, skin peeking out from beneath the hem.

“Admit it,” Tony insisted. “You’ve thought about what’s beneath all those layers he wears...”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told him, casually folding your clothes as you packed.

“The guy’s attractive,” he continued. “I know you’ve noticed that.”

“That guy is an archangel,” you reminded.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t imagine…” He fixed you with a knowing look.

“Not that I have thought about it or anything… but with an ego like that? It’s gotta be all hard planes and perfection,” you smirked.

You figured washboard abs would just be part of the package, but there was a light sprinkling of hair that peppered the surprisingly soft contours of his stomach. Somehow this version was far more appealing, and you felt the heat in your cheeks expand as you wondered what exactly was beneath all those clothes.

He lowered his arms again, glancing back at you when you didn’t answer.

“Oatmeal,” you squeaked, quickly averting your gaze. He just stared at you a moment and you felt your heart fluttering for an entirely different reason. Shit. He’d caught you.

He took an extra second to look you over. “You feeling alright?”

He placed the back of his hand against your forehead, and a different warmth seeped into you at his concern. When his fingers tucked your hair back from your face, his touch began to tingle. It turned into pure electricity when he unexpectedly cupped your cheek, turning your face up to him for inspection.

Your eyes locked with his and you were suddenly very aware of just how not all right you were.

This is why you don’t start drinking before ten in the morning.

“Yeah, chilly?” While you were pleased your brain managed to string together a reasonable set of words, he seemed less than thrilled with what they were.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have sat outside so long…” He frowned. “Why don’t we get a fire going in the other room and eat in there? I can bring down an extra blanket.” Something shifted, his features becoming unreadable. “And if those two things don’t work there’s always the old-fashioned way.”

Oh sweet Chuck, he had seen your phone. You swallowed, your cheeks in danger of bursting into flames.

“... Hot soup?” He finished, eyeing you more closely. “You sure you’re ok?”

You opened your mouth to answer when everything suddenly went dim.

“That’s… not good,” Gabriel said, his head tilting back to look up at the now dark bulbs overhead.

Next Chapter>>

ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @blondecoffeecake @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @the-moose-of-baskerville @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson @room-with-a-cat @authoressskr @revwinchester @flufy07 @greieba

Gabe Squad:

@theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty @kazosa @carryon-wayward-winchester @nobodys-baby-now @dlb1999 @ludwigs-a-monster @archangelgabriellives @a-wing-and-a-pen @tricksterxangel

Home for the Holidays: @unleashthemidnight @4evergeek @schizonephilim @winchestergirl-13 @keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit

#gabriel x reader #gabriel fluff #gabriel series #gabriel #supernatural fanfiction #human gabriel #slow burn #mutual pining #fluff #home for the holidays #rabbit writes

99 notes · View notes

itispossibleihaveissues · 7 years ago

Text

Another Perfect Catastrophe -1

AUTHOR: Mikimoo PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Non Consensual drug use, Non Consensual touching, Non Consensual kissing, humour, slight mayhem

SUMMARY: Dick goes undercover as himself in order to catch a gang of international thieves. Jason reluctantly tags along as his long suffering bodyguard. During the ensuing mayhem they get to know each other again and build a few bridges.

Thank you to burkesl17 for the beta!

Notes: An embarrassingly long time ago, the amazing and very, very talented Pentapus invited me to do a reverse bang style exchange, and drew me an amazing prompt. I have no idea how this story was the one that emerged from the many options I had, but such is the creative process I guess! Anyhoo, many thanks to Pentapus for both encouragement and patience, and of course the incredible art! (which will be included at the end of the appropriate chapter)

GO HERE FOR THE AMAZING ART BY THE AWESOME PENTAPUS!

This was a cluster-fuck. An epic, tragic, mess of ridiculous proportions. It was the sort of thing that only seemed to happen to Jason.

“Gosh, your eyes are pretty,” Dick said, as Jason dragged him bodily towards where he thought the entrance to the wine cellar was. According to the blueprints and the literature he had read on the house and estate, there was an old smugglers tunnel that led to the coast and freedom. He was just fervently hoping it was still accessible.

“Were they always that color?” Dick slurred, petting the button on Jason's cuff and staring blearily at his ear.

“Come on, you drugged up moron,” Jason growled. He was looking forward to giving Dick a hard time about this later, but right now he was a real pain in the ass. Jason spotted the cellar door, and hauled Dick towards it. They had enough of a lead, they could do this and get away before the hired goons caught up to them. He propped Dick against the wall, ignoring the way the fool slid down to the floor with a whoosh of breath.

The hatch was held shut with a rusty padlock and it clearly hadn't been used in some time. Hopefully his picks would make short work of it. If they could open it, they could leave less of a trail than if he had to break it off. Unfortunately Jason just wasn't that lucky, he never fucking was.

“Come on, come on,” he chanted under his breath, as his picks caught the inner workings of the lock but wouldn't budge. “Come on,” he grunted, and with a particularly hard tug it finally gave and the padlock sprang open.

“Come on, come on, turn your radio on!” Dick sang at the top of his lungs and wildly out of tune.

So much for gaining time by being sneaky. At least the sound had bounced around the wide courtyard. Jason yanked Dick to his feet and bundled him into the open hatch. His feeling of relief was short lived though, when he felt a sudden impact in his neck. He pulled free the small dart and stared at it.

“Fuck.”

This had all been Bruce's fault.

The mission had been a simple one, be bait for a gang of very ambitious thieves praying on the stupidly rich. They operated in Europe as well as the US, and their last sting had hit members of the Gotham elite. Normally Jason wouldn't bother with offering an assist getting justice for a bunch of super rich crooks and morons. But there was a sexual and sadistic element to the hits that put them on Jason's shit list. Their victims were both male and female, and the violence often extended to younger family members. Drugs were the method used to extract bank details and subdue the targets, so the assaults were just for 'fun' rather than a tactic to gain anything.

Jason hadn't been planning to go after them, as he was aware Batman was looking into it. But when Bruce contacted him and demanded he lend his aid in that no-nonsense tone that was his version of asking for a favor, Jason went, despite his knee jerk reaction to tell the Bat to fuck off. He could admit he was curious - why would B be asking for his help?

Turned out it wasn't just him. Jason had been unimpressed to find Dick there already, and Dick had displayed an equal lack of enthusiasm. Apparently Bruce hadn't bothered to share his plan with his Golden Boy either. He had also failed to mention to Jason that he was injured; one leg was immobilized by a hi-tech cast and there were bruises and burns on his face. Some hair on the back of his head was singed off to the scalp.

The sight caused all sorts of bad feelings to swim in Jason's gut – how close had he come this time? Bruce was ridiculously good at what he did, but it only took one lucky shot. What would they do when the day came when he didn't dodge fast enough? Why did Jason even care?

“We've figured out they're going to hit London next,” Bruce said, without preamble. “I was planning on going with Damian, but the events of the last week mean that Dick has to go in my stead.”

“So he and the spawn are off to Europe? Why do you need me?” Jason asked.

Dick scowled at him with real anger behind his expression, “Damian got hurt too, he can't go on a trip when he looks like he spent time in a meat grinder, because he was blown up.” That last was growled at Bruce, and Jason realized Dick wasn't actually mad at him at all, he was upset about whatever had happened with the previous case. Bruce ignored Dick's tone, words and expression with the ease of someone who did it all the time, and went back to bringing up mission info on the computer.

“I ask again, why am I here?” Jason said into the frigid silence.

“Nightwing needs backup, and Richard needs a bodyguard.”

“I don't.”

“Don't be difficult for the sake of it, Dick, we don't have time. Richard Grayson wouldn't be without one, not after all the kidnap attempts.”

It was disconcerting to hear Bruce talk about Dick in three separate parts, perhaps it really was just that easy for Bruce to be different people when the situation called for it. Jason knew it was next to impossible for him to be like that, and he suspected it wasn't easy for Dick either.

Dick stalked a little closer, coiled violence in his movements and tension practically coming off him in waves. “There are lots of options for that role, at the very least you could have let me choose for myself.”

“So, I'm just useful as big, dumb muscle, is that it?” Jason demanded. He hated that this kind of crap was the only thing Bruce ever wanted from him, but in some small part of his heart he still got an annoying but persistent thrill when the old man asked him for help in that angry, blunt and almost stilted way he had. It was the sad and pathetic remnants of his past hero worship. “And I don't even get the courtesy of being asked nicely? Fuck you both.” He hoped that didn't sound as petty or hurt to them as it did to his own ears. But it wasn't like he didn't have his own shit to deal with; this was a waste of his time.

He was surprised when Dick caught up to him as he re-entered the house, he had expected them to be punching each other’s lights out by now.

“Jason, wait.”

“Not interested.”

“Bruce is an ass, I wish he hadn't sprung this on us.” Dick reached out and lay his warm fingers on Jason's wrist, then withdrew his hand when Jason scowled at them. “And him being a control freak was no excuse for me being a shit to you about it.” That statement looked like it had been hard to say, admitting to being a douchebag wasn't easy for anyone it seemed.

“Fine, apology accepted. But I have shit to do, Dick.”

“He's an ass, but, annoyingly, he's also right,” Dick said, with a slightly sour twist to his lips.

“How?”

“I will need back up, and a bodyguard, for show.” He shrugged. “I already have some ideas for the first part of the operation, but I’ll probably need some help planning the rest.”

“You never need help planning,” Jason said, failing to keep the scorn from his voice. “What's your angle?”

“Just a feeling, a hunch maybe? Or perhaps I'm still rattled by last week. We nearly lost Damian and Bruce at once, I don't feel up to taking chances, you know?”

Jason grunted. He was going to regret saying yes, but not as much as if he said no and something happened he could have prevented. And if he was being honest, it was gratifying to hear Dick admit he wanted help, whether he needed it or not. “Fine, when and where?”

“Here, two days. We'll fly to London and try and get this wrapped up. Thanks, Jay.” He grinned a bright smile up at Jason, and Jason felt the first stirring of real trepidation.

“No,” Dick said when Jason arrived at the manor to pick him up and drive him to the airport.

Jason squashed the urge to say 'yes', just to be contrary and instead ground his teeth together and waited for Dick to elaborate. It didn't help that Dick literally looked like a million dollars. Instead of the usual shaggy mess, he was sporting what Jason suspected was a $600 haircut, it changed his appearance slightly, added a touch of arrogance and artifice to his natural good looks. He was also wearing vastly overpriced designer jeans and a tight polo in baby pink. Jason sort of wanted to smack him for the price tag on the pants alone.

Dick gestured at Jason's suit. “This isn't what I want.”

“Oh?” Jason ground out, “You had something else in mind for me? Don't want to be seen with underdressed help?” It was a decent suit, one he had had fitted for those occasions where he had to dress up. It wasn't Bruce level good, but it wasn't from Walmart either.

“Quite the contrary. We have to make a splash, get noticed be scandalous!” He beckoned Jason further inside, and when he dragged his heels slightly, Dick grabbed hold of his sleeve and tugged him into the bowels of the house, dislodging a cufflink in the process.

“Dammit, Dick. Stop manhandling me!”

“Sorry, but we have a flight to catch.”

Jason's eyes rolled before he could stop them. “Like they wouldn't wait for you, rich boy.”

Dick grinned at him, the expression was challenging rather than friendly. “I'm not well known in London. The people there who know Bruce don't visit the right circles, they're more old money, while we need young, stupid and filthy rich.” He paused to usher Jason into the study, the one Bruce had for show, rather than use. “We need to get the right kind of attention, fast. That means we gotta be a little outrageous. That and throw around cash like it’s going out of style.”

He gave Jason another one of those challenging, sharp smiles, and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at a pile of clothes draped haphazardly over the nineteenth century chaise lounge. “Wear that.”

Jason wanted to object on principle, but he supposed he should have a look first; his only concession to avoiding a fist fight before they even got out of the country.

He poked through the clothes curiously. The outfit Dick had picked out for him was like a less beat up, more designer version of his normal wear. The leather jacket was a thing of beauty; it smelled like money and class, but it looked like something he might choose for himself. “Why this?” he asked, not willing to show his complete bemusement.

“Two reasons, both practical,” Dick said, leaning his butt against Bruce's hand carved desk. “Get changed and I'll explain my thinking.”

Jason wasn't necessarily shy about shucking his pants in front of folks, he grew up having to hit the showers with the goddamn Justice League after all. (And let it be said that seeing Superman in the buff was not what a gangly, half grown teenager needed for his wobbly self-esteem.) But there was still something that made him profoundly uncomfortable about stripping down in front of Dick.

He wasn't going to let that show, though, and instead he casually removed his suit jacket and dropped his slacks. Dick didn't seem to be paying any attention, so Jason relaxed slightly as he pulled on the pants Dick had provided. “And?” he prompted starting on his button up.

“Two very practical reasons” Dick repeated. “Number one, while I'm playing nice with the socialites it makes sense for you to do some sneaking, and for that it would be best if you had your gear. If people are used to you kitted out in this get up, it won't look so suspicious if they catch you lurking around wearing leather.”

“Uh huh,” Jason agreed, he was having some significant trouble pulling on the t-shirt Dick had provided. “I think this is the wrong size, Dickhead,” he said, tugging the hem over his abs. He could feel the material pull at the shoulders, but it didn't feel like it would restrict movement too much.

“That brings us to reason number two,” Dick said brightly as a predatory grin grew on his face. “To get the sort of attention we need, we have to stand out. My bodyguard needs to be sexy as well as scary. People should make terrible assumptions.” He stalked towards Jason who had the sudden urge to back up. Dick whipped out a comb from somewhere in his sinfully tight jeans and attacked Jason's hair without further warning.

“Oi!”

“Hold still, Jason!”

“I draw the line at you fucking with my hair, Dick!” Jason batted him away. “You can dress me like a damn doll if it pleases you, but the hair is sacrosanct!”

Dick looked like he was going to lunge at him again, but then he seemed to think better of it. “Fine,” he said, shaking his own hair out of his eyes. “You look the part, that's good enough for me.”

“Oh thanks so much, Dick, I'm so very flattered,” Jason grumbled as they headed for the car. It turned out Dick had also packed a spare suitcase for him, no doubt filled with obscenely tight T-shirts and overpriced pants. But after some internal debate he decided not to argue the point. Dick was clearly in a bossy mood and Jason would save the fighting for when it mattered.

Or when it was most obnoxious, he wasn't above being petty.

#jaydick #Jason Todd #dick grayson #nightwing #redhood #catastrophe #my fic #mik trys to write stuff #My writing

69 notes · View notes

eeveelutionsforequality · 7 years ago

Text

Submission:

@Mod Vaporeon I guess

Look I aint a fan of MAPs but if they're not hurting anyone then whatevs

BUT anti-contact maps that still gush about how attractive children are are still harming them. Sexualising children is harmful. Normalising attraction to children by talking about it like it's just a regular crush thing, or being all cutsey about it is harmful. I really hope I don't need to tell you why that is the case.

https://shameshack.tumblr.com/post/166785893508/the-creepy-emoji-really-sells-it-on-the-you-dont

Does that person touch any of those children, her own included? Does she even flirt with them? No, I don't think so. But going "ohhhh my kid-crush is fugly as now he's a teen but his younger sister?? JUST got into my pedophile range and she is fine." *Cue another MAP engaging with them, discussing it without a hint of shame and a fucking smirking emoji*

Allowing MAPs a platform to talk about coping with their thoughts and offering support and methods of non-harmful coping with other MAPs? Great! Chatting away with others about how lean, athletic and soft a child's body is without a hint of remorse until they're called out, because they're blog and those posts are fucking public on a 13+ age site? And therefore is absolutely open to a child stumbling only their blog because it's public? Not cool.

Just because they wouldn't touch a child doesn't mean it's okay to try and normalise children being sexually attractive. We can look at it as an intrusive thoughts thing, sure, and I agree that's the best way to get MAPs help! But that doesn't mean those thoughts are okay. Someone with intrusive thoughts about how they're the reincarnation of Hitler and must restart his legacy shouldn't just be forgiven if they ham it up with a bunch of Nazis because "they can't help it and hey I never actually harmed any Jews (physically anyway, but w/e I'm not culpable for any Jew I harmed with my posts bc the only way someone can get onto a blog is OBVIOUSLY if they're looking for it amiright so it's their fault)!"

We can accept that MAPs have little to no control over their attraction without accepting that their attraction is valid, reasonable or worth discussing except to demonise. If these MAPs were truly as saintly and suffering as you make them out to be they wouldn't be all cutesy and wink wink nudge nudge about discussing it, because they would understand that attraction to children is wrong regardless of how much they can help it.

MAPs need help, not a niche on Tumblr that defend their attraction and their "non-contact but still skeevy af" actions.

Idk if you're gonna say you agree with me or whether you're gonna pull a "not all MAPs are like that!" or w/e but there is an undeniable issue with the MAP community on Tumblr, and that the ones like the above are as harmful as the Nazis that have "thought experiments" on what the world would be like without black people.

First off, please go back and re-read my opinions.

Such as the ramble where I explained how positivity without pragmatism and awareness of risks is dangerous: http://eeveelutionsforequality.tumblr.com/post/167978864727/grunkle-rian-eeveelutionsforequality

Or the post where I talk about the risk of radicalization in a community and condemn maps who talk about it like infatuated school girls, referring to the very post you linked: http://eeveelutionsforequality.tumblr.com/post/167769139872/what-the-hell-are-maps

If you want to discuss this with me, please come at it in good faith and discussing my actual beliefs, not twisting my opinions into things they're not.

"Idk if you're gonna say you agree with me or whether you're gonna pull a "not all MAPs are like that!" or w/e"

Yeah, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to pull a not all maps because not all maps - some just wanna tell you where Greenland is.

In all seriousness, no, I do not agree with judging an entire demographic by their bad eggs - "not all maps" wouldn't be inaccurate to say. I think it's shitty that saying "not all X" has become something that's shrugged off as you simply defending X from an emotional standpoint, even when you're just stating a fact - not all men, not all maps, and if somebody's argument relies on all of a group being something that they're not then it's a bad argument.

"there is an undeniable issue with the MAP community on Tumblr, and that the ones like the above are as harmful as the Nazis that have "thought experiments" on what the world would be like without black people"

I criticize both them and the Nazis whenever I see them doing something out of line, I try to explain why they're wrong and help people see other perspectives - that's a tonne of what I do on this blog, I talk to people about my opinions on particular topics and criticize things that I think should be criticized. I have, at no point, said that the map community is flawless - in fact, I've been vocal in criticizing certain methods and in saying that I think that they need to listen to people's concerns and approach conversation from a point of empathy rather than defensiveness far more than they do.

"anti-contact maps that still gush about how attractive children are are still harming them. Sexualising children is harmful. Normalising attraction to children by talking about it like it's just a regular crush thing, or being all cutsey about it is harmful."

Unfortunately, like everything in this dark and stressful topic, this is more complicated than that. I believe that I've made it clear in previous posts how creepy and unsavoury I find the way that the people in your example talked about it, and that I'm not on board with what they were doing.

However, there are a few factors that I think should be taken into account in working out how best they as an individual should manage talking about their interests themselves. On one hand, you have the dwelling or "normalizing" of it to themselves, and the discomfort such conversations cause others. On the other hand, you have the fact that locking away your feelings and struggles isn't good for you (you can dwell or "normalize" something to yourself without ever mentioning it verbally or in typing - in fact, expressing it is one of very few ways to have it actually challenged). To that end, I don't think that public tumblr posts, and especially not encouraging replies, are the way to go about getting certain feelings out. However, only talking amongst each other can lead to echochambers - I mean, if you think that them saying those things publicly can increase the risk and that they need to have those things challenged, then surely them simply moving that to messages isn't the answer you want.

Amongst other things, I've been vocal about how maps should seek therapy/counselling and should be ensuring that their community doesn't become an echochamber, especially encouraging them to allow and take on board fair criticism (and encouraging others to present their criticism in fair ways rather than attacks, insults and suicide baiting).

They're only human, and they do need people to talk to about these things and to get things off their chests - they're not perfect, they're not angels - and while therapy can play a part in achieving that, they also likely need a support network (otherwise they wouldn't be part of the map community in the first place). If/when you've ever had a crush that was disgusting or wrong in some way, did you keep it inside and start wondering whether there was something wrong with you, or did you tell somebody you trusted how you felt?

I don't think that publicly saying it on tumblr, especially not in the manner that they did (in fact, the tone is possibly my biggest issue with it), was good for them or good for the people that saw it (and, by extension, could've emotionally harmed children that saw it) - but I don't think that means that they're not ever allowed to talk about it, or that it's harming children if they ever do, just that it's gotta be done safely and reasonably.

You sound just like an anti-shipper right now, honestly.

I'm totally up for talking about how to prevent echochambers in whatever place they find to vent, while also preventing people who could be triggered and minors from accessing such a place, and helping the maps keep a constant wall between thoughts and actions, ensuring that discussing something in a place specifically catered to discussing it doesn't translate into any kind of warped perspective on how you can behave towards children. In fact, that'd be a great conversation to know was going on in their community - but at the moment nobody seems to be actually talking about solutions to problems or whatever, one side just wants to attack and the other side just wants to defend, so these things only ever get brought up in a "look how bad maps are" way.

"Allowing MAPs a platform to talk about coping with their thoughts and offering support and methods of non-harmful coping with other MAPs? Great!"

I totally agree, and I'm glad that we share this common ground - it's more than most offer them.

But unfortunately at some point we have to realize that learning how to cope with thoughts partially entails talking about the thoughts you're trying to cope with. The same goes for people who occasionally post things about wanting to die or wanting to drink themselves stupid - the posts can be harmful if seen by the wrong person, and if seen by the right person they can result in much needed help, or simply a shoulder to cry on. That's one of the uses of the tagging and blacklisting we have on this site - to ensure that the right people see the right posts, and the wrong people never have to. Plus, there's a balance to be found in expressing stuff, and a lot of it comes down to how and where they're talking about the thoughts - the people in the link you posted got both wrong, in my opinion.

"Chatting away with others about how lean, athletic and soft a child's body is without a hint of remorse until they're called out, because they're blog and those posts are fucking public on a 13+ age site? And therefore is absolutely open to a child stumbling only their blog because it's public? Not cool."

Again, I don't know why you're posing this as an argument against me when I've openly condemned that post multiple times.

The appropriate tagging, password protected blogs, NSFW marked blogs, adequate warnings, etc, would prevent these posts from ever falling into the path of someone who isn't looking for them, especially a child, and maps should be utilizing those features. Plus, 13+ year olds aren't children, they're teenagers (but I'm not particularly complaining about that because I call everyone under like 30 "kid"). I've been encouraging people to stop turning safe search off when they're too young, to stop seeking out that kind of content, and to utilize blacklisting and chrome filters and such, and I've been encouraging maps and shippers and kinksters to adequately tag things.

And, outside of pro-contacts and that particular example, I've only once (that I can remember) seen maps publicly talk about someone being attractive who wasn't either an adult or a fictional character (and it wasn't done in the way that the example did) - maybe I only interact with the good ones, that's entirely possible, anecdotal evidence is anecdotal. I've also seen multiple antis posing as maps lately. The actual genuine maps that I've interacted with have had a similar opinion to mine on this topic - they understand why people don't like that sort of thing, they don't want children to find it, but they want to get things off their chest and be allowed to vent sometimes. So, and you're not gonna like this... not all maps.

"Just because they wouldn't touch a child doesn't mean it's okay to try and normalise children being sexually attractive."

Why are you bothering with the maps on here then? A tiny and hated subgroup on a tiny and hated website is not normalizing anything in society (and they don't want to, in my experience, they just want it understood and not to be treated like shit for it) - what about the countries where young boys and girls are routinely used as prostitutes, where assaulting young boys regularly is "tradition"?

Maybe I'm just manipulated, maybe there's some grand scheme to turn everybody in the western world into pro-contacts, and a tiny anti-contact community on tumblr dot com is where the disgusting revolution begins... but I highly doubt it. I'm trusting them when they say that their intent is to find the most effective way to support each other and to live their lives safely and without offending, while hopefully teaching others that pedophilia and child abuse aren't synonymous, that maybe there's prevention methods, that maybe they don't deserve to die.

"But that doesn't mean those thoughts are okay."

Is this just an experiment to see how many times in a row you can make me say "I never said that"?

I have, however, said that things you have zero control over do not dictate whether or not you are a bad person - mostly in regards to slavery from generations ago not dictating whether people alive today are good or bad, but it applies here too.

What does whether or not the thoughts are "okay" have to do with any of this? Plenty of my intrusive thoughts aren't "okay" - that's part of why they're so hellish to deal with, because they disturb me. I can't do anything about them though. I can't make them disappear. Whether or not they're "okay" is irrelevant - how to cope with them is what's important. I don't care for ascribing morality to the thoughts, it's like ascribing morality to the sun - it's there, it's doing shit, if I'm an idiot it'll burn me, but if I'm pragmatic about it everything'll be okay.

The maps can't magic away their thoughts either, neither can therapy, so whether their thoughts are "okay" or not is also irrelevant - what matters is how they can go about coping with those thoughts, and part of that is via their support network.

"Someone with intrusive thoughts about how they're the reincarnation of Hitler and must restart his legacy shouldn't just be forgiven if they ham it up with a bunch of Nazis because "they can't help it and hey I never actually harmed any Jews (physically anyway, but w/e I'm not culpable for any Jew I harmed with my posts bc the only way someone can get onto a blog is OBVIOUSLY if they're looking for it amiright so it's their fault)!""

Honestly, I'm so surprised that the award for worst analogy of 2017 got snatched away from the previous leader so late into the year.

Person with intrusive thoughts of being Hitler (believing you're actually Hitler reincarnated would be a delusion, not an intrusive thought, by the way, but I'll forgive you) is being compared to an anti-contact map, right? So by extension the comparison for neo-nazis would be child molesters or pro-contacts. Because other anti-contact maps would be other people who think they're Hitler, while people who actually genuinely wanna preach nazism are people who actually genuinely wanna hurt kids, right? So already we're comparing somebody talking to other people who have the same struggle, so that they can help each other cope with it, to somebody seeking out a group that actively harms people or promotes harming people in a manner that their particular struggle fixates on... different scenarios.

Saying what amounts to "I saw a hot kid, but I don't wanna act on that" is so hugely different from plotting with neo-nazis and spreading holocaust denial. The equivalent to those would be somebody advocating to make child molestation legal or spreading bullshit pro-contact talking points that child molestation is okay - again, I strongly disagree with those people, I argue against them, they're disgusting, but they're not the people that we're talking about here so the comparison falls apart.

Please, can we use comparisons that don't completely belittle anti-semitism? Can we use comparisons that don't act like giving in to a Hitler identity delusion and promoting the neo-nazi cause as a result is even remotely comparable to venting about a paraphilia that you're keeping under control? These are such different scenarios. And it's a complete non-point because I've never said that people aren't responsible for the things that they say (although, someone with a Hitler delusion that bad wouldn't have legal capacity so, legally speaking, no they wouldn't be responsible for what they said).

"We can accept that MAPs have little to no control over their attraction without accepting that their attraction is valid, reasonable or worth discussing except to demonise."

Sure, you can do whatever you want. I, on the other hand, think that it's not the most effective approach if you want to prevent crimes and to help people.

If you demonize the act of thinking that thought and the thought itself, rather than the content of the thought if made real, what do you hope to achieve other than causing unnecessary mental strain on a person that could negatively impact their coping? Do you feel the same way about people who ship certain ships and talk openly about it?

Valid and reasonable? Completely irrelevant. The thoughts are there, validity and reason didn't play a part in dictating whether or not those thoughts would come to be, it's a pointless way to judge them and it's unproductive - we're talking about how best to deal with the thoughts and how to prevent harm. That's like saying that my arthritis isn't okay, it's not reasonable... like, it doesn't matter, I've still got arthritis.

Not worth discussing? The people struggling with the thoughts and needing support, the people who's lives have been improved by that support, I'm pretty sure they'll beg to differ.

"If these MAPs were truly as saintly and suffering as you make them out to be they wouldn't be all cutesy and wink wink nudge nudge about discussing it, because they would understand that attraction to children is wrong regardless of how much they can help it."

"Saintly and suffering", what? I don't understand how you got that impression, I'm sorry that you did and all of that, but I also think that it's ridiculous. I talk about them like they're human beings with complex emotions - on account of the fact that they are.

Yeah, I understand that setting myself on fire right now, even the fact that I want to, would be pretty wrong... I've still been casually making jokes about it. I also make dead baby jokes. I make jokes about blowing up parliament. You can understand that something is terrible and still talk casually about it.

"MAPs need help, not a niche on Tumblr that defend their attraction and their "non-contact but still skeevy af" actions."

What do you think a support network is for? It's part of that help. The community and the people within work towards keeping each other non-offending and supporting each other's mental well-being. Just because you can cherrypick an asshole doesn't mean that they should just disassemble and throw away the entire community and the advantages it can bring - it just means that they need to work on having more open conversations about what the impact of certain behaviour and posts could be and how to mitigate that.

"the ones like the above are as harmful as the Nazis that have "thought experiments" on what the world would be like without black people"

I prefer when they have their thought experiments somewhere that I can butt in and correct them, rather than building themselves a little echo chamber.

But, since we're talking about anti-contacts here, you've actually taught me something... I didn't know that there were anti-nazi nazis who talked about hypotheticals and thoughts, while simultaneously advocating against any real world nazi regime or ethno-state, and arguing against discrimination based on race or religion. That's interesting.

#Mod Vaporeon #submission #long post

4 notes · View notes

not-poignant · 7 years ago

Note

SPOILERS FOR KUROSHITSUJI AHEAD. Pia, I saw that you've seen spoilers! And judging by your tags, you've been on board with 2CT theory. I wonder, for how long have you known about it, how did you come to know about it (by yourself or read meta) and what do you think about it? (i'm dying over there)

Tbh anon one of the reasons I’ve never liked talking a great deal about my theories re: Kuroshitsuji is precisely because I’ve been a pretty big 2CT conspiracy theorist, and for quite some time now. And there’s a pretty big rift in the fandom about it. (I also didn’t trust Yana Toboso not to do a total bait and switch for a long time, my trust in creators is generally low, lol).

Like, who knows what it will actually become in the canon, but having it confirmed in the canon makes it magical. I actually told Glen about 2CT for the first time last night, before I saw that it had been confirmed, after we saw Book of Atlantic at the cinema (which is awesome) - and he was like ‘omg that makes so much sense, that’s definitely real’ lol. But I remember back when we didn’t have some of the quality, quality hints we started getting in the past few years in particular, and back then it really was a fringe theory. And of course me being interested in PTSD and dissociation in general had me on both sides of the fence thinking ‘it could also be PTSD and projection or traumatic dissociation.’

I think I’ve been on board for at least 8-9 years. The theory started to be explored pretty intensively on sites like Livejournal (where I was hangin’ out) during the release of the Noah’s Arc volumes (2009), and there was supporting material previous to that. Then it died down for a bit (ish) and as far as I’m concerned, the Green Witch arc confirmed it (that was when we started to get the 2CT websites that had amazing evidence for the claims). Like, we’ve been waiting a long-ass time, basically :D

As for what I think about it, I haven’t formed any thoughts about exactly what Yana Toboso wants to do about it, but if she’s spent over 10+ years forming this ongoing background arc, it wouldn’t surprise me if it was another 5-6 years for her to fully resolve it. So I’m basically relaxing, and idly thinking about writing (or reading) Cielcest once we know more about twin!Ciel, and that’s about it for me, lol.

9 notes · View notes

elizabethrobertajones · 8 years ago

Note

With Cas and the whole I love you thing, we are excited because the camera went right to Dean after it. But I feel like this is where the disconnect comes from, because that's a director decision right? And so who knows what the writers, etc intended to portray but the director chose that shot and isn't this just business as usual with queer baiting because nothing real will probably come from it. I'm trying to be rationale about it and maybe failing?

Ick, sorry to leave you waiting on a reply for days. This one needs a lot of brain for me to answer >.>

I’m not totally sure if you’re disappointed entirely, or warring with yourself about being excited but also wary of queerbaiting at the same time… I don’t really want to talk about queerbaiting because I have been trying to keep my blog for a couple of years already mostly about analysing the show and just enjoying what is on screen, and indulging in the subtext because it’s there and it’s fun and I like it, while keeping my expectations about what the show will do with it in the future low, even while I feel good, as I have always said, that they will absolutely drive this subtext to the end of the road, and never attempt to “kill” Destiel out of the text because it’s such an intrinsic part of it now. I’m along for that ride, and everything else is someone else’s problem because I am tired and just want to have fun and enjoy some stuff >.>

(I know some people at the start of the season were worried they had and that Dean n Cas were just very buddy buddy, but they were building up to new drama between them, and now in the space of a very few episodes we’ve been dipping into references to all the big episodes, including coming at 8x17 and 6x20 again in different ways over multiple episodes, and using that very specific language the show has developed to convey Destiel in all its ridiculous, romantic glory.)

Anyway. The show is a collaborative effort.

The writers offer up the basic lines but are VERY clever about the references - Dabb has ALWAYS been canny about it and getting more and more canny the longer the show went on and it’s no surprise at all to me that when he takes over the show the writing becomes all about looking inward and retreading the past, from Destiel events to Yellow Eyes - the first wave of MotW were about Sam and Mary’s trauma, the second about Dean’s crap and the Cas-centric stuff… Now 12x12 mixes it all together spectacularly along with a whole bunch more references rehashing the past in exciting ways - the Destiel subtext is just swept along in this same thing…

There’s the actors, who have been making faces at each other for 9-12 years depending on who you’re talking about, and are very good at making those face, but they are just following the scripts (mostly) and at the mercy of what story is being told; they bring the texture and nuance to all these moments, but they’re still being told what to do by the directors. Speight might be a bad example because while he’s clearly fucking amazing, this was only his second episode. I’m still in a 12x10 mood, and that was directed by Thomas J Wright who has been directing episodes on the show for years, and has a few things he does all the time that you can tell it’s one of his episodes - he does a TON of overhead shots of the Bunker war room with everyone in the cage imagery of the railings or shadows of the lighting or what have you (he has been really creative with it; I think he has like 3 different ways to convey the same thing :P) and it’s clearly one of his favourite shots to set up.

He also has kept up a thread of this crypt scene rehashing that not only has happened in his episodes at least 3 times, but the 8x17 fight mirrored the 10x22 one blow by blow, and the dramatic conclusion of 10x22 mirrored shot by shot a fight he once directed in Dark Angel with very similar conditions (there were gifsets, they’ll be very deep in my 10x22 tag although if you have an afternoon to kill, knock yourself out >.>) - and then in 12x10 he directs a similar fight but happening to Cas with a 3rd person present and mirrors his shots from 10x22 again; the end of the fight would have been scripted and I don’t know how much input he’d have on it or how much the fight would have been suggested to him, but it was written to have a positive conclusion and he directed it to mirror a whole thread that went back to 8x17 and the original crypt scene and actually put some emotional closure on that moment for the first time after 4+ rehashings of it.

And they don’t work in a bubble because one of those rehashings was not directed by him - it was Director Ackles, who had acted like 4 of them BEFORE that because of the Dark Angel one :P Anyway I don’t think it’s a coincidence that these scenes kept on happening but written by Robbie, Dabb, Buckleming and Yockey (and also possibly Buckleming again in 11x21 because there was a lot of discussion about that at the time wondering if it worked as a crypt scene parallel and it was the same director so we were suspicious because it was Destiel AF)

With all these different people having some input in a really coherent thread of events that obviously the director put the finishing touches to to mirror the previous happenings, I don’t think director choices are at all random or isolated from the story. It’s a collaborative episode and they CLEARLY re-watch old episodes, read their lore and find ways to tell the story as coherently as they can. I picked on a Destiel thread to explain this but I’m sure there’s tons of other stuff. I mean, like, the El Sol thing which is the set department, ANOTHER apparently random branch of the storytelling which has been putting in visual clues like death beer, mom beer, dream beer, Heaven beer… which hold up to strong scrutiny and analysis despite appearing practically at random, you might think. The show has a LOT of languages to tell the story and they’re not all things written in the script, and the script is not the be all and end all of where the story comes from. Mostly the writers seem really chill with any changes and embellishments… The only petty think I can think of is in 9x04 the line about Dean reading got swapped, and Robbie came back with a vengeance and in 11x04 got in an identical line which they could not wriggle out of swapping, AND made Dean like 5x more nerdy in the process by talking about reading seriously thinky stuff instead of vaguely suggesting he might like to read Game of Thrones one day :P Aside from that I think we haven’t had too much petty in-fighting about the story, at least not in that mic drop sort of way :P

… Anyway I don’t know about expectations and I don’t wanna encourage them, but these people know what they’re doing and no one person is completely responsible for what’s going on all the time, so I don’t think there’s any ACCIDENTAL storytelling or stuff which is just one actor or director or writing playing with something all by themselves. I mean, the writers and directors seem to have quirks that they love including so you can usually sort of feel you know what you’re getting if you know who’s responsible for certain elements, but those quirks don’t affect a bigger narrative and something like Destiel, there’s stuff going on at every level of the storytelling to at least stress how important Cas and Dean are to each other, who knows how much nod nod wink wink from up top but those directly responsible for the episodes - directors, writers, actors, set people - contribute enough to make the subtext endlessly compelling to me… And of course at a higher level it’s all put together by editors and the people in charge of the show at the top level dictating what the writers and directors work on, and how they do it, and coming up with the long game, and, I think, generally being the only people who know what the long game is meant to look like, since it certainly does not get as far as the actors because I’m pretty sure they find out the story script by script and MAYBE get ominous warnings about how to act certain things such as when they’re starting a descent arc or have a secret or whatever and their overall behaviour changes…

I don’t know, I just think… It’s MORE than just a ton of random disconnected moments because there’s a real persistent narrative about it that they make where the reading is always there and everyone’s chipping in, and then we’re emphatically not discouraged from making the reading (10x05) and we’re informed is there and that we’re supposed to read into it (9x18)… I know this answer has to be about how I and only I relate to the text because it’s personal to everyone, but I like this structure and it intrigues me and they keep on playing into their own game, and the collaborative WHOLE of the show works well for me, as something I enjoy as just a fun show to watch, and ALSO as having all this depth and SO MUCH to read into it. At this point I’m really happy just enjoying how the show is so layered even for regular plot things. I felt actual GLEE with the Yellow Eyed demon and those sound effects around him and so on because it’s all coming around again in such interesting ways… Like the heavy Destiel subtext is just a bonus because I’m a nerd about this show who also likes Destiel and can read it into the text in a way that makes me happy and comfortable with it, and… when you don’t have that same approach all I can do is explain why I do or how I see it but I can’t tell anyone it’s NOT queerbaiting or that anything will come of it >.> I just like it despite my better judgement because this show has been there for me SO LONG and oh god the SOAP OPERA of it all :P

I do think rampant optimism is ALWAYS dangerous for fandom because it makes people expect too much too quickly or at all, and this show intends to keep on plodding to at least episode 300 which I think someone said is halfway through season 14, which means we’re like 2 years off closure AT BEST if you’re waiting for the show to end and knot up all its loose ends… So I’m happy to play it cautious with my hopes and enjoy it as it comes… Though as I have rambled at in great length, I don’t think that’s taking it all as totally random unconnected moments which have no meaning in a wider context for the writers or actors or whoever might not seem to have been consulted for some random moment or other, when there’s so MANY of them and they’re as self-referential and complex as the rest of the show…

#Asks #I have no idea how to tag this :P #riverboat gambling #12x12

17 notes · View notes