#WHY NO ONE TOLD ME EARLIER THAT THERE IS A GAME WITH SUB ZERO AND LEO

[evilbihan]

Kuai Liang is a liar

We need to talk about a Kuai Liang intro I've recently discovered that honestly left me flabbergasted. I have no idea how I didn't come across this intro earlier or why no one else ever talked about it, but the more you look into Kuai Liang's dialogues, the worse it gets. Blatant ableism towards Kenshi, arrogance and disrespect towards his own allies and now this...

Baraka: I wouldn't wish Tarkat upon my worst enemy. Scorpion: Then help me stop Bi-Han from weaponizing it.

What is this? Just what on earth is he talking about here?

Bi-Han never intended to weaponize Tarkat. He wants it extinguished. Not once in the story mode does Bi-Han talk about or show any interest in Tarkat or the Tarkatans, it's not mentioned in his tower ending or any of his intro dialogues with other characters. What Bi-Han wants is an army similar to Shang Tsung's dragon army, so he can take control of a part of Earthrealm. To achieve this, he started the Cyber initiative.

What does any of that have to do with Tarkat? Bi-Han has no need for it. In fact, he made it very obvious what he thinks of those infected with Tarkat.

I looked at every line Bi-Han said in the game that mentions Tarkat as well as all his dialogues with Baraka and Mileena, the two characters that are infected with it.

Sub-Zero: Expect no compassion, freak. Baraka: Such a cold heart, Sub-Zero.

Sub-Zero: Your kind should be exterminated. Baraka: Disease does not make us disposable.

Sub-Zero: Your affliction is divine punishment. Baraka: Actually, it is fate's cruel joke.

Sub-Zero: If your subjects learn your secret -- Mileena: You dare threaten me, Bi-Han?!

What we learn from these dialogues is that Bi-Han wants Tarkat and Tarkatans gone. He thinks their affliction is some kind of punishment, he seems appalled by it, not interested in it. He tries to use Mileena's condition against her only as a method of extortion, but other than that, Bi-Han does not care about Tarkat in the slightest.

Kuai Liang is lying. He's lying to Baraka to turn him against Bi-Han.

How bad can the "bad guy" be if the supposed "good guy" has to lie to make him look worse?

Shang Tsung is the one trying to weaponize Tarkat and yes, Bi-Han was Shang Tsung's ally, but he stopped working with him and told Liu Kang he wasn't aware of Shang Tsung's experiments.

This isn't even the first time Kuai Liang was lying to one of his allies.

Scorpion: Liu Kang's revelation has shaken my faith in him. Raiden: Understandable, given what he chose to hide. Reptile: Am I right to put faith in Liu Kang? Scorpion: He's always proven worthy of mine.

You might remember this dialogue from the second part of my character analysis for Kuai Liang, in which I already talked about how much of a two-faced character he is.

Truth is, Kuai Liang, just like Bi-Han, doesn't hesitate to lie to others when there's an advantage to gain for him. This yet again proves that Kuai Liang has no honor. I don't know how much lower this character can sink and that's not even including the story dlc events. Kuai Liang is a disgrace to the Scorpion mantle. Hanzo might have been a flawed character, but I don't recall him lying and manipulating others to get his way.

[capyvan]

A very unnecessary and long post on why "Mortal Kombat: Legacy" has my favorite version of Sub-Zero Bi-Han.

(English isn't my first language so I'm sorry if i repeat myself a lot)

I've been planning on starting to make posts about this show since there is SO much to say, and I feel like it's not appreciated enough.

No. It is not perfect MK media, but it does embark on some very awesome concepts and ideas I've taken myself for AUs so I feel the need to spread the word.

That's why before you read this I recommend you check out the show itself! Is free on YouTube to watch, though I should warn y'all it ends on a cliffhanger that makes me wanna cry knowing it was canceled but i say it's still worth the watch.

For today’s post, i wanna talk about a character that while isn't one of my personal favorites, it surely has become one in this show.

Also i wouldn't call this a serious character analysis this is just me rambling about a dead man 😭.

. . .

For starters, Sub-Zero Bi-Han was never a character that caught my attention. My first introduction to him was MK1 and I'll be honest. 

It is my least favorite version of him atm, so I was relieved to see that he had been done better justice in the older sagas of the franchise… sort of.

I thought "MK: Mythologies Sub-Zero" was gonna be the only version of him I would be invested in, but then I decided to start watching "MK Legacy" and my perspective changed completely. 

I will be more so specifically talking about episodes 7-8 of season 2 since that's where we look at his lore more in depth, but season 1 is absolutely worth mentioning. 

Then after summarizing those, I'll give some closing thoughts.

. . .

In episodes 7-8 of season 1, we get introduced to Hanzo’s backstory and how he became Scorpion (my favorite version of it as a HUGE Hanzo fan.) 

I adored watching this interpretation of Harumi and Satoshi (called Jubei here) and how they interacted with Hanzo, and as always, the tragedy of it all. But this is still about Bi-Han.

Getting tricked into leaving his village earlier than expected, Hanzo encounters “Bi-Han” on his way to the Kumamoto Castle. You can already imagine what happened to his family and clan while he was away. 

After defeating “Bi-Han”, Hanzo runs back to his village only to find that everyone had been slaughtered (this scene actually almost made me start crying.) 

Before he even gets time to process the death of his wife and son, he is backstabbed (quite literally) by “Bi-Han”. 

It is revealed, like usual, that this entire time it was Quan Chi disguised as Bi-Han and was also helped by Shang Tsung to perform this attack on the Shirai Ryu. He quickly converts Hanzo into the vengeful specter he is so he will participate in the Mortal Kombat tournament and in exchange, he will be able to get his “revenge”. 

Now none of this is really news. Yes there are changes there and then but what if i told you this is a lot more tragic than you think?

Not only did Hanzo lose his family and clan, he died thinking he was betrayed by his childhood friend, who had sworn to agree to peace between their clans. 

That's what finally leads us to season 2 ^_^ 

. . .

In season 2, they take a very interesting spin on the Sub-Zero and Scorpion rivalry. Like I mentioned earlier, Hanzo and Bi-Han were actually childhood friends.

They would meet up at the hayfield outside their villages to play and train together, which I believe might be one of my favorite takes on their relationship. I think making them childhood friends makes their relationship a lot more deeper and interesting than it is presented in the games. 

While they sparred however, Kuai Liang appears and tries warning his brother of their father and his guys coming over to stop them but Bi-Han doesn't listen, which ends up with both him and Hanzo getting in trouble whenever the Shirai Ryu member's father shows up as well. 

As Hanzo is taken by his respective father, Bi-Han’s reminds him of the rivalry between the Lin Kuei and Shirai Ryu. 

“Why do you keep playing with that boy?”

“Because he is my friend.”

“He is not your friend.”

“But why?”

“His clan aren't to be trusted.”

“But why?”

“It's the way it's been since before your grandfather was born.”

Bi-Han still doesn't understand it, but his father dismisses him. 

They nailed the childlike curiosity and confusion in this. Maybe it's just because I love these types of tropes, but it was a delight to see just tiny Bi-Han and Hanzo be friends and play together despite their differences. 

20 years later, we get reintroduced to Hanzo, taking a walk with Harumi and Jubei.

Jubei separates from his parents as he runs deeper into the road, and ends up encountering Kuai Liang and two of his goons, who hold him captive as Hanzo has to intervene to help his son. 

Kuai Liang talks about how Hanzo and his family are intruding in Lin Kuei territory, so Hanzo argues that the road is neutral, decreed by the shogun.

Hanzo then threatens to tell Bi-Han about this intrusion which leads to a confrontation between the two. 

It ends up with something I found EXTREMELY unexpected, that being the death of Kuai Liang.

Now I can't say I like this version of him at all, but it is interesting seeing a version of Kuai that not only doesn't survive, but also seems egotistical and ambitious. As kind of lame as his death was imo I still thought he was.. something. They had to sacrifice him for the better Bi-Han. Fly high 🕊🕊🕊

Later on, Hanzo and Bi-Han reunite at the same place they played as children to settle things about Kuai’s death.

Bi-Han believes Hanzo when he tells him he wasn't the aggressor in the situation and grieves about how Kuai Liang had always felt underappreciated. He still apologizes on his behalf, and he and Hanzo agree to never have the clans clash with each other again as they shake hands like good friends do!

Tweaking trying not to mention Bihanzo this entire time tbh. But point is:

There is something extremely charming about this version of Bi-Han and Hanzo trying to settle the differences between their clans. It makes what comes next so much worse, but also a lot more fascinating like how the Hell did they not make this canon in any of the games. 

But yeah at this point you know this won't have a happy ending.

Next scene shows us Bi-Han being awakened from bed, being given the horrible news. 

Hanzo, his family and clan, were all gone. Brutally murdered by his men. 

He snaps, and I just have to share the dialogue in this because it drives me insane.

“Hanzo and I had a truce. This was to be a new era. An end to the senseless violence. Then why do I wake from my bed to find you, who I entrusted my men to-.. Hanzo? His whole family? His entire clan? Slaughtered. He who I had promised to end this violence.”

This alone says a LOT about Bi-Han's character. 

He never wanted this to keep going. He just wanted to have peace between the clans, to have an alliance with his friend who had trusted him. His friend who is now gone. He didn't wanna walk into his father’s footsteps and this makes Quan Chi even more of a fucking asshole than in the games and DAMN IM ALL HERE FOR IT.

As he is about to go off, he is interrupted by a mystic of the Lin Kuei, offering to show him the truth of what had happened. 

In between this they throw a flashback of Hanzo to remind us that he died thinking Bi-Han killed his family just to add salt on the wound i guessssss. 

We then cut back to the mystic and Bi-Han, who shows him what truly happened and the participation of Quan Chi and Shang Tsung. 

Having Bi-Han find out who Quan Chi is from the beginning is another interesting idea from this series (not counting mythologies here) and I like the fact Bi-Han mainly joined the tournament to make amends with his old friend. 

But I also sit down and think about how horrific it must have been for him, seeing Hanzo being stabbed and told lies by someone pretending to be him. Just seeing his dead friend and family must have sent shivers down his spine (no pun intended).

In the end, it cuts back to the present, the fight between Sub-Zero and Scorpion. 

The fight ends as you would expect, Hanzo wins and murders Bi-Han, finally getting “revenge”. But if everything that I've told you so far doesn't make his death tragic enough, then maybe his last words will. 

“No- Hanzo! I gave no such order! You’ve been deceived! Please Hanzo don't do this-”

Gets decapitated without a chance.

. . .

Now to explain why i dig this verison of Bi-Han so fucking much.

I believe that MK Legacy gave so much more to his relationship with Hanzo, as well as actually making me feel awful for his death.

A pretty recurring theme in the MK franchise is to have Bi-Han Sub-Zero be quickly killed off and replaced by Kuai Liang, just to later turn into Noob Saibot. So not only was it refreshing to see something different that actually made me upset he was unfairly killed, it was also nice to see a “what if”.

What if he and Hanzo were childhood friends? How much would that change their rivalry in the games?

What if Kuai Liang had just died or never turned into Sub-Zero so early? How different would events turn out if Bi-Han had only time to shine longer?

What if he did find out about Quan Chi impersonating him early? Would he also go on a quest to hunt him down scorpion style for slandering his honor? Or would he care at all?

While this series answers these questions (in a way) they have so much goddamn potential to be a plotline in an actual mortal kombat game LIKE IT'S INSANE. 

I personally have the belief that MK1 could have even improved by borrowing some of these concepts. 

Have Hanzo be their childhood friend instead of Harumi. I would have loved to see a rivalry like this between Lin Kuei and Shirai Ryu in the new era, but guess NRS just loves crushing everyone’s dreams (I refuse to blame Lulu for this.) 

Overall, all these new concepts and the way they were delivered is why this is my favorite version of Bi-Han ever created.

It makes Noob Saibot a lot more tragic than he already was, and it lets me explore who Bi-Han was as Sub-Zero before that transformation. 

PLEAAAAAASE someone has to see the vision (and the Bihanzo one too if interested wink wink) (i also like Kuaihanzo btw) 

[cienie-isengardu]

Every ninja knows you, Sub-Zero. [Injustice 2]

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Trust

Square Filled: Riding

A/N: See now, I have zero experience writing about ‘horse riding’ if that was expected here, but the other riding however…I know a thing or two ;))

Thor Bingo Masterlist

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

Tags: @swaggysposts​ @bitchycherryblossomlove​  @another-stark-sub​

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only, SMUT, teasing, little angst but a happy ending.

Word count: 2100ish

Written for @thorbingo​

…

“Well maybe if you weren’t so damn controlling I wouldn’t have to lie about going out Thor!” you fumed, marching towards your shared bedroom.

“I don’t like it when you hang out with Barnes. He flirts with you all the time.” Thor bellowed from behind, following you.

“You know he’s like that with every girl. How many times do I have to repeat myself? And don’t you trust me?”

You turned to face him, tired of having to explain yourself yet again.

“Of course I trust you love, it is not about that.” Thor’s voice softened as he cautiously approached you, extending his arms to perhaps pull you closer but you pushed them away.

“We wouldn’t be having this argument for the tenth time if you did Thor.” You shook your head and turned, closing the bathroom door behind you.

The whole thing had started when Sam, Bucky, Wanda and you had found yourselves hanging out with each other more and more. The four of you just clicked, it was instant.

Tonight was no different, it was one of those parties Stark wanted to have just because, and your gang had drifted away from the crowd to have a good time, drink and laugh over the stupidest things.

Your boyfriend however, thought there was something cooking with you and Bucky. According to him, Bucky was always ‘around’ and made flirty comments whenever the team hung out. You tried your best to pacify his worries, even tried telling him that no person in this universe would think about laying eyes on the girlfriend of a literal God. But you would always end up fighting, followed by make-up sex after reconciliation.

You had plans to make this man let go of his ego…

You took your time showering and getting into your sleepwear, when you finally walked out Thor was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, head hung and by the looks of it ready to make an apology.

Take no notice of him, you wandered out into the kitchen to grab some water before turning in for the night. Thor followed you out and back in wordlessly, trying to gauge your mood, unsure of what to say.

Pulling the sheets back, you got in sighing dramatically as your head touched the pillow.

“I trust you (Y/N) without a shadow of doubt, but I—I just don’t—” his voice had gotten significantly quieter, eyes searching yours as he walked closer to the bed still in his formal clothes.

“Just don’t want me having fun with my friends? Good night Thor.” Emphasizing the word friends, you gave him one final glance before turning off the bedside lamp.

Replying to Wanda’s concerned text, you placed your phone on the side table, facing the bedroom wall as you shut your eyes. You sensed the bed dip beside you, however you remained still.

“Good night love.” Thor whispered and placed a soft kiss to your shoulder, which almost made you feel bad for not kissing him before you slept, but you resisted the urge to turn around, pretended to be asleep.

After all a lesson was to be taught.

…

Next morning, waking up earlier than usual, you put on one of Thor’s large white T-shirts purposely removing all other pieces of clothing including your panties, and headed in the kitchen to make breakfast.

“What are you doing?”

Thor’s sleep-ridden voice reached your ears. You were standing on your toes to reach for the box of pancake premix, his shirt had effectively ridden up, revealing your bare ass for him to see. Smiling to yourself, you turned and blinked at him innocuously.

“Oh I need that box up there, could you help me please?”

He walked closer gradually, still studying you as you did him, shirtless, sweats hung low over his hips, morning tent clearly visible through them. Coming up next to you, he could see your pebbled nipples through his shirt, which he found himself staring at before you cleared your throat to get his attention.

Placing the box on the counter, Thor walked over to the breakfast stool and took a seat, watching you like a hawk. Every move you made, the deliberate twirls, dramatic stretching, and the way your hips swayed while you mixed the batter made his cock twitch. You weren’t one to tease, he knew that.

What game were you playing?

Perhaps you were still mad about last night. He wasn’t exactly forgiven. He wanted to confront you, but he was intrigued by this on-going show immensely.

“Thank you love.” He murmured, as you placed a plate loaded with pancakes, syrup and fruit in front of him. Thor went to grab your hand but you swiftly pulled away, placing pancakes and whipped cream on your own plate.

You ate in silence as you sat opposite him. When Thor pointed out you had cream on the corner of your mouth, you deliberately took your time, wiping it off with your tongue, making him squirm in his seat.

“I will take care of the dishes.” He insisted standing up with you, as you cleared the plates. Thor grabbed you by your waist, this time you couldn’t escape, and made you face him.

“Why are you teasing me, my love?” whispering, he pulled you closer to press his hard-on against your core, a gasp left your mouth without your permission. You still avoided his scrutiny, keeping your eyes on the firm plains of his broad chest instead.

Will power wavering, you pushed him away with all you had and turned to stroll towards the bedroom once more.

You could feel his burning gaze on your back as you pulled the tee over your head and threw it on the floor, heading to take a shower mumbling,

“I would never tease.”

…

As evening rolled by, Thor was miserable. All day, your torment made him more and more frustrated and turned on as the day progressed, and the fact that you refused to speak to him made him contemplate of things he could do to get you to talk.

He saw you stirring a pot of soup for dinner and all Thor could think about was the lacy lingerie you wore underneath your robe. He walked up behind you, waited silently till you turned the stove off and turned to find him staring at you, dejected.

Thor took hold of your hand and wordlessly walked you into the bedroom. He kneeled on the bed, facing you and dropped his head to his chest in a submissive stance.

You were stunned. The goal had been aimed towards a confrontation but this took you by surprise.

“What’re you doing Thor?” unlike your strong, unyielding façade all day, your voice came out quiet and reserved.

“Whatever you want me to do.”

His eyes never lifted their gaze from the mattress below him as he said those words. They sounded like something you’d never have imagined coming from a literal God, who at this moment was completely at your mercy.

This was dangerously powerful and all arousing at the same time. You had to take charge.

“Look at me.”

When he did, you saw silent pleads and desire in those forlorn beautiful blue eyes that you loved so much.

“Do you trust me?” you tested.

“Yes.”

Thor’s voice barely over a whisper. That was another first.

“Lie back.”

He did as he was told, like an obedient puppy eager to please. You undid the belts of your robe and let it fall over your shoulders, revealing your black lace bra that left little to the imagination and matching panties.

Strolling over to Thor’s side of the bed as if you had all the time in the world, you watched him. Chest rising and falling in anticipation, cock tenting against the restrictive sweats, eyes trained towards the ceiling.

“Look at me. Pull that shirt over your head, keep your arms up and hold onto it, you understand?”

He gulped, nodding his head as he did as told yet again. You didn’t think compliant, submissive Thor would be so exciting, you could already feel the wetness dampening your panties.

Thor felt the bed dip on his left, his body eager to be touched. You took your time grazing your fingers lightly over his happy trail, cock twitching in attention.

Hooking your fingers over the sweats and boxers, you gently peeled them down freeing his erection, chuckling when he readily lifted his hips to aid your actions.

A needy groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand over his throbbing cock, you could tell he was struggling to keep his hands above his head.

“You want me to take care of you baby?” you couldn’t recognize your own voice at this point. Thor nodded willingly.

“I need to hear you.”

“Yes please.” His deep voice thick with want and desperation spurred you on as your thumb swiped over the tip, collecting precum.

Licking agonizingly slowly along the length of his shaft, you felt him move his hips involuntarily. Taking him in your mouth, your tongue swirled around the tip, relishing the explicit noises coming from him.

You released him with a pop, his neck craning to see why you halted your actions, shirt visibly crumpled in his hands. Thor practically sighed in relief when you straddled his hips, your clothed core hanging just inches above his ready, aching cock.

“Do you trust me?” you whispered yet again.

“Yes.” Came a prompt reply as Thor watched your every move with lust-blown eyes.

“Do you really?” tilting your head to one side, you let your hands caress your breasts over the soft fabric of the bra, hips still hovering over his, not touching yet close enough.

“Yes I do, my love. I’m sorry for the way I behaved, I trust you. I trust you completely.”

Rough but truthful, his words tugged at your heartstrings making you lean forward to kiss him for the first time that day.

Tentative at first, Thor sighed into the kiss, tense shoulders relaxing under your touch as your fingers slid up to grab his face. Your tongue danced with his in a push and pull of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I forgive you’. Somewhere around it, you unclasped your bra and threw it behind without bothering.

You parted from his lips long enough to murmur, “Touch me Thor.” When he seemed unsure of moving his arms from their place. Needy for his hands on your body, you gripped his wrists and placed them on your back.

He touched you everywhere leaving your skin burning for more, it was as if he were touching you for the very first time. When he reached the waistband of your panties, he ripped them in two, the sound of a fabric tearing had never sounded sexier.

Jerking his hips upwards, you moaned when his cock made contact with your dripping core. Sitting back, you wrapped a hand around him once again, this time positioning it over yourself and sinking down on it, toes curling as you did.

Breathing hitched, mind concentrating on nothing but the fullness you felt as your walls clenched around him possessively. After what seemed like an eternity staying still, you rolled your hips, eyes closed in pleasure as rode him, and his hands went to knead your breasts, pinching your nipples drawing series of profanities from your mouth.

You knew you wouldn’t last long as rolling turned to bouncing on his cock, chasing your release. Thor’s large hands gripped your back securely, as he sat up and replaced his hands with his mouth over your nipple. He thrust into you hard and fast, sending you closer and closer to the edge, as the room filled with grunts and moans.

Pulling the ends of his hair, you shuddered as your orgasm crashed over you with one final scream. Your climax pushed Thor towards his, as he came emptying himself into you, holding you as your bodies quivered and trembled. You felt him soften inside you, but you had no intentions of being away neither did he.

When the dizziness disappeared, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hiding your flushed face in it. Gently rocking on the bed, you sat there embracing one another close, not uttering a word for what felt like hours.

“I love you.”

Thor’s deep voice resonated from his chest, making warmth bloom in your belly, as he traced random patterns on your naked back.

“I love you too Thor.” You whispered, connected your lips yet again.

…

[artlesss]

☁️ Anniversary Weekend ☁️

Took me a week to share this bec it was a really busy work week (lol but when was it ever not??)

--------

I literally started the day feeling tampo bec that's the kind of person I am 😭 jk so I rushed all my workload the day before, like I sat in front of my laptop and worked my ass off for around XX hours straight just so I can go to his place earlier than usual in the morning only for him to tell me na 'wag munang pumunta nang maaga and na magpahinga muna like?? I was so confused why (it felt like) he's not excited to see me on our Anniversary. I was kinda mad so I did what he told me, I just slept until noon. I even thought about not going there anymore haha.

🍲 Fast forward, I still went to his place of course bec how can I ever resist this guy? We did the usual lambingan like we always do lol. The kilig when he told me he cooked sinigang (my favorite!!!) and we ate lunch together. As an only daughter of two Kapampangans, pasok sa god-tier sinigang standards ko 'yung luto n'ya haha.

🌻 After our lunch, he went to the balcony for few seconds and I wondered what he was doing there. 'Nung pumasok s'ya ulit, I was shocked and kilig (and kilig again!!!) when I saw him holding a bouquet of sunflowers like my heart literally skipped a beat kasi I have zero expectation na he will surprise me with flowers (kahit lagi naman n'ya talaga akong binibigyan no'n lol).

Side story: sunflower is my favorite and it was actually one of the reasons why I said yes to him (after half a year) 'nung nililigawan n'ya pa lang ako.

Sub-side story: feeling maganda ako sa part na I let him wait six months for my answer when he asked me to be his girlfriend hahahahaha. No assurance, no commitment, nothing. We just did things together that made us happy during those six months. He was sooo patient (and loyal kahit walang label lol) to me. Kaya hindi ko rin ma-gets why I doubt his loyalty ngayong we're in a longterm relationship na, eh nanliligaw pa nga lang s'ya, sobrang loyal na n'ya hahahahah.

Another side story: the reason why ayaw n'ya akong papuntahin nang maaga sa condo is dahil nasa Dangwa s'ya nung morning buying flowers huhu. I felt guilty because I sent cold replies pa sakanya kasi I thought ayaw n'ya ako makita. :((

🍫🎂🍺 I was still in cloud 9 with the flower surprise when he opened the ref para ipakita sa'kin yung cake, chocolates (na s'ya rin kumain nung half hahaha) anddddd my favorite beer like omg??? this guy really knows me too damn well. Funny part is earlier 'nung sinabi n'ya sa'king nag-grocery s'ya before namin magkita, biniro ko pa s'ya bakit hindi n'ya ako binilhan ng beer and he just replied "luh" hahahah.

💒🍽 At around 4PM, we went to Las Casas na. An hour late from our reservation so half-panic na kami. Luckily, they weren't that strict with reservation schedule. The place was really good, somewhere na we'd go back to in the future. After the nakakapagod na pag-iikot (and picture-taking haha), we opted to dine outside kasi mas gusto ko 'yung vibe. It was a decent candlelit dinner and it felt really good to date the love of my life under the skies kahit walang stars that night hay haha. A violinist also performed live and it made the place feel more romantic and I swear I'd really kiss him right there if there weren't like a hundred people around us HAHAHAH.

Side story #3: original anniversary plan was a 4D3N vacay in Bora but alert level 3 happened so we had to reschedule. I suggested a simple date in his condo as an alt, we can cook dinner and I'll just bring scented candles to make it intimate and somehow special. I'm so glad he made efforts to find a better place where we can celebrate. And it had scented candles too. 🤍

🎮 We stayed for roughly an hour sa lobby ng condo to do our usual mobile game duo thing. Since I was so shy na wala man lang akong anything for him, I just FT-d him pambili ng ML skins 😭 I hate myself for that pero we agreed kasi initially na we won't buy gifts or anything for each other, silly of me to actually believe na he won't surprise me with anything na para bang hindi ko alam how his mind works :(( Anyway, he got an epic, special and few other ML skins naman so pwede na rin HAHAHAHA. Nakakatawa pa kasi 'yung epic and special skin na nakuha n'ya, ako 'yung may main sa mga heroes na 'yun hahaha. He got the epic Mecha Baby Nana skin and Angela's Summer Vibes. Sabi ko nga, mag-free tutorial ako for him lol charity ko na as a Pasig number XX Nana, charot sa Barangay ko lang kaya mag-top HAHAHA *sorry ito lang aq intensifies*. And mas malakas s'ya sa'kin, s'ya yung nagt-top talaga sa Pasig HAHAHAHA CHZ KATURN-ON, FVCK HAHA JK. Anyway we played MCL, 'di kami nagu-usap gaano after the game kasi sobrang badtrip kami sa isang ka-team na nag-throw ng laro hahahahaha sayang 'yung tickets namin ugh kaya understandable naman 'yung shift sa mood.

💤 We went back to the unit na and... syempre skip ko na itong part na ito 😛 Kasi natulog lang naman kami 😏

🍕 We took home the tirang pizza from last night and that's what we had for breakfast. Half pa nung 12-inch na in-order namin haha sobrang sulit. Hindi namin na-enjoy nung una kasi it's quite salty then nung ininit na the next morning, it tasted 99% better haha *chef's kiss: painit edition*

🍺 I took the lazy Sunday opportunity to drink 2 bots of beer (by myself because bb is not drinking alcohol) pero he drank juice naman so basically he still "drank with me" 🙄🤣 I was drinking beside the balcony and the huuuge Jollibee sign was like literally next to my face so I told him I was craving chickenjoy pero he just shushed me huhu. We sang along OPM songs for hours until we unconsciously fell asleep together.

💤 I vaguely remember this but while I was sleeping, he whispered (with a really soft and low voice) na he's going out to buy us dinner. I really wanted to come with him but I was too sleepy to get up.

🍗 When I woke up, I saw him setting up the table for our dinner and I asked myself what have I done to deserve this man. 🥺 And it actually doubled the kilig when I saw the jollibee paperbag looool he really bought me the chickenjoy I was craving earlier 😭

Last side story: Jollibee is really special to us. It was the first meal he bought me when we first met. Around 4 years ago, 2018 to be exact, nagd-dorm ako near UE and s'ya naman, nags-stay sa condo near Welcome Rotonda. We were just a jeep away from each other so when I told him I don't want to eat dinner kasi tinatamad ako, he literally went to my dorm at 1AM with a Jollibee supermeal 😭 I was sooo shy that time and even told him I'm gonna pay for the meal and delivery hahahahaha 😭 Umambon pa nung pauwi s'ya so medyo nakakahiya talaga (and nakakakilig 'yung efforts n'ya hehe) given na he doesn't even know me personally yet that time.

Note: since any detail of this weekend can't go unnoticed, I really appreciate him for washing the dishes hehe (I kinda hate doing it tbh) pero as someone who only knows how to bake and hindi marunong magluto ng ulam (despite having parents who both cook so damn well 👌), my role on our condo weekends is to wash the dishes while he cooks. Idk, I felt like he really wanted to make the day special for me so he tripled his effort even on smallest things. 🥺 My best boy, indeed.

--------

❤ In those two days, the stories we shared to each other, the laughter, every lyric of all the songs we sang together. The back hugs, the number of times he touched my hair and my hand. Every little thing we did for, to and with each other... they all felt perfect. They are perfect.

The happiest anniversary so far because it just gets better every year. 🤍

[chadprez]

Kay’s Questioning Adventure! Chapter 3: 1 Year, 1 Boy, and a Mom.

Note: Italics = Japanese.

-----------

FATALITY! SUB ZERO WINS!

I stare at the screen, seeing who won.

Sighing, I sulk back into the couch and scrunch up my face.

‘That’s-’

“6 - 2! Are you sure you’re good at Mortal Kombat? What happened to those skills you were talking about?”

Gripping the controller, ‘I only played against hard bots..’

“Maal, aren’t you being a bit rude? I have skills, I-I-I just need to warm up! Once I warm up I promise I can beat you..”

He looks at me with the face saying ‘I know you’re lying’.

After a few seconds, he chuckles and puts me in a small hug. “Awww, Is my little bean upset that I keep beating them at their own game?” I glare at him, “You better be lucky I love you. Dork..”

“English please! I only know anime words!”

I grab his arm and squeeze it, “YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING!! STOP TRYING TO GET ME TO TALK IN ENGLISH ALL THE TIME!”

He grabs my wrist trying to get me to stop breaking his arm, “IM SORRY! IM SORRY!”

Sighing again, I let go of his arm and reach over to grab my phone. Maal rubs his arm while mumbling curses under his breath, “You got one hell of a grip right there..”

He realized I didn’t respond and just staring at my phone. “Hey bean? What you got..” He leans over and sees what I see. At the same time we say-

“Oh..”

“Dear.”

Imagine: You're in a dark spacious room with the only light source being flashed on you. Then one by one, lights being to flash on different sexualities/genders. you see your peers/fictional characters in their respect areas, and they all reach out their hands to you. You're confused, but no longer scared. Now the question is, which one will you choose?

Heh, It’s me again! This chapter is somewhat special! So I’m introducing 2 new characters. As you saw earlier, you see a guy names Maal! That’s just his nickname. So that ‘Maal’ guy is well, my partner! That’s not his actual name, it’s actually Jamaal. wOaH- an American? African American to be exact!

Now, what’s the problem this chapter? Well, let’s find out..

-----------

“Hey! Hey! Hey! No need for pushing! And do I really have to go UNDER the bed again?!”

“Yes you have to go under the bed! You know this already! We’ve been doing this for 3 years!” I continue pushing him towards my room, I CAN’T let her see him! I’m not ready!

Maal stops walking which makes me bump into him, “Why can’t she just meet me already? I feel like we’ve been kept a secret for too long.”

“We haven’t been kept a secret, Mariyah and our friends already know we’re together. Hell! Even your parents know! I’m just not ready for her to meet you yet.. Plus I haven’t even told her I’m.. You know..”

I feel 2 arms wrap around me, “I know you’re scared, I know. But she can’t really do anything. What is she gonna do? Ground you? She can go kick rocks with..?”

Chuckling I finish his sentence, “With an open toe shoe.. thanks Maal.”

He gives me a smile, “That’s what I’m here for, now, can I meet her?”

“You’re going under the bed.”

-----------

I go towards the door once I hear a knock on it, I peep through the hole and open the door.

“Heeey Momma!”

“Hi sweetie, I see you’re playing Mortal Kombat again.”

I look over to the TV, Ah! I forgot that was on the screen!

“Were you playing with someone?”

“Yep! Mariyah! You just missed her.”

That was a close one, I move aside to let her in.

I just realized how short she was again..

She goes to sit on the couch in the living room, I sit right next to her and change it to a regular channel.

“Sooo... What are you doing here?” I look over towards her to see her scrolling through her phone. I hope she doesn’t ask to go to my room, I didn’t put him under the bed because I’m not that cruel.

“I just wanted to see my daughter of course. Why? Are you busy?” She puts her phone down and looks at me.

“N-No! I was just wondering because you didn’t inform me before coming over today!” I put my hands up in defense, leaning over, I grab the remote and flip through some channels. Just to avoid eye contact.

“Hmph, okay. Let’s watch that show you like so much, you know, the one with the boy who has a gem on his belly button.”

Ah! Steven Universe! I love that show!

I look for Steven Universe and click on my favorite episode ‘The Answer’

As we watch through the episode, my mom’s mood changes.

“What’s wrong? You seem upset.” She sighs and pauses the episode, “Garnet is a fusion right? Aren’t Ruby and Sapphire girls?”

“Well, gems don’t really have genders.. but if you had to choose a gender, they’re most likely girls. Is there a problem?”

Her face scrunches up a bit, “YEAH, It’s a huge problem actually. Why are they showing 2 lesbians on a kids show?! It’s a kids show! Plus it’s just.. ew.”

I sigh, maybe I shouldn’t have picked this episode.. I forgot how much of a homophobe she was. I guess today isn’t the right day. Blocking out her constant complaints, I think about how much I wish she wasn’t like this. Can’t she just understand that we’re human to?

-----------

“Bye bye! Have a safe ride!” I wave outside the door to my mom as she leaves.

When she finally leaves, I close the door and sigh. Sliding down the door, I feel my throat burn and my face scrunches up.

Shit, I’m about to cry.

I feel 2 arms lift me up off of the ground and drag me to the soft couch cushions.

Pulling me into a hug, I let it all out.

“It’s alright, It’s alright.. Let it all out..” He keeps comforting me, over, and over again. I wrap my arms around his torso and keep on crying. Jesus, I really am a crybaby.

“I know it’s hard to tell her, you’re not ready yet.. Just know I’m here to support you 100% Me and the crew.” Rubbing circles on my back, trying to calm me down. “Look at me.”

I look up, feeling a soft peck on my forehead. “Come on, let’s go to your room. We can binge JoJo if you want, I still have to catch up on part 5.”

Wiping my eyes, I smile at him a bit. He stands up, making me stand up with him, and we walk to my room.

“Are you spending the night?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Can I bring out my Kakashi body pillow?”

“Fuck no.”

Happy 4 years Maal, you’re always there for me. <3

[thran-duils]

Watch Me Burn (P.3)

Title: Watch Me Burn (Part Three) Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Cas. Fem!Reader x AU!Sam. This fic was inspired by both parts of “Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem & Rihanna. Castiel and the reader are toxic for each other and keep falling back together until the reader moved away. It’s been years and now she is back home, waltzing back into Castiel’s life. She is determined to do better this time, to make them work, but outside forces as well as the scars the two have left on each other weave their way into their reconciliation. Will they be able to overcome the past and new threats to their sustainability? Words: 2,011 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Extreme angst, domestic violence, smut, unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, BDSM trust breaking, fluff, language, alcohol abuse, !!! eventual !!! happiness Author’s Note: Italics are the past!

Chap Two || Chap Four || Masterpost (mobile) || Fic masterpost

“What would you like to try pleasure wise? Would you like to please me or vise versa? Or both?”

Castiel was watching you intently, gauging your reaction to the question. His fingers toyed with the lace at your breast; you had bought yourself a new baby doll and had surprised him with it by waiting on his bed for him to return from downstairs at the bar. Castiel was hard already, the outline of his cock pressed up against his boxers.

“You.”

His brows raised in surprise. “Truly?”

You nodded.

Castiel’s fingers ghosted down your frame, approval etched in his features. His hands found your thong, giving it a rough tug and you obliged him, lifting your legs to help him tear it off of you.

Stepping away from the bed, he tossed the thong in the corner as he told you, “On your knees then.”

You did as he asked, heart hammering. The two of you had only been dating for a couple of months and he had put forth the suggestion the last time you two were together about trying out a dominant and submissive play. You had engaged in dirty talk and been spanked a few times by past partners, but the way Castiel talked, he took it more seriously. Not outside of the bedroom, he explained that did not interest him. But inside the bedroom…

As you adjusted yourself, Castiel told you firmly, “If you feel uncomfortable, you use that safe word. Do you understand?”

You nodded, not looking him in the eyes.

His hand tucked under your chin, forcing you to look up at him and in the eyes. He stared deep and repeated himself, “Do you understand? I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes. I understand. I’ll say ‘yellow’.”

Satisfied, he stepped back away from you, his hand palming himself. “Now, you stay still. You’re not allowed to leave the ground until I tell you directly.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes not leaving you as he adjusted himself to be comfortable before releasing himself from the confines of his underwear. His free hand reached for the lube, putting a generous amount on his cock.

“Play with your tits.”

Raising your hands, you cupped your breasts, slowly circling your fingers around your nipples. His hand moved faster, watching you slip your fingers underneath the fabric, squeezing at yourself. You wished it were his hands at you, caressing your skin. Yet, being the source of his viewing pleasure was stirring butterflies.

“Spread yourself out for me. Show me that pussy,” Castiel husked. Leaning back, you moved your legs to show him what he desired. “Mhm, touch yourself.” He groaned when you spread your lips, rubbing at your nub.

There was a high creeping in, watching him bask in you. You drank it in, his eyes zeroed in on your core, his rhythm quick on his cock.

Castiel rasped, “Come here.”

Eager to feel him, you were quick to get up, but he snapped his fingers at you, stilling your movement. “I didn’t tell you that you could leave the ground.”

Sinking back down, you moved onto your hands and knees and looked at him for approval. He nodded, murmuring his approval. You crawled to him, stopping at his feet, staring hungrily at his thick cock.

He chuckled seeing where your desire was. “Open.” Castiel held your head steady as he pushed the swollen head of his cock past your lips. His eyes were blown black with lust, biting his bottom lip as he pushed another inch. “Swirl your tongue, angel.”

You drew sighs of contentment from him as you bobbed, your tongue lapping at him greedily. His hips bucked towards you, pushing himself all the further down your throat. He hissed when he hit the back of your throat, his fingers wrapping up in your hair.

“Mhm, that’s a good girl,” he praised. “So, so good, angel.”

Castiel’s fingers tightened in your hair and you winced at the tug but continued to follow his lead. He held you in place, using your mouth for his own, broken gasps of adoration falling from his lips for you and you alone. When he came with a loud, long groan, you swallowed your prize, eyes locked on him throwing his head back as he emptied himself.

He all but collapsed back onto his elbows, you free to move your head once more. You licked at your lips, resting back on your calves as you awaited his next request.

“Shit,” Castiel breathed deeply. “Come up here, Y/N. Next to me.”

Pulling you to him, he kissed your forehead. You snuggled into his side, peering up at him.

“How do you feel?” he asked sincerely.

“Tired.”

He chuckled, “You know what I mean.”

Biting your bottom lip, you thought for a moment before answering, “Good. Except for when I almost disobeyed.”

The corner of his mouth up ticked. “You are learning. It will get easier. You did well, Y/N.”

You did well.

Warmth spread through you at the compliment.

<> <> <>

Strolling out of the bedroom, you maneuvered your way around the boxes you had piled up by the dining room table. It had only taken a few days for you to give in and ask Castiel if you could start moving in, to which he had barely hesitated to respond yes. You were planning on taking small trips back and forth to the storage unit to clear it out in increments rather than inundate yourselves with an apartment full of moving boxes. Some currently in the place were open from the unpacking you had started earlier in the evening but had decided to take a break to make dinner so Castiel would have something to eat when he came home. You had texted him too to let him know to keep his hands off the fried food coming out of the kitchen; you were going to make him something healthy. His snarky response had only served to make you more determined he liked what you were going to make him. And he had, requesting seconds.

Snatching your wine bottle off the counter, you poured yourself a glass before going to join Castiel on the couch. Moans were coming from the TV and you saw a heavy sex scene playing. “Do you need me to leave?” you half joked.

“Shut up. It’s Game of Thrones,” Castiel laughed in response.

You watched the couple intertwined together, both fighting for dominance of each other.

Feeling mischievous, you asked nonchalantly, “How many people you been with since I left?”

Castiel side eyed you and you merely smirked in response. Clearing his throat, Castiel said, “A few.”

You snorted and took a small drink of your wine.

“You gonna share with the class?”

“A few.”

“Hmm. Cute.”

“I try to be.”

Shifting to face him, you took a long drink of your wine, staring at him.

Castiel turned his head, returning your stare. “Can I help you?”

You slid off the couch to your knees, Castiel’s eyes locked onto you. You pushed his legs apart and placed yourself in between, looking up at him with feigned innocence.

Cocking his head, he asked, “If I had known Game of Thrones would get you down in this position so quickly, I might have done it the first night back.”

You hummed, running your hands up his thighs. “Just figured it would be a nice top off to the night. You know, I cooked dinner – a healthy, home made one, just for you. There’s wine… it just seems like a cute, homey date night should end with some less than… polished… graceful… sex.” As you spoke, you undid his belt, hands moving to his zipper next. “A bit risqué, if you will.”

Castiel swallowed sharply, his eyes not leaving yours. You could see desire swimming in them already. “Oh, I would not oppose to that.”

It did not take long to get him good and hard and you found yourself sucking him with fervor, the show long forgotten.

“Sure missed this,” Castiel groaned, his hand falling behind your head and his fingers laced into your hair, holding tight. “Stay still.”

You did as he commanded, letting him use your mouth. Castiel’s fingers dug into the back of your head, low moans of desire escaping his lips. Tightening your lips around him, you watched him throw his head back, his hips bucking faster. You moaned around his cock as it bounced repeatedly off the back of your throat; it was getting to be too much.

When he slowed and relented for just a moment, you said muffled, “Yellow.”

Castiel pulled out fully immediately, his eyes laced with concerned as you gagged. You had thought you were going to get sick which is why you had used your safe word. Castiel remembered it too. Of course, he did; he was always a good dom.

“Are you alright?”

Nodding your head, you said strained, “I’ll be okay in a minute.”

He gave a nod of understanding, moving his hand to keep himself erect to give you space and time while you recovered and were ready to resume.

The fact he stopped set you off. He heeded your request and did not ignore you or force you further.

Unlike…

Tears came to your eyes despite yourself and you swiftly tried to brush them away embarrassed.

Castiel’s hands came to you, struggling to make you look up at him, but you refused. “Angel, what’s wrong?” You tried to pull away, but he held tight, continuing to try to get you to make eye contact. “Y/N? Are you hurt?”

“No,” you sniffled, shaking your head. “I’m not hurt. I’m not… I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound or look okay,” Castiel said firmly. You sniffled again and Castiel said more gently this time, “Hey… look at me. Please?”

Slowly, you turned your gaze up to him. He was exploring your eyes, trying to make sense of why you were distraught. You felt sick now for a completely different reason. You did not want to divulge anything right now, you just wanted to have sex. Thinking about it any more would ruin the moment and that is the last thing you wanted.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Castiel asked softly.

“Really. It’s fine. I just—”

“Y/N, I’m not going to be able to be turned on knowing you really aren’t okay,” Castiel told you and you let out a pathetic whimper, trying to look away again, but he stopped you from doing so. “I’m just being honest. So… do you want to talk?”

He was not going to let it go. You should not be surprised; this was Castiel you were talking about.

Sighing, you threw your hand out, trying to downplay it by brushing it off with a gesture. “I just… I had a bad experience once with… some guy who wanted to try the whole dom/sub out.”

Castiel’s face was hard hearing this and rightfully so.

You shrugged, still trying to downplay, “He just didn’t listen when I used my safe word. So, I guess… I just got choked up because you did.”

“If it is going to trigger you, Y/N—”

“Cas, no. Really. I’ll be okay. I just need to realize I’m safe here.” He looked unconvinced and you grasped his hand, trying to look as sincere as you could muster, because you really did mean it. “It’s nice to be back here… with you. Really. I just need to settle back in. I know I keep saying that, but I really mean it and I want to.”

Silence fell between the two of you and you squeezed his hand again, trying to reassure him that you truly were okay.

He touched the side of your face and told you, “I’m sorry. But… I’m glad you told me. Don’t feel bad about having to take some time.” Nodding, you forced a small smile, which he returned. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas

[punk-is-notdead]

Fic Title: When the Levee Breaks, by tfw_cas and  Eyes_of_a_Tragedy

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Castiel (Supernatural) Dean Winchester Inias... kinda Balthazar... also kinda Sam Winchester (mentioned) Friends to Lovers Cassexual Dean Winchester First Kiss Smut Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural) Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester Dirty Talk Frottage Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester Anal Sex Dom/sub Undertones Castiel (Supernatural)'s Dom Brow POV Castiel (Supernatural) Dean's A Marshmallow Abuse Of A Stuffed Animal Lions and Tigers and Bears oh my! Balthazar Knew Finding Love at the Carnival Happy Birthday Any!!

Summary:  Dean takes Castiel to the carnival to show him the ultimate human experience, but Castiel isn’t interested in going on any of the rides, after hearing the customers’ screams. He is drawn to the duck shoot, however, and the prize of a stuffed panda; but it takes the help of his favourite hunter to win the toy, and in the process he might just have won his heart too.

AO3

When Dean told Castiel that he was going to treat him to the ultimate human experience, this wasn’t quite what Castiel had envisaged. He looked around the carnival in confusion, trying to figure out why anyone would find this entertaining.

A particularly loud scream caused him to look over at one of the ‘rides’ - as Dean called them - and he saw a train-like vehicle plummeting from a great height, on a track that appeared to be on a loop. A loop that pointed upwards, downwards, and even upside down, it seemed.

Did people enjoy this experience, and if so, why? It was all very puzzling to Castiel.

Dean was waiting in line for something called The Wall of Death. He grinned at Castiel as he handed over his money and climbed into the large circular object along with several other people, which then proceeded to spin around at an alarming speed.

Surely this couldn’t be good for Dean’s body? Castiel made a mental note to check Dean’s physical condition later - surreptitiously, of course - while trying not to think about his best friend’s body too much.

Castiel decided to take a look around, and see if there was anything in this place that wouldn’t cause him to scream. There were stalls; some selling food, which was all incredibly unhealthy, and some that were games, which generally involved hitting a target and winning a prize.

One of these games in particular caught Castiel’s eye; it was a shooting game, where the participant had to hit a row of ducks. Well… not actually ducks, more like metal shapes with ducks painted on them. There were a variety of prizes on offer, but Castiel instantly fell in love with a giant stuffed panda. He knew it was a child’s toy, but he wanted it, though he couldn’t explain why.

He handed the stall owner a handful of the tickets Dean had given him, and picked up the gun that he would shoot the painted ducks with. Even though Castiel had never shot a gun before - real or otherwise - he was certain he would hit enough ducks to win the panda. How hard could it be?

Raising the gun, Castiel looked through the sight and pulled the trigger. There was a crack as the gun fired, but the pellet missed and splashed into the water. Undeterred, Castiel tried again… and again, with no success.

How could he be so good with an angel blade, and so bad with a gun? Castiel frowned, handed more tickets to the vendor, and tried once more. This time, he felt he missed by an even wider margin, and he sighed sadly.

He was about to turn away in defeat when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dean… he would recognise that touch anywhere.

"Why don't you let me give it a shot, Cas?" Dean gently took the rifle from his hands and pointed it at the ground for some reason. "See, the trick is that these things are rigged. The sight is always misaligned. So, you gotta compensate for that."

“But… that isn’t very fair,” Castiel replied, feeling belligerent. “How am I supposed to win the panda if it’s rigged?” He shot a scowl at the stall owner for good measure.

Dean also looked at the man and asked, "How many ducks to win the panda?"

“Twenty,” the man answered, with a too smug smile on his face.

Glancing at Castiel, Dean winked and turned back to the game. "Piece of pie." Dean took aim and very methodically fired at the first duck. The ping of the pellet striking it and knocking it down was very satisfying.

He looked over at the owner and added with a shrug, "Beginner's luck."

“Dean, you aren’t a-” Castiel started, before Dean interrupted him.

"Very experienced shooter. Yeah, you got that right. But I'm gonna do my best." Dean took aim and hit another, then another. "You must be my lucky charm, angel."

Castiel could feel his vessel getting warmer, and he was sure his face was on fire. “I, er… thank you.” He had no idea how to deal with this overly friendly behaviour from Dean.

He watched as Dean knocked down duck after duck, noticing that they were drawing a crowd. "Is anyone keeping count? I lost track at ten…" Dean trailed off, then stepped back and looked at Castiel with an arched brow.

“I believe you are up to fifteen now,” Castiel said, noting how triumphant he sounded. That would teach the owner - who was looking none too pleased now - to take people’s money for a game most people couldn’t win.

Dean was looking around at the gathered crowd, and Castiel noticed him zeroing in on a young boy of about seven years. He gestured to Castiel, waving him to stand in front of him. He whispered, "Wanna help me with the rest?"

Oh, my father. Castiel didn’t know what to think. He’d often had inappropriate thoughts of getting close to Dean, but could he stop that from becoming obvious in this situation… in public? Dean was waiting for an answer though, so he said a hesitant, "Yes.”

Dean pulled him to stand in front of him, then moved to his side and held out the gun. "I noticed your stance was a bit off. You need to be a bit looser through the arms and shoulders." Dean moved behind him and eased a foot between his and wiggled it. "Spread your legs a bit so your feet are shoulders' width apart, then step back slightly with your right foot."

“Th-thank you, Dean.” Castiel was torn between wanting more physical contact, and realising that this really wasn’t the place.

He suppressed a shiver as Dean moved closer and positioned his arms. "Take the gun and brace it so the butt sits firmly in the cradle of your shoulder," Dean tapped to the right of his collarbone, "then line the sight up with your target. To compensate for the misaligned sight, you need to aim about a centimeter to your left. Got it?"

Castiel leaned into Dean, allowing himself to feel the man’s comforting warmth. “I’m not sure. Could you show me?” he asked, feeling a sense of daring which usually deserted him when it came to Dean.

He could feel Dean chuckling as he stepped in closer. "Remind me to never play pool with you." Then Dean's hands traced over his, making minute adjustments to the positioning of his fingers. He felt the front of the hunter's body lined up with his, and his breath was ghosting against Castiel's temple. "Line up your shot - remember, a centimeter to the left - then take a steadying breath and gently pull the trigger."

Castiel understood that Dean was making a joke about not playing pool with him, but he hoped they could one day. He very much liked the idea of getting Dean to demonstrate the best way to hold the stick. Especially if he did it like this… so close that Castiel could feel the man’s body meld into his. He tried to do as Dean instructed, but his breath wasn’t steady so much as shaky. He felt Dean take in a breath with him and hold it, as Castiel pulled the trigger and the duck flew backwards.

"There you go, Cas!" Dean patted him on the shoulder. "Good job. Think you can do it again?"

“Yes,” Castiel said, getting into the feel of the weapon in his hand, and his best friend guiding him expertly. Raising the gun and steadying the butt on his shoulder once more, Castiel fired the next shot. The satisfying clang of the pellet hitting its target brought a smile to his face. “This is fun,” he said.

Dean's grin was one of those special ones that could light up an entire room, and Castiel felt torn when he asked, "Think you can get the rest now?"

“I believe so,” he replied, feeling Dean take a step backwards and away from him. There was no time to mourn the loss of Dean being so close to him though, and he readied the gun and took aim again. Without Dean’s guiding hand Castiel’s shot wasn’t quite as direct as the previous two, but he hit the duck nevertheless.

"Just two more." Castiel felt himself tense as Dean rested his hands on his shoulders. "Still too tight, though. Take a breath and let that tension out. This isn't the end of the world," he ended with a snicker.

No it wasn’t, but this felt just as earth-shattering though. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Castiel decided to deal with the way he had reacted to Dean’s touch later. Within a matter of seconds the final two shots had been fired and the ducks obliterated. This had turned out to be a lot of fun, and he had won the panda.

"Damn, Cas, you're a quick study. Definitely not teaching you pool." Dean winked in his direction, then moved up to the booth's operator and kept talking. "I believe that was twenty ducks? So looks like we won a panda," he crowed, and Castiel could just make out him addressing the man under his breath, "and if you want me to keep your secret about that sight, then you'll pass over that tiger as a token of your appreciation."

Castiel felt no sympathy for the man, but he was surprised to hear Dean asking for a cuddly toy too. He hadn’t expected that.

The attendant passed over the tiger without any argument, and Castiel watched as Dean lugged it over to the child he'd been looking at earlier. He knelt down in front of the boy, taking great care to keep the stuffed animal off the trash-strewn ground. "Hey, buddy. That nice man said my friend and I did such an awesome job that he wanted to give me an extra reward. But I can't really fit this guy and the panda in my car. I noticed you have a tiger on your shirt, though, and thought maybe you might like it?"

Castiel felt something swelling in his chest; he didn’t know what it was, but he knew that Dean was the cause. Watching him with that child, being so kind and generous was special, because it was a side of Dean that he kept hidden too often.

The boy accepted the tiger and grinned up at his mother, who was thanking Dean and gazing at him with a look of admiration. It was not at all unusual for women and men to stare at the hunter in such a fashion.

As Dean got off the ground and walked back over to him, Castiel felt an overwhelming urge to do the thing he had wanted to do for longer than he could remember. Before he could change his mind, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Dean’s.

Not knowing what to expect, he was nervous when Dean pulled away. But the hunter just looked at him with a perplexed look that morphed into that look when Dean saw pie, or a double bacon cheeseburger; and then there was a hand at the base of his skull, fingers tangling in his hair, and those lips Castiel had been dreaming of for so long descended on his in a kiss that was gentle but demanding.

Castiel was well aware that they were kissing in public, in front of a crowd of strangers, but he found it all too easy to get lost in kissing Dean Winchester. He slid his hands around to Dean’s back and pressed their bodies together briefly, before reluctantly breaking off the kiss. They needed to get out of here before they did something that could get them into trouble.

From behind the booth counter, Castiel heard the clearing of a throat. "Think you two need to take your panda and get outta here."

Dean leaned his forehead against Castiel's and whispered, "Sounds like good advice. What do you say we head home, sunshine?"

Castiel had never told Dean how much he loved when he called him sunshine, and he was so full of happiness, all he could do was nod in agreement. He felt his expression change, however, when he took the panda from the stall owner and made sure to glower menacingly at him.

Dean laughed and leaned in to nuzzle his ear. "Maybe I should have given the tiger to you…" He turned to the man and did that finger gun motion he was so fond of. "Have a great night!"

Then Castiel felt a broad, strong hand at the small of his back, guiding him away. "C'mon, Cas. I think we've got better things to be doing now."

Castiel hoped Dean’s ‘better things to be doing’ meant more kissing, and touching Dean’s body intimately was something he would like to try too. He clutched the panda to him tightly, trying not to drop it as they made their way back to Dean’s Baby, but as they drew nearer he wondered how they would get the thing inside. It certainly wouldn’t fit in the trunk; not with all the weapons it was already holding.

When they reached the car, Dean opened the back door and turned to Castiel. "Gimme the bear." Reluctant to let go, but knowing he couldn't very well carry it in the front seat, he surrendered his panda and watched as Dean placed it on the back passenger's seat and fastened the belt around it. "There. All nice and secure."

After closing the door, Dean turned to him and backed him against the car. Castiel was trapped between the cool chrome of the car’s bodywork and the firm muscly body of his favourite human, but he didn’t mind one bit. The intensity of their situation was intoxicating, as they gazed into one another’s eyes, until Dean took hold of Castiel’s tie and pulled him forward so that their lips were barely brushing.

"I think I might be jealous of that bear, Cas." Dean kissed the tip of his nose and continued, "If I'd known you wanted something to cuddle so much…"

Castiel considered for a moment before replying. “I wanted the bear very much, but if I had to choose between you and Inias…” he could hear the way his voice turned into a growl as he leaned forward and whispered into Dean’s ear, “I wouldn’t hesitate to leave him by the side of the road.”

He caressed Dean’s cheek with his own as he manoeuvred himself so that they were face to face once more, then closed his eyes as he felt Dean surge forward to capture his mouth in a real kiss. This one was so much more than the first; more passionate, more sensual. Castiel slipped his hands around to Dean’s back and pulled him closer, as Dean parted his lips with his tongue.

There was a tentative swipe against the roof of his mouth, then Dean's tongue tangled with his, and it was as though years of longing poured over them. He felt Dean's hands lingering on his cheeks, tracing down his neck and clutching at the lapels of his coat.

The hunter pulled away, breathing labored, and his voice was a low groan as he urged, "Need to get you home before I get us both arrested for indecent exposure."

“That would be unfortunate, because then I would have to smite any police officers that get in our way,” Castiel replied drily, with a raised eyebrow.

Dean moved him to the side and opened the passenger side door. "In the car. Now."

Castiel was all for Dean’s sudden need for haste. He wanted to kiss Dean again, and more, and even though this was away from the crowd at the duck shoot, it wasn’t nearly private enough. He did as Dean commanded, and quickly climbed into the passenger seat, smiling at Dean as he appeared around the other side of the car and opened his door.

He slid into the driver's seat, closed the door, and put the key in the ignition. He didn't start it, though, a look of deliberation on his face. "Tell me to turn this car on right now…"

Castiel wasn’t sure what game they were playing here, but he could see the pleading look on Dean’s face. “Turn the car on, Dean,” he growled, shooting the hunter what he hoped was a ‘don’t mess with me’ expression.

He watched as Dean thunked his head back against the headrest and bit his bottom lip. His right hand reached up and turned the key. "Tell me to put my seatbelt on and drive us to the bunker."

Castiel raised his eyebrow again, which earned him a sharp intake of breath from Dean. “I think you should put your seatbelt on and drive to the bunker right now,” he said, as he slid his hand over the seat and lightly brushed his fingertip along the side of Dean’s thigh.

Dean shifted slightly and reached around for his seatbelt, fastening it in place before putting the car in gear and reversing out of the parking space. Castiel noticed his hands were clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel, and his breaths were shallow, heart rate increased. Looking down to where his fingers were now tracing Enochian terms of endearment on Dean's thigh, he noticed the very visible bulge in his hunter's pants.

“You seem to be in some discomfort,” Castiel stated, increasing the pressure of his fingers, well aware of the effect this was having. “Is there anything I can do to help relieve you?”

Dean shot him a quick look that was a mixture of glare, awe, and sheer frustration. "My dick's hard enough to pound nails, Cas. Think you could lend me a hand?" he asked with a tone of sarcasm layered over desperation.

“Do you think that’s wise while you’re driving?” Castiel let his hand travel further towards Dean’s crotch, despite his questioning tone. Seeing Dean coming undone like this was extremely arousing.

Dean gasped out, "I knew you were a toppy bastard the moment I met you in that barn." His breathing shuddered, and Castiel felt the car accelerate as Dean pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. "Jesus, Cas…"

“I… don’t understand. Toppy?” Castiel had a strong suspicion that this was something sexual, but the exact connotation wasn’t clear.

Dean's groan was something he would endeavor to draw from him more frequently. "How are you still so innocent? And you have no idea how sexy it is… So dominant and naive at the same time. Like that time you pushed me against that alley wall? Just… do you have any idea how turned on I was?"

“Ohh, really? That’s very interesting information. I had no idea you like to be dominated…” Castiel purposefully placed emphasis on that last word. “Maybe I should tell you to pull over on the next available side road and get into the backseat? How would you respond to that?” His hand had now reached the bulge in Dean’s jeans, but he barely grazed it over the cloth.

A small whimper escaped Dean's lips, and he whispered, "Please…"

Castiel gave Dean a smile, that he hoped conveyed how pleased he was with this turn of events, and said, “It would make me very happy if you would find the nearest side road, pull over, and get immediately into the backseat.”

Dean inhaled deeply and used his turn signal to indicate he was changing lanes. After a few minutes, he veered off at a tree-lined drive and pulled into an area concealed from the main road. Parked, his seatbelt unfastened, Dean quickly opened his door and moved to get in the back seat.

“Very good,” Castiel praised, following suit to join Dean in the back. Unfortunately, there was a huge panda where he wanted to get in. He hadn’t meant what he said about leaving him by the side of the road, although he needed to remove this obstacle quickly before Dean changed his mind.

He unfastened the bear’s seatbelt and lifted it to push it over the back of the front seat. It was less pliable than he had hoped however, and it got stuck halfway, requiring help from Dean to get it out of the way completely.

"Not for nothin', Cas, but the last stuffed animal that got in my way got shot." Dean pushed at Inias's back until he popped over the seat, grumbling something about getting hot and sweaty.

“I’m glad you didn’t shoot Inias. It isn’t his fault he was in the way,” Castiel said, looking at the panda, which was now lying on its front in the front seat. He had much more important matters to attend to though, and he turned his attention back to Dean. “Now where were we?” he breathed, gazing into those green eyes he adored so much.

"We were in the front seat," Dean responded, full of snark.

“There was a time when your sense of humour would have thrown me. But not anymore. It’s a part of you to admire, just like your freckles.” Castiel had had enough of waiting and he grabbed a handful of Dean’s shirt and yanked him forward into a bruising kiss.

He could only describe Dean's reaction as melting. He went pliant under Castiel's hands, body warm and malleable. "Cas," he whined.

“Dean,” Castiel moaned in response. “I… want to feel you.” He began feverishly opening Dean’s shirt buttons, before losing patience and pushing the garment up with his hands, trying to get it over his head.

"Cas, let me get this." Dean quickly finished unbuttoning the shirt and shrugged out of it, then pulled off his t-shirt.

Castiel took a moment to admire the beauty of Dean’s form, before touching a hand to Dean’s chest and running it over the freckled skin. Dean trembled under his touch, and made a tiny sound that Castiel thought sounded almost like a cat. The knowledge that he was the cause of this reaction in Dean - the strongest human he had ever known - was intoxicating.

“Lay down,” he said, voice husky from want.

Dean did as he was told and watched wide-eyed as Castiel began removing his own clothes; trench coat, blazer, shirt and tie, all of which were thrown on top of the poor unfortunate panda. At least he won’t be able to see what we’re doing, Castiel thought, wondering why he was suddenly thinking of the stuffed toy as a sentient being.

Dean’s fingers were brushing Castiel’s bare chest now, and he suddenly understood why Dean had reacted the way he did. The feeling of his lover touching his skin was like nothing he could describe, but he knew he didn’t want it to stop.

Castiel slid over Dean and kissed him again, feeling the rise and fall of Dean’s chest beneath his, before he went on an exploration with his mouth. He kissed Dean’s jaw, neck, collar bone, nipple… this drew a hiss from Dean as he arched his back off the seat.

"Oh, Cas," Dean moaned as he buried his fingers in Castiel's hair and trailed his other hand down his back, fingernails scraping along his shoulder blades. "More... please."

He wrapped his lips around the little bud and flicked it with his tongue. He delighted in the noises Dean made at this, and repeated the action before moving to the other nipple.

Dean rolled his hips up against Castiel's front, and he could feel the length of his erection brushing against his abdomen. Growling, he sank his teeth into the meat of Dean's pectoral, marking him in a way he'd only dreamed of before.

The indecent moan that Dean let out caused an intense reaction in Castiel, and he ground his own erection against Dean’s. They were both breathing heavily as Castiel leaned back up and moved his hands to open the fastenings on his pants, hoping that Dean would follow suit and undress with him.

As Dean started unbuttoning his jeans, he said, "Cas, shoes. I can't get to my boots."

Castiel briefly considered making Dean’s boots - and maybe everything else he was wearing too - disappear with a snap of his fingers, but he had a feeling that removing them slowly would be a more pleasurable experience. Reaching down, he started pulling at the laces and loosening them enough to slip first one boot then the other from Dean’s feet, all the while taking every opportunity to caress his calves. The socks came off next, and they were piled on top of Castiel’s clothes, on top of Inias.

Lifting his hips, Dean pushed his jeans down as much as he could, given Castiel's position. His underwear were tented, and Castiel reached out to slowly pull the waistband down.

He couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of Dean’s member as it sprung free. It was… how did Dean describe it? Hard enough to screw nails? Castiel wrapped his fingers around the length and began to stroke, watching Dean’s face to gauge his reaction.

Dean's breath hitched, head fell back against the seat, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Jesus, Cas, feel free to never stop doing that."

“I think that would become uncomfortable after a while,” Castiel smiled, knowing full well how it made Dean feel when he took everything so literally. “You wouldn’t want this pretty appendage to fall off now, would you?” He sped up his movements as he spoke, noting how Dean’s cock was becoming more slippery as he became more aroused. Deciding that he needed even more lubrication, however, Castiel stopped to lick his palm before resuming his motions.

Dean choked out, "If it hasn't happened by now, I think we're-" He paused as Castiel neared the head of his penis.

“You are very fond of pleasuring yourself,” Castiel stated, never once pausing in his ministrations. “My father said he had never seen so much porn.” He ran his thumb over the head, and Dean gripped the seat so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Feels so good, Cas. Also, no talking about parents during sex. It's a rule. If I wasn't so turned on, you would have killed my boner." Dean looked down and asked, "Mind if I try something?"

“I would very much like for you to try something.” Castiel was excited to know what Dean had in mind.

Dean let go of the seat and reached up to draw Castiel into another kiss. It was slow and easy, as Dean trailed his hands down his back to tease at the edge of his pants. "Off, please," he whispered against Castiel's lips.

Castiel had to let go of Dean’s penis to open his pants, and the hunter let out a sigh as he released his hold. He slipped them and his underwear down until he got them low enough to kick off onto the floor of the car. Once he had removed his shoes and socks he got the rest of his clothing out of the way, leaving him completely naked.

He could feel Dean's eyes tracking every inch of revealed skin. The hunter pulled him down so that they were finally naked flesh to naked flesh. "Later I want to worship every inch of you, Cas, but right now…" Dean worked his hand between their bodies and grasped Castiel's member that was already leaking fluid from its tip. He groaned as Dean tightened his grip, spreading the ejaculate and causing some delicious friction.

"Wish I had some lube for this…"

“Would it-” Castiel let out a loud groan, as Dean twisted his wrist a little, in a way that made him see stars. “Ohhhhhh…”

The look on Dean's face was sheer sin. "Like that, angel?"

“Y-yes. Fuck,” Castiel panted, finding it difficult all of a sudden to form a coherent sentence.

Dean surged up and growled in his ear, "Then you're going to love this." Castiel felt his hunter's hand loosen just enough to brush his own erection against the flesh he was already holding. He encircled both as much as he could in his fist, then slowly resumed stroking.

Castiel came to the conclusion that the sensation of Dean’s hand, plus the friction of their erections rubbing together must actually be mind blowing. He could focus on nothing but the feeling that was building inside him, and the movement of Dean’s hand. He was only vaguely aware of the noises he was making, and the increasing volume of said noises.

"Fuck, Cas, you're so goddamn sexy. Can't wait to feel you come all over me. Wanna know how you sound when you fall apart. Need to see you, please? Let me see those gorgeous fucking eyes while you spill across my hand? Please, baby?"

Castiel lifted his head and stared deeply into Dean’s eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer. Everything about being with Dean in such an intimate way was beyond his wildest imaginings. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered. “Wanted to touch you, to k…” He couldn’t hold it in any longer, and he gasped out as his orgasm rushed through him, and he spilled his seed over Dean’s hand.

Dean held his gaze, pupils blown as he watched Castiel's release. His strokes sped up, slicking the channel of his hand with Castiel's come as he chased his own orgasm. The other cupped Castiel's cheek. "You're so beautiful, angel. And you feel so good. Ahhh, please touch me. Please, Cas!"

Castiel lifted one of his hands to Dean’s chest, where he caressed the skin tenderly for a moment before turning his attention to Dean’s nipple. He began rubbing his thumb over it, making him squirm underneath him. "You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, Dean Winchester. Come for me,” he purred.

And Dean did. Castiel watched as his lover fell apart under their combined ministrations, his irises darkening to a vivid forest green. The noises he was making cut off as his body shook one final time; then Dean pulled Castiel down on top of him and hugged him tightly, laughing softly. "You blew the windows out of my car. Better fix that so we can get home for round two."

Castiel lifted his head and saw that Dean was telling the truth; the intensity of their lovemaking had obviously created a power surge strong enough to destroy the windows. It wasn't just his mind that had been blown.

"I am so sorry," he said apologetically, using his grace to clean them up. “My intention was not to damage your car.”

Dean brushed his thumb between Castiel's eyebrows, smoothing the frown he hadn't even realized was building there. "As long as you mojo her back, I think Baby will forgive you."

“That’s a relief,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t want her to hold it against me.” He pulled his clothes back on as Dean did the same, issuing an apology to Inias as he retrieved the items, before climbing out of the car and placing his hand on the hood. The splintered glass reformed, and in a matter of seconds all of the windows were whole again.

As he glanced at Dean, he noticed a look of lust on his face. "Holy shit, that was hot. Get in the car and let's get to the bunker."

Castiel rolled his eyes at the panda, which was in his way once more. “I’m sorry, Inias,” he said as he removed the stuffed toy from the front seat and situated him in the back again. “I promise not to cover you with my clothing again.”

The indulgent smirk on Dean's face as Castiel sat in the front seat and buckled his seatbelt made him blush. Then he lifted his "dom brow", as he'd heard it referred to, and palmed Dean's thigh. "Shouldn't you be driving?"

Dean gave Castiel a quick salute, before turning the key in the ignition and setting off for home. Castiel felt a warmth spread through him, at the thought of the bunker being home… and all of the activities Dean and he might indulge in, now that the nature of their relationship had changed.

Sam would be understanding, surely, and Inias wouldn’t get in their way in Dean’s bedroom.

Their bedroom.

*****

It was a Thursday night, and they were in their recently soundproofed bedroom. Sam had finally confessed that the headphones he had purchased were not working as well as advertised, and in an effort to make everyone more comfortable, Castiel had warded the walls with every silencing sigil he could find.

Dean had Castiel bent over the end of his bed and was thrusting into him vigorously. Castiel was moaning, absolutely loving the feel of Dean inside him.

"C'mon, Cas. Come for me, sunshine."

Castiel wanted to. He really did. He desperately needed release, but… "Dean, Balthazar is watching."

He let out a particularly loud cry as Dean slammed into his prostate, then leaned over him and bit his earlobe. "It's just a stuffed lion, babe. He can't actually see us."

Logically, Castiel knew that. However, he had named all of the toys Dean brought him after his fallen brethren, not considering the idea that they might one day be audience to activities he'd rather they not see.

"Please, Dean. Can we stop just long enough to turn him around?" Castiel pleaded.

The hunter whispered in his ear, "Balthazar knew. He knew you were in love with me. I highly doubt he would be surprised to find us fucking like bunnies."

"But Dean…" he started to argue, until Dean reached around and started stroking his dick in time to his thrusts.  "Ooohhhhh, unnghh, Dean! Fuck yes! Right there! Oh fuck, you're so deep, pleeeease!"

"I love how filthy your mouth gets when I'm inside you, angel. And don't think I don't know you have an exhibitionist streak. You made me scream your name in that Burger King bathroom last week, then came when you heard that guy clear his throat in the next stall."

Teasing the slit of Castiel's cock, Dean continued, "C'mon, Cas, I know you're close, baby. You're so fucking tight around me." There was a groan in his ear as Castiel intentionally clenched the muscles surrounding Dean's erection. His hunter pulled out and slammed back in harder and faster, creating a friction against Castiel's prostate that was making him forget whatever it was he had been objecting to.

Dean growled low, "Give it to me, love," and Castiel came across the bedspread, body shaking and mind deliriously blank of everything but Dean's term of endearment.

Castiel came back down as Dean spilled inside him, teeth sunk into his shoulder. He fell to the mattress, avoiding the pool of his ejaculate and said, "That was a dirty trick. You know I can't resist when you call me 'love'."

Dean chuckled and nuzzled the back of his neck. "You like it dirty. Don't deny it."

Castiel smiled and pulled as much of Dean around him as he could. As much as he loved the stuffed gifts Dean brought him, "just because", the hunter would always be his favorite teddy bear.

"I love you, Dean Winchester."

"I know." He felt Dean's lips curl against his shoulder, then the gentlest of kisses.

"I love you, too, Cas.”

This fic is for you @anyreiart, on your birthday, from punk-is-notdead and @eyesofatragedy67. Much love to you. Also tagging @mugglerock, because we love you too.

[consequencesofargentdawn]

My experience as a Grim Gest member from 2017-2018

I don't necessarily want you to post this as the screenshots I have would not only eliminate my anonymity but also don't carry enough weight on their own to be really effective in showing their deplorability. However, I'm fine with you guys posting the one screenshot I linked if you want because it showcases the ridiculing of a previous member. That being said the image is from November 2017 so I don't know if you do. I moreso want to share my experience being in the Grim Gest from roughly November 2017- March 2018.

I joined their ranks because I'm incredibly fond of the undead in WoW, and for the most part had a lot of fun roleplaying with them. For all their OOC faults I do truly think that they're decent roleplayers IC. The first few months were fine. I got to know the active members and had a lot of fun, but after a while of being in the guild we got a new member who was rping a dark ranger. A lot of us really disliked him as he constantly used the "I'm a dark ranger" card to silence other guilds and members, acting like his character was more important. He constantly used anti-living godmotes in his rp, famously doing a Sylvanas banshee scream in a campaign that he said would "deafen any living who could hear it"  and as a result pissed off a lot of other horde members ic and ooc. A lot of us wanted him to tone it down, but Morsteth repeatedly defended the rp saying it was good and that he really liked the character. One day however (I forget what he did) the guy was removed from the guild as the officers persuaded Morsteth to kick him. Morsteth then decided to do a complete 180 on his opinions of him, and kept saying "I don't know what I was thinking that guy was awful" going as far as to eventually compile every cringey thing the guy had said ooc (shown below):

and posting it presumably in the vile PCU discord. I thought it was funny at the time but ultimately it was pretty much a character assassination of this guy.

Later on I noticed in their discord a lot of onesided political discussions taking place, one of which was on the topic of white privilege and black lives matter. I argued with Morsteth and co. about it for about a day and was essentially ganked over my opinion. Morsteth became pretty upset with the argument and stripped me of my roles, restricting me to typing in a "Toxic Lair" channel, telling me that he would talk to other officers and decide my fate once he was home despite having heard the "ooc is ooc and ic is ic"  meme. That night I received an apology from Morsteth telling me "Alright, basically it comes down to our personal argument and I think we both should have left it earlier, so it's not a one-sided thing so I don't really have a reason to "hate" you or ban you from the guild as you didn't do anything wrong. Just typed some mong stuff in my personal opinion." he even admitted to "blowing [the argument] out of proportions" and apologised for putting me into the lair channel. I was a bit sceptical of this and had been having a hard time irl, but eventually I said I would stick with the guild instead of leaving.

Afterwards a lot of the members were a bit quieter with me, I was ignored frequently and was feeling strange about the whole thing. During this period I became pretty depressed and started to talk to one of the high ranking but not officer members who had been in the guild for ages. He was pretty chill and offered me a lot of advice in dealing with things, and I refrained from talking about my sadness in guild chat, only speaking to this one guy on days I felt awful. Time passed as normal in the guild, but as it did I got a little more bored with WoW. Content had slowed down and my schoolwork was catching up with me so I had informed the guild that I would be more inactive as I had school stuff to deal with. I had also made the apparent mistake to gush about my excitement at the introduction of dark iron dwarves and void elves to the alliance, saying that I was going to make one. Over the next three months my sub died, and to fill gaps of boredom I played other games that I happened to own instead of wasting money on a sub I wouldn't fully use. After 3 months inactivity I was kicked which honestly is fair enough. I asked why I was removed and I was told that it was the inactivity and also because I was apparently becoming alliance in bfa despite never explicitly deciding to do that or saying I would. I explained that I wasn't intending to play alliance and that I had been busy as my exams were coming up, but Morsteth told me that I had been playing games that weren't WoW in my freetime, but in reality I'm prone to leaving the launchers open for games sometimes. I convinced him that I'd sub back in a week once my exams finished and I attended a few rp events and spoke in discord frequently.

Exactly a week after I was invited back I saw that Morsteth was insulting some guy by calling him a soyboy. I asked why he used that insult when there was little evidence linking soy with femininity or emasculation, cited a few credible sources and was met with "my brother works in chemistry and he says its uncertain if it does impact men or not". I naturally thought this defence was ridiculous and argued with him that he didn't have any credible sources, resulting in his enragement at the fact that I believed his brother wasn't knowledgeable about the chemistry of soy. I saw how the argument was going to go and decided to halt it, apologising for arguing with him and stopping the conversation, he hesitantly agreed and saw that we didn't need to argue about it. A few minutes later I spied a Morsteth is typing in the chat, and quickly typed something along the lines of "dude if this is a 3 page rebuttal to the argument that we stopped telling me about how I'm wrong I swear to god dude" and seconds after sending this he posted two paragraphs of soy information trying to disprove me. Likely consumed by rage at this point he quickly typed "ok that's it" and booted me from the guild. I pmed him saying "are you this pissed over a fucking argument? You wanted me gone a while ago, come on be honest dude" to which he replied "you dont see it yourself but ur basically an edgy teenage jerk that rly annoys people to no end while contributing nothing to the guild, so just please stay with elder scrolls online" followed up with "you are annoying dude not just to me". Then he blocked me, and I was incredibly upset. I was so annoyed that I had spent a year in this guild for it to be over because he couldn't man up and shake hands over a soy argument. In my anger, I made a video of the image with Why can't we be friends playing in the background and uploaded it to my channel, titling the video "The Grim Gest in a Nutshell". 

I was pmed later on by his lackey Seth (who I've seen on here being victimised by the guild, how ironic) who told me multiple times that I was the one in the wrong, that I was an idiot, that I was actively making the guild worse being in it and that I would never find a good guild again as I had messed up with the GG. This did nothing but piss me off further but I got over it after a long time. I left the horde as a whole and faction changed my undead to alliance, no longer wanting to play on a side populated by arguably deplorable people. I stayed in contact with one of their Officers who thought it was extreme for me to be kicked over the argument, he tried to convince Morsteth that it was a rash decision but told me that I'd probably never be invited back which I was fine with. I began rping on the alliance and managed to avoid a lot of drama in the next month before seth messaged me again.

I got a message telling me that I needed to take down my video immediately. Apparently when Morsteth tried to show another guild footage from a past pvp event he told them to search up the Grim Gest on youtube, and my video was the first to appear. I was told by Seth that if I didn't remove the video the Grim Gest alongside the other PCU guilds would mass flag every video on my channel (which I don't really care about). I told Seth that I didn't care at all, and if he wanted to flag me then he could go ahead. I messaged my officer friend who told me that Paingriever and Morsteth were attempting to compile all the dirt they had on me and make an equally defaming video despite me only posting a selfie into the discord and perhaps once or twice saying that I was depressed in discord, there was really zero dirt to find on me. I told Seth that if Morsteth wanted to talk to me he should do it himself, and got no response and remained blocked on discord by the baron. Eventually I was convinced by my officer friend that it was probably the right thing to do to move on and delete the video, but with all the utter bullshit I've seen on forums from Morsteth, alongside the COAD posts that showcase his idiotic shenanigans I felt like I had to get this off my chest. 

A final meme comes from a campaign I took part in, where some dwarves were swearing excessively IC. I almost fell off my chair when I saw several Grim Gest members saying that it was making them feel uncomfortable despite a long running meme in their discord being an emote that read "unsafe" being posted whenever someone swore, it was explained to me that they had a member who always complained that swearing made her feel unsafe, and after she left they used it sarcastically at any complaints made about swearing. 

In short; I utterly detest Morsteth and the rest of the PCU, these guilds are the reason that I don't rp undead anymore, which greatly upsets me as they remain my favorite race in the Horde. Perhaps once they mess up hard enough and are punished I might finally be able to play the race that I love, but that seems like an impossible future.

[circuscyclops]

Angie!

    ok so i finished Angie’s reference and I’m super proud of it.  

oh and here’s bio if you want info of her but, it’s long so. have fun reading u^_^

BASIC INFORMATIONName: Angelica Romanova Frost (goes by Angie)

Nickname(s): Angie, Kirby, shorty, Ann

Age: 16(17 now)

Gender/Sex: female

Sexuality: pansexual

date of Birth: January 1, on new years

Place of Birth: Ottawa, Canada

Ethnicity: Canadian, Russian and French

Superpowers: She has Sub-Zero/Ice Manipulation and it’s very similar to Cecile’s and a vorpe gate like her dad but instead of just making a gate on her earth, she can make gates to the multi Versace by making a circle formation with her hand, (her favorite one is the bnha/MHA Versace). but it takes a lot of energy from her and she can pass out from overuse it.

Occupation/Job: She works at a Cat Cafe three times a week and on Sundays, she volunteers an animal shelter

APPEARANCEHeight: 5'0" 152.4 cm

Weight: 132 lbs

Body Type: hourglass/ Curvy,

Skin Tone: a pale orange

Facial Shape: rounded heart

Eye Color: blue

Hair Style: black blueish wavy bob with fringe/bangs. Has the withe streak in the middle of her fringe/bangs

Tattoos/Piercings/Scars?: her lobes are pierced, normally has cat shape or theme earrings

Dress: likes high waisted shorts, pants and skirt and oversized or button-up shirts, dresses from 1940,50 and ‘60s. thigh high gray/black stocking and skinkers or ankle boots but no heel

.Accessories: earrings

ATTITUDE

Personality: a nice, sweet, energetic person that always sees the good in people, is very stubborn, but has the shortest patients when it comes to teasing towards her, family and friends. She might be a bit of a doormat but she’ll throw hands. She’s always friendly towards everyone. When you get to know her better you’ll see the Lil meme gremlin, she won’t hesitate to roast the shit out of you

Likes: cats, games, baking, tea, traveling through the multi Versace, crafting, sleepovers, using OwO, UwU in conversations, sleeping..a lot

.Dislikes: Being called short, High heels, bookshelves, anything that points out she’s short in general, creepy customers and unknown phone numbers

Moral: don’t judge a book by its cover, read it first, so don’t judge people from the first time meeting, wait a bit until you know who the person is.

Motivation: being the best you can be even if others look down on you for the things you can’t control.

Discouragement: she was ridiculed for being so short and was told: “A girl like you needs a big strong man to keep her safe” by older women, and because she was an early bloomer she was teased, by prepubescent boys.Confidence Level: She hates that she’s so short and but she is very confident and can have the biggest smile like the dork she is

Greatest Fear/Phobia: being lost in space and being abandoned

RELATIONSHIPS

Parents: Dad Richard age 45, mother Marina age 43

Siblings?: Cecile, Nate, Marten

Other Relatives: sister in law Uma and nephew Micky (This is her mom’s side of the family) Granma Luiza 67, Grampa Lafayette, 69, her two aunt Irina 32 and Natasha 32 (they are twins), two uncle Andrian 33 and Bohdan 39, and to many cousins to name (The dad’s side of the family )Grandpa David 68, Granma Melodie 65, her three aunts Marilyn 36, Ariana 34 and Cassie 35, two uncles Thomas 41 and Zack 30.

Friends: Christina, Izzie, and a few people across multi Versace. She is also good friends with Cecile’s besties

Best friend: Izzie is her childhood friend and is Eliot’s younger sister

Significant Other/Crush: ok don’t hate me but wanna ship her with shinsou

Enemies/Rivals: she has a lot of online enemies and she made a few over multi Versace

.Pets: Kirby♂ a British shorthair munchkin mix breed, Franky♀ a Thai breed, Meatball♂ a Siberian cat, Mochi♀ a Japanese bobtail, William snakespare♂ a pink albino corn snake and coco♂ a chocolate mitt ferret.

LIFE

Strengths: a lot of sleep to restore her energy and any form of heatWeaknesses: overusing both of her powers can damage her body a lot.

Hobbies: knitting, charm making, sewing, streaming Minecraft, she’s good at working with Advanced technology and coding, and making it into something new so she and her two friends made Cecile’s suit.

Habits: tapping her nails on hard surfaces, mumbling a lot, chewing on her lips and itching/scratching whenever she’s nervous

Area of Residence/Environment: Dad’s house

Home Description: she has a big room with a walk-in closet, her room is the gamer girl/ e-girl aesthetic

Health: because of a health complication when she was born that she would only be 4'11” or5'0”, she will be 5'0” and she’ll stay like that. She also has a lot of back and foot pain. She’s deadly allergic to peanuts.

BACKSTORY: Angie was born a month earlier than expected and on new years in the same hospital that her older sibling was born. She was a very small baby, not Weighing more than 1.5kg at birth but she was a very healthy baby. When her mother left she was only 3 months old at the time. Her dad found her crying in her crib, he picked her and swaged her to calm her sobbing and back to sleep. So from that point on she has never seen or known her mother. It’s also around this time her vorpe gates stranded appearing, she would crawl towards them when her dad wasn’t looking and she would be in another part of the house. She was a troublesome baby. When she was two she meets her new stepbrother, marten. They grew very close and they would help steel cookies.

(Time skip)

When she was three she moved to a new place and was very excited. She didn’t have friends back in Ottawa. But when she moved she met her very first friend. Of course, Angie played with all the other kids but nothing more, so when she met Izzie for the first time they grew very close, with every passing day getting closer. They started having sleepovers once or twice a week. Her ice powers showed up and she was very scared, she always went to Cecile and Nate for help, even if she had a very hard time controlling it they helped her, this makes a bonding activity for them. She was always happy to spend time with them.

(time skip)

(little side note, Angie went with Cecile to her grandparents to train, she learned how to control her power with the help of Irina. She spent a lot of time with her two uncles who work with tech and were happy to have her around.)When Angie was seven, it was the hardest for her. because Cecile was missing made her very scared, she didn’t understand why or how that could happen, she just wanted her sister back!. She couldn’t sleep or eat and tt night she would hear dad in the kitchen, and he was on the phone talking to someone and she always got scared so she went to him when he put the phone down to tell him she couldn’t sleep. After eight months of searching, they found Cecile and Angie was so relieved. But something was wrong and she didn’t know why, after a while of Cecile going to therapy, things got a bit better and that’s all she asks for.

(time skip)

Izzie and Angie are as close as ever and went to the same middle school and a new member of their friend group has been added, Christina, she moved from new york to Toronto. They invited her to sit with them at lunch. The school was great but Angie was going through hell, she was an early Bloomer and was getting a little bit curvy. So she got a lot of unwanted attention from boys, so she started wearing baggy clothes. She, of course, told her dad about it and he had the idea that she should learn a bit of self-defense if anything happens and made a complaint to the principal. Cecile helped her learn and thought she should train with her and their aunts.

(time skip)

Angie and Izzie go to the same high school as her older sibling did and Christina goes there as well and they made some more friends. Now that they are teens they go out at night to hang out and have little fun but something always happens and they get into trouble, do they stop. no 

[dannilea]

Birthday + Family

Summary: Jack wasn't expecting much for his birthday beyond the usual text messages and dinner at Mac's, but his kids never stop surprising him. Rating: G

AO3

Jack knows that Mac and Riley are full grown adults that are fully capable of taking care of themselves, but Jack still worries. It doesn’t matter that they’re both nearly thirty now – a fact that makes Jack feel old in ways Mac’s most hair raising stunts don’t -he always sees the angry and weary kids he first met when he looks at them (Riley, twelve and angry and protective, not wanting anyone to ever hurt her mother again, and Mac, nineteen and angry and so afraid of letting anyone in). Jack will always be worried about his kids.

Especially when they’re scheming.

It's one thing when they’re scheming on missions. Its something else when they’re home in sunny LA and have roped Matty into being their distraction. The director had summoned Jack and promptly informed him that he was to stay there until Matty declared otherwise. Jack, remembering the way Mac and Riley had had their heads ducked together all day, knew immediately that Matty had been recruited to act as the distraction in whatever scheme his kids had cooked up.“You know,” Jack said, “I don’t think this is how distractions work.”

Matty snorted and didn’t look up from the tablet she was working on. The two of them were in the War Room, Matty co-ordinating with an ops team and Jack was stretched out on the couch, feet propped on the table, offering occasional tactical advice but was otherwise occupied with trying to get Matty to reveal whatever Riley and Mac were up to.

“My job is to keep you out of Blondie and Riley’s way while they do their thing. Nobody said I couldn’t make you be productive while I did that,” Matty said, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye. Jack grinned back and Matty tolled her eyes.

“C’mon,” Jack cajoled, “Can’t you give me even a little hint as to what they’re up to? The two of them scheming like that makes me twtichy, ‘cause they’re either planning some kind of prank or world domination.”

“Quit being dramatic, Dalton. MacGyver and Riley are big kids and can take care of themselves, so quit worrying.”

Jack snorted. “You’ve met my kids, right? I leave them alone for five minutes and someone gets kidnapped! Or builds a bomb or hacks the NSA!”

“Seriously Jack?” Matty asks, voice full of exasperation (with the faintest trace of fondness). Her tone implying that she might be close to losing a bit of her temper with him. Jack knew she wasn’t – if she was really angry at him the tone wouldn’t be exasperated, it’d be sub-zero cold and Jack’d already be on his way to the worst possible assignment she could dig up for him.

Jack knows his family.

“Seriously, Matty. They’re both trouble magnets. Especially Mac.” Jack continued to grumble under his breath about the trouble his boy tended to find himself in, as Matty wrapped things up with the team she was coordinating with. Jack was well aware that she wasn’t really listening to him, and was humoring him by letting him talk. Once upon a time, they were partners and Matty knew that talking was just how Jack kept calm.  Major fallout and breach of trust all those years ago or not, they still knew each other in ways no one else would. Its what made working together again possible – what allowed Matty to be folded into their tight-knit family. Jack would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to have her back in his life.

Matty’s phone gave a quick ping, alerting both of them to an incoming text. Matty checked her phone before turning and pointing at Jack.

“Get out of here and over to Blondie’s house. He and Riley are ready for you.”

Jack blinked, “Ready for me? Wha -”

“Shut up and get out of my hair Dalton!”

Jack skedaddled.

---

Jack pulled into Mac’s drive, eyes darting around, looking for any sign of something wrong. He really wasn’t lying to Matty earlier when he said Mac and Riley scheming together made him twitchy. He was genuinely lucky to have the greatest kids – both incredibly smart, talented, kind, and determined to do good in the world – but he was well aware of the kind of trouble they could find themselves in. Have found themselves in before.

He loves them dearly, but Mac and Riley are definitely the reason he has grey hairs.

Not seeing anything out of place, Jack hopped out of the car and jogged up to the door. He opened it with his usual disregard for social niceties like knocking at Mac’s house, and ducked inside the entryway. He’s mildly bemused by the birthday party hat perched on the polar bear’s head and the blue and white balloons carefully wrapped in his claws.

“Yo, Mac!’ Jack shouted as he headed for the kitchen after kicking the door closed. “What’s goin’ on, man?”

“We’re on the deck!” Mac shouted back, ignoring Jack’s question completely. A little miffed, Jack huffed and was about to launch into a tirade about how rude millennials are and why Mac should respect his elders that gets stopped before he even has the chance to get going. Jack, having just walked into the living room, stopped short when he saw the deck through the windows.

Mac had pulled out the table they used for large dinner gatherings out on the deck, and he and Riley had decked it out with a Cowboys table cloth and assorted disposable plates – the kind you find for cheap at a party store (though where the two of them would have found Dallas Cowboys party gear in Los Angeles was a little lost on Jack). They’d even managed to get Dallas gift bags.

Jack, after a moment of gaping, switched his gaze to his kids. They were both looking a little nervous, but also determined. Jack wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got here – fire and chaos, probably – but what looked like some kind of surprise birthday party definitely wasn’t it.

Riley crossed her arms and gave Jack a challenging look. “Are you coming out here or not, old man?”

Jack’s brain and feet finally reconnected and he made his way outside to the deck, trying to figure out what has his kids feeling so unsure. This could all be a giant joke and he’d still love it because a) Cowboys, and b) his kids put this together. How could he not love it?

And that’s when Jack got a better look at the table.

There was cake in the middle of the table, and it was the only thing that wasn’t decked out in blue and white. Instead, Mac and Riley had gotten one of those fancy photo cakes – the ones with an actual picture made out of icing. The photo was one of Jack’s favorites - it featured him, Mac and Riley, arms thrown over each others’ shoulders, laughing at some joke Bozer had told before snapping the picture.

Jack looked up from the table to look at Mac and Riley.

“Surprise?” Mac said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “It definitely is.” Jacks could feel the grin stretching across his face as he quickly closed the distance between him and his kids. Without reserve or hesitation, he threw his arms around both of them. Mac laughed and Riley huffed.

“You haven’t even opened your presents yet, Jack.” Mac said. Jack pulled back, keeping a hand on Mac and Riley’s shoulders.

“Don’t know if I need to now. You and Riley doing this is about the best birthday gift a guy can ask for.”

Riley reached around him and snagged one of the gift bags sitting on the table. She held it up in front of his face and raised an eyebrow (a move that made her look even more like her mother- especially when she was somewhere between amused and exasperated with whatever Jack was doing).

“At least this one, Jack,” she said. “We picked it out together.”

Jack’s grin softened into a smile – the one he always seemed to have around his kids – as he took the bag from Riley. Mac’s fingers twitched as he watched. Jack had no doubt that if he had a paperclip it’d be twirling and twisting through his fingers. Jack had no idea why his kids were so nervous. Unless its another Cowboys snuggy, in which case Mac really needs to learn to up his gift giving game.

Jack lifted opened the bag and lifted the tissue paper (also decked out in blue and white, Jack was gonna have to talk with his kids because yes he loved the Cowboys but this was a bit much even for him), which revealed a rolled up t-shirt inside the bag. Based the apparent theme of the party, Jack had a feeling he knew what the dark blue shirt was. More than a little bemused he reached in and grabbed it, setting the bag down by his feet as he let the shirt unroll -

Bright white letters, bold across the shirt.

World’s Okayest Dad.

Jack’s eyes start to burn and he can feel his lips trying to tremble. His smile had faltered in his surprise and Jack pushed through it to smile – first at the shirt in his hands and then at his kids. Now he gets what the nervousness was about. Jack had never doubted that Mac and Riley knew how much he loved them. He was, to start, pretty vocal about it and never shy with physical affection – he doled out hugs and ruffled hair like someone was about to pass a law saying he couldn’t (he also knew that Elwood Davis and James MacGyver weren’t big on kind physical contact with their kids and while Riley had had Diane to balance it out, Mac had his grandpa, who also wasn’t much of a hugger so Jack felt he had to make sure they both got all the hugs and other things they missed out on as kids). But there were things they never said aloud, which Jack understood and respected. Mac and Riley would talk to him when they needed and when they were good and ready.

So this shirt, his kids actually calling him dad. Is kind of. A big deal.

If it was physically possible for people to burst from happiness, Jack would have right then and there.

“This,” Jack began, “Is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Jack wrapped Mac and Riley back into a hug, smile never fading.

“Happy birthday, Jack.” Mac said, voice slightly muffled by Jack’s shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Jack.” Riley said, her chin digging into his back a bit from where she’d hooked her chin over his shoulder.

“I love you both, more than anything,” Jack told them, holding tighter.

This was definitely going down in his books as the greatest day ever.

“I am never going to take this shirt off!”

“Don’t make this weird!”

“Ugh, Jack!”

[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 4

Despite Clarke's two prior trips to the winter games, the opening ceremony had lost none of its magic for her. The significance of it all still gave her first day of school butterflies, making her feel six years old again, awestruck and overwhelmed as she drifted through a sea of unfamiliar faces.  Red, white and blue-clad bodies shuffled past her, as the sprawling cluster of American athletes followed the Mongolian delegation through the tunnel leading onto the parade grounds of PyeongChang Olympic Stadium.  A colorful delegation of Bermudians trailed close behind them as they made their way into the open air of the parade grounds.

From its epicenter, the spectacle radiated with an intoxicating spirit that consumed the senses, filling Clarke with a nervous energy that eclipsed even the nastiness of the chilling wind that had picked up an hour earlier.  Exiting the darkened tunnel, she made her way into the multicolored splendor of the stadium; her thoughts immediately drowned out by the deafening roar of 35,000 cheering spectators.

It took a moment for her to process fully.  It seemed unbelievable that thousands of people had been willing to brave the sub-zero temperatures just to catch a glimpse of their Olympic champions, but as the enormity of that fact sank in, Clarke felt overwhelmed with a responsibility to them.  She forced herself to stare up into the stands, her face straining against the icy sting of the air as she smiled and waved towards the masses of fans.

"It feels like my eyeballs are going to explode," Raven growled through her forced smile.  "It's fricking cold!"

"Just keep smiling."  Clarke grinned at her assistant captain, her voice just as strained, as she flashed two rows of perfectly straight, snow white teeth.  "Millions of people are watching, Rae.  Don't spoil it for them."

"You can't be serious?"

"This has got to be a joke."

A chorus of complaints had erupted the second the Canadian athletes had learned their number in the ceremony's progression.

"We're sixty-ninth?"

"Oh g-d, as if these uniforms didn't make us look ridiculous enough."  Echo looked dour as she fiddled with her long red parka and knitted cap.

"I don't know," Lexa shrugged, forcing small talk to make nice with her captain.  "I mean the jackets aren't great, but some of the other stuff they gave us is ok."  She waited for Echo to respond but was met with steely silence.  "I mean, I like the flannels."

"Of course you do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  Lexa tensed, wondering if she should be offended, and readying herself for an argument.

Echo only rolled her eyes, looking bothered.  "I didn't mean it that way," she spat. "I was referring to the fact that someone from the NWO would love that our uniform issue includes a Kenora Dinner Jacket."  She turned to Lexa, exasperated with the tall girl behind her.  "Obviously. I play women's ice hockey, Woods. You think I'm not used to teammates who enjoy the company of curvy, Swedish blondes with long legs?"

Echo shot her a knowing glance, noting the nervous, slightly guilty look on Lexa's face.  

"How do you know about that?"

"You're not exactly discrete. I saw you coming out of that Swede snowboarder's room this morning, half dressed."

Lexa swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing a subtle rosy color.  "Coach Freeman... You aren't going to?"

"Rat you out to her and get you kicked off the team?"  Echo dipped her head, cocking one eyebrow. "No, not for that. I may not like you, but you're hardly the first player on this team to dip their toes into international waters.  Besides, I have my own foreign diplomacy to conduct."  Echo shot a glance towards the crowd behind them, piquing Lexa's curiosity.

"What sport's she in, eh?"

Echo rolled her eyes.  "Woods, I'm not even a little bi-curious."  She stared far back in the procession.  "I've got my eyes on that scruffy, freestyle skier from France."

Lexa screwed up her face.  "Ugh... Typical Queeb, going for some priggish French ponce."

Echo shoved the girl behind her with an elbow.  "Toton."

"Beaver-beater."

"Lumberjack."

"Maudit sans-dessein."  Lexa fumbled through the only French Canadian swear she remembered from grammar school.

"It's pronounced dé-sa," Echo growled, drawing out the final A. G-d, your French is shit, Woods."

"I'm from northern Ontario!"

"T'es pas une lumiere!  Believe me, it's apparent."

In spite of their bickering, Lexa realized that the argument was probably the longest conversation they'd managed since she'd joined the team.  "Well, that's something," she thought to herself, thankful that they hadn't come to blows again.

Consumed as she was by their banter, Lexa lost her situational awareness, snapping out of it only when the world around her erupted into flashing lights and noise.  They'd finally reached the inside of the stadium. The freezing night air hit her in the face, and her breath caught.  Lexa's eyes strained against the bright lights and icy wind as she stared up at row after row of waving fans, and did her best to wave back.

The wind picked up again, making Lexa's eyes sting and tear. The goalie shielded her brow from the cold, wiping them with the back of a gloved hand and doing her best not to smear the makeup, applied for the sake of the cameras.  She checked the back of her mitten for smudges of mascara and, happy to find none, peered into the crowd in front of her.  For a split second, the column of bodies parted just enough for a small figure became visible up ahead.  Lexa caught a brief glimpse of golden hair and azure eyes before the crowd swelled again, and the American captain disappeared amidst a sea of taller, more substantial bodies.

"I think I saw the Team USA captain up ahead."  She turned to Echo, hoping to coax a little more conversation out of her.

"What, Clarke Griffin?  I would doubt it unless she's being carried on somebody's shoulders."

Lexa smirked.  "Yeah, she was pretty tiny in person."

"You've met?"

"Just the other night, in passing.  She seemed..."

"Like an irritating homunculus?"  Echo continued to scan the crowd for her Frenchman.  "That girl had been a pain in my ass for years."  She stared at Lexa for a moment, her expression concerned.  "You didn't notice if she was limping, did you?

"I don't think so." The question seemed odd, but Lexa thought it over, none the less. "I mean not that I could tell at least.  Why?"

Echo turned back towards the procession, her expression unreadable.  "We were playing an exposition game about a year and a half ago.  Griffin had been a menace all night, picking up the puck before I could get to it at the point and forcing it back into our zone. She's small, but she lighting fast."  She paused.  "Well, she was. Anyway..."

Something about the story made Lexa feel immediately uneasy.

"Third period, I finally caught her heading up the boards on a breakout.  I was going to try and pick her off, but she veered towards center ice at the last second.  My leg was out, and I ended up catching her at the knee."

"You went knee to knee?"

"I told you, she veered at the last second.  I was trying to play the body the best I could."  Echo bit her lip. "I might have let my leg drift out a bit far to try and knock her stick off the puck..."

She glanced at Lexa for a moment, her expression barely hiding the guilty conscience of someone who knew their actions had been less than defensible.

"But, I didn't intentionally cheap shot her."  She grimaced.  "Anyway, I felt her leg bend back in the wrong direction, and she flipped, ass over teakettle across my thigh.  The second she hit the ice I could tell it was bad.  I've never heard someone scream that hard."

Lexa's stomach sank just thinking about it. In hockey, a knee to knee collision often resulted in injuries of the most devastating kind.  That exact scenario had ended many a career before its time, and it made the goalie cringe thinking about the tiny blonde girl writhing in pain on the ice.

"MCL sprain?"

Echo shook her head.  "ACL. Grade three at that, a complete tear."

"Holy hell."

"Yeah, honestly I'm surprised to see her back on skates at all."

"So, that's why she looked so sluggish in the game footage we watched."

Echo nodded.  "To be sure.  I genuinely thought she'd retire after that.  I mean, she'd been playing for the national team since she was seventeen, so she was already getting up there."

They rounded the corner and slowed to an abrupt halt, nearly crashing into the Kenyan athletes ahead of them.

"That footage was from just after she was cleared to start training again.  I hear she's gotten some of her speed back since then, but if you ask me, she shouldn't even be playing."

Lexa's jaw tensed at the utterance, a conviction that her Québécoise teammate seemed to hold frequently.  "You seem to think that of a lot of people."

Echo sighed.  "I mean because of the risk of re-injury. Not everything is about you, Woods."

With that, Echo pushed forward, disappearing amongst the shuffling mass of red and black jackets.

The ceremony had ended in a spectacle of blaring music and bursting fireworks, that latter of which still rang in Clarke's ears as her feet pounded against the whirring belt of the treadmill. Hours after the lights had dimmed in Olympic stadium she was still wide awake, to filled with excitement, and too unaccustomed to the fifteen-hour time difference to sleep.  In her restlessness, Clarke turned to the one standby that faithfully calmed her down when pressure and anticipation turned her into a live wire of nervous energy.

She leaned forward into a sprint, increasing the incline on the Cybex another three degrees and watching as her numbers climbed.  Time: 48:36:23, Speed: 9, Incline: 10, Heart Rate: 184.  Perspiration poured from her brow, matting stray bits of flyaway hair to her forehead.  Clarke's burned, her legs ached, and her heart pounded in her chest as she continued to increase the incline.  Up, up, up until her hands flew to the bars to keep herself from flying backward off the machine.  Just as she felt her body about give out, she punched the large red button in the center of the display, cutting the power and hopping off in a flash, careful to land with her weight on her good knee.

Fighting the urge to double over and gasp for air, she threw her hands behind her head, lacing the fingers together and forcing herself to continue taking deep, measured breaths as she paced around the room.  Clarke closed her eyes and waited for her heart rate to slow, relishing the way her muscles ached and trembled with exhaustion. She wiped the sweat from her temples with the back of her hands realizing how utterly drenched she was.

After a week of buildup to the opening ceremony, fifty minutes of alone time had provided her with some much need respite from the hum of the crowds, the strings of interviews, and the exhaustion of the reassuring pep talks her more novice teammates had needed on a near constant basis.  Save for an unseen weightlifter banging heavy metal plates around in another corner of the complex; the nearly empty gym had provided the forward with a silent sanctuary from the turmoil of her otherwise overwhelming week.  For Clarke, there was nothing like a long, grueling run to clear her mind and ease her tension, and after an hour of beating herself down, she was finally feeling relaxed and ready to sleep. 

Not before a shower though, Clarke thought as the smell of her sweat drenching clothing suddenly filled her nostrils.  She peeled off her soaked Under Armour shirt and shivered as the chill of drafty gym air hit her flushed skin, giving her goosebumps.  Back inside the women's locker room, she made quick work of discarding her soggy PT gear in her sports duffle, sliding her feet into flip-flops as she wrapped herself in a towel and headed for the open shower bay.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the empty shower bay, covered from top to bottom in polished white tiles.  Despite a career of dressing and undressing in front of teammates, Clarke had never been entirely comfortable with public nudity, though it wasn't the sight of others naked that unsettled her so much as it was her insecurities about her own body.  A lifetime of struggling with her weight, first baby fat and then added curves, had made her shy to the point of timidity.  Unlike Raven, who was a walking human hanger and had posed naked for ESPN The Magazine's body issue, Clarke grappled with body confidence. She struggled to dress for the formal events the team attended, balking at the idea of being stuffed into a dress that accentuated her cleavage and hips. Unfailingly, the captain elected for more conservative numbers, downplaying her appearance as much as possible in the hopes that she could fly under the radar and not tempt the press into present her in an overly sexualized light.  The tactic had worked for the most part, though comments about her looks did surface, every now and again, internet trolls be damned.

Clarke turned on one of the shower heads lining the wall and let it run until the water turned warm.  She discarded her towel on a nearby hook, stepped into the stream and closing her eyes as the warm liquid poured over her aching muscles.  The blonde let it pound against her skin, relaxing her even further until finally, her exhaustion caught up with her.  She yawned, running a hand through her matted mane as she pulled out the elastic that had pinned it haphazardly to the top of her head. She let it cascade over her face and filled her hand with shampoo, massaging it into her scalp.

The sound of another shower head bursting to life nearby startled Clarke out of her euphoria. She pushed her soapy hair out of her face, freezing the second she saw who occupied the spot two places down. Lexa Woods stood less than ten feet from her, eyes closed, face turned up into the steady stream of water cascading over her body.  Clarke's eyes were fixed, unable to look away for the physical specimen beside of her.  Even in a parka and jeans Lexa cut an imposing figure, but bare to the world, the goalie was physically alarming.

She was tall to be sure, 5'11 if she was an inch, but what was more startling was the sheer amount of muscle that hung on her frame.  Every inch of her was ropey sinewed flesh that, somewhat surprisingly, held a subtle softness to it.  Clarke watched as beads of liquid slide down Lexa's olive-skin, slipping over her curves and pooling at every angle on her frame. The water clung to the tawny girl like it was heartbroken at the thought of having to drip off of her.

Clarke ignored the way her pulse quickened, and her breathing slowed, too captivated by the way the impressive musculature moved, stirring underneath a visage adorned with intricate tattoos that shifted as though they were alive.  A combination of body writing and black and red abstracts covered half her back, running over her shoulder and snaking down the full length of her left arm. The outside of her right thigh was similarly ornamented.  The edges of the artwork wound up her hip and caressed her waist before ending just above her perfectly toned backside, which Clarke realize she was gawking at a moment too late.

"What the fuck?!"

Clarke jumped, so alarmed by the green eyes staring her down that she couldn't reply. 

"Were you just staring at my ass?"

"What? No! I mean, yes but..."

"Yes, or no?"

"I was staring at your tattoos."

"The one right over my ass?"

"I wasn't staring at your ass!"

Lexa turned to face the smaller woman, her figure even more flawless from the front.  Small but firm breasts sat high on her chest, perfect and round, and the lines on her tight stomach were sculpted into a frustratingly well-defined six-pack.

"You get a good look?"

"I wasn't staring." Clarke felt herself blushing as she turned back into the jet of water pouring over her, and rushed to work the remaining shampoo out of her hair.

Lexa leaned into the tiles, propping herself up on a tattooed forearm.  She pushed the brown hair out of her eyes and slicked water from her face.

"You're full of crap, Griffin. Admit it; you were staring at me."

"I wasn't staring!" Clarke venture a quick glance at the goalie, too embarrassed to look for more than a moment.  "I wouldn't ogle someone in a public shower. That kind of behavior is abdominal."

Lexa smirked at the Freudian slip, cocking an eyebrow smugly.

"Abominable. Shit!"  Clarke screwed her eyes shut, sure that her face was now bright red.  "Besides why would I be staring at you."

"For the same reasons lots of girls do," Lexa wiggled her eyebrows, turning back to the water as she lathered herself with soap.  "You think you're the first person to stare at me in a shower?"

Clarke growled as she rinsed the last of the soap from her face.  "G-d, you're so completely egotistical!"  She shut off the water, wrapping herself in her towel as she retreated from the shower bay.

Lexa rinsed off quickly, grabbing her towel as she followed Clarke toward the lockers.

"And you're a hypocrite! You tear into me with some big feminist speech when I try to pay you a compliment, but when I catch you creeping on me, you act all innocent.  What garbage!"

"I wasn't staring at you!"

In the middle of the argument, Clarke became aware of how exposed they still were. Her towel clung to her precariously, barely covering her unmentionables, while Lexa's dangled from her hand, unused. She realized she was staring at Lexa's abs again and clenched her teeth, sure that that fact hadn't escaped the brunette's attention.

"Would you put on some clothes, please."

Lexa leaned forward, grinning conceitedly. "You sure that's what you want?"

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look the girl hovering over her in the eyes. "I'm not interested, Woods."

“In anything other than my ass, you mean?

"I was... I'm not... Your Tat... Ugh!"  Clarke grabbed her sports duffle, clinging to the last shred of her dignity as she forwent undergarments and scrambled to pull on her team sweats as quickly as humanly possible.  She yanked her socks halfway up, making a slapdash effort to shove her feet into her Adidas.

"I'm not having this argument with you, Woods!  I have bed checks to do."

"Sounds good. Mine is in room 704B."

Lexa heard the exasperated groan all the way down the hall as Clarke stomped out of the room, failing to notice that her sneakers were on the wrong feet.

Next Chapter ->

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[tchaikovsky-at-midnight]

part IV: livin’ out your dreams

Ay, you made it to number 4, welcome!

modern!au & coffee shop!au barlyle

unbeta’ed, I’m not a native speaker

(2.252 words)

______________________________

Phineas arrived at Philip’s with an old, fascinating car. And what a car it is, but Philip figures it matches the whole extravaganza-antique aura, Phineas has. The car is an Oldtimer, a Dodge, as far as Philip can tell. He is not an expert of cars.

“Mr. Carlyle.”, Phineas snaps him out of his thoughts. He opens the passenger door for him and Philip takes a seat. Phineas walks around the car and pulls out of the driveway in front of Philips flat.

“How do you know my last name?”

“Anne told me, of course.”, Phineas grins at him and shows perfect white teeth.

“Stalker.”

Philip wonders why he has even asked. Anne has played matchmaker before and here she goes again. Perhaps Philip could buy her favourite chocolates tomorrow and thank her again.

But as for right now he doesn’t want to think about Anne Wheeler.

“Oh come on, I want to know more about you. And now you can tell me yourself.”, Phineas grins at him. Philip smiles and looks out the window. Most of the places Phineas suggested earlier today were roughly in the same area, so it was hard for him to make a guess.

“Well what do you want to know?”

“Left or right?

Philip looks at him funnily, when Phineas points at the crossroad ahead. He stifles a laugh.

“Eh, left?” Phineas nods and they take the road down left. Philip gets the game now.

They arrive, after some more crossings, at an ordinary, not too big park. Only a few street lamps illuminate the paths and reveal some birds, but no people. Phineas finds a parking lot and they exit the car. Philip curiously follows Phineas to the trunk, where from the man collects a blanket, a small speakers system and a closed bag that he hands over to Philip. Philip can feel something warm and multiple uneven shapes – it seems to be a thermos jug and glasses.

“Wow, you are prepared.”, he states in awe.

“Of course I am prepared. What do you think of me?”

Philip smiles and shrugs his shoulders. He is impressed by all these prearrangements Phineas made an effort for. It’s nice, unusual, but welcome.

“Follow me.”, Phineas proposes and what choice does that really leave for Philip. Happily carrying the bag, he does so. They stroll through the park and Phineas tells Philip how much he enjoys this place when it’s quiet. Once they found the right spot ‘ah yeah, there we are’ – Philip carefully sets the bag down onto the blanket.

“So you’re not always the high-spirited, flirty character?”, Philip asks. It’s said lightly, but he wonders, whether there’s some truth to it. And whether he would like that or not.

“Oh I am, no doubt. But I don’t always display it like that.”

Philip nods, it’s pretty much the other way around with him. He jokes and talks a lot – sometimes, occasionally, when he is comfortable. Phineas can be calmer, less intense – sometimes, occasionally, maybe too when he is comfortable? Philip would like to find that out.

“I get that.”

“Okay, on with my flirty high-spirited behaviour. Let me set up the music.”, Phineas says and fetches his phone. Philip grins and opens the buttons of his blazer. It’s not too cold this night, but at least they’re moving on from sub-zero temperatures.

“May I have this dance?”, Phineas asks when he selected a playlist and the Bluetooth speakers supply the right volume for the open air.

Philip needs a second before he can place the music and take the offered, warm hand.

“Is that Tchaikovsky? You are so cheesy.”, he grins.

“What are you implying, can’t you waltz?”

“Of course I can. Take me.” Now he is definitely blushing.

“That came out wrong, I-“

“Just come here.”, Phineas laughs and pulls the younger man closer. They positively sashay over the meadow-like patches around the blanket. The next street lamp a short way down the path barely reaches them. Shadows appear and vanish on their faces and hands, with every turn and twist Phineas directs.

“You know...I like cheesy.”

“I’m glad you do.”, Phineas smiles back. They dance to classy pieces from a slow version of the Nutcracker’s Pas De Deux and the waltz from Sleeping Beauty over to the corniest of all – the Waltz of the Flowers. Philip couldn’t dream up a better night.

They turn and sway, sometimes so fast, Philip has to concentrate on his steps and is relieved that Phineas knows how to guide them, but other times so slow and intimate, he doesn’t dare to look at the older man too long.

When the last notes of Mariage D’amoure fade away, Philip has goose bumps all over his arms and incredible warmth in his chest. They stay only a breath away from each other, Philips arm rests on Phineas’ shoulder, his right hand gently enveloped with Phineas’ left.

The arm Phineas has securely wrapped around Philip pulls him even closer. Sneakily Philip places his hand from Phineas’ shoulder to his neck and brushes his fingertips through the short, soft hair on the back of his head. Phineas sighs and drops his head.

“You know what I wonder?”, Philip whispers but doesn’t stop his caresses.

“What?”, Phineas asks but stays with his forehead touching Philips shoulder, savouring the tender touches. Philip swears he can feel how he closes his eyes and relax.

“I wonder...what you got in that thermos jug of yours.”, Philip whispers solemnly.

“...hm.”

“Sorry?”

Phineas lifts his head gradually to give Philip a look that can only be described as the embodiment of ‘are you kidding me’. Philip can’t help the broad grin that takes over his face and jauntily bites his lower lip.

“You are such a tease.”, Phineas groans, which send another jolt of goose bumps over his body.

He lets his fingers linger a little longer, before he takes a step back. Phineas shakes his head in a mockingly disappointed manner, but proceeds to take the shorter man’s hand and they go back to the blanket.

Phineas picks up the bag and Philip spreads out the red blanket. They way it’s patterned it reminds Philip more of a circus ceiling than an authentic picnic blanket.

Philip more or less elegantly drops down and pulls his legs closer to sit cross-legged. Good thing he doesn’t wear skinny jeans. Phineas hovers over him and seems to be uncertain whether to sit next to or in front of Philip. It takes some effort for Philip not to point out how adorable that was.

Finally Phineas sits down – across from Philip, but so close that they would touch if Philip stretched out his legs a bit. He doesn’t.

“Be prepared for something amazing.”, Phineas grins when he takes out the jug and two small mugs.

“Pff, okay.”, Philip smiles back.

However, this smile vanishes as soon as the first scents leave the warm container.

“Oh my god, is that mint?!”

“Uh, yeah.”, Phineas agrees. “It’s actually Peppermint Hot Chocolate.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“What? No, it’s delicious you boor.”

“Excuse me? I might not fit into it anymore, but I come from a very prestigious family.”

“Well, is that so? Then I dare you to try this, because it’s tasty.”

Phineas grins at the younger man and holds a half filled mug out to him. It seems more like a cat offering a mouse a piece of cheddar, if Philip were to judge the situation. He could be a bit biased, but right then he can just focus on the insolent beverage in front of him and its mischievous owner.

“I will not.”, Philip states and although he really doesn’t want to, feels a treacherous smile on his face.

“Your loss.”, Phineas decides and shrugs. He seals the jug again and keeps the mug to himself. Philip might not want his awesome drink, but he could at least enjoy it. He is leading the mug up to take a first delightful sip, when Philip perks up. Phineas can practically hear the smug grin.

“No, yours.”

“How so?”, he has no choice to ask. The mug dangles mid-air and Phineas glances over to the young man who seems torn between a smart remark or rather back down.

“Because~ I don’t want any mint near me.”

“Hm.”

“And I mean really near me and also this distance near me. Let’s include, mint at all.”

“Are you attempting to blackmail me?”, Phineas starts to grin.

“I would never, this is your choice. Drink that devils product, if you please. I hope you don’t mind sitting about two feet away from me then.”

“Ouch.”

Philip shrugs and shows his teeth in an innocent smile. He knows he is just teasing by now, but there are some things you could literally chase him away with – mint being one of those. It’s only fortunate Phineas decided on this to carry with them. Or well, maybe something they both enjoy would be better, but as long as it wasn’t some kind of liquor Philip isn’t too sure if he would be this openly funny.

“Alright, no mint today. What a pity.”, Phineas sighs into the steaming mug. With overdramatic flair he pours the brown liquid back into the jug and closes the bag around it again.

“You’ll live.”, Philip grins.

“Will I?”

“Thank you.” For being so kind. For this evening. For caring.

Philip can’t say it out loud. He hears Lettie’s words echo in his mind: ‘You deserve happiness’. Does he? Philip knows he can be difficult, annoying, hard to talk to on long terms. Does he want to burden that upon someone?

“Hey, are you with me?”, a slight touch to his knee jolts him out of his mind space. Philip focuses on Phineas’ smile, but instantly spots the concern behind it. He didn’t mean to worry him, he doesn’t want him to worry.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out.”, he hastily reassures the older man, whose eyes grow softer.

“I noticed. Wanna do something fun?”

“Depends on how you define ‘fun’.”, Philip grins. He is grateful that he doesn’t need to explain or defend himself. Phineas is easy going that way.

“Did you ever try stargazing in the city?”

Philip snorts and shakes his head. Amused, he lets his eyes wander towards the dark sky. It always seems dimmed at night; big cities don’t allow stars to shine. An assumption creeps up on him.

“Please tell me you haven’t got that idea, because I said I ‘spaced out’. That would be the most horrible pun in history.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“A pun?”

“A brilliant pun maker, if you will. But no, I actually had that idea before, you just brought it back to my mind.”, Phineas laughs.

“Oh well. Tell you what, the idea is super cute. It’s just not possible, unless you count helicopters as miserable shooting stars.”, Philip teases and points out one of the vehicles. It was easy to spot traffic, pollution, adverts. But stars?

“Aw, don’t ruin it.”, Phineas groans and puts his hand up so he doesn’t have to see the gyroplane.

Not allowing further complains, Phineas leans back and stretches out his long legs, his feet reaching over the end of the blanket. Philip regards him with an amused smile, then he lies down next to him. Together they gaze upwards, not able to see a single star.

“Please tell me you got a telescope in one of your many bags and cases.”, Philip murmurs after several moments of content silence. When he glances to his side, he sees that Phineas has his eyes closed. “What’cha doing?”

“I’m star gazing. I can tell you about them, if you want?”, Phineas quietly answers.

“So you’re a hobby astronomer?”, Philip asks grinning, although he’s intrigued.

“I actually studied astronomy. But it’s more scientific than fun and magic. So I quit.”

“Hm. Okay, describe it to me.”, Philip hums and after one last glimpse, closes his eyes as well. His breath slows down and he finds a comfortable position. Might be a bit snuggled up to Phineas, but the other man doesn’t complain.  Philip sighs contently and throws an arm over his face to block out all light. His fingertips brush Phineas.

“When a star dies, it does so with a great explosion. It spreads the stars innards all over space, which creates a gigantic cloud of dust and gas. These are supernovas. One of my favourites is the Crab Nebula, it’s close to ‘Taurus’. It’s bright blue on its centre and is somewhat oval-“

Philip listens to Phineas’ every word and in his imaginations hazes of blue and yellow lights form the most beautiful constellations. Phineas guides him through different nebulas, to galaxies with crazy names and small moons with numbers as names. When his hand tingles and threatens to fall asleep, Philip turns. He puffs slow breathes against Phineas’ shoulder, his eyes still closed. The older man keeps talking as he places an arm around Philip.

“You know how Jupiter’s moons got the names they have today? There’s a beautiful story about Callisto, Jupiter’s heaviest and fourth moon. Callisto followed the Greek goddess – Artemis – but was seduced by Zeus and...”

Phineas falls silent and looks down onto the younger man. A soft snoring comes from him and makes Phineas smile. He feels deep care blossom inside his chest for this unique, blue eyed man. How this might turn out? Phineas looks up at the sky - maybe the stars know.

[armsinthewronghands]

Avonelle Wing’s “Mad Mystics” Thread

https://plus.google.com/100315432818170150233/posts/eb9ZGxgWz8m

Avonelle Wing (Avie) Public Nov 14, 2016 This has been a very clarifying year for me.

Shortly after +Living Games Conference, I was in a conference with a fellow key-noter where the phrase "tending our mad mystics" got stuck in my head. and it stayed there.

I've been rolling the idea around and around in my head.

Along with my sudden burst of motion where hygiene boxes  at our conventions are concerned, I've been sorting out what parts of our community I consider the most vital, the most vulnerable, the most in need of my energy and protection.

I had a conversation with +Mark Diaz Truman before Gen Con, right after The Post, where he infuriated me by dividing my world into "my constituency" and "his constituency". but again, he forced me to clarify my position, and to rethink my actions, my position, my purpose.  (Mark and I have fought viciously a couple of times since The Post. Our current peace has been hard-won and isn't because I think he has made right on the fallout of The Post, so please don't misinterpret me acknowledging his pushing me to be better as anything other than that.)

Then, I went to Hive (hive.org) - while it was nothing like I thought it would be, it was also clarifying and galvanizing.

Before Hive, I told +darren watts that one of my panels for this year's Metatopia would be "Tending Our Mad Mystics..." and Vinny said "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???"

after wrangling back and forth, I was able to state clearly that our community excommunicates people with big, messy, inconvenient or uncomfortable emotion, with a disproportionate burden placed on women to keep their reactions tidy.

And if our community is going to be truly intersectional and to support all gamers (game designers, game artists, game professionals, game verbers), that we had better start building better responses and developing better mechanisms for coping and redirecting the damage inflicted by a mad mystic, and fast.

At Hive, I was able to state clearly that my life's work is to redistribute entrenched, toxic power structures to protect the most vulnerable and most under-served of our community. That includes our mad mystics especially.

In an earlier post tonight, I mentioned that I saw an online community burned to the ground - it went down in flames because there wasn't anybody who was prepared to catch and redirect the energy behind the fury, and to help us navigate the field of hurt feelings, backlash, *shame* and conflict that happened during and after that scorching. We weren't any good at tending our mad mystics.

Since then, I've been able to help ease at least one community through the fraught early days and to sidestep the "BUT MY FEELINGS ARE BIG AND THEY HURT!!" test to validate the feelings and put responsibility back onto the person feeling them. It's terribly important for us to learn how to support somebody who is emotionally compromised, and to help them interact with the world in a way that protects them and the possible recipients of that energy.

Treating our mad mystics like damaged goods and pushing them out the door abandons our most vulnerable community members, and that isn't acceptable to me. It sets a precedent for punishment over rehabilitation, for excommunication over reconciliation. That is not acceptable.

What does a mystic do? They connect to the divine. They see the world in ways the rest of us don't. They're unbridled joy and enthusiasm when they aren't a whirling vortex of other emotions. They test us and push us to do better, to be better, to be more patient and more thoughtful. They bring an intrinsic value to my world, and the idea of them being shut out by the community because we're not willing to learn how to work with them devastates me.

(This thread WILL be tightly moderated. No picking fights with me. I'm not in the mood for anybody unloading their baggage onto me.) 54 plus ones 54 no shares Shared publicly•View activity Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +10 Somebody has asked me if MDT is a mad mystic in this context.

No, this post isn't about him, even though I mentioned him as another influence in my path. He pushed me to clarify my position on who my "constituency" is, if we're carving the world up into "my problem" and "not my problem". (as if. Anybody who knows me knows that isn't my style.)  

This post is about everybody who gets shamed for mental illness or processing disorders. Mark's post was something else and maybe one day I'll be ready to talk about THAT in public, but I doubt it. Nov 14, 2016 Christo Meid's profile photo Christo Meid +2 Probably I'm tired --- I usually understand your posts right away, but I'm not sure who exactly fits into the category of mad mystics. I'm thinking the mystics are emotional, creative types, who by their nature might periodically hurt others obliviously with their outbursts, but then they probably apologize when the outburst passes.  And yet in this community, excommunication happens easier than accepting apologies? I hope I'm getting at least part of this right... Nov 14, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +1 that's the overall gist of it, yes. Nov 14, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +1 I see where the confusion came in. I rewrote the section that starts with "And if our community is going to be truly intersectional" to clarify with some verbs and a complete thought. I think I'm the tired one here. Nov 14, 2016 Misha B's profile photo Misha B +2 Sub Nov 14, 2016 Gretchen S.'s profile photo Gretchen S. +1 I wish to subscribe to this newsletter. Nov 14, 2016 Jason Pitre's profile photo Jason Pitre +1 . Nov 14, 2016 Cam Banks's profile photo Cam Banks +1 Potent. Nov 14, 2016 Chris Shaffer's profile photo Chris Shaffer +1 . Nov 14, 2016 Rob Donoghue's profile photo Rob Donoghue +2 Pre coffee, but that have been wrestling with some things adjacent to this, so very much listening. Nov 15, 2016 Josh T Jordan's profile photo Josh T Jordan +3 As a mentally ill creative person of faith, I am listening with interest. Nov 15, 2016 Anna Kreider's profile photo Anna Kreider +7 So I'm confused by "coping and redirecting the damage caused by a mad mystic", because on the one hand it sounds like you want to care for mad mystics as a vulnerable population with valuable contributions to make, but on the other hand saying that you need to redirect their energy to prevent damage sounds like the sort of rhetoric that is used to shame and excommunicate them in the first place.

Am I misunderstanding? Because tbh, as a mentally ill creator who got pushed out of doing something I love because it was unsafe for me to continue, it hurts hearing things that sound like the rhetoric that was used against me. But I know I'm in a sensitive place right now. Nov 15, 2016 William Nichols's profile photo William Nichols . Nov 15, 2016 Rob Donoghue's profile photo Rob Donoghue +3 The rhetoric is going to be tricky, because walking the line between "I acknowledge harm has been done/is being done" and "I don't want to simply excommunicate/demonize perpetrators" is hard.  We have no shortage of examples of both denying harm and zero tolerance, so there is no way that seeking an alternative is not going to touch live nerves. Nov 15, 2016 Dymphna C.'s profile photo Dymphna C. +5 +Anna Kreider :  As someone with skin in the game, I don't percieve it that way (but I understand why you feel cagey about it).

I think most tactics (including validation) can be used in bad faith in order to silence someone.  But I 100% don't believe that that's what Avie is doing, and I think that, in the long run, gaining a more complex understanding of human interaction (and of humanity) is a good thing. Nov 15, 2016 Dymphna C.'s profile photo Dymphna C. +2 When Avie is talking about "mad mystics," I don't think she's talking about everyone who acts in a way that causes other people hurt.  She's not talking about schoolyard bullies, or people who make calculated PR moves in order to gain status at someone else's expense, or everyone who's having a shitty day and says something that they probably shouldn't, etc. Nov 15, 2016 Dymphna C.'s profile photo Dymphna C. +3 In other words, you know a mad mystic when you see one, and they are largely people who know that they are "crazy" and they censor themselves a lot because they are profoundly invalidated by their environments.

For example:  I am seriously considering just deleting this entire chain of posts because I have a hard time telling if I'm being crazy or being crazy like a fox. Nov 15, 2016 Dymphna C.'s profile photo Dymphna C. +6 If you think "well it's really hard to find hard-and-fast rules," then I also think you're right, because these people don't fit into society well, and there's a reason why we all went to the madhouse or the convent or lived on the tops of mountains and spoke only words of dire prophecy or whatever.

I know that people who can't fit into neat categories or be dealt with by using extremely clear-cut rules make gamers and lawyers sad but

this is an art and not a science. Nov 15, 2016 Josh T Jordan's profile photo Josh T Jordan +5 +Dymphna C. Thank you. I feel like this sums up how I feel, even though I think I present myself as fairly high functioning. I can see the madhouse from here. I can see the mountaintop from here. And if I have a bad month of self destruction, I hope my friends will still be my friends at the end of it. Nov 15, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +4 +Anna Kreider - It isn't my intention to hurt you. In fact, I want the people around me to get better at handling anger and hurt, and to learn to listen, not to take it personally when it isn't personal. I can't change your past path, but maybe I can help make an easier path for the next person to come along.

+Dymphna C. does a good job of capture the essence of what our roundtable on the topic resolved before I got called away by an emergency at Metatopia.

It is absolutely NOT my intention to silence anybody; I want to validate in healthy ways, to listen and learn what there is to learn, and apply that learning productively. I feel like being better about listening would reduce the damage done by people who are expressing well-earned anger to themselves and their connections.

If we create filters for receiving and processing anger and/or hurt, or other "crazy" experiences, we support people having those experiences rather than "othering" them.

Is that making any sense? If we don't practice, and don't practice mindfully, we won't ever get better at it. (for some value of 'it' covered above.)

Nov 15, 2016 Anna Kreider's profile photo Anna Kreider +1 I hear you. Thank you for taking time to clarify. Nov 15, 2016 Eric Duncan (Dragonsong)'s profile photo Eric Duncan (Dragonsong) . Nov 15, 2016 Jay Treat's profile photo Jay Treat . Nov 15, 2016 Brie “Brie” Sheldon's profile photo Brie “Brie” Sheldon . Nov 15, 2016 J Li's profile photo J Li +13 Having been pushed out of a community for being a mad mystic, this resonates with me.  I have done harm with emotional outbursts-- but usually it was the type of harm that can be transmuted with processing skill.

As a result, I really hold that communities have the responsibility to gain that processing skill.

It's a neurotype privilege differential.  Everyone reacts when hurt, and does something nonstandard-- shouting, accusing, moping, grieving, talking about their feelings, changing the energy level, etc.  Most communities are vastly more equipped to handle the neurotypical people's responses than neurodiverse people's responses.  This results in a situation in which neurotypicals are "allowed" to have a wider, healthier, and more complete range of feelings than others.

Learning to tend your mad mystics becomes a matter of handicap access.  Is this a community that I can interact to a normal degree in because there are accommodations if I am disrupted to a normal degree (either by outside circumstances or the community itself)?

Part of the difficulty for me is that, prior to community I was pushed out of, I belonged to a community of exclusively mad mystics.  We were all mad in different ways.  But we had elaborate scaffolding to support how all of our unique components interacted; and a lot of automatic protocols on coordinating about needs without making assumptions or judgments.

It was, therefore, a deep culture shock to land in a place that didn't have those things.  That moments of disruption, instead of prompting everyone into an opportunity for collaboration and closeness, were actually a cliff to fall off of alone.

The other day, I accidentally fell off of one of those cliffs (a very short one) with a lovely and influential designer in our community.  Even though the differential was minor and ultimately well repaired, the event shook me deeply, as it was the first time I'd felt so unsafe in this community.  Suddenly, all around me, I started to see cliffs instead of friends for a while.

The point is that we need to be very careful.  Refusal to talk about or negotiate social conflict can either be a healthy act of boundary setting, or a profound act of neurotype privilege.

How do you tell a mad mystic from an asshole?

My specific advice is that, if someone does something that bothers you, try to communicate about it ONCE.  A responsible mad mystic will immediately respond to try to stop hurting you.  Depending on what's up with that individual, we may or may not find the path the first time, and if it's really complicated we may need your help, but we know what to do to get started.  

An actual asshole will brush off your concerns.

Considerateness is actually pretty universal across neurotype.  Access to data about how to interface with you is not.  By giving your mad mystics the data we need, you give us the chance to be considerate-- and thereby also give the relationship the chance to connect based on what we have in common instead of what sets us apart. Nov 15, 2016 Mark Richardson's profile photo Mark Richardson . Nov 15, 2016 Zak Sabbath's profile photo Zak Sabbath +3 If the line between a "mad mystic" and a "harassing broken stair bullies" is the mystic addresses your concerns and admits their mistake, I've never seen a mad mystic. Just people who have friends who value their other contributions and so don't admit it in public and so have a double-standard about what is "acceptable behavior" because they value them more than their victims do. Nov 15, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) There are other lines too. I don't  think it's as simple as recognizing and acknowledging harm when harm has occurred. Nov 15, 2016 Zak Sabbath's profile photo Zak Sabbath +2 No matter what the lines are I think the failure of anyone to articulate those lines before supporting said Mystic leaves victims of the Mad Mystic looking for all the world like they are being judged by a double-standard. And until someone articulates those lines clearly, they functionally are--because the victim can follow all the rules a community articulates and still be attacked. Nov 15, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +4 The necessity to respond compassionately and with grace when faced with the powerful emotions of somebody who has dysregulated or is experiencing some other dissonance IS a double standard. Absolutely.

It sucks to be implacable when somebody's having strong emotions about, at or to you. But it's what adults and responsible community members do.

The hope is that if I'm able to be a steady presence today when somebody is a whirlwind of emotion, they might be able to anchor me and/or offer forgiveness for a sharp tone or harsh rebuke at a later time when I'm not MY best self. Nov 15, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +5 Frankly, the internet makes it SO MUCH easier for people to tear into each other and be utterly vile. The same people, in person, would find it much harder to do the same sort of damage.

It's easier to respond with fury and vitriol, in my experience, when somebody is typing at me than it is when they are clearly experiencing distress in my presence.

Internet anger is so very toxic and learning to stop and go do something that isn't connected to a keyboard is a key element to learning to respond appropriately when somebody is causing undue harm. Nov 15, 2016 Anna Kreider's profile photo Anna Kreider +8 +Avonelle Wing​ there's a reason why I wrote about acceptable versus unacceptable expressions of anger about marginalization. As mentally ill people, we need to be accountable to not harm others to the extent that we are capable.

But there are people who aren't okay with ANY expression of anger, however righteous, careful, moderated, or responsibly directed. And that's a problem. Nov 15, 2016 Jay Treat's profile photo Jay Treat +1 I want to weigh in, because I have lots of feelings about things being discussed here, but I'm reluctant to because the subject is sensitive and I'm sure I don't fully understand it. Can Avie or others provide concrete examples, preferably fictional? Nov 15, 2016 Oli Jeffery's profile photo Oli Jeffery . Nov 15, 2016 Chloe CD's profile photo Chloe CD . Nov 15, 2016 Blair Fitzpatrick's profile photo Blair Fitzpatrick +7 I'm mentally ill, and I find the label "mad mystics" in poor taste to say the least; dealing with these conditions is not some new-age "prestige class." Nov 15, 2016 Tobias Strauss's profile photo Tobias Strauss +5 +Blair Fitzpatrick is right.  The language here is incredibly offensive to me.  I'm not someone's conduit to god because I have a medical condition.  And I don't want special delicate princess treatment for it.

I don't have the spoons to engage in this right now beyond that. Nov 15, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) I'll work on better language. Message received. Nov 15, 2016 Avonelle Wing (Avie)'s profile photo Avonelle Wing (Avie) +1 Also, I leave for  a con tmw. So I'm closing comments until I'm back and can moderate responsibly.

[captainswannl29]

Happy Birthday Hollie!

So you know you’re REALLY special when someone who never - ever - makes a post, or finishes any kind of writing and prefers to stick to behind-the-scenes beta-ing goes full out and does a one shot for you!

I know it’s not on YOUR level, but in my defense, i didn’t have a beta as good as you do ;) I hope you enjoy it!! @the-captains-ayebrows

Birthday Fic based on this prompt;

“I’m on a date at a hockey game and my date is being a douche. Now we’re on the kiss cam, but hes on his phone, so i’m just going to kiss you instead, okay?” 

and this post;

http://killianisacupcake.tumblr.com/post/151446047966/frozenmusings-booooost-sympathypaynes

“Great!” Emma huffed, as she slammed her battery depleted phone down onto her thigh. The impact made her skin sting under her jeans. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes at the fact that – apparently - iPhone batteries don’t do so well in near-frigid temperatures. The motion caused her to catch a glimpse of Neal to her right. In his worn jersey puffed up atop layers of thermal clothing and backwards baseball cap, perched on the edge of the hard, cold, plastic arena seat he was every bit the Hockey Fan she decidedly was not.

“Come on guys! That’s it!” He shouted through gloved fingers – Jesus, even the gloves were embossed with a team logo. What team is it again? Something red. Damned if Emma could remember. Being at an NHL game with Neal was kind of like being at a little kids’ birthday party… there’s nothing in it for you, but the kid is having a great time so you’re just kind of… there. And freezing. Did she mention freezing? Without the excuse of her touch screen phone to justify her lack of mittens, she was fast approaching frostbite. After tossing her useless phone into her purse, she rubbed her hands together in a failed attempt to warm them, then hugged herself tightly, tucking each hand carefully under her biceps.

“Serve’s you right, Em!” joked Neal, now glancing back at her “I mean, who goes to a hockey game in a tank top and leather jacket anyways?”

“Well, you know, maybe if somebody had warned me they don’t actually heat these places adequately I would have been more prepared” she sighed heavily creating a cloud of frozen breath. “I never have this problem at an NBA game.” Emma arched a sarcastic brow in his direction, but his attention was turned back towards the ice and she was alone in her misery once again. Perhaps a bit disappointed at the lack of engagement with her top-notch banter, Emma narrowed her eyes and began to asses Neal’s profile. The tips of his hair were poking out around the edges of the hat and plastered against his forehead. Several creases around his eyes grew deeper as he concentrated on the players whizzing up the ice, and the line of his nose pointed towards a hinting of a moustache and beard that never quite achieved the whole “meticulously unkempt” look she knew he was secretly going for. Despite Neal’s desire to be the devil-may-care type he really looked a lot more like a boring future in the Hamptons. Which probably explained why her parents, most emphatically her mother, were always “Team Neal.” They just want you to be happy, Emma told herself. And she was, right? It had been 5 years with Neal and things were… they were okay I guess. Her mom was constantly dropping hints about planning a wedding.

“We just want you to have what we have, Emma.” Her mother had said over a blinding smile the last time they’d visited for dinner. “I knew from the first moment your father kissed me.” But the problem with that was there never was or would be another couple so perfectly cookie cutter happy as David and Mary Margaret Nolan. And as much as Emma loved them for it, she always had a nagging suspicion that she wasn’t cut from the same cloth.

“I prefer basketball too, Lass.” A mellifluous voice to her left snapped Emma out of her contemplation. Twisting around to catch a pair of serenely blue eyes she was taken completely off guard.

“Uhhh…”

“Although nothing American could ever compare to a proper match of footy.” The stranger whispered, with a one-sided smirk and eyebrow tilt to match. A few pieces of raven hair fell across his brow and brought Emma back to the here and now. He had a sharp jaw covered in a textbook 5 o’clock shadow, full lips, and a hint of chest hair escaping through the v neck of his t shirt, all wrapped up in a fitted black leather jacket reminiscent of James Dean himself. “Actually, I think it’s Canadian. Basketball that is. Common misconception.” Oh, My, God, seriously, she was mortified at her response before she had even finished it. Professor sexy and his perfection of an Irish accent – British? No, Irish, definitely Irish, is giving her a look that screams everything your mother would never let you date and she comes back with a brief history on the origins of basketball? What she wouldn’t give to be able to hide behind her phone right now.

“Ah, which explains my greater affinity for it I suppose. Never the less, Hockey isn’t exactly my cup of tea but my brother here – “He tilted his head to his left, signalling a curly haired but equally as attractive man “Well, he dragged me here. Afraid I lost a bet.”

“Well, sucks to be you I guess!” she scrunched her nose and raised her shoulders at him.

“Ha-ha, that may be true, love, but at least I have gloves.” He held up one hand and wriggled the leather covered fingers. Touché. “I’m Killian, by the way, and on that note – I hope I’m not overstepping here – but I did a quick run to the canteen just now and… well I couldn’t help but notice you looked quite cold, so if you’d like I grabbed an extra beverage.” He held a red cardboard cup with glorious steam rising from the rim out towards her.

“Oh, thanks that’s really nice…”  Emma was filled with an odd sense of surprise and if she’s being entirely honest with herself, delight, “But what about your brother?” She leaned to glance over his shoulder towards the other man “He looks kinda chilly too, ya know.”

“Not to worry, love, that tosser can fend for himself.” He winked before the tip of his tongue made a brief appearance at the corner of his mouth, which Emma noted, perhaps a little too obviously.

“Thanks.” She smiled sweetly as she wrapped her extremely grateful fingers around the cup, she was in no position to turn down the offering. As it was, the hot liquid inside was already working wonders. Even if she didn’t drink coffee, her hands appreciated the warmth.

“My pleasure, love.” He narrowed his eyes in a positively sinful fashion and followed it up with another smirk as he settled back against his chair, slowly returning his gaze to the ice.

Emma twisted back towards Neal again, gripping the cup tightly and trying to process what had just happened. He noticed she was cold – had he been watching her? He must think she was an idiot in a sub-zero arena dressed like this. Although – now that she thought if it, he was wearing a plain white tee and leather jacket himself. How long was he sitting there? How had she missed him? Now that she knew he was there she was painfully aware that their thighs were practically touching. And that he smelled incredible – like sex in a bottle really. God, had she done anything stupid… Was he hitting on her? He had to notice she was with Neal. Maybe he was just friendly. They do say that about European people, don’t they? God, why was this getting her so worked up? Snap out of it Emma! Get a grip.

In an attempt to ground herself she took a quick sip from her cup and was surprised at the familiar sweet taste of hot chocolate, not coffee. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile and a gentle laugh escaped.

“Em, are you seeing this? Our guys on a breakaway!” Neal exclaimed back at her as one member of the red team charged towards the net on the far side of the arena and shot the puck powerfully towards the Goalie.

“HE SCORES!!” Neal thrust both arms into the air and jumped out of his seat joining the majority of the audience in celebration. Flashing red lights and what sounded like a siren blared over the speakers and Emma had to hold her cup strategically to prevent the liquid from spilling in response to all the jostling. After some raucous high 5s to the strangers with painted faces in the seats behind them, Neal sat back down and casually put his arm around her.

“This is great, babe, it means we’ll have a lead going into the third period!” Neal smiled, and she returned it, her mood drastically improved by her warmed hands and the much-needed sugar rush. Maybe she was being too hard on him earlier. Freezing to death will do that to a person. He cupped her shoulder and pulled her in to a side hug.

“Jesus, Em, you’re freezing!” he recoiled and she fixed him with an annoyed look of contempt. “Sorry, self preservation.” He held his hands up as if he didn’t have a choice and turned back towards the game. Right. Emma sighed and shook her head slightly.

No phone, a total douche to her right and gods gift to women unforgettably on her left, she was forced to actually pay attention to the game. From what she could gather, the score was 1-0 in their favor and they were coming up on a break before the final period. At least then she might have some distraction watching the dancers, lights display and other entertainment. Plus, Neal may be less entranced and actually hold up a bit of a conversation.

Or not! As it turns out, Neal had other plans. As soon as the horn signaled the end of the second period, he pulled out his tablet and started tweeting, blogging, and instagramming his thoughts on the game. Out of the corner of her eye Emma was pretty sure she saw more than one self-assured gif directed towards fans of the opposing team. Whatever, she was two thirds through this and before she knew it she would be at home in a nice bubble bath. Depositing her empty cup by her foot for now, she leaned back and took in the show. Some kids were invited onto the ice to play games for free pizza, and a short man with an apparently cantankerous disposition was hampered with the duty of shooting t-shirts into the crowd out of a giant cannon. When one landed just below them a full-on dog pile resulted – seriously, grown men and their sports paraphernalia. She didn’t think she’d ever get it. All the while Neal remained totally unfazed. Rolling her eyes, she noticed that over the speakers, “We will rock you” was faded out as a poppy rendition of “Love will keep us together” took over. Emma glanced up at the jumbo-tron and saw a heart shaped frame focusing in on random couples throughout the stadium, urging them to kiss to the cheers of the crowd. God, how embarrassing. What if you were there with your brother?

Before she could finish that thought, she was shocked to see herself and Neal, completely consumed with his online trolling, focused on the giant TV. If there was one thing Emma could think of that was more embarrassing than kissing on the jumbo-tron at a professional sports game, it was being ignored on one!

The crowd immediately surrounding them began to hoot and cheer, an electric excitement buzzing and Emma wanted to get the whole thing over with so the camera man could move on to his next victim.

“Neal!” Emma called placing a hand on his forearm, urging him to look up.

“Just a minute babe, I’m right in the middle here.” His eyes were laser focused on the tablet as his fingers danced frantically over the screen. Emma felt her cheeks begin to flush and her heart race in mortification.

“No, Neal seriously, look up!” She pleaded, stretching her hand out to point towards the kiss cam. The crowd kept cheering, but a few were beginning to laugh, some people were pointing, above the roaring noise and blasting music she could make out a chorus of “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

“Emma, 5 seconds, I’m about to make this kid look like a total jack ass!” he snorted. Emma’s breath escaped in a scoff, what the fuck! She was going to kill him! Totally livid, and a bit hurt, not that she’d ever admit to that, she couldn’t help feeling totally alone in the moment. A little bit of panic snuck in and she felt desperately like she was drowning, without a lifeline. Oh God, just get me out of here!

She began to shrug her shoulders and raise her eyes, hands upturned when warm fingers slid gently up her left thigh and paused on her knee with a small squeeze. A shoulder pressed against her own, and a pair of pillow soft lips came to rest aside her ear lobe,

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

The words tickled across her cheek and a thrilling rush of adrenaline shot down her spine as she drew in a sharp breath. In total disbelief of what was happening – in front of tens of thousands of people no less – Emma slowly turned to face Killian. She let go of the breath she was holding, and glanced from his eyes, to his lips, and back up again. He was looking at her in a way Neal never had. Almost like she was something precious. Her heart was pounding in her ears, completely drowning out the crowd. Her head felt fuzzy and her stomach was filled with butterflies. Oh God, she was going to pass out. Yup. That’s about right, that’s how this ends, complete and utter humiliation.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, love, but a woman as beautiful as you deserves a man’s full and prompt attention.” At that he ran his tongue across his bottom lip and curled his mouth into a completely wicked grin.

Emma looked over her shoulder at Neal, who was still oblivious. Then to the Kiss Cam, which panned from left to right, Neal to Killian.

She met his eyes – shock replaced with revelation – and said,

“You’re fucking right!”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him towards her, capturing his lips in a fierce and passionate kiss. The crowd went absolutely wild, but all Emma could hear was Killian’s moan of surprise. He seemed a bit stunned for only a second before threading his fingers through her hair and slanting his mouth over hers in a follow up kiss. She steadied herself by splaying her hands against the firmness of his chest while she absolutely melted into him. He kissed her like nobody ever had before. Her entire body hummed with electricity, from her finger tips, all the way to her toes and if she hadn’t remembered she was broadcast over a fucking 200-foot screen right now she would have climbed astride him and took this thing up a notch.

“Em, what the hell!” shouted Neal behind her as she emerged from the haze that had been consuming her. She turned to see him, covered in popcorn and half eaten hot dogs, the subject of jeers and scowls from everyone around.

“What a tool!”

“Jackass!”

“He’s way hotter anyway, hunny!”

Emma started to laugh as Killian began to unwind himself from around her and pull slightly back. She grabbed his arm just before it slipped completely away from her, and a second wind of boldness surged within her as she shrugged at Neal,

“Sorry babe, I’m right in the middle here.” She taunted before pulling Killian back in to another sizzling make out session amidst the hoots and howls of entire stadium.

     Ra���

[nyxysabyss]

LEVEL HORIZON; YEAR FIVE.25 3/3; Sanguine

Chapter 36!

If a man knows not to which port he sails, no wind is favorable. ~Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Hajime Iwaizumi follows the rookery leader into his study, his entire spine rigid.

He has no idea what is coming. He doesn’t know if he should expect a thank you and a pat on the back or a beheading. He doesn’t know if he will be rewarded for his efforts or imprisoned, doesn’t know if he’ll see the sun rise tomorrow. He doesn’t know if he’s made the right choices and he doesn’t know if the Grand King will recognize his reasons.

What he does know… is that the man he’s always followed, whose back is to him now as he comes to stand in the center of the room, the man he’s given his sanity, his very heart and soul to serve—he knows.

They’d finished playing that one match, the rookery team having won by just a hair with the owl setter who he remembers being disturbingly good at knots. It had been a very unpredictable match for them and it had taken every ounce of concentration they’d had to stay on their toes.

Kageyama’s team had been a complete wildcard; the only four people he knew anything about Volley wise were the avian heir, the shrimp, the short crow, and the bearded ace. The ibis and crow he’d tailed back to their beach home had both played, the blond in particular quite formidable at the net. The streaked owl who’d been laid up the last time he’d seen him was as powerful as Azumane and as motivated as Hinata.

And they’d set up in a baffling lineup. Nishinoya had rotated in when the small spiker and the ibis hit the back row, always playing defense. He never hit, would occasionally set a ball for Azumane or Kageyama, but damn, he’d gotten good at receives.

And of course, they’d had to deal with that beast of a serve from the crow setter, but the singularly most dangerous aspect about their team had been the quick from Hinata and Kageyama. It was lightning fast and impossible to keep up with. They’d scored probably eight points off that alone, the owl setter grousing about how the rookery blockers would have to be faster if they wanted to stop him. The avian heir and the shrimp were so in sync that it was hard to keep tabs on them. And with Kageyama as setter, every time any of the others went to hit, it was always a perfect toss.

Really, the only reason they’d won was because Kageyama’s team had literally not played aerial volley in five years. It seemed like all of Hajime’s team’s points had been made off the other side’s mistakes that were textbook of having not played together, and being out of practice. There were several instances where it was apparent that this group didn’t normally play together and had never played aerial together in any case.

And then there was their condition. Every one of them was damn near spent by the time the last point fell. They might have played ‘ground Volley’ as the grey cat had called it—every day, but it was a different type of energy being spent in aerial and they were clearly unused to it. The first to fail had been Hinata, his wings starting to go unresponsive on him before they hit the last ten points of the game even with the short crow subbing for him on back line. When they’d sent the short cat in and pulled Nishinoya into Hinata’s place for the rest of the match despite how he was slowing down as well, Hajime’s team had nearly faltered completely in surprise.

Only a sharp word from the owl setter on their side had brought their focus back into call, but it was uncanny how quick that small cat was, and how well he covered all the hits from the ground just like Noya had done in the air. It had been even more unsettling that the cat had constantly been behind and below them, and they’d placed complete faith in his abilities to not only cover them in game, but also to not attack them from behind. It was far easier to forget that their setter and the streaked ace on the other side were owls as they’d played, but the small feline lacking wings was impossible to see as anything else.

Really, the one time he’d seen the Grand King’s jaw really tighten throughout that entire match was when that cat had been on the court in easy striking distance of any of the other avians who all apparently trusted him far and away enough to leave their backs to him without a second thought. It didn’t’ matter that Tooru had set the rest of the rookery team on edge when he’d gone and sat with the grey cat for ten minutes; he wasn’t comfortable with his son being in such close proximity to them.

But that had made absolutely no difference to Kageyama who readily interacted with both the cats and the owls. He spoke to all of them without reservation, barked at anyone getting lazy, and even offered quiet praise when they connected for a particularly exhilarating winning rally. He collided with the streaked owl on blocks, automatically found Nishinoya or the small cat for that perfect receive to line up a toss, sought out crows as often as he did Hinata, the ibis, or the owl for hits. Watching Kageyama play with the varied group, it had been obvious that he no longer saw the differences he and the Grand King stumbled over; instead, he’d trusted his receivers implicitly, honed his tosses for each spiker, and had faith that everyone would put forth every bit as much effort as he did.

After the aerial match, they’d proceeded to start a casual game of four on four at the ground Volley net and from there, it had become abundantly clear where their greatest strengths had manifested in the last five years. Even dragging after shelling their wings on an aerial match, the casual ground match had been mind boggling in how quick it was. It had been eerie how comfortable they all were without using their wings, and it suddenly all made sense how the ibis and freckled crow had been able to read him so easily that day he’d followed them home. They’d all been so accustomed to ground movement that there were times where they looked far more feline than avian—like cats with wings instead of actual birds.

Noya’s real impact had come through clear with his ability to snap into place perfectly to receive any ball. The small cat on the other side had been just as fluid and just as dangerous. The grey cat had taken flak all around for getting excited when he got a blocking hot streak going, because ‘shut up, you furball, you didn’t burn out through an earlier match’. But it had seemed to ignite a resurgence of energy just the same, the ibis and shrimp stepping up to hit around him. The two owls, now on the same side of the net, suddenly connected like Kageyama and Hinata had in the air, their practiced precision nearly as deadly. Asahi’s power and control off his hand had been frighteningly advanced over the broadside hits off his wing from the aerial match, and the freckled crow’s jump serve was as devastating as Kageyama’s. And of course, the freak duo had been even more insanely lethal in their element.

When Kageyama finally called a stop, he’d handed the bundle of herbs he’d been buying when they’d run into them to the smaller owl to make a tea for Hinata in an oddly domestic action. The redhead had scowled at him, and Akaashi had wordlessly nodded and set to the task without hesitation. It was strange, because they had to have known that burning all their energy on the Volley match would leave them vulnerable in the event the Grand King went back on his word, and yet they followed through.

Not once in the following few hours had Kageyama’s group turned toward them expectantly, determined to part ways. Instead, they’d secured food for a meal, and the Grand King, Hajime, and his unit had cautiously and reservedly joined them for it on the invitation of the lanky cat much to the short one’s supreme irritation.

“But Mori, you’d never be able to eat all this anyway, you’re too small.”

“You’re either masochistic or very stupid.” The ibis had remarked before the small cat had had a chance to respond.

“The first one. Mori explained it to me once, and it’s that one.” The grey cat had said and even Hajime had snorted through his own tension.

“God dammit, Lev. I swear to god, I will bury you.” The russet cat had threatened.

“You know, I’m pretty sure it’s actually a bit of both. Yaku got Akaashi to teach him that one knot just last week.” The streaked owl had said and Noya had perked up.

“The gag one?” He’d asked before turning to the smaller owl. “What did Lev do to piss him off so bad that time?”

“It was a prank.” Kageyama had supplied flatly without looking at any of them and Hinata had laughed.

“Lev told Tanaka exactly how high he needed to suspend Yaku’s pants while he was in the bath so he couldn’t reach them even by jumping.” The redhead had chimed in as the smaller owl had handed him his cup of tea.

“Wait, that’s why you were so livid that day?” Azumane had asked the russet cat who’d worn nothing but a homicidal scowl permanently affixed to the grey one.

“Hey, that one wasn’t intentional. Tanaka sent Natsu to ask the question and I assumed she was just curious. I didn’t know any of that was going to happen.” The grey cat had groveled.

If one had been able to get over their reservations, the group really was quite entertaining.

Hajime had seen how the Grand King had watched every interaction with a critical eye, had zeroed in on Hinata and Kageyama in particular. And he knew the rookery leader didn’t miss the careful attention that was ever on the redhead by everyone as he grew almost visibly stiff in his muscles and wings, his own son most of all. The rookery leader’s mouth would quirk slightly when the young crow setter would fall into bantering exchanges with all of them, both giving and taking insults with far more ease than he ever had as a sentry. Tooru’s brow had risen when the rest of Kageyama’s mismatched group constantly reminded he and the redhead about keeping space between them much to their annoyance.

And Hajime had seen his own shock mirrored in the creases of his king’s face when Kageyama had finally brushed them off because ‘he’d already let the bat out of the bag, so forget it’, the ensuing glow that ignited anytime the two settled together more than a couple minutes nailing a stark reality home.

And his face had smoothed into neutral geniality anytime Kageyama would throw him a challenging glance, as if to say,

‘You wanted to see, so look. Are you satisfied? Are you disappointed? Do you think I care? Do you still doubt me? Still intend make me your successor? I will not comply. I will never conform. Go ahead and force me back home, just you try it.’

The young heir’s looks were each a silent dare, a declaration that he stood against everything the Grand King wanted for him—wanted from him… and Hajime knew that somewhere inside the rookery leader, they had each cut like a knife. Here was the person he’d invested everything in, but who wanted nothing to do with him—not even the time to talk. He’d spent centuries grooming this kid to take his place only to have everything he’d planned to hand over thrown back in his face, because he’d never paused to listen to him when he’d needed Tooru’s support and understanding most.

They’d never fostered a relationship that allowed that connection and it was destroying whatever was left of it now. Because Kageyama and Hinata were levelers… and the black cat had been right.

The Grand King would have killed his own son, unintentionally as it might have been. Somewhere along the line, Hajime had discerned that the rookery leader had intended to exile Hinata, not just ban him, and he knew the life expectancy of a grounded avian had been bleak. If Kageyama had allowed things to continue as they were, had let him be exiled, they might have already had a dead prince. And Hajime knew that painful reality had struck deep, and was only exacerbated by Kageyama’s flatly rebellious and accusatory glances.

The others had taken their cue from him. While not as outwardly hostile, they’d maintained a buffer of politeness, but it was easy to tell that they were simply waiting for the sentry group to leave. Kageyama might not have wanted to lead, but the entire group here moved off his word. He’d said that Kuroo ran the show at the beach house… but even back then, the avian heir’s opinions had held weight. He’d watched the avians and cats around the crow prince and Hinata with their carefully attentive demeanor, his brow scrunched.

And in a flash of insight, Hajime had understood.

It wasn’t Kageyama who was the puppet master… because even he made every choice and move with regard to another. The idea that the small redhead was actually the one holding the strings of this entire group of mismatched individuals had been mind boggling, because Hinata himself was probably the most oblivious to it. Which meant all of these people followed Kageyama because of the sunny redhead, gravitated and listened to the cobalt-eyed prince because his leveler did. And they all did that of their own free will—even the antagonistic ibis.

When the Grand King had called for he and his unit to gather so they could head back to the rookery without so much as a word of summons in Kageyama’s direction, Hajime had been…surprised. The Grand King had turned toward the group that watched them warily, his gaze pausing on the grey cat who’d smiled slightly at them before he found his son.

“We should play again sometime, Tobio. I’ll have to ask your source to set up another match.” Hajime had tensed, but the avian heir hadn’t even glanced at the sentry leader.

“You are letting us go?” Kageyama had asked instead, as if he could hardly believe it.

“That is what you wanted, right? Take care, Feathers.” He’d said with a pinched smile, and Kageyama… had stared.

And then the avian heir had taken three steps forward and bowed to the rookery leader. After an entire evening of scalding looks, the action was the first from his son that wasn’t rebellious or willfully provoking. It was one of respect… and gratitude. It had made the rookery leader’s shoulders pull up just a touch in surprise before he’d turned and leapt into the sky, Hajime and the rest of the other sentries following without needing any order.

The glimpse he’d caught of the expression on his face… had been one of joyful sorrow. The creases at the corners of his eyes had betrayed how much pain he was feeling, but the small serene smile that touched his lips had told Hajime that he would suffer it in silence.

And Hajime wants to cringe, because the entire trip home, the rookery leader hasn’t once looked at him.

Tooru hasn’t looked his way since that one glance back at the little shop in the moments after they’d first run into Kageyama. Hasn’t sought his gaze since that one instant where the rookery leader’s eyes had been creased with comprehension and betrayal.

The Grand King knows. There’s no way he can’t. He’s one of the sharpest people Hajime’s ever met, an aspect of his personality that hasn’t changed since Kageyama and the first unit left.

And all he can do is wait for the impending disaster as he watches the Grand King’s silent form, the room feeling too crowded despite the way they are the only two in it.

“You lied, Iwa.” The declaration comes, quiet and flat, and Hajime is glad that Tooru is facing the back wall of his study, because he doesn’t want to know what expression he’s wearing. Still he swallows all the same; he won’t cower in shame.

“Yes.” He says, his voice sounding hollow. The Grand King’s head turns just slightly, as if he’s making sure to catch every word, but determined not to give him the respect of his attention.

“You kept information from me.” That dead tone grates on Hajime’s nerves, but he won’t shy. He did this; he will be prepared for whatever comes because of it.

“Yes, sir.”

“You fed them info in return.” He flinches, because while he didn’t feed the beach crew information that would necessarily have compromised the rookery leadership or military, he did warn them when sentries were encroaching too close.

“I did.” He says woodenly and the Grand King’s shoulders slack, his gaze dropping to the floor by his feet.

“How long, Iwa.” It’s not the query Hajime expects. It’s not that all-encompassing, critical ‘why’. But the Grand King knows… and Hajime is through with lying.

“I found them about a year after they went missing.” He says.

“Four years.” The Grand King says softly. He lets out a tired breath and moves to sit at his desk, still not meeting Hajime’s eyes.

“Four years, Iwa. There’s something really disheartening that the only person to have been blatantly honest with me regarding Tobio happened to be a cat who doesn’t have a filter. Your source this whole time was my own son.” He says and Hajime frowns.

“No. I was in contact with someone who knew Feath—Kageyama; he wasn’t the actual source.” He says, the moniker for the avian heir almost rolling off his tongue through sheer reflex.

After four years of conversing with the black cat and the name having become synonymous with the avian heir, he’s painfully aware of how he’s almost come to use it more than the avian prince’s own name anytime he thinks of him. He feels another pang of guilt as the rookery leader’s eyes flicker to the side, knowing he didn’t miss it. That blasted name that brought everything to a head, to light, to ruin… and Hajime couldn’t be more ashamed to have uttered it now, more than cementing his role in all of this.

“Well at least you aren’t lying about that.” Tooru says quietly, his face creasing with the slightest frown.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Hajime asks uncertainly.

“Tobio is my son; I know his handwriting. Neither of the two individuals’ on that missive you showed me were his.”

Oh.

He really had been toying with fire this whole time; the slightest slip, one wrong step, and it would all have shattered. As it turns out, his gamble to get the Grand King to act and save Kageyama and the others from the snake nest had proved too much of a stretch. He’d caved too far under the pressure of time constraints and a critical situation.

“But Feathers is unquestionably Tobio.” The Grand King says, a bid for clarification that recalls his attention. Hajime nods once.

“The same. He was at the snake nest that night.”

“That was why you were so adamant.”

“My contact called for help to save him; if I’d refused, he probably would have died.”

“And did you know about Tobio and Hinata?” The Grand King doesn’t have to say anything more for Hajime to know that he’s asking about their leveler status.

“No. When I found him, the shrimp didn’t have wings again yet, and they didn’t tell me.”

“But you knew his location—you know where he is now. Did you help him escape?”

“I did not. I was as baffled by his disappearance as anyone until I found out myself.”

“Iwa.”

“Sir?”

“Where has my son been the last five years?” Hajime’s breath catches.

“I can’t reveal that, sir.” He says and Tooru’s eyes narrow even if his expression remains flat.

“Because you don’t want me to find him? Because you want his place?” Hajime’s jaw drops and then his brow wrinkles into a hard frown.

“Because he will disappear again the moment he finds out you know. That was the deal—I’d be allowed to know their movements so long as you never did. I made the choice to be able to contact him if the need should arise over losing touch with him altogether again.”

“I don’t know if I should trust you, Iwa.” His gut twists at those words.

You can.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” He asks hollowly instead.

“Talk to me, Iwa.” The Grand King says, his eyes never leaving top of his desk.

“What do you want me to say?” He feels like his chest is being crushed.

“All of it.” Hajime’s gut sinks.

“I can’t tell you everything, sir.” He murmurs in a strangled voice.

“I don’t care, Iwa. Just speak.”

So Hajime speaks.

~                                  ~

~Three Months Later, Summer’s End~

Hajime takes a deep breath and pushes into the rookery leader’s study. He’s wholly uncomfortable with this plan, and he’s most displeased with the damn cat showing up here yet again.

They’ve been over this, time and again. Cats don’t belong in the freaking rookery.

“Ah, Iwa! I was actually just going to come find you. Yahaba was in here not too long ago complaining about how much you’ve been leaving the team practices to him. You know, your team will suffer if your performances decline, right?”

“Yes, well that will have to wait, sir. There is someone I’m supposed to bring you to meet.”

“Oh, your contact? You’ve set up a location to talk with the cat?”

“Eh…” Hajime blows out a breath of frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess. He’s in the next room over.” Tooru blinks at him.

“Excuse me?” Hajime wants to grimace.

This was why he’d told the cat not to come here.

“Next room over. He’s waiting for you.” He repeats. Tooru stands, his face creasing with irritation. As he steps around his desk and heads for the door as Hajime holds it open for him, the rookery leader’s face takes on the hint of a scowl.

“And how many people know he’s this deep in the rookery?” He asks as Hajime steps around him and leads the way the ten steps to the next little conference room, mentally trying to prepare himself for the coming storm.

“None.” He says flatly as he reaches for the door and the rookery leader jars.

“What? How the hell did you get him here without anyone knowing?” The Grand King asks critically as he follows him inside.

“He didn’t. We found our own way in.” The voice of the black cat answers for him and Tooru pauses, throwing an uneasy glance his way. Hajime merely steps back and bows with a hand extended toward the room in invitation to allow the rookery leader by. His eyes crease slightly with accusation before he regroups, his features smoothing out into amiable guardedness, and Hajime knows automatically that it isn’t genuine; the slight tension in the muscles of his neck betray how on edge he is.

And as he takes in the room’s occupants, the sentry leader sees them tighten just a little more. Both the ibis and streaked owl are here, too; neither had been part of the meeting request the Grand King had had him extend to Kuroo. As the black cat stands to his full height, he wonders if the feline did it on purpose for intimidation, because the Grand King isn’t accustomed to being one of the shortest people in the room.

“Kuroo, I presume? I see you’ve brought friends.” He says easily and the cat nods and extends a hand.

“Insurance. You will have to forgive the unexpected intrusion, but I have a hard time trusting you any farther than I can throw you.” The cat says evenly, his mismatched gaze piercing in its intensity. Tooru takes the hand with only the slightest hesitation and a mild smile, but his eyes crease slightly with guarded caution.

“Don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.” He says and Kuroo’s gaze sharpens.

“Mutual as in your minions directly killed off half my friends and family?” He asks quietly, his presence barely changing, but the words make him far more menacing. But Tooru meets the challenge head on.

“Mutual as in you have my son in your care, and I haven’t had a confirmation of Tobio’s wellbeing since that impromptu meeting and match three months ago; just your word through Iwa’s ravens.”

“Then I shouldn’t point out that your one relative has fared far better in my care than all of mine did in yours? You’d be interested then to know I was the one that talked him into holding off on picking up and moving when we got your request for a rematch.” Tooru’s gaze fractures but his eyes harden.

“If that’s true, what reason would you have for doing that? What are you after?” He asks releasing the cat’s hand.

“Sleepless nights and a whole new level of hell, apparently.” He says and Bokuto snorts, earning an exasperated gaze that makes Hajime think the cat has already had to remind the owl why they are here.

Kuroo turns and gestures for the rookery leader to sit before taking the chair across the table. Hajime can tell that Tooru is uncomfortable, can see the rigid set to his shoulders as he does as the cat bids.

“I told your idiot kid to sit tight because a certain grey cat asked me to, not because it was any idea of mine.”

“Then I suppose I owe Lev a thank you.” He says and Kuroo’s eye flashes. Hajime is privately impressed that the Grand King remembered his name from that one evening of interaction—although Yaku had barked it often enough that he’d be amused if he didn’t.

“I hope so. You won’t get another opportunity to tap him for information like that again. He might mean well, but he has about as much awareness of what he’s dealing with as if he were to walk into a viper pit blindfolded—and experience says he might well pay for it.”

“The cat was honest; you have nothing to fear for him from me. All I want is for Tobio to honor our agreement.” Hajime hates how honesty has become one of the Grand King’s biggest concerns in the last three months where it hadn’t been in the last however many centuries. It’s easily the biggest sticking point in their own odd relationship right now.

“Exploiting a minor technicality of that deal is pretty underhanded for a king.” The ibis cuts in and Kuroo glances at him sharply.

“The guy is right, though. We didn’t actually give him a match; we gave the sentry unit with him a match.” The owl on the cat’s other side rebuffs. Kuroo clears his throat and the streaked owl scowls.

“In your message, you asked for two things: the location of our home and a Volley rematch. I want to give you neither.” The black cat says darkly.

“But we might be able to give you both.” The owl says with a cheeky smirk.

“Ignore him. He’s just amped at the idea of another chance to beat you guys. His opinions carry no weight.” The ibis says and Kuroo looks like he’s losing his patience as the streaked owl puffs up with indignance.

“You blond prick—”

“Do you guys remember what I asked you along for?” Kuroo cuts Bokuto off and the owl blinks.

“We’re supposed to be backup in case things go south.” He answers while the ibis merely watches them all with a bored look.

“Right. And I enjoy the running commentary from you two, but I don’t think it’s necessary for this interaction. Can we resume this on the way home?” Kuroo says with a nonplussed look. When the other two avians fall silent he turns back to the Grand King.

“I have to wonder what you did to Feathers that he’s willing to go to the ends of the earth to get away from you. It took his redheaded leveler two days to convince him to even think about it. Do you know how long it normally takes him to get Feathers to do something? Two minutes, tops. It even almost sparked another ‘breaking’ fight. Kageyama wanted nothing to do with your request.” He says, his one clear eye straying nonchalantly to his nails.

“What happened is in the past and none of your business.” The Grand King says stiffly. The cat’s uneven golden gaze flickers for a moment before finding Tooru again.

“Actually, it kind of is. Kageyama might be your son, but he’s my clanmate and friend, and I happen to care about his mental state, despite his penchant for frazzling my mind. Either way, I’ve heard enough that I can probably guess the rest.” Kuroo says quietly, his gaze piercing and Hajime gets the feeling that the cat probably knows more about that strained relationship than even he does.

“Lev might have asked me to cool his wings, but if you want someone to thank, it should be the shrimp. Kageyama is willing to consider a rematch—at our home—under one condition.” Kuroo says critically.

“Which is?” Tooru prompts, almost sounding eager.

“You declare a successor.” The Grand King blinks at the black cat with surprise.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You must declare a successor such that you will have no way to force him back home by pinning the responsibility back on him.”

“And who am I just going to throw into that position on a whim? It takes centuries to condition someone to rule.”

“Then it will be centuries before you see your son.”

“But Daichi did have a suggestion.” The streaked owl cuts in.

“Pinfeathers, Bokuto. You suck at being a wallflower.” Kuroo says exasperatedly.

“Pinfeathers?” The Grand King asks, a brow cocking disbelievingly and Kuroo shakes his head with a huff of annoyance.

“Yeah, just another one of your avian-isms,” he murmurs with a flourish, “I’m surrounded by more winged morons twenty-four-seven than I can keep track of; it was bound to start happening eventually.” The Grand King clears his throat lightly.

“I see. So who does Sawamura recommend?” He asks politely, as if he has no intention of taking it seriously in any case.

“The person who’s constantly been at your side.” The cat answers frankly, finding Hajime behind the rookery leader, his companions’ gazes quickly following. There are several moments where both he and the Grand King stare back at the black cat before Tooru’s gaze flicks toward him with a raised brow.

Oh, yes, this doesn’t look like a setup for me at all. It definitely doesn’t look like I kept their secret in return for their support in my own bid for power. Gods damn you, you blasted cat.

The Grand King doesn’t even get the chance to argue, because Hajime’s losing his temper faster than the rookery leader can turn back to the large feline.

“You can kindly go to hell. I’m not going to lead this place.” He growls.

“Unless I’m mistaken, your assessment isn’t the one that counts.” The ibis says frostily.

“The blond is right…” The Grand King says before turning back to Kuroo inquisitively, “but I’m curious on the basis for Sawamura’s choice. Iwa lied to me. Why should I make him my successor?” Tooru says, leveling an expectant look at the cat.

Despite his ire over being put forth as a candidate for consideration, the Grand King’s words sting, and his gut twists on him like it has every time Tooru’s reminded him of this fact.

“His exact words?” The cat asks before leaning forward on his elbows to continue without prompting. “‘There is no one else who could be more loyal to the Grand King’s bloodline. Iwaizumi did his best to serve both father and son even when they were at utter odds, risking his own life to maintain a treasonous connection to a unit guilty of desertion. To ensure that Tooru’s son lived and that he’d be available to help should Kageyama have needed aid without regard of the consequences he might bear—and all for the sake of the Grand King’s eventual reconciliation and peace of mind, is a mark of the greatest devotion. Tooru will find no one else more fit to take up his mantle.’” The rookery leader blinks before his brows draw down in a frown.

“Iwa still lied to me. He kept the knowledge of Tobio’s location from me. Even let me fear he was dead. Would you rely on someone who betrayed you like that?”

Hajime does his damnedest not to let his gut pinch at the words; they are true after all. The black cat leans back, sprawling casually in his chair with an amused upturn of his mouth.

“That would depend.” The sentry leader sees a muscle leap at the corner of the rookery leader’s eye.

“On what, Cat?”

“On the circumstances surrounding that choice, Crow. Did you ever ask why he kept it from you?” The cat says bluntly, purposely mirroring the Grand King’s rude address.

Tooru almost looks like he wants to rattle off a burning retort before he pauses, the black cat’s words getting through. Hajime wants to curse as he sees it register, sees the Grand King’s brow crinkle in a slight frown, sees his sorrel gaze seek him out as he turns to look at him expectantly.

But as much as Hajime is finished with lying, this is one thing he will not volunteer. He will not parade his deepest motivations and reasons around as if they should be considered points in his favor. He isn’t standing beside the Grand King after everything that’s happened because he seeks recognition or military experience or to usurp Tooru’s position, and it certainly isn’t because he wants Kageyama’s place. He doesn’t. He never did. He stays beside the rookery leader because he is a worthy king and a good man despite all his shortcomings. Hajime will follow him because he is a great ruler that he’s sure no successor will measure up to. There is no one else he’d want to guide the rookery into the future.

And when Tooru tires of his company, Hajime will accept that with grace even if it isn’t what he wants. He has no idea how long the Grand King will keep him around, honestly believes he’d have been executed by now for his role in this mess but for his connection to Kageyama. He will not vaunt his loyalty to the rookery leader in a bid to prolong his life, for it is not his to fight for; that privilege belongs to Tooru, and Tooru alone, and if he commands Hajime to die, then die he will.

“Iwa?” The rookery leader’s prompt forces his eyes to the floor, but he keeps silent. He has nothing to say. The Grand King looks back at the black cat, and when Hajime looks up once more, his face is contorted with dangerous suspicion.

“What did you do to him.” He growls, and Hajime is quietly stunned at the rise of aggression on his behalf, the complete discard of that mask altogether.

“Do?” Kuroo asks with a surprised expression. “We tied him up for a bit, but we didn’t do anything to him.” He says before leaning forward almost conspiratorially, his elbows dropping on the table, his hands coming together in a relaxed clasp as he stares back at the Grand King. “We simply told him that if he didn’t keep our location a secret, we’d ice you.”

Several long moments pass where Tooru watches Kuroo with a slack jaw, before glancing back at Hajime with wide eyes. For his part, the sentry leader can’t unstick his feet from their place on the floor, his entire body rigid. This was one of the few things he’d omitted when he’d told the Grand King everything he possibly could. This and Feathers’ location. Tooru’s gaze drops into a frown before he looks back at the black cat who watches him calmly.

“You were going to kill me.” He says skeptically. Hajime tenses slightly when Kuroo’s mouth turns up at the corner.

“Is it that unbelievable? We made it into the rookery, into the military compound, into your main garrison all unnoticed. How hard would it have been to simply walk the next twenty feet to your study?

“I know that you keep your quill on the left side of your desk and you favor milk bread. You stare at an aged Volley game ball in the corner of your room an inordinate amount of time, and you throw arrowheads at the tapestry on the south wall with a fervent dislike when you are annoyed—but never in front of another person. Would you like to know how far of a drop it is from the rafters to your chair? Be careful, Grand King. We haven’t shelved the idea yet.”

If it’s possible, Hajime’s limbs seize even more and his heart races as he watches the rookery leader dart a glance to the ceiling, his face smoothing into an unreadable expression. And for a moment, his head is filled with images of the number of dead snakes they’d found at the nest holding point up by Ivoya; there had been over fifty and he has to wonder how many of those were the black cat’s doing.

He’s always had the feeling Kuroo was dangerous, but the cat is coming out swinging and it’s disconcerting at the very least. He’s sure the Grand King has seen his fair share of threats in his day but Hajime knows that he’s definitely hearing this one, because that flat look—he’s only seen it one other time: the day Kageyama fled with the shrimp.

“You want me to declare Iwa my successor.” He states coldly and Kuroo sits back once more with a shrug.

“Name who you like. I could get along with Iwa. But without it, Feathers won’t budge.” Hajime wants to argue, but the Grand King’s voice cuts across the room, razor sharp and brittle.

“I will not force Iwa into that position. I did that with Tobio and look where we are.”

The sentry leader’s voice catches in his throat and his gaze snaps to the rookery leader’s face. Tooru’s sorrel eyes are set with icy resolution, his face laxed into a dangerous neutrality that makes Hajime think that he’s seeing nothing but sincerity.

And the words he’s just spoken… Hajime doesn’t think he could speak even if he were ordered to. The Grand King has all but said that he will not push Hajime away like he did with Kageyama, will not repeat the mistake and alienate him as well. Which means Tooru doesn’t intend to disband or discard him, won’t use him as just another tool—is willing to fight for him. Which means that despite everything, the Grand King still values his presence.

“How’s it feel having no control and being at another’s mercy? Funny how priorities change when the plan goes to hell, isn’t it?” The black cat says with a smirk. The rookery leader’s face goes glacial.

“I will not ask Iwa to bear that burden.” The black cat’s head tilts, his uneven gaze flickering.

“But Kageyama was somehow expendable?” He challenges quietly and Hajime’s brow darkens, his anger overriding his composure once again.

Before he can catch himself, he steps forward, his fist dropping to the table with a resounding crack through the room making all four of the other occupants jump.

“You overstep, Kuroo.” He snaps and the cat’s eyes lock on him with glittering anger, but he could care less. Hajime is mad enough that even the rookery leader’s disapproving interjection is ignored before it’s even fully out.

“Iwa—”

“Kageyama has never been expendable; if he were, the Grand King wouldn’t be fighting so hard for him now. Leading the rookery is a huge responsibility that can’t be entrusted to just anyone; he’d spent centuries preparing Kageyama to take over with all the best knowledge and tools at his hands for that very reason. I didn’t retrieve my king for this meeting so you could threaten and provoke him at every turn; mind your remarks, Cat.” He growls.

The cat’s uneven gaze that is narrowed on him with acute displeasure is unnerving, but he will not stand by while the feline launches insult after insult toward the Grand King.

“Then how about you? You sound like you’ve been to very few meetings between key figures; threats and provocation are the breadth of these conversations. Pipe down while Mom and Dad talk, huh?” He remarks dryly and Hajime wants to punch him.

“Kuroo, I swear—”

“Iwa.”

There’s a hard edge to his name this time and he instantly falls silent. He straightens, his mouth forming a thin line, his anger burning in his chest. The rookery leader rarely gives him an order like this, unspoken as it might be behind the single word of the name the Grand King calls him by, and his entire being down to his core hates it.

“Well, Great King, do you need more convincing? Your guard dog can’t help himself; he breathes truth into Daichi’s words with every one of his.” Kuroo says looking back at Tooru. The Grand King’s eyes drop to his hands with a slight frown, his mouth pursing on one corner.

“I will not relinquish my power to Iwa. I will not trade his devotion merely for the chance to see my son.” He says quietly and Kuroo scoffs. The rookery leader’s sorrel eyes rise to meet the black cat’s once more with resonating disappointment.

“I guess I will have to wait for Tobio to decide otherwise.”

Hajime blinks, the air catching in his lungs and his chest tightening. Negotiations are breaking down… but he can hardly think, the rookery leader’s words skipping through his head. The Grand King has effectively chosen to protect him over meeting Kageyama once more, but his expression—there is no satisfaction there, only resignation.

Hajime understands now.

The Grand King wants more than anything to have a relationship with his son… but not at the expense of his relationship with Hajime. He’s being set with an impossible decision: lose his closest confidant who’s arguably grown closer to him than he’s ever been with his own son, or face a future where he might never see that son again. And he’s choosing Hajime.

“What if you tentatively named someone?” The streaked owl says and the sentry leader mentally stumbles as Kuroo cuts a glare in his direction.

“Seriously, Bokuto.”

“What? It was something Suga was talking about.” The owl says defensively.

“You mean like conditionally appoint someone?” Hajime asks with a scowl, forgetting that he’s supposed to stay silent.

“Conditional nomination allows it to be retracted which puts us right back at square one in a situation Feathers was adamant on avoiding and we’d have given up our location. No.” The black cat says, determined to shut down the idea off the bat.

“Naming a reserve heir with a contingency in place to retract the responsibility if it proves detrimental is a reasonable expectation.” The ibis says and the black cat’s expression goes black.

“Cat balls, whose side are you guys on here?” He mutters before setting Tooru with a flat look.

“Kageyama would never agree, so I cannot commit to it either.”

The Grand King settles back in his chair, his entire frame losing all tension. A wistful smile tips his mouth, and Hajime wonders if he’s trying to pull the mask that’s been missing through a majority of the proceedings back into place. But with a quiet breath of amusement, Tooru’s sorrel eyes simply drift back to his hands, the creases at their edges whispering of sorrow like he’s only ever seen the few times when he’s searched out the Grand King only to find him beside his wife and infant daughter’s memory tree.

The Grand King is giving in.

It hits Hajime like a fist to the gut.

“As you should.” He murmurs softly. “Tell Tobio that if he ever changes his mind, he knows where to find us.”

And for all his training, Hajime can’t stand aside, can’t let that expression remain on his king’s face. The Grand King’s order for silence a moment ago doesn’t matter; he can’t do it. A heavy breath leaves his lungs and Kuroo glances at him with misgiving.

“I’ll do it.” The words are dragged from his lungs like hot coals, drawing everyone’s attention.

“What?” The cat says, a brow rising skeptically, but it’s Tooru’s wide eyed, horrified gaze that tugs at his chest.

“I’ll take the nomination.” The words drop without thought.

“Iwa—”

Hajime’s brow furrows and he catches up the Grand King’s shirt in his fist in an action he’d never have dared in all his centuries of serving him.

“I’m not Kageyama. I never will be.” He says forcefully and those brown eyes blink up at him owlishly.

“Of course, not, Iwa—”

“I don’t know if I can fill the position as it should be, but I will try. Make the nomination.” He says. Tooru’s blown pupils watch him a few moments more before his mouth closes and his chin rises just a touch.

“No.” Hajime blinks at him.

“What do you mean, ‘No’? You will get to see Kageyama again.”

“Not at the cost of you.” Hajime scowls.

"If this is what is required, then I will do as you bid. You never shy from the hard decisions, don’t start now.” He says sharply. Tooru flinches, but his wide eyes never leave his face.

“Iwa…”

“Make the nomination.” He repeats.

He doesn’t want to rule, doesn’t want to give orders instead of taking the Grand King’s. He doesn’t want to be any other place than at Tooru’s side. But if this is what it takes to serve the rookery leader… Hajime levels a deadly serious look at the man he’s always followed without question.

I will take the mantle and the responsibility. Reunite with Kageyama, Grand King. And never make that face again.

The rookery leader watches him for several moments before he finds the cat, his sorrel eyes searching through his own thoughts.

“I will not relinquish Iwaizumi for that purpose except on one condition.” He says and when Hajime looks back at the cat, he’s watching the Grand King guardedly.

“We’re all ears.”

“I will nominate Iwaizumi as reserve heir only as a contingency plan in the event that I find no one else. I give my word that I will never reinstate Tobio for the position.”

“I said before I can’t commit to—”

“It’s not an agreement. Take it back as a condition to the condition. I want you to take a letter with it and let Tobio decide from there.”

“Seriously?” Kuroo says with a sigh, “You realize Feathers holds all the cards this time? No coercion or guilt trip in a letter will change that, and he will not be swayed by a counter condition.”

“You are welcome to read it once he’s finished if he so chooses. If Tobio is indeed well in your care, then the choice will be his without outside influence, neither yours nor mine the exception. All I ask is that you inform me of his decision.”

Kuroo runs a hand over his face before it slides back to cup the back of his neck and he glances at the ceiling in frustrated consideration. He groans out another heavy breath before dropping his head to the table.

“Alright.” He murmurs, his voice slightly muffled. “I will take your letter back along with your proposition.” The cat’s uneven golden gaze flicks up at Hajime with annoyance.

“But I’m not a messenger, I’m a cat. I don’t just come when called and I won’t be commuting back and forth every time you idiot crows have a new idea. I know I used to frequent this place often enough back in the day plotting to make Feathers an orphan, but it’s quite lost its appeal. I’ll keep my companions, our home, and ground Volley; I dislike abandoning them, both for my own peace of mind and avoiding the chaos I will inevitably return to. The only reason I came this time was to actually meet your ‘great leader’ once in person. Getting to trade threats with the man who is the builder of empires and destroyer of lives has been a trip, but don’t expect this to become a habit.”

“You won’t meet any resistance from me, Kuroo. I’ve told you every time you show up here how little I like your presence.” Hajime grumbles, doing his level best to ignore the cat’s continued barbs.

“Rude, Iwa. It has been enlightening speaking with Tobio’s new guardian. I hope you were at least a good host for our guests.” Just by the tone in the rookery leader’s voice, Hajime knows his composure is back under control, his default mask back in place—meaning he must be satisfied with this outcome. He deadpans.

“They’re still alive; hospitality served.” He grouses.

“The least you could have done was get them a drink after coming all this way, or maybe something to eat that would make them feel at home.”

“Maybe subtle enough of a probe for the streaked moron, but you won’t catch Kuroo with it.” The ibis murmurs with a most unimpressed look and the Grand King glances at him with a quirk of his mouth as Bokuto takes a half-assed swing at Tsukishima.

“This one’s sharp, too, Iwa. What was he again?” Kuroo scoffs and gets to his feet, his eyes creasing with aggravation as he collars the streaked owl mid assault on the blond.

“Oi, Kuroo—”

“Shut up, Bokuto.” The cat mutters crossly before fixing a lazily irritated grin on the Grand King where he watches with mild amusement from his seat. “You’re as infuriating to deal with as the damn fox. Prepare your letter; we will be leaving as soon as I have it. Don’t take it personally when I say I hope I never see you again, Grand King.”

“Pity, because I find you most interesting, Kuroo.” He says with an answering smirk before following his lead and rising.

“Don’t do anything stupid on your way home. It would be a shame if Kageyama somehow lost his new caretaker while on a trip to negotiate with his estranged father. That would have dire ramifications for everyone, I think.” He says easily before offering another tense handshake and following Hajime out of the room and back to his own.

Hajime waits patiently while the rookery leader pens a letter. It doesn’t take him long and there isn’t an excess of ink filling the page by the time he folds it and hands it to Hajime, a faraway look in his gaze.

“Tobio is safe with the cat, isn’t he Iwa.” Tooru says as he takes it from him. It’s not a question the way he says it, more of a lament, and Hajime knows that not all of Kuroo’s words had rolled off him as cleanly as he’d have him believe.

“He was fine when I saw him, and Kuroo takes his lead from him with regard to rookery matters. The cat leads by default, but has little issue stepping aside for another to front their knowledge or experience, I think. Kuroo let me live when I found them because Kageyama asked.” He says, hating to admit that, but wanting to reassure Tooru all the same.

“Iwa.” Hajime pauses as he turns to leave, letter in hand, and glances back. The king’s face is missing the mask again, that wistful smile back in place, but the creases at the corners of his eyes… they whisper of hope now.

“Sir?” He asks and Tooru’s mouth quirks.

“Thank you.”

~                                  ~

Two weeks later, a raven arrives bearing not Iwaizumi’s name, but the Grand King’s. And Hajime is privileged to see the watery look of relieved joy that overtakes his features as he reads it before handing it to the sentry leader. On it are two lines of scrawl in simple, rounded script, a mere fifteen words:

Volley rematch; Spring Solstice. Details following your return from migration. We won’t lose.

Hajime glances up at the rookery leader, his jaw hanging slightly. The Grand King smiles, a real one, deep and content.

“Iwa… that is my son’s hand. Tobio wrote that message.”

Level Pair ; Chapter 1; Chapter 35; Epilogue

A/N: Another LONG chapter (alomst 9000 words) and Well... Oikawa is still OC and the bane of my writer existence. This chapter is drastically different from how it started. Like, i virtually scrapped three fourths of it and started new- The second scene didn't even exist in my head until a week ago when people were like 'I want to see a meeting between Kuroo and Oikawa', and I was like...HOLY SHIT, SO DO I... but I have no idea how that would go down. It took me until LATE last night to finally get it all hammered out. On the bright side, Seattle had a snow day, so I had all day to format and polish it a bit- and neglect everything else that I should have been doing instead XD This is the final official 'chapter' of Horizon; the next one is the epilogue, and since I rehashed this one instead of working out that one, it's going to take me a few days to post it. Have a brilliant evening you guys!