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graceful-ashes · 3 years ago

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I'm currently working on this destiel fic that I'm considering putting on Ao3, it's nowhere near finished yet (What I have written still needs fine tuning). I wanted to know what you guys thought. Should I continue? Any advice?

The working title is 'Break my heart not this bond' Which I will probably change when I come up with something better 😂

Edit: Now on A03

(Fic below) ⬇️

Part 2/ Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

*. *. *. *. *.

John rubbed his hand down his face, tiredly. Sighing as he pulled the keys from the ignition. It had been a long, stressful day at the garage, and it wasn't promising to get any better returning home to his irritable and somewhat demanding, 8 months pregnant, wife. John climbed out of his '67 Chevy Impala - a stunning vehicle that would be perfectly safe for driving around an infant, despite Mary's opinion on the matter - and shut the door.

Turning to walk up the driveway, John suddenly stopped short upon hearing a strange cooing sound, that almost sounded like...

John frowned into the darkness, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, there was no one around.

No, with his first son on the way John clearly had baby on the brain. He shook his head and continued towards the house. Just before he reached the door, he heard it again - louder and more definitive this time. Slowly, John walked back down the drive, listening carefully for the source. Just as he reached the pavement, a loud gurgling sound drew his eyes across the street. Squinting in the low light, John noticed what looked like a large box, his view obstructed by the neighbors car, he decided to cross the street to take a closer look.

The noises were getting louder, as John approached the box half concealed in the neighbors bush. His foot connected with a littered soda can, as he fumbled with his keys to turn on his torch light. The moment he did, he almost dropped the torch in shock. There lay in the discarded box, wrapped in only a tattered, off-white blanket was a newborn child, a very human looking child.

****

The surprise on his wife's face when John walked in from work carrying a baby was almost laughable. But the situation called for no humour as John explained how he came to be in possession of said child.

Mary was instantly enamoured with the child, playing with his tiny feet and whispering sweet nothings while John dialed social services. John stared down at the child as he listened to the aggravating music play, signalling a caller queue. The child fidgeted and blinked up at the parents-to-be, and in a moment that would change the course of all their lives, the child's eyes glowed blue.

This time John did actually drop the phone. It landed with loud crack as it hit tiled floor. The sound punctuating the sudden realisation as Mary and John turned wide eyes on each other.

This child was an Angel.

Suddenly Social Services was not the answer to this predicament. Angels lived among humans and were an accepted part of society but their species had greatly declined since they established themselves on earth eons ago. Angels were rare. Angel children rarer. Rare things were abused in the system - this child would not be safe.

Many long heated discussions ensued that night. Many almost ending in rows. But by the early hours of the morning, a decision was made, Mary and John would keep this child of divine birth and raise it as their own.

The wretched box would be thrown, but not before a scrap of paper would fall out, paper, if it could be called that. The texture was strange and it was the colour of Ash, as if touched by fire, and written upon it were strange gold symbols - Enochian characters, which seemed to glow in the light.

It read:

Castiel, you will be protected.

****

17 years later.

Mary and John Winchester needn't have worried about raising an Angel child. Castiel was by human standards, the perfect child. He never cried, he never played up in any way that might infuriate them. And from the moment he first was lain on Mary's stomach, he loved the child, they would name Dean. They didn't know this of course, what they did know was that when they first introduced Castiel to Dean in the hospital, the night he was born, baby Castiel reached out for Dean and with his eyes still closed Dean curled his dainty little hand around Castiel's. The air was statically charged in that moment, hairs stood on end and goosebumps raised on the new parents skin but they were too enamoured with the display to pay any heed to that. Perhaps they should have…

Castiel blinked his eyes open, and gazed at the bed across from him, where Dean lay sleeping. It was too early to wake him still, Castiel didn't require as much sleep as humans did and so he often spent his time reading or occasionally cleaning and tidying, something Mary very much appreciated. Today he didn't feel like doing either of those things, so he sat up in bed and contemplated what to do with himself. He'd just decided on taking a shower and was extracting himself from his covers when a gruff voice broke the early morning quiet.

"Where you goin', Cas?" Dean asked, his words still slurred with sleep as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

"To take a shower. " Castiel paused at the edge of the bed, unsure whether to proceed in his venture, in the face of a newly awoken Dean.

"Seriously?" Dean snorted, glancing at his alarm clock. "It's not even six, hot water's not on yet. Shower would be freezing."

Cas squints at Dean's amused expression, "I wasn't sure what else to do." he admits.

Dean looks at him pityingly for a moment before breaking out into a grin, their darkened room painting it in a more sinister light. "Well I have a few ideas." he punctuates that statement with a wagg of eyebrows.

"Your ideas usually get us in trouble." Cas states warily.

"Yeah and without them, you'd never have any fun." Dean smirks, pushing up from his bed and walking over to where Cas is still perched. "So how about it?" he says placing his hands on his hips and grinning down at Cas.

Swallowing, Cas averts his eyes from Dean's bare torso. Something about Dean always makes him feel inexplicably flustered, and yet he's never felt more comfortable with anyone else. It's a rather strange feeling.

"What do you have in mind?" Cas grumbles out.

And so that's how Mary came to find them giggling, yes giggling - like children half their age, in the kitchen. The sides askew with utensils, flour decorating half the kitchen and both the boy's hair.

The pair looked up as Mary stood in the doorway her arms crossed over her chest, a suspicious scowl on her face.

"Hey Mom" Dean flashed her a brilliant smile, not an inch of remorse to be found.

"Good Morning, Mary." Castiel on the other hand looked rightfully abashed.

"Do I even want to know?" Mary sighed.

"We made pie." Dean beamed, grabbing the aforementioned item from where it was cooling above the stove and presenting it to Mary.

"I can see that." amusement evident in Mary's voice. "Did you manage to put any of that flour in the pie, though?" looking pointedly at the state of her kitchen.

"Uh..." This time Dean looked sheepish, casting nervous glances at Cas, who pointedly stared down at the floor.

"Yeah, I thought so." Mary rolled her eyes before cocking her head towards the stairs. "Both of you, showers. Now. I'll clean up this mess, I want you both ready for school."

"Yes, Mary." Cas inclined his head politely, following Dean as he trudged out the kitchen.

Just before they made it to the staircase, however, Dean leaned over and whispered in Cas' ear. "Race ya." and suddenly the two boys were barrelling up the stairs, almost knocking over their youngest brother, Sam, in the process.

Sam stared after them in tired confusion before continuing down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Sam asks as he passes Mary and makes his way to the cabinet to pour himself a bowl of cereal.

"Oh you know, just Dean trying his best to corrupt an angel. As usual." Mary jests, while gathering up the used utensils and dropping them in the sink.

Sam smirks "Cas should know better."

Drawing a smile from Mary. "Yes, well he's always been a little sweet on Dean. Can't seem to tell that boy no." Mary turns and raises an eyebrow at Sam. "Not that you can talk, you're always getting yourself into trouble where Dean's concerned."

Sam grins sheepishly around a spoonful of cereal.

****

"Sammy! Hurry up." Dean shouts up the stairs, Castiel standing beside him, both ready to leave for school - Sam as usual is running late. "We'll leave without you. Don't think I won't!"

"Dean." Cas gives him a reproachful look.

"What? If he's going to make us late, I will." Dean shrugs.

Sam skitters down the stairs, shrugging on a jumper as he does. "Done." he pants. "And it's Sam!"

Dean rolls his eyes, twirling his (well his dad's) car keys around his finger and striding out the front door. "Whatever, Sammy."

Biting back a retort, Sam just glares at the back of Dean's head. Castiel smiles to himself, shaking his head at the pair of them before sliding into the passenger seat.

The engine roars to life and Dean shoves a cassette tape in the tape player (the car really is that old - a classic according to John) and Metallica begins to play softly, Dean glances up into the rearview mirror, making eye contact with Sam and grins before turning the volume dial up.

Cas flinches as the music suddenly blares out of the speakers, the car reverberating with the base. Sam covers his ears and groans. Neither one says a word, knowing from past experience its a futile argument - 'Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!'

Castiel could drive, save both of them from this abuse, however, he only recently passed his test - not being a natural driver like Dean- and only did so because it was a necessary evil rather than out of any desire to actually drive.

Dean glances over a Cas, upon seeing his grimace, takes pity on him and lowers the music. Cas sends him a grateful look. Not quite a smile but close.

"You got Math with Mr Davis, fourth period?" Dean directs his question toward Cas, before retraining his eyes on the road.

"Yes. We're in room twelve today, the freshman are using our usual room."

Dean shoots him a questioning glance. "Why's that?"

Sam pipes up from the backseat. "Because we've got that fundraiser talent show, some students booked rooms to practice."

Dean raises his eyebrows "Really?" he grins "What you doin'?"

Sam snorts "I'm not participating. The rest of us gotta do extra P.E. this week instead."

"Wait you could've skipped class?" Dean glances at Sam through the review mirror.

Cas rolls his eyes.

"At the cost of humiliating myself in the talent show, yeah." Sam huffs.

"I'd have done it for shits 'n' giggles." Dean chuckles.

This time Cas and Sam roll their eyes.

They soon pull up to the school, there's a few students still milling around outside the building. A brunette girl leaning against her car talking to her friend a few cars over. A young boy hurriedly hopping off his bike and securing it in the bike shed. They clearly had cut it close.

Dean shoots Sam a glare before climbing out the car, Cas and Sam following suit.

"Sorry." Sam mumbles quickly slinking off towards the entrance. Dean just rolls his eyes in response. Cas and him following at a more leisurely but no less hurried pace.

As soon as Cas and Dean make it through the entrance doors, a red headed blur collides with them, surprisingly strong arms pulling both the young men down to close the height difference.

Cas' eyes widen and Dean lets out a huff of surprise.

"There you are! I was getting worried." says a soft but stern voice.

"Charlie." Dean croaks.

Charlie pulls back, taking each of them by the arm instead and starts pulling them along the corridor towards their lockers.

"What took you so long, anyway?"

"Sam." Cas offers in way of an explanation.

"Yeah. He was running late - again." Dean agrees.

Charlie rolls her eyes in perfect Winchester fashion. "You'd think for a little guy that loves school so much, he wouldn't be so tardy."

Dean shrugs, having his fair share of tardy's on record. Though he never claimed to actually like school.

"Yes. He's an enigma." Cas remarks gravely.

Charlie snorts. "He's a Winchester, is what he is."

Cas narrows his eyes at her while on her other side Dean lets out a delightful chuckle. They reach their respective lockers just as the bell rings, signalling the start of Classes.

"Shit." Dean hurriedly grabs his books from his locker. Castiel making similar work of his locker beside Dean.

"That's my que, see you both in form!" Charlie waves goodbye before hurrying off to her first class.

Just as Cas shuts his locker, Dean grabs him by the sleeve of his soft cotton, blue jumper - it being too warm for him to Don his charmingly hideous tan trench coat he favours so much - and pulls him along behind him.

"Gotta hurry up, Cas, if we want to get good seats."

Of course, Dean's idea of 'good seats' is getting a seat near Lisa Braedon, a beautiful brunette girl in their history class that Dean has recently taken favour to.

Cas finds it strange, Dean's behaviour around the female sex, he seems to have a great affection for this Lisa - yet he is often intimate with other young women. Dean had once tried to explain to him the difference between lust and love, which Cas believed he'd grasped a rudimental understanding on the matters at least. However, Dean claimed he was not in love with Lisa, just 'had a thing' for her, whatever that was suppose to mean.

Cas allows Dean to hurriedly pull him along until they reach the classroom entrance. Dean lets go of his sleeve and proceeds to run a hand through his hair before casually striding into the classroom. Bemused, Cas follows behind him.

Many students are already settled into their seats, but there are still a fair few empty seats still as a few small groups of students stand around chatting idly.

Dean grins as he spies a seat just behind Lisa, who is currently conversing with a light brown haired girl in the seat in front of her, she spares Dean a bright smile and polite greeting - which Dean returns - before returning to her conversation with the other girl.

With awe-inspiring fluency Dean swings his rucksack off his shoulder, dropping it on the back of his chair and slides into his seat. In a much less graceful manner Castiel does the same, settling into the seat beside Dean. Grinning, Dean turns and winks at him before facing forward. His eyes trained on Lisa's back as he sits with his elbows on the desk, absently rolling his pen between his fingers.

Castiel can't help but stare in fascination as he pulls his pencil case out of his bag, it's an oddly amused curiosity he feels watching Dean. Though there is a morsel of something sour that creeps up on him as he watches Lisa turn in her seat and begin to converse with Dean instead, her smile so bright and wide her cheeks are accentuated and flushed a light pink.

She really is a beautiful young lady.

Dean's expression is similarly bright. A charming smile adorning his face, as he adopts his usual flirty persona he reserves for beautiful young women. There's something soft in his eyes though, a look similar to that which he gives Cas but there's something different about it, he isn't quite sure what it is.

Cas tries his best to extinguish the strange sour feeling, but it won't seem to dissipate. He wishes he understood what it is that he's feeling. He's always been envious of the human's innate ability to recognise feelings, in both themselves and others. Castiel's always felt out of touch with his feelings, they're often this distant whisper he can't quite make out but then sometimes - sometimes he feels like he's drowning in them. A slurry of emotions, all blending together, so strong and overwhelming that he can't recognise one from another. Perhaps his ineptitude in concern to emotions isn't even related to him being an angel at all, perhaps it's a propriety weakness in Castiel himself. He hasn't met many other angels, so he remains unsure.

Either way, there's little else he can do but try to ignore the feeling. Which proves to be far more difficult than one would expect. Cas frowns to himself as class continues on. The teacher draws everyone's attention to the board. Lisa turns to the front and Dean turns to smirk at Cas, wagging his eyebrows. Cas turns away from him, to focus on the board, a self-indulgent smile flirting with his lips. The sour feeling has diluted now, still lingering in a muted sort of way, but a warmer, much more pleasant feeling has bloomed over it. A feeling Cas has come to associate with Dean.

His Dean feeling. Cas muses. Yes, perhaps he could use a proprietary system to solve a proprietary problem. He could identify his own feelings relative to their cause.

The rest of their history lesson passes by in a blur. Castiel is proficient at history, the material is simple enough to grasp, a lot of this subject relies heavily on remembering facts - which Cas has a superior memory to that of his peers. One advantage of being an angel. Dean is also pretty adept in history, he finds the subject pretty interesting, so it's not too difficult to stay focused and take the information in. Despite what many people would think, Dean is actually pretty intelligent, just easily bored and has little patience for things he has no real interest in.

Sam, however, is very intelligent. He inhales knowledge like it's oxygen. He just doesn't much enjoy having to wake up to get that knowledge. Mary believes it's probably a phase, many teenagers go through it, goodness knows Dean use to outright despise getting up but now he at least tolerates it - as long as there's coffee anyway. And sometimes he even looks forward to it, when he and Cas get to talk while the world is quiet and still, every word hanging in the air - feeling important, or they get to goof around without worrying about anyone coming and spoiling their fun, as long as they're quiet enough.

When class ends Dean says goodbye to Lisa - they share a private smile. Then, seeing Cas fiddling with the bag strap on his shoulder, bumps their shoulders together. Drawing a startled look from Cas, his intense blue eyes softening as they settle on Dean's face.

Dean grins "I'll meet ya after fourth period, yeah?"

Cas smiles one of his small, soft Cas smiles. "Of course, Dean."

Dean's grin turns wolfish. "Good. I'll catch ya later." and with that he walks off to his next class.

Cas' next few classes flew by. He spent his break in the library studying for his biology test. Dean usually spent his break catching up with his football buddies. Sam occasionally joined him in the library, but more often these days he spent his break with his friend Jessica.

"How you doin'?" Dean drawls in a perfect Joey impersonation, leaning up against the wall, as Cas walks out of fourth period.

Cas actually grins. Teeth and everything. It's a shy, sweet kind of grin and Dean can't help but beam in return.

"Charlie's gonna meet us in a bit." Dean cups his hand against his mouth conspiratorially "She went off with Gilda."

Cas quirks an eyebrow at that. "Gilda. The one she 'has a thing' for?"

Dean bends over laughing watching Cas do the air quotes with his fingers. Cas looks unimpressed at his outburst.

"Yeah." Dean manages to breathe out, gathering himself he continues "that's the one."

Cas allows himself a proud smile at that, Charlie had game, as Dean would say - or perhaps it's 'Charlie's got game'? Either way, he was impressed.

"I assume we'll be having lunch alone, then?"

"Probably." Dean chuckles.

The two of them walk into the cafeteria and settle down at one of their usual tables. You can't have just one usual table in high school, that's just unrealistic, you must have several places in which your friends know where to look - in case your first option is already taken. Or so Charlie says. Charlie's very smart, so Cas feels inclined to agree with her.

Pulling out his lunch and rezipping his bag, Dean shifts along the bench until his thigh is pressed right up along Cas'. He keeps the rest of his body angled away from Cas though, so to any onlookers they appeared to be an acceptable distance apart. It was something Dean sometimes did, that Cas didn't fully comprehend. It was as though he was privately seeking some sort of comfort or reassurance.

"Got a D on my math test." Dean says casually, biting into his sandwich.

Cas studies him for a moment, noting the way he subtly avoids making eye contact, choosing instead to focus on picking out the rest of his lunch item, from the plastic container.

Cas tilts his head slightly "You have time." he says, referring to their approaching exams. "Would you like to study with me?"

"Sure." Dean agrees, taking another bite of his sandwich, still studiously avoiding eye contact and keeping his hands busy. But his thigh presses in tighter against Cas' for a moment, before relaxing. A silent thank you.

Content with that. Cas turns his focus to his own lunch.

There's a commotion behind them a moment later. It seems to spread throughout the cafeteria, as people begin whispering and fussing. Cas sees many students staring with rapt attention towards the cafeteria entrance. He glances behind himself to see Zachariah has just walked in.

Zachariah is an angel too. However, unlike Cas he doesn't keep a low profile at school. Hence, the attention - of which he seems to vastly enjoy. As there aren't many angels left in the world and even fewer angel children, there aren't many schools that cater to angels' unique abilities. The few there is, are very expensive. Having been around for a few millennia, most angel families have little issue affording such an education. However, most human families do, so for the likes of Castiel and Zachariah, human public schools will have to do.

Zachariah, being the only known angel in the school, is often the subject of a lot of gossip. His being an angel seems to give him high status amongst his peers, his attitude, however, does not. Zachariah is a bully, by all accounts of the definition, he uses his popularity and superior strength to intimidate people. He has a chip on his shoulder over being raised in a human family, and he takes that out on everyone and anyone he pleases.

Young angels don't yet have 'the sight' to see beyond this physical plane, which is why they can't see each other's wings. So there's no way of discerning angels from humans at this age. However, there does seem to be an acute feeling angels get when in proximity to other angels - it's not a sure thing, but it's enough to cause suspicion. For this reason, Castiel strongly suspects a boy in his Biology class, called Alfie, is of divine birth. And perhaps also for this very reason, Zachariah has taken a particular interest in Castiel. A very unwelcome interest.

"Hello there, Castiel." The large boy drawls, as he comes to stand beside their table. Peering down at Castiel in a lecherous fashion.

Castiel takes a bite of his Sandwich, choosing to blatantly ignore the other boy.

"Piss off, Zach." Dean growls.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Ape." Comes Zachariah's snide reply.

"Bite me." Dean retorts.

Zach smirks "You? No." he turns to leer at Castiel. "Him? Maybe."

Dean suddenly jumps up, clearly ready to take a swing at the smarmy angel.

"Dean." Cas warns. Putting a placating hand on his arm. "Zachariah, will you please leave us alone?" he grounds out, barely glancing at the angel as he addresses him.

"Fine." Zachariah sighs melodramatically "But when you decide to lose the guard dog, I'll be around." He even has the audacity to wink before finally walking away.

"Can you believe the balls on that guy?" Dean huffs.

Cas' lips twitch at the corners. "Unfortunately, I can. He must have been kicked in them a lot." Cas muses.

Dean snorts a surprised laugh. "I bet."

*****

Later that evening after they've returned home, Sam, Cas and Dean sit idly on the couch. Dean's lazily flicking through T. V. channels.

"Deeaan." Sam groans. "Can you just pick something and stick with it?!"

Dean chews on his lip thoughtfully for a moment before typing in a T. V channel. Dr. Sexy suddenly graces their screen.

Sam groans again and buries his face in the couch cushion.

Castiel lets out a small chuckle as Dean flashes him a megawatt smile.

"Here you go." Mary says as she walks into the living room carrying three plates of pizza.

"Oh pizza, yum!" Sam greedily snatches his plate.

"Thank you." Cas says politely, taking his plate much more delicately than Sam did.

"Thanks, Mom." Dean grins up at her, happily accepting the plate.

Mary turns to glare at Sam, who freezes mid-chew.

"Mm thnmk wu?" he tries around his mouthful.

Mary just rolls her eyes in response. Settling them on the T. V. "Oh. You're watching that programme again - what's it called?" she clicks her fingers in thought.

"Dr. Sexy." Dean answers.

"Right. Why's it called that again?"

"Uh. Well, um because the main character... Is called D.r Sexy?" there's a light flush around Dean's neck, quickly spreading to his cheeks.

"Dean has a crush on Dr. Sexy!" Sam blurts out, grinning ear to ear.

Mary raises an eyebrow.

"Do - Not!" Dean looks appalled. "I - I just like the character. Is all."

Cas raises his eyebrows at that.

"Shut up." Dean mumbles, chucking a cushion at him. Sam giggles.

"Riiight. I'm going to leave you, to whatever this is" Mary gestures between the three of them. "And go eat my own dinner before it gets cold. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." with that she walks into the kitchen.

Dean turns to glare at a rather smug looking Sam. " Right, you little - ! " he throws his pizza down on the coffee table and makes to dart towards Sam.

Sam's eyes widen, he drops his half eaten pizza, thrusts his plate at Cas and makes to run for it. Too late. Dean pounces on him, pressing him back down into the couch. Sam squirms and kicks wildly. It's a futile effort, as Dean continues to sit on him attempting to restrain his arms.

"Cas!" Sam chokes out, struggling to catch his breath. "Help!"

Cas puts Sam's plate on the coffee table beside Dean's. "Dean... I think that's enough." he chuckles.

"Says you!" Dean grunts, not letting up on Sam.

"Cas." Sam whines.

With one hand, Cas grabs Dean's arm and delicately, as far a Cas' Angel strength allows, yanks Dean off of Sam. Just barely managing to lift his plate out the way before Dean topples over into his lap.

Dean blinks up at him. "Hey. No fair. Why'd you always take his side?"

"Perhaps, because you are suppose to be the older one out of the two of you?" Cas picks up a slice of his pizza and takes a bite.

Dean rolls his eyes, reaching for his and Sam's plates and passing Sam's over. Sam sticks his tongue out at him. Dean mimics the gesture in return.

Cas rolls his eyes at their childish antics, and takes another bite of his pizza. Dean makes no move to get off him, just shuffles up the sofa until he can sit up enough to eat comfortably. Sam glares at Dean, as he purposely jabs his foot into Sam' side. Dean pays no heed to it, however, continuing to stare at the T. V. and chew his pizza.

John arrives home not too long later, with a curt greeting to the boys, he disappears into the kitchen. Soon enough he and Mary are having an aggressively hushed conversation. Their voices carrying out into the living room, though their words remain indiscernible.

Cas and Dean share a look.

"How about we play a game of Monopoly?" Dean claps his hands together in faux cheer, looking over at Sam.

Sam eyes him suspiciously. "Okay... If I can be banker?"

"Sure. The boards under my bed. We can play in our room. C'mon Cas." He pats Cas on the shoulder as he gets up. Sam and Cas follow him upstairs.

"Are Mom and Dad, okay?" Sam asks half an hour later. The three of them seated on the floor in Cas and Dean's room, the Monopoly board laid out between them.

Dean rolls the dice across the board. "Yeah. They're fine, Sammy." he says softly.

"They're arguing a lot, recently." Sam states, taking the dice from Dean.

"I wouldn't really call it arguing. They don't even raise their voices at each other." Dean tries to reassure.

"I think that's for our benefit, Dean." Sam, ever the wise one, points out.

Shit. Dean thinks.

"I think they're just under a lot of stress at the moment, Sam. With the move and everything." Cas comes to Dean's aid. Dean shoots him a grateful look.

"Why do we need to move, anyway? I like this house." Sam moves his shoe 5 paces forward. "I'm buying that." he declares before hunting for the card.

"Well it's like Mom said, we're all older now. We need more space." Dean picks up the dice and passes them to Cas.

"Do we, though? I'm happy with my room and you two like sharing, right?" Sam asks, glancing up at his brothers.

Dean shares a look with Cas before answering.

"Yeah, we love sharing, Sammy, but sometimes we need our own space to do our own thing." Dean accepts the dice Cas proffers.

"Like what?" Sam frowns.

Like masturbate. Dean thinks, sardonically.

"Like listen to our own music or read quietly." Cas pipes up. His words full of endless patience. Cas is always very patient with Sam, to be fair he's also very patient with Dean - Dean just knows all the right buttons to push though.

"Yeah... I guess that makes sense." Sam frowns, deep in thought. "If it's money that's stressing them out, I could get a job."

Both Cas and Dean look up at that.

Dean frowns. "What, like a paper round or somethin'?"

"Yeah." Sam brightens, seeming to warm to the idea more with every passing second.

"Sorry buddy, but I don't think the kind of money you'll make is gonna be enough to help Mom and Dad out." Dean ruffles Sam's hair.

Sam glares at him through the mussed mop of hair that Dean had pushed down in his face. "I know that. But I could afford my stuff, so Mom and Dad don't have to pay out for me all the time. I'd be able to pay for my France trip, some of it at least."

Dean's lips push up in a thoughtful expression and then he starts to nod. It's a pretty good idea. Might not stop Mom and Dad arguing but would definitely lessen the pressure on them.

" That's a very good idea, Sam. I think Mary and John would appreciate that." Cas smiles, that small, proud little smile he often reserves just for his family.

"I'll apply tomorrow." Sam grins.

"You do that." Dean says, fondly.

Dean and Cas already had Jobs. Cas worked at the local library, after school Tuesday and Thursdays - he also worked all day there on a Saturday. Dean, on the other hand, worked as a busboy at the Roadhouse Bar & Grill, he usually worked Saturdays too but came in whenever they needed him throughout the week as soon as he was finished with school. There wasn't much either of them could do in the way of earning more money. Cas' hours were restricted at his workplace and Dean's were restricted because he couldn't yet work the Bar. So Sammy deciding to help chip in was a welcome surprise. Being only 14 his options for jobs were very limited, but he was smart - he'd find something.

They played for a little longer before calling it a night. Mom had come in to check on them a little while ago, they didn't see Dad. It was the norm these days, Dad was often very distant. Nothing like the hands-on father he use to be when they were younger. Dean missed the way his Dad use to be. He was always stressed now, and drank a lot in the evenings.

Dean ponders over what changed. Staring unseeingly at Cas as he got changed for bed.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Cas' gravelly tone breaks through his train of thought.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Dean brushes off Cas' concern.

Cas nods as though he understands. Maybe he did. Him and Cas were strangely in sync with a lot of things. Sometimes he could swear they were reading each other's minds, but he's pretty sure that's not actually an ability angels have. Well not with humans anyway.

After a moment of hesitation, Cas lifts Dean's duvet and climbs under, scooting Dean over so he can fit comfortably.

Sharing a bed. They hadn't done that in years. It should be weird, they're almost eighteen for goodness sake, but Dean can't muster up the energy to care. It's the kind of comfort he needs right now, because despite what he might have said to Sammy - he is worried about Mom and Dad. Things have been off for a while now and they don't seem to be getting any better. This house move might just be their breaking point.

Maybe he should just suck it up and say he's fine continuing to share a room with Cas for the foreseeable future. But he does need his own space, and has normal teenage needs. And though he would be just fine with continuing as they are, isn't really all that fussed about Cas encroaching on his boundaries nor is Cas fussed about him encroaching on his - well that's actually the problem. They're not fussed and they should be. They already cross so many lines with each other, sure, they're really close but it's not just that, Dean is really close with Sam, but his relationship with Cas is different, he doesn't look at Cas as a brother - more a best friend. Still, their relationship crosses even some of those boundaries.

Dean presses his forehead against Cas' willing his thoughts to settle down. Cas responds by sandwiching Dean's right foot between his own feet. His very fluffy feet.

"Are you wearing socks?" Dean asks, suspiciously.

He feels Cas furrow his eyebrows against his forehead.

"Yes..."

"Off." Dean commands.

"My feet are cold." Cas argues.

"I'll warm 'em up." Dean responds without missing a beat.

"But-"

Dean cuts him off. "My bed. My rules. We don't wear socks in bed."

Cas shuffles around a little, trying to remove the socks from his feet. "I don't understand your aversion to socks."

"I don't have an aversion..." Dean frowns.

"Then why are you making me take them off?" Cas huffs.

"Because we're in bed!" Dean quickly hushes himself, realising he said that much too loud. "You don't wear socks to bed."

"Why?" Cas challenges.

Dean gapes at him. "Because... Because it's weird!"

"How so?" Cas cocks his head against the pillow. God damn him!

Cas blinks in surprise. Almost as if he just heard Dean's last thought. Again, weird.

"Because..." Dean trails off, staring into Cas' deep blue eyes willing him to understand. They sparkled almost like sapphires in the low light filtering in from the window. Oddly pretty. "You know what? I don't have to explain myself to you. The rules are the rules. You have to obey them."

"I have to obey you?" Cas snarks in his low guttural tone.

Something about that statement wasn't quite right. It's almost like it lit a spark through Dean from his chest to his groin. He's not quite sure what was actually off about what Cas just said though.

" While you're in my bed, you do." Dean quips.

Cas' eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his brows furrow. "Understood." he concedes.

Win.

Dean grins. "Good." he then rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes. He feels Cas get himself settled next him.

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

******

The blaring is intolerable. Dean swings his arm over to smack the alarm off, instead he hits skin. There's a grunt beside him. Dean opens his eyes and bolts up in bed.

"Dean..." Cas groans beside him turning over to turn the alarm off himself.

"Shit. Sorry." Dean winces, watching Cas rub his face - where Dean had smacked him - hard too, he really hated that alarm.

"I'll live." Cas huffs, still blinking his eyes open into wakefulness. "I slept in..."

"Yeah..." Dean grins lopsidedly "Gettin' your ass thrashed in Monopoly must've really taken it outta ya."

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean. "If I'm not mistaken, you were also losing sorely."

Dean raises one shoulder in a shrug. "Yeah. Well, Sam's a cheat."

Cas gives him a dubious look.

"He always asks to be banker!" Dean defends as he climbs past Cas "You only ask to be banker so you can cheat."

"Perhaps he just likes being the banker?" Cas inquires, thoughtfully. Walking towards the dressing drawers.

"Nah. He cheats, I know it." Dean states adamantly "Can you pass me that shirt?"

"The green one or the grey one?" Cas inquires.

"Whichever." Dean says, a tad impatient.

"I like you better in green." Cas smiles, handing Dean the green shirt - which is a shade darker than his eyes.

"Sure you do." Dean pulls the shirt on, watching Cas watch him. "Next you'll be calling me the wicked witch of the west and have me singing about how jealous I am." Dean quips.

Cas just cocks his head. Features etched with confusion.

Okay, it was a bad joke - it's still early - but still…

"Wicked?" Dean says it like it should be obvious. "C'mon you actually watched this one. With me and Charlie?"

Understanding dawns on Cas "Oh. The one with the wizard?"

Dean rolls his eyes. Of all the things, that's what Cas remembers. "Yeah. The one with the wizard, dumbass."

"I see..."

Bullshit. He still looks as puzzled as he did at the beginning of this conversation.

"Nevermind." Dean huffs. "Let's just get breakfast."

****

Before they know it, they're at school. In plenty of time as well, since Sam didn't sleep in this morning. Well, since Dean didn't let him sleep in, having filled a spray bottle with water and gone in to wake up the little squirt, manually.

Traipsing to their lockers, Dean keeps an eye out for Charlie. She'd usually be here waiting for them, already. Seems she's chosen not to do that today. Perhaps expecting them to be late again. Dean's not surprised, really.

A mindless group of students push through the crowd, paying no heed to their surroundings as they chat amongst themselves. Seeing a wanton elbow head Cas' way - as the girl gestures broadly - Dean presses a hand to his upper back, gently pushing him out the way. Cas shoots him a grateful smile.

Dean frowns at his hand where it still lay between Cas' shoulder bones. It feels as though it's encompassed in something soft and warm - but there's nothing there. Dean slowly drags his hand further down Cas' back, the softness licks and tickles every inch of his hand but it glides effortlessly, it's smooth, Soft and smooth. Cas shivers, and suddenly the cold air hits the back of Dean's hand and all Dean can feel is Cas's cotton jumper beneath his palm, as he should.

"You alright?" Dean croaks, uncertainly.

"Yes.." The word comes out of Cas' mouth a little breathless, and when he turns to face Dean, his cheeks look a little flushed. "That just felt strange."

"No kidding." Dean stares perplexed at his hand a moment longer before removing it from Cas' back. He doesn't know how to explain what he just felt, so he doesn't bother.

Mentally shaking himself, Dean brushes past Cas to open his locker. Cas sidels up next to him, but makes no move to open his own locker.

"Dean..." Cas says. His voice a low timbre. So low Dean almost doesn't hear him.

"Yeah?" Dean matches Cas' low volume.

"Why..." Cas turns to look at him then. "Why did you touch me like that?"

"I, uh..." Dean clears his throat, searching for the right words. "I thought I felt something."

"You felt something...?" Cas repeats, his brows furrowing in true, adorable Cas fashion.

"I - yeah. It doesn't matter, it was nothin'." Dean closes his locker door with a slam.

Cas flinches at the sound, as though it were twice as loud as it was. Huh, that's strange.

"Hey Dean." Comes a warm, almost husky voice from behind them. Lisa.

Dean whirls around to come face to face with warm brown eyes and a smile to match.

"Hey Lisa." Dean flashes her his most charming grin.

She blushes and a small chuckle emits from her lips.

Something brushes against his hand and he flinches as a shocking current runs from the point of contact, up his arm right to his shoulder. Dean automatically grabs his arm with his other hand, cradling it to his side as a bitter feeling spreads through him. Jealousy. Dean frowns at that. Why is he jealous?

Just as quickly as it had come the pain dissipates and the feeling of jealousy with it. The fog in his mind gradually begins to clear and suddenly he realises he's being spoken to.

"Dean...?"

The deep, guttural tone sweeps into his consciousness like a gust of wind, parting the fog in a crisp wave.

"... are you alright?" another, softer voice asks.

Dean blinks. And suddenly all the sounds come back into focus, students chattering away, lockers closing, the steady Pitter-patter of feet on tiled floor.

Suddenly concerned brown eyes come into focus. "Dean?" Lisa prompts.

"Uh." Swallowing thickly, Dean tries to find his voice. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm good." he shakes out his arm for good measure.

He glances over at Cas who has a healthy dose of concern and confusion written across his features.

"Um, sorry Lisa" He grabs Cas by the sleeve of his jumper "Me and Cas got somewhere to be. I'll catch ya in English, yeah?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Bye Dean."

With that Dean drags Cas off along with him, leaving behind a rather stunned Lisa. He pulls the angel into the nearest Men's bathroom and, upon checking its clear, rounds on him.

"What the hell's going on with you?!" Dean pushes Cas up against the wall. A mixture of shock and adrenaline coursing through him. He almost feels angry, but that's not quite right. No. Frustrated. He's frustrated for some reason. And it's Cas' fault somehow.

Cas just stares at him wide eyed.

"I... I don't understand what you mean..." He breathes out, bewildered.

"You...?" The frustration only seems to heighten, Dean presses Cas harder against the wall, forearm digging into the angel's chest. "You mojo'd me. Twice." Dean hisses.

Dean let's his hold on Cas slacken a little "And the second time hurt."

Cas looks pained. "I didn't do anything to you, Dean." his eyes pleading with Dean to understand.

"Maybe not intentionally, but you did something!" Dean's starting to get worked up again, he tries to calm his breathing. But he's so frustrated, he wants - he wants to... He doesn't know what he wants. But he's sure it has something to do with Cas. And it sure feels a hell of a lot like wanting to punch him in the face, but Dean refrains.

As if reading Dean's thoughts, Cas flinches. This time it had nothing to do with noise volume, he's clearly waiting for a physical blow of some kind. And Dean very nearly gives it to him, but that's not what he wants. It's not right.

Dean growls in frustration. Relinquishing his grip on Cas a little too suddenly, Cas slides down the wall and slumps to the floor. Dean strides across to the other side of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair.

"Dean..."

Sparks erupt low in Dean' gut. His skin is humming similar to the way it does when he's touching Cas, when he's touching an Angel, but it's much more pronounced.

Everything feels like too much and at the same time not enough.

The sounds of students shuffling through that corridor outside is just too loud. The tap to his right drips at languid intervals. Too loud. Dean thinks. The air feels statically charged, somehow, there's goosebumps on his arms - yet it's too warm.

"Dean... Are you alrigh -"

"Shut up." Dean growls. Cas flinches back at the harsh tone.

Something in Dean sours at that. It's wrong. It's not how it should be.

Though Dean's not quite sure how it actually should be.

It takes Dean a horrifying second to realise - Cas is afraid of him.

Still sprawled between the wall and the floor, where Dean left him, he watches Dean with wide and wary eyes.

Dean feels sick.

He mumbles a "sorry." before bolting from the bathroom, almost knocking over a freshman on his way in. The boy stares after Dean in surprise before cautiously glancing down at Cas, still on the floor.

Cas offers the boy a tight smile, as he climbs to his feet. Hesitantly, stepping past him to exit the bathroom, just as the bell rings.

He hesitates a moment, staring at Dean's distant retreating frame, before making his way to his first class.

****

*****

(There's a fair bit more but I kept hitting the character limit) - - Part 2/ Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

#Destiel #Destiel fic #Destiel fanfic #Destiel au #Destiel fanfiction #Ao3 #Archive of our own #Deancas #Casdean

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adrienetteandladynoir · 13 days ago

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cookie bug and designer princess 32/? → origin

#Miraculous Ladybug #Tikki #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tikki and Marinette #Ladybug & Cat Noir (Origins - Part 1)#First Meet #MLEdits #When he’s stressed; he likes to queue species

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hollyhomburg · 4 years ago

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Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 6) (Yoonminjoon x Reader)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn't want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, themes of healing, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, themes of deception, complex characters

W/c: 10.6k

Song Rec: Hozier ~ Eden

Series Masterlist

An informative bulletin on Hybrid sense of Smell:

Out of all of the positives that hybrids inherit from their animal dna- their sense of smell is simply unparalleled. It’s one of the more peculiar and therefore interesting subsets of hybrid behavior. Hybrid sense of smell is just like any of the other senses though, in terms of the amount of sensory information contained, it is more on par with sight than the fragile human nose. It is possible that the vast majority of hybrid to hybrid communication is completely pheromonal. most scent glands are found on the wrists and neck.

When an owner or human initially comes into contact with a hybrid, the flush of new sensory information will be hard to parse out for most hybrids (and all but those with the most sensitive smell). At first, a hybrid will only be able to sense if you are feeling “good” or “bad” the same way we can often only tell when food smells good or bad.

But as time goes on, and hybrids become more accustomed to the particular hormonal balance of their humans they become more adept at deciphering their emotional state through their scent. Eventually, a person smelling simply ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ becomes “amused” and “contemplative” or any other host of emotions. This is one of the reasons why hybrids make intense emotional partners, as hybrids become accustomed to their owners or pack mates and they become extremely attuned. Some hybrids are even able to smell their female owner's ovulation cycle and if they’re pregnant before the owner themselves.

Scent is one of the most highly individualized parts of hybrid society, with no two hybrids smelling exactly the same (some exceptions can be made for close siblings and twins) scent-marking behavior is something commonly seen only between hybrids and their owners, as well as between hybrids in the same pack. As scent-marking leaves sort of an imprint of hybrid's emotional state on their partner. It is also a nonverbal queue for other hybrids “this person makes me very happy- please be kind to them for me” or “this is my human, please stay away” a negative impression will also be left on a human if they cause a hybrid distress.

Of course, certain species hybrids are more adept at this kind of empathy than others, with rabbit hybrids having the most sensitive sense of smell and therefore pungent scents, and most exotic hybrids including bird hybrids and snake hybrids, having a less sensitive nose and more mild scents which are harder to discern.

Many other tidbits of information can be conveyed through scents, weather a possible partner will be compatible for a heat/rut cycle, if they are upset and if they are injured or hurt, and their emotional state. There is even some debate that deception can be gleaned through scent (but that claim will need further research).

~~~~

- You wake with a start, started into wakefulness by a piercing shriek and then shouting. Out of all of the times you’ve suddenly woken out of a dead sleep this is by far the least violent. There isn’t anyone in your room but you, the covers overly warm, golden early morning light seeping through the windows, peaceful and idyllic.

- it isn’t one of the times that your late husband had dragged you out of the bed, kicking and screaming because he’d found something on your phone, a strange charge on your credit card, or woken to the feel of him above you, or woken to his screaming at Namjoon.

- You tell yourself that it’s just any other day, that this morning isn’t one of those. but your heart dosent understands that. thundering, your hands shaking.

- The days when you wake up slowly in Namjoon’s arms- those are the best mornings. But Namjoon isn’t next to you- and somehow your heart won’t start shuddering. Namjoon isn’t here and you want him there and your mind somewhere else entirely as you shakily exit your bedroom, tying your robe around you deftly.

- One benefit of living in an old house is that you can hear nearly everything that goes on, and you can hear Jimin's words below you “Yoongi- don’t look”

- Sometimes- you still have days where you hate your bedroom. Days where you won’t cross over the threshold with Namjoon already there, his every presence comforting to you- willing away any bad thought that might arise, any trigger or memory. You’d painted the walls a different color- the dark green changed to a light pastel blue- but some of the memories still linger even though it looks different and far warmer than it did when it was your husband's old bedroom.

- Most of the positive change has to do with Namjoon’s presence, the countless pillows that he likes to sleep with, the fluffy throws, his organized but slightly wry shirts in your open closet, his small stack of parenting books by your dresser. It might be the same room you were hurt in, but it feels different most of the time, especially when you’ve got namjoon all stretched out in your bed, All of the peace you have starts and ends with Namjoon.

- But maybe that’s changing, maybe you find a certain calm in Yoongi and Jimin too. Jimin is the first one you see, sending you a panicked glance as Namjoon cleans his face of blood, trying to stand in front of Yoongi for whatever reason the snake hybrid looking a little paler than usual.

- You stumble to the bottom of the stairs in your thick fluffy robe, some of your hair sticking up at the back. You take one good look at the snake, rub your eyes a bit, and then turn to the cat hybrid sprawled in the grass. Your eyes are steely, unflinching as you help her up, ask if she’s okay. All the while, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin blink back the sleep from their eyes, not knowing what to do about the snake, hanging flayed open on your front door.

- You take one long look at the snake too. All of you silent for a moment before you jump into action. “We’ll get this cleaned up before you get back with the others, wake Taehyung too if you wouldn’t mind? Tell him I’m calling a meeting before breakfast to make sure no one slips away for chores.”

- That Jimin understands, Many a time had he seen the younger and teenaged hybrids leave the table the second their plates where finished. Though he has to admit- this feels less like a prank gone wrong and more like I direct threat with the way Yoongi is blinking behind Namjoon, the other hybrid talking to him in his low voice. Hands out like they might touch him, Namjoon’s tail hanging low between his legs.

- You’re just about to turn away when Jimin grabs your arm. “There’s something you should know,” he’s quick to explain what happened last night, who kicked him out of his bed and the reason why he’d been asleep on your couch. Your mouth turns down the more he talks. “Bring Minhyung too okay? Are you okay lovely?” you keep Jimin’s hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

- The cat smooth’s out a wrinkle in her skirt and clears her butt of any dirt that might have gotten on it when she’d fallen backward, her tail flicks agitatedly “I’m okay miss, it just gave me a fright.”

- “I can’t imagine how none of us heard anything,” Namjoon says- finishing cleaning the blood from his face, thanking Yoongi for the towel. He looks a little shaken but mostly all right. “I know” Jimin agrees- “it was barely 10 feet from me and I didn’t hear it.” You grimace, still looking at the door and the snake, Namjoon finished wiping the blood off his face and you gesture for the rag.

- Jimin steps up “I’ll do it- you don’t have too” surprisingly the nail isn’t that deeply driven into the wood once Jimin gets over his initial squeamishness over handling the dead animal. Namjoon heads off as soon after Jimin gets it free to bury it in the garden. Still in his pajamas. You usher Yoongi upstairs while Jimin cleans the door of blood.

- You’ve been in Yoongi’s room a handful of times (when it was just your husband's house it used to be an office) but the dark blue walls fit Yoongi better now. His queen mattress pushed in the corner, an old ladder that Yoongi had repurposed hanging with half a dozen thick blankets and fluffy duvets, assorted space heaters and fans sitting on the desk pushed up against the foot of his bed. It’s cozy mostly- the curtains all drawn so the room feels more like a den or a cave. Dark- but warm and comforting, it feels safe even.

- Now that Yoongi’s away from the others it looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, raking his fingers through his hair and twitching a little, He can’t relax or standstill. You set a cup of coffee for him on his bedside table and linger. Unsure if you don’t want to leave him alone or if he wants to be to regroup for a second. “Yoongi” he turns and looks at you, and sometimes- like this time. It almost seems like Yoongi wants to say something to you- but just- can’t get the words out.

- You wonder more than you’d care to admit- if his muteness is selective or something physical. Namjoon wonders too, what his voice sounds like if his laugh is more of a giggle like Jimin’s or something crackling like Nam Joon. “Do you-“ a little noise stops you, Yoongi’s hands clench and unclench by his side.

- You reach out a hand unthinking, stopping a second before you actually cup his cheek. You and Yoongi are no stranger to almost touches, especially on his good days. Many times you’ve felt the almost brush of his hand on your lower back when you stand, sometimes you actually do feel it.

- You were no stranger to slight touches either, always in the secluded privacy of your garden or the house when it’s late and the curtains are drawn. In front of namjoon too. You’d linked pinky’s more than once over a bed of flowers when you were taking a break. as he fed you a sweet strawberry or green beans from the garden. The pad of his finger lingering on your lower lip for just a second too long to not be intentional.

- But never had you initiated the touch, not like this. Your hand cups his cheek and Yoongi leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. The bags under his eyes are almost black-purple. The scales under his chin feel cool under your fingers, only slightly smoother and cooler than the rest of his skin.

- You’d asked Namjoon about it, pacing in your room after one day when you’d seen Namjoon watch you and Yoongi with a strange look on his face. You didn’t want to do anything that made him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it will always be Namjoon. You won’t leave him or hurt him- not ever if you can help it. Thought at the beginning, you feared you could hurt him by accident with Yoongi.

- It was back when your baby bump had barely been visible- not like now when even your baggiest dresses barely conceal your bump. Nothing but a strategically placed pillow concealing Namjoon’s nakedness as he laid back in your bed late at night. Namjoon scrolling through his phone (new, a gift from you. though it will only last about a week until he decideds to try and ‘wash’ off the dirt that got on it and compeltly ruin it)

- You’d had minor disagreements over other hybrids in the past. Namjoon was mostly okay with you giving out pets like they’re one-dollar bills at the strip club. And was equally as nonplussed when some of the younger hybrids that don’t know any better cuddled close enough to you that you ended up smelling like them. But there had been one incident where one of the older canine hybrids had mistakenly scent marked you.

- Namjoon had been a little angry growling at you the second he’d smelled the fox’s scent on you and demanding you shower. Rightfully upset, he’d explained that that was practically a claiming mark. He’d been touchy and a little bit grumpy the rest of the week, an arm thrown around your waist whenever the other hybrid was around.

- But Yoongi Doesn’t seem to upset him in the same way. “I don’t get what you’re so worried about- it’s fine- it’s not like he’s not part of our pack or a stranger.”

- You’d stopped where you’d been pacing a hole in your carpet. “What do you mean- apart of the same pack?” Namjoon sighed, tossing his phone to the side (he doesn’t quite understand that he needs to be gentle with it yet). “it’s like- it’s not the same as if it was a random farmer across the street- because it’s Yoongi and he’s one of us, it doesn’t make me feel possessive because he’s mine too you know?”

- They had been getting close recently, there aren’t many hybrids at the farm yet, and Yoongi, Taehyung, and Seokjin are the only ones who’ve stayed any length of time you’d consider significant. You’d woken alone late at night a few times in the last week and gone down to the living room lower level only to find Namjoon and Yoongi asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

- “But he’s not a canine hybrid Joonie? Don’t you only form pack bonds with other dog hybrids?” Namjoon shaking his head, ears flapping a little, “not at all, though it is rarer- and Yoongi won’t exactly feel it the same way I do, he’s still apart of this too.”

- It hits you like a truck, “you mean- you love him too?”

- You’d been meaning to ask Namjoon- if the pack bonds now extended to Jimin too, you had a feeling they did but it was probably better to ask…before anything more significant happens.

- You know that Yoongi is okay with touch as long as it’s not skin on skin and if he can control it. But you can’t not offer the affection now- not when you think it might help- not when Yoongi looks like he’s about ready to jump out of his skin with how afraid he is.

- You can tell his whole body is shivering but he doesn’t move to pull away when you lift up your other hand to slowly cup his cheek. He doesn’t move away when you get up on your tippy-toes to press your lips to his forehead. He smells soft and sweet like freshly done laundry. His hands come up too, loosely settling around your waist like he’s not sure he wants to pull you in for a hug yet.

- “We’ll get to the bottom of this yoongi, I promise” you give him one shorter squeeze and then separate. And Yoongi looks like he wants to keep holding you and also like he doesn’t. So you figure it’s best. You hover in the doorway, “take your time coming down today okay? We’ll have the meeting and then we can have breakfast up here if you’re not feeling up to being around the others today.”

- Your front door is clean, the light blue wood spotless when you come down the stairs, and By that time the cat hybrids have already returned to the kitchen. after changing into a loose knee-length dress, spotted with little flowers. It’s too hot for anything-tight today- but with your growing bump- everything feels tight. You’re only a few weeks away from the end of your second trimester, and you’re thankful that so far- you haven’t felt much morning sickness. You think you have a doctor’s visit later this week though- you’ll have to ask namjoon, he’s better at remembering that sort of thing than you are.

- One hybrid comes through the backdoor with a clutch of eggs from the chicken coop, the egg basket piled high, Jimin is with them too- holding a few eggs in his shirt- held out tight to make a basket, the cat hybrid smiles at you, “got almost 3 dozen today miss!”

- “Perfect for the frittata?” Jimin asks, unsure. “Quiche.” you and the cat hybrid correct at the same time. The three of you filing into the kitchen, Jimin careful not to break the eggs.

- A certain sleepy wolf hybrid is already sitting at your prep table, looking nervous, his scent souring when he sees you and Jimin. Jimin stays, this time crossing his arms and leaning up against the cabinets to watch Minhyung squirm. You sit down at the prep table across from him and pour him a cup of tea.

- He looks worried- sending a glance back and forth to Jimin and then to you. He knows what he did last night was wrong- and though Jimin can’t see any snake’s blood underneath his fingernails, the suspicion and dislike of the wolf hybrid still linger.

- But he doesn’t look like he’s trying to conceal anything. He just looks scared, eyes flicking from hybrid to hybrid, to the door and then the window and anywhere but at you and Jimin. Before the conversation’s even started, Jimin’s suspicion dissipates. While he agrees that Minhyung may be a dick, Jimin can’t believe that a hybrid would do this- they all know what discrimination feels like. Which is what makes their distaste of Yoongi particularly abhorrent.

- “I hear you have a certain problem with how I treat Yoongi, Minhyung. Would you like to elaborate? Or maybe explain why you kicked Jimin out of the bunk room last night? Or why you left a snake nailed to my front door-“

- “What?! I didn’t- I promise that wasn’t me,” Minhyung is smart- he understands what the commotion this morning was about. By now Taehyung must have woken everyone up- must have already told everyone about the meeting. Jimin doesn’t know if they’ve ever had one before, but judging by the general tense atmosphere in the kitchen alone- it must not be a regular occurrence.

- “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Jimin, “I honestly thought you would be sleeping up here. I don’t sleep well and when you woke me up- I reacted badly. I promise I’ll be kinder- just don’t- please don’t throw me out.”

- “It’s not up to me,” Jimin says, his voice small, he gives you a look- that he hopes you interpret as ‘it’s up to you- I’m done with this’ and leaves the room. Only to find Yoongi hovering just outside, hidden behind the wall listening in.

- Jimin hears you and Minhyung starting up the conversation again, mostly it's him speaking this time- talking about his old owner who used sleep deprivation as a tactic to make him obedient. You don’t say much, just listen sipping at your tea. Yoongi lifts a finger to his lips and hands Jimin a carefully folded piece of paper. “I don’t think it was him.” By now Jimin is used to the way Yoongi sometimes converses on paper when he needs to communicate.

- “Do you know who it was then?” Jimin whispers, Yoongi shakes his head, but there is something about the tilt of his eyes that Jimin can’t find it in him to trust. But if there is a reason that Yoongi has for lying to him- then Jimin will trust it’s a good reason.

- He goes back into the kitchen, summoning you; you stand and walk to the door so that you won’t be overheard. Teetering a little bit, you look a little shaky too like you aren’t quite awake. Maybe that’s it- or is there something else? A shakiness behind your eyes too? Jimin can’t decipher it. Minhyung stays there, sitting looking contrite and like he’s close to tears. Fiddling with his hands under the table.

- “What are you going to do?” Jimin asks, Yoongi waiting too, his note crumpled in his fist. Namjoon comes thundering down the stairs in his work boots, looking intimidating as ever in all black. He must have snuck upstairs to change after he buried the snake in your garden. “I don’t know,” you say easily, crossing your arms over your baby bump, looking at Namjoon and sighing before you meet Jimin and Yoongi’s eyes. “Do you think he did it Yoongi?”

- Yoongi shakes his head, pursing his lips and Jimin decides that damn- he’s either a convincing liar or what he noticed earlier was just something else. Maybe Yoongi feeling uncomfortable. The buttons on his usual linen button-down aren’t buttoned right and his hair doesn’t have that usual perfectly swept out of his face look. Jimin is the only one still in his pajamas (which actually belongs to Yoongi) but he’ll try to change during the meeting.

- “If I throw him out there is a chance I could be punishing someone innocent, and if I let him stay there is a chance he could be guilty” Namjoon sits across the armrest of the old couch. “You’ve never thrown out someone before,” he says, bending down to tie his work boots.

- “No,” you say, eyes sharp on Namjoon, “but I’ve let you do it.”

- Namjoon freezes, standing up looking contrite, “I didn’t know you knew about that” Yoongi sends Jimin a panicked look; worried they’re about to witness some sort of fight between the two of you. But you just raise an eyebrow at Namjoon looking more tired than annoyed. “I’m not angry, but this should always be a joint decision,” you fiddle with Namjoon’s sleeve, tenderly smoothing over the edge of it. “So it’s settled then?”

- “This isn’t only our home anymore” you peer into the kitchen, keeping part of your body hidden by the wall. Minhyung still sits hands underneath his thighs, his head snaps up, black ears still buried in his hair. “You can stay, I trust you know that if anything else happens…” you trail off, he scrambles up from the prep-table. “Well, I trust you’ll have more sense than that.”

- He scrambles up from the prep-table. Minhyung almost breaks his back bowing to you, promising that he won’t do anything, that he’ll be the perfect hybrid again and again before he’s off down the hill- back to change out of his pajamas.

- It’s a humid day out and it isn’t even sunny, the moisture in the air oppressive. The hybrids are sleepy- hair and ears ruffled from sleep, some of them in work clothes and some of them still in their pajamas.

- Jimin sees one of the little ones make grabby arms at Seokjin (who looks clean pressed as ever) and the alpaca hybrid heaves the young one up into his arms, where it promptly closes its eyes and leans on his wide shoulder- the perfect place for a nap. Seokjin blushes when the new hybrid from a few weeks back, the otter Hoseok, comes over to coo at the little doe hybrid. His hands smoothing up and down her spine.

- Someone gets you a step stool and though Namjoon makes a face- he lets you use it to climb up onto a table. His hands anxiously hovering around your waist to make sure you won’t fall, he whines. But you ignore his instincts to be overprotective. Jimin can see the tension in Namjoon’s arms- he seems so worried that you’re going to fall- it’s almost cute.

- “This morning, a snake was nailed to my front door.” This is greeted by a few murmurs, nervous glances, and internal cringes. You hold up a hand, and the gathered hybrids all fall silent again. “You should all understand what safety means for a hybrid, and the fact that you would make one of your own feel unsafe and unwelcome- it hurts me. Because I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of taking care of you if you’re lashing out at one of your own. Yoongi is not to blame for your hurt.”

- Jimin is impressed by the way that you command their attention, The surrounding hybrids look scared; some look contrite, but most just look uncomfortable at being called out. They all know that Yoongi staying up in the main house and not in the barns isn’t a result of favoritism, but a necessity because of his inability to regulate his own body temperature. And even if you were playing favorites- it’s not like you don’t do the same with Namjoon?

- “If anyone has any complaints or is upset by the way I treat any one of you- you should come to me and talk about it. Not take it out on each other or my front door for that matter.” that gets a few chuckles out of the crowd. And it’s mostly the cat hybrids that have left the dishes in the kitchen to simmer rather than miss your announcement.

- After the meeting and breakfast, the four of you linger in the lower level of your house. The cleanup crew already blasting country music in your kitchen, and Jimin can see every twang of the country music irritates Yoongi and Namjoon

- Namjoon even making a small noise and rubbing his ears. You sigh, straightening out your dress on the bottom step, your hands shake a little. And you’re not the only one, Yoongi sits, his shoulders hunched. It only takes one glance up at them all for you to stop. Setting your sun hat back on the hook.

- “You know what- fuck this. We need to get out of here today.”

- All of you piling into your beat-up red truck, the same one Jimin had come to the farm in. Namjoon runs back in at the last moment to grab your purse. Yoongi and Jimin in the back two seats, a little cramped. Namjoon gets the front on account of his long legs. None of you talk about a destination as you make a three-point turn rather than try and back out of your near mile-long driveway.

- Not one hybrid lounging in the fields or moving about had given them so much as a look when you’d drove down the long hill. Pausing at the end only because Taehyung was nearby, the hybrid calling to you and trotting over to lean at your car door, his smile as happy as ever. Bear ears flickering in the holes cut out of his baseball cap.

- “Want to come with?” you offer, but Taehyung just shakes his head, “Nah my queen needs me” he tilts his head back in the direction of the bee hutches. is it Jimin’s imagination, or do you look a little crestfallen? “Need anything?” you’d proffered. He’s so tall he has to slouch to be at face level with you. Taehyung doesn't ask where you’re going, only looks as Yoongi leans over the front seat to fiddle with the radio, as if judging how affected the snake hybrid is by what transpired this morning. he flicks from channel to channel trying to find a song he likes. “Nothing really, maybe some more jars for honey if you can find them?”

- You nod softly “that I can do.” Taehyung steps back and waves as you pull out of the gates of the farm. And Jimin feels anticipation build underneath his skin. He’d rarely ever been outside of his old home before and now- now he was leaving the farm too- the destination uncertain.

- “Please don’t speed,” Namjoon says, Yoongi leans back from the radio, finally settled on some song with a low thread beat, more musical than anything else. The snake seems to vibrate with the force of the music and between that, the sound of the engine, and the wind whipping through the open windows, Namjoon has to shout to be heard. The wind tickles, but it’s the only relief from the muggy June heat since your air-conditioning is busted.

- You smile at him lightly; at 10am on the dusty dirt road there isn’t a sing soul with you on the road. You gun it. Namjoon grips the handle on the roof looking green, but when jimin looks over and sees you and Yoongi smiling at Namjoon’s queasy ness- his anxiety dissipates. It doesn’t matter that your truck is rusty and that you’re barely going over 40 in a 35- to Namjoon, one mile over the speed limit is breaking the law.

- You stop at the drive-through before you get on the highway, iced coffee for Yoongi, blended lemonade for Jimin, a hot chocolate for Namjoon (a travesty when it’s this hot) and an iced tea for you. The yellow lemons in your tea Jiggling with the ice as you hit potholes with little care for your truck. Yoongi leaning over periodically to change the song. Namjoon telling Jimin what genre is playing when he confesses he doesn’t know one, “is it jazz or ska?” Yoongi holds up two fingers- indicating the second choice, Namjoon nods.

- You look over your shoulder- sharing a special secret glance with jimin, rolling your eyes a little. Now he understands why you rarely ever play music when you work- if you did yoongi would get up to change the music every few seconds.

- “So where are we going?” you tap your fingers against the steering wheel, waiting to turn south onto the highway. “Probably not the beach, but maybe the State park? What do you think Joonie?”

- “I wouldn’t mind the state park, it’s got a pretty view” Jimin tries not to let his Disappointment show, especially when Namjoon turns to Jimin, sensing the whine that died in his throat. Yoongi nudges Jimin's foot with his own. The light turns green and you start to turn onto the highway. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

- “What!?” you and Namjoon shout in tandem, you lurch to a dead stop, suddenly turning, around instead of just turning left. Yoongi turning to jimin mouth open. “Yeah- I’d never- I’d only been outside of like one block before coming to you?” Yoongi shakes his head as you get going the opposite way on the highway- getting into the slow lane because your truck just can’t handle going over 60 no matter how much you want it to be able to do that. “You don’t have to” Jimin tries to say; you smile when you glance over your shoulder at him. “I’m already on the highway Jimin.”

- Jimin pretends it doesn’t make his heart hurt a little bit to see you change so easily for him, the truck thudding along. Yoongi holding out the last half of his ice coffee for Jimin to try, smiling when he makes a face at the bitterness. You hold out your ice tea too, trading it for a sip of Jimin’s frozen lemonade. Namjoon offering him, but you being a little snarky, “sorry babe but I don’t think anyone but you want a hot chocolate in the middle of June.”

- Namjoon turns his full lanky body in your direction, thighs bulging out on the pleather, tipping his back and out of the window. “It just makes me unique,” you swallow, and jimin sees how viscerally you’re affected by the long line of him stretched out in the front seat of your car.

- Yoongi’s writes something on his notepad and handing it over to Jimin. “Yoongi wants you to know that you’re as unique as a dog sticking his head out the window of a car.” Namjoon scoffs, you laugh, Namjoon’s smirk as he looks at Yoongi is shy, and Jimin knows how that feels- the pride you feel at being known enough to be teased. “At least I know the difference between Ska and jazz now, that has to count something for uniqueness.”

- Jimin scoffs, “you gonna keep an imaginary tally or something?” Namjoon flicks his ears in Jimin’s direction, grinning, happy to be teased. “Yes- we can keep track, start being really weird like cutting our shirts into crop tops and painting them and shit,”

- “Oh please do that,” you say, and it’s a surprisingly attractive offer. Jimin has seen Namjoon’s stomach, all hard lines, and juicy skin when it pulls up or when it gets really hot and he takes off his shirt. And he can’t say he disagrees and judging by the high blush on Yoongi’s cheeks, he dosent either. All of you laugh with the way that Namjoon blushes and grumbles and fiddles with the edge of his shirt. The puppy is just too easy to tease.

- After some prodding, Jimin is tempted to lean his head out of the window too, and when he does he has to admit- looking down the narrow stretch of highway, eyes watering, his ears getting battered like hell because of the wind. It is worth it, his sensitive nose catching bits of something that smells like salt and fish the closer you get.

- Even Yoongi is tempted to do the same, though he might not get the same amount of joy the dog hybrids get from sticking their heads out the window. The wind sending his hair all windswept against his forehead. Curling because of the humidity.

- Yoongi’s tongue sticks out a little, as a snake hybrid his sense of smell isn’t nearly as good as Namjoon and Jimin’s, but it’s better when he can taste the air, the saltiness thicker the closer you get to the coast. Namjoon and Jimin’s tails wag out a rhythm on the seats.

- The beach is absolutely beautiful, the waves rolling and curling light blue but stormy the further out you go, Namjoon leaves his workboots in your truck and Jimin gets his knees and shorts all dirty in the sea spray, Yoongi declining to join in the water, writes that the salt makes his scales feel sticky and sits in the sand with your and Jimin’s shoes. Content to lean back and watch.

- Namjoon holding your hand to keep you steady as you dip your feet into the spray, your dress wiping in the wind. Jimin going crazy with excitement for a moment before he kicks at the spray and chases a few seagulls. None of you brought your swimsuits but Jimin dunks his full body once you gesture for him to take off his shirt so it won't get wet. You and Namjoon seem to have enough fun just dipping your feet in the cold water- but Jimin can’t get enough of the ocean now that he’s seen it. The way the waves curl, the thunder, the sharpness of salt on his tongue.

- He gets to knee height, and then to stomach height, the water is cold and a little unpleasant, but it’s worth it for the way the small waves ripple around him. Looking down at his body in the sea spray Jimin realizes- he doesn’t have a single bruise left on his body. It’s been some time since he came to stay at the farm and besides a few scars and aches, he doesn’t have a single mark on his body from what happened to him.

- The marks that lie underneath his skin- on Jimin’s soul could never go away as easily as that- but for a moment, he lets himself believe that the water could wash away even the wounds unseen. The last few weeks have taught Jimin that it’s not that easy, but if grief is the cousin of healing then Jimin will let himself feel sad about this if it means he can hope that one day he’ll barely feel broken.

- When he submerges his body and feels the drag of the ocean out to see, he lets himself imagine that the ocean is taking something from him and dragging it to a deep place where it can weigh on him anymore. And maybe when he gets his head above water- he feels a tiny infinitesimal bit better. but only time will tell if it actually makes it better. Jimin is on his way to healing and he knows he only needs time.

- When he gets back out, he almost stumbles in the surf and looks back at the beach, where the three of you are waiting for him. The three of you watch him separate himself from the waves. Your eyes going up and down his chest. Yoongi looking away after a moment. Writing on his pad of paper and scribbling it out angrily after a moment. Handing it over to Jimin

- “Feel better?” “Yeah- it’s” he shakes his body, ears flopping and sticking to his wet hair, the seawater beading in the sand. “It's nice in there. You should go in” “next time,” Yoongi writes. “You look a lot better Jiminie,” Namjoon says, handing over his flannel so that Jimin can use it to dry off. “What do you mean?” you stand to poke playfully at Jimin’s little poochy tummy, “you’ve gained a lot of weight you look healthy, I love it. ”

- He feels the fire in his cheeks, your words making his heart stutter. “Just one second” he turns away and hides his blush in Namjoon’s flannel, a high-pitched and very loud whine building in his chest or something like the need to scream swallowed by his throat because- ah fuck. He’s feeling something he shouldn’t be, isn’t he? But he must make some noise because you’re all laughing, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as he hides his smile behind his hand.

- Before he’s turning back and handing it back to Namjoon face redder than a tomato. The other hybrid doesn’t say a thing about how it’s soaked in both water and Jimin’s scent, he Just ties it around his waist like Jimin’s scent clinging to him is the most natural thing in the world.

- You go back to the car so Namjoon can get his shoes, you talk about heading back but Yoongi isn’t ready to leave, wants to stay a little bit longer. You walk along the boardwalk; you buy some fried food that the three of you snack on, cyclone potatoes, and fried clams. Yoongi crunches into them happily, his cute little fang curling around his lip.

- Eventually, the boardwalk turns from games and restaurants into a small flea market, kitschy decorations, an overpriced Pepsi sign from the 1950s, a table made out of a glass coffin, curling horns mounted from some sort of creature. You mill about when your phone rings, shrill. “Hey Tae, what’s wrong?” you fiddle with a glass wall hanging; the stained glass fashioned to look like a cherry. Prattling onto Taehyung over the phone as Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin look through the tables of knickknacks.

- Yoongi eyes a silk dress shirt- Kind of garishly patterned. As behind them, a little girl points in their direction. There aren’t many other hybrids out on the boardwalk today, so Namjoon smiles at her, his scarred lip always moves a little less than the rest of his face, and the little girl’s mother pulls her closer and moves on quickly. Namjoon’s smile falls crestfallen.

- But as quick as the disquiet comes Yoongi is making him laugh by showing him a figurine- a piggybank that looks like a butt, the crack a hole for a coin. And the moment is forgotten. Most of the time- Jimin forgets what Namjoon must look like to the others, the scars that stretch, one from his jaw to halfway up to his cheek, another across and eye, and the newer one- from his chin to his lip.

- Jimin spies a weird metal holder, a sun on the front, mostly rusty, weird holes and test tubes set up so that they can stand in the holes. The man who runs the stand comes over to him. He’s not unkind to them, seems to be something of an outcast himself with his tattoos and gauged piercings. He greets jimin with a wide smile. “It’s meant for flowers, the test tubes hold one a piece” Namjoon smiles at him too. Sidling up behind Jimin, putting a hand on his shoulder. Namjoon’s warmth splaying over half his back “how much is it?”

- By now it's no secret how much Jimin loves flowers, a love both of you share (Yoongi’s thing is more vegetables). “Namjoon you don’t have too- I don’t need it” he looks like he’s about to say something, Yoongi scrawling something but before either of them can say anything, you get off the phone a few feet away. Pinching the bridge of your nose and their attention is diverted.

- You look substantially more stressed and they don’t need to ask what happened. “Apparently everything goes to shit when we’re gone, but a fuse blew in the house and now none of the refrigerators are working. We also got another call but the old owners are gonna drop the hybrid off later tonight. And apparently, a goat got into the garden but Seokjin got to him before he’d done any damage.” Yoongi looks about ready to run back into the truck at that.

- “Probably because he was distracted running after that otter hybrid again” you slap Namjoon’s arm good-naturedly. “Hush they’ve got crushes, and you remember what that’s like right?” Namjoon glances at Jimin and then at Yoongi, “yeah- I think I do.”

- As you’re on the way out you pass by the fruit section of the flea market- the place that is more a farmers market at the edge of the boardwalk. “those watermelons look good” you divert your course, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, “next thing I know her cravings are going to have me putting watermelon in sour cream soon”

- “That doesn’t seem like a bad combination at all” Yoongi makes a disgusting face, suddenly freezing when he looks over your shoulder, someone walks close to him, nearly knocking into Yoongi and his scent, disquieted and afraid fluffs towards Namjoon and jimin, they hover- instantly surrounding Yoongi while you are unaware.

- Which is fine- you’re not a hybrid and you can’t smell Yoongi’s distress like they can, you’re distracted by the lady who owns the stand coming upfront to greet you. Namjoon shrivels his nose, the smell of cigarettes permeating and making it hard for him to smell anything else.

- He tries to waves his hands and tell Namjoon and Jimin he’s fine but they won’t listen, the two of them stand on either side of him, staying close but not touching Yoongi- keeping anyone else in the crowd from coming close.

- You start talking to the woman who looks like she owns the stand. she gives one of the watermelons a hearty slap and yoongi flinches. She’s got long black hair and a wide smile- but she looks nice. She makes a wry comment about your baby bump and the watermelons, which you laugh about good naturedly about even if it is a little rude in Jimin’s opinion. Saying that you’re not at the true watermelon part of your pregnancy yet.

- In the end- you part with 10 (for everyone on the farm- it can never hurt to have easy snacks like watermelon in storage) and a half-bushel of their assorted vegetables. As much as you want to be completely self-sustainable your vegetable garden isn’t nearly ready to support every hungry mouth at the farm, and their English cucumbers are long and hard. You look happy to do business with them all said and done.

- The lady directs one of her farm hands, a big burly man with a bunch of tattoos to help Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi carry them back and fort to your truck. Yoongi stops you when they’re finished. Shoving a note in your direction. “There’s something I want to go do, can you give me a second?”

- You nod, already taking out your wallet. Behind the two of you Jimin sneaks a handful of grape tomatoes into his pocket- they’re still his favorite. “we’ll get a few snacks for the drive home, take your time” he tries to not take your money but you won’t take no for an answer. Eventually shoving it in the breast pocket of his linen shirt if he won’t take it with his hands. He grumbles, shoving the wad of 20’s deep in his pocket.

- The three of you don’t think anything of it at all. After all- snake hybrids have uniquely tricky scents to parse out. So it’s no wonder why Jimin and Namjoon don’t smell the distress coming from him still. You think you notice something- but you let it slide. You’re never one to let Yoongi’s sudden mood changes affect you or take them personally.

- Sometimes he just gets too overheated to process things right. And you can tell from the way he’s listless that he’s at least approaching overheating. Getting into the car with the air-conditioning will be good for him. You make a mental note to pick him up another ice coffee.

- But meanwhile- while you’re waiting in line at a fast-food stand, Namjoon grabbing a few bags of chips off of a rack and jimin screwing around with a soda dispenser- figuring out how many different types of soda he can fit in one cup. Yoongi is being thrown into the side of a truck with a loud clang. His back hitting it and then his head jarring painfully. The sound alone sending him reeling into the dirt. But the man doesn’t let him fall. A hand savagely yanking his hair back. The unwanted contact sending shivers all up and down his body.

- “And here I thought you’d be more careful not to come so close. Did you think no one here would recognize you? We knew you where here the second you stepped out of that shitty truck.”

- Yoongi blinks, trying to keep the black spots out of his eyes. And she’s right. He did know better, the beachfront has always been their territory. Yoongi remembers the days he’d sneaked out and walked down to the beach in the middle of the night. The only time he ever felt some semblance of freedom. As long as he remained unseen and unheard she didn’t care. But today he’d been the opposite of unseen.

- He can’t respond. And Knows better than to try. His owner has never been fond of Yoongi’s voice, and she’s trained him well enough to know not to use it ever in front of her, his whole body had almost jumped out of his skin when he’d seen her, and seen you in front of her. All of the protective instincts in his body screaming at him to get you away from her to get you away from danger.

- Yoongi might be a liar, and a filthy double-crosser, worth every bit of ire and distrust from the other hybrids. He might not deserve your kindness or your care- not even a little bit and still, he’d never let anyone hurt you.

- She kicks off a crate of peaches; her black boots clicking on something metallic in the dust, cracking into one with a pop of her teeth into the tight skin. Coming close and getting in Yoongi’s face as the man holds him there for a second more, but then releases him. Both of them know they can’t rough Yoongi up like usual- any bruises would be too suspicious.

- “Did you like my little present this morning?” Yoongi flinches and she laughs. He’d suspected but hadn’t really known for sure if the message this morning was from her. But now he knows, he’s even more afraid than he was opening the door this morning. At least he’d come when called, Yoongi doesn’t want to think about what would have happened or what might have popped up on your front door had you gone somewhere else today.

- Yoongi is a good hybrid. Years of getting thrown into walls and slapped and kicked and burned by the stray end of a cigarette have trained him well, he always comes when he’s called.

- “You have until the end of the summer Yoongi- after that if you’re not back and with what I asked for, I’ll make sure that house goes up in flames.” She flicks a lighter, starting up a cigarette that makes Yoongi’s nose twinge uncomfortably. Bad memories. So many bad memories from looks like that as she puffs on her cigarette and blows the smoke in his face.

- “It’s a cute house, especially the garden. I didn’t know you had a thing for that- maybe I’ll have you grow some kale or vegan shit for me when you get back. And then I’ll really be like little miss high brow too huh? Looks like she eats healthy” Yoongi shakes and his owner laughs. So then she has been watching him. He doesn’t let himself wonder who at the farm might be there for a reason like Yoongi. What other snakes you might have in your garden.

- Yoongi can’t be there for long, can’t be absent. But he knew from the second he met his owner’s eyes over your shoulder that she would expect him to report back. That to not come when he was called would be as good as promising violent retribution, something far worse than a snake nailed to your front door.

- She leans in close to Yoongi, and Yoongi can’t resist leaning away, as she breathes the smoke in his face, his hands shaking at his sides. He watches her put out her cigarette in the peachy pink flesh of the peach wincing.

- He knows better than to talk back now or even squirm as she leans closer, barely a centimeter from his face. Even though a hook on the side of the truck is digging into the small of his back. “Remember little viper- if I see you so much as touch them- or let out even a fucking whisper- I’ll kill them in front of you then kill you myself”

- Yoongi understands- how could he not- he’s nothing more than her plaything- her spy. Yoongi wonders what she’d do if she knew he’d already broken the first rule. No touching though there had only been a few times, your hand on his arm when he was in the middle of a heat-induced meltdown, and this morning when you’d cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

- Before anything else happens, 3 other men of her’s come around the corner of the truck, two of them hooding up the third who looks close to passing out. blood dripping down the side of his shirt. Yoongi has seen enough fights to know how someone looks when they’ve lost one. What’s more surprising is the fact that they’ve lost one here- the boardwalk is supposed to be his owner's territory. To touch her operation here- that means something significant, but even more strangely, his owner and her right-hand man don’t even look surprised.

- He struggles to put the situation together, Yoongi remembers one time when they were teenagers- back when it wasn’t his owner's gang, but her father’s. How he’d gone into a rage because some rival had decided to even vacation on their beaches- nearly unloading the full clip of a gun into their group in broad daylight.

- If they’re being pushed back- even to here, then there is something wrong- a rival gang or the police- whichever party had earned his owner's aggression this time, was surely soon to fall. But a gang war isn’t something that Yoongi’s ever seen. She fusses over the man two others holding him up, and Yoongi slides away, back into the crowd of the boardwalk. Knowing this time- he won’t be missed.

- Yoongi walks back to the car, telling himself to enjoy every minute that he has left. Because once the summer heat fades. He knows it’s all going to go away. As he walks, even as he knows there’s probably someone watching him. He stops in front of the flea market. His feet unable to take him closer to you, the closer he gets- the less safe you are. and still- he wants to be close to you- for just a little longer, so that he knows what it’s like.

- To have a pack, a family, people who care about him and love him. Before he goes back to how he lived before he wants you to know that he loves you, loves Namjoon and Jiminie too. That he would stay if he could.

- He might not be able to touch any of the people he wants to touch in the way that he wants or say the words that he wants to say, but he can show you all that you mean to him. At least now- before time runs out and it’s too late.

- Maybe some acts of defiance are less about trying to live, and more about making sure you have a chance to live before his misdeeds eventually catch up with him. And if anyone is deserving of some sort of karmic judgment It’s Yoongi.

- He hopes you won't hate him when you find out- if you ever do.

- It’s worth it- it’s all worth it to see the way that Jimin’s ears perk up when Yoongi brings back the flower holder from the stand for him, that and a silk bandana for Namjoon to keep his hair back when he’s working, and the little wall trinket you were looking at. stained glass cut in the shape of a pair of cherries. (He won’t know- but later- you’ll hang it in the window of the nursery of your and Namjoon’s room)

- The puppy holds the flower holder in his lap the whole ride home. Nearly getting his chubby finger stuck in one of the test tubes at one point. That nearly makes Yoongi laugh out loud. As you wind your way back to the farm, snacking on fried dough and blooming onions making Namjoon’s breath stinky enough that you press on his chest when he leans in for a kiss and eventually relents when he lets out a heartbreaking wine.

- Yoongi doesn’t let himself dream for more of this- because however long he gets he know he won't deserve it either way- he doesn’t deserve a single act of kindness from you. Let alone the kind of care and love you’ve all shown him. He just closes his eyes, leans his cheek against the open window, and lets his soul rest. Just for a little longer. All he needs is a little longer.

- Yoongi lies to himself and tells himself that the summer will be enough.

- Later that night, You’re already underneath your covers, turning restless in your too warm sheets. Namjoon lingers in the bathroom brushing his teeth. “Did you notice something strange with Yoongi today?”

- “No- why?” you fiddle with the edge of your coverlet.

- “He seemed super tense on the way how and somehow I got it into my head that there was something more wrong with him than usual” Namjoon sets a glass of water for you on your bedside table pulls himself over the top of your bedspread. Pressing a toothpasty kiss to your mouth that makes you smile. His hand coming up to cradle your hip, thumb rubbing wide strokes over your baby bump.

- He always gets this look in his eyes. A little lost in his own love when he looks at you late at night like this. You pepper a kiss down his cheek and over his scar, making his face twitch a little-you know it tickles in the same way he knows you’re teasing him- just a little. “If you want to go check on him, I don’t mind.”

- Namjoon’s point is clear, the emphasis on check you know what he means and what he wants. The emphasis on hybrid pack dynamics, that it really wouldn’t be strange to Namjoon If you went to Yoongi’s room…and ended up spending a little time there. If anything- it probably seems weird to him if you haven’t.

- You let the moment slide, lean over to turn off the light, and kiss Namjoon a little more, his lips are hot but gentle on yours. Taking the time to kiss you without a rush for more, nipping at your neck once before he settles in- you’re getting into the stage of your pregnancy where its hard to lay on your side too much so instead- Namjoon mimics your usual position, his leg slung over your thighs, head tucked close to your shoulder.

- And he makes these cute little noises, little huffs and small growl groans that remind you of a puppy before he falls asleep. But you can’t sleep- you stare at the ceiling in your bedroom and can’t help but think about Yoongi earlier. How you thought for a second you’d seen him crying on the way home, spied in your rearview mirror, head hanging out the window and his cheeks wet. somehow your bed feels more empty than it used too. Even with you and Namjoon in it.

- after a few more minutes where you wonder if you’ll ever get to sleep, You slip out of your and Namjoon’s bed and sneak down the hallway. Your footsteps cushioned against the carpet as you head down the hall to Yoongi’s room. and you know it’s late but you can’t leave him alone- not when you could fix it and help him.

- You knock softly; thinking about all of the times in which you try to help- on your worst days- when it feels like helping others is all your good for. nothing else in you but that, nothing to appreciate or love beyond what you can do for others because you feels so broken- too broken to be loved without giving up your time like an apology. A lot of the time it feels like you have nothing but acts of service to offer. But on those days, it’s always Namjoon, Yoongi, and jimin that soothe you without even trying,

- Your lover cupping your chin in his hand and telling you that he can’t get enough of you, that he thought about you all day and couldn’t wait to just stand close to you. The quiet care he shows you, massaging the puffy ball of your ankle. The way sometimes he’ll come up behind you when you’re fiddling with your outfit in the morning, his wide hands fisting in the sides of your dress. Making a low whine and scent marking along your shoulder so that every hybrid on the farm knows you’re his.

- The way namjoon can tell just by looking at you if you need his help, and knows better, like today, when you need a little distance to get your thoughts sorted.

- Yoongi’s soft companionship the way he’ll shake his head and take the heavy things from you, the roll of his eyes doing the speaking for him, “what would Namjoon think if I let you carry this on your own” or the way that he’d sometimes tap the edge of your hat with his long fingers making it bounce, lip pulling up to show his cute little fangs.

- When jimin looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the side for him. Ready to ramble on and on about whatever new thing he’d tried today. Wanting to include you in his process as he became adjusted to the world. The way that he hangs on to every word you say, following you around like a lost puppy, but you would never mind that- how could you? When he was so smitten that it made your heart flutter to be liked with such loving intent.

- You knock on Yoongi’s door, and he answers with wet cheeks, looking startled, rubbing his cheek with the side of his hand. “Yoongi, are you alright?” he shakes his head, hovering, body swaying. You can tell from the hum that the air-conditioning is on high. Not too surprising given the heat of the day, and you know it’s easier for Yoongi to make his room cool and then work up to the kind of warmth he needs then do it the other way.

- His blinds are all drawn, no light on in his room. Thought you peeked outside and sure enough- the stars were shining bright, no moon in the sky. “Can I come in?” Yoongi looks like- fuck- this is going to hurt him, but he nods anyway.

- He scoots over in his bed and moves one of the covers down and lets you climb in on the other side of the bed, and the covers are cool and comfortable beneath your skin, the only light in the room comes from the display panel of the air-conditioning unit and the green makes Yoongi’s eyes glow yellow. “You can tell me- something’s wrong, isn’t it? if its something I can fix you’ve got to tell me- Yoongi- I-“

- Yoongi pulls himself up to hover over you on one arm, his other hand coming up to comb back your hair, you’re stunned into silence. The words leaving your mouth as you find yourself inches away from him, the cool line of his body pressed up against yours. And you think- because you’re both in pajamas and not actually touching skin to skin- you think that is the reason why it might not bother him so much.

- Yoongi is all lithe muscle and harsh edges, but he’s nothing more than gentle with his hands when he softly brushes over your cheek, his eyes molten gold as he tilts his chin up, his soft lips press against your forehead for just a second, the reverse of what you’d done for him this morning.

- Maybe you were both too worn out from the day’s events not too need each other’s company. He tilts his body to the side and leans up on his elbow to watch you. And you might expect it to feel strange- his body and it’s the absence of heat, but underneath the covers it actually feels comforting, cooling amid the summer humidity that just won’t quit.

- He leans in close to poke at your cheek with his nose, nuzzling with slow curling motions as if to tell you- go to sleep, and sleep you do, the coolness of the bed and Yoongi’s body supplying relief to your overheated muscles. Yoongi knows what you needed without you having to say it- the same way that you always knew what he needed. Yoongi stays close and curls around you tightly- his arm and his leg wrapping around you, protecting you both from something you might not see.

- Your last thought before you fall asleep is a question, is Yoongi’s strong grip on you- like he’s holding on for dear life, something to do with his snake genes? Or is there some other reason why his muscles and legs tremble when they hold you close like he’s afraid something is going to be able to separate you.

- Before you truly fall asleep, you think you hear a low voice say something, just a few words, but regardless of what Yoongi might have said- or if he spoke at all, You won’t remember it in the morning.

Kofi

BONUS: Jimin’s little flower holder!

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 141

Last week I posted a day early because vacation was doing vacation things to my sense of time.... This week I forgot to queue the chapter up because Monday was a work holiday, so I forgot today was Tuesday. *insert facepalm here please*

Thanks on this one go largely to @baelpenrose who rightfully pointed out that one part made very little sense to him and therefore was unlikely to make sense to a reader. The clarification smoothed things out quite a bit, I think. Just in case, whoever spots the area I’m talking about gets a cookie as soon as travel restrictions lift.

As always, thanks go also to @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname for completing the corners of my support system. And, a super-duper extra-special to @drinksteawithcake! I don’t know if I am allowed to tell everyone why, but you know why you get the extra-special, and I hope you are having fun!

BWAAAAAHP! BWAAAAAHP!

“Uhhh?” I squinted in complaint as flailing arms clambered over me. One pair snagged me around my waist to drag me from bed before depositing me shakily on my feet. “What are you - ?”

BWAAAAAHP! BWAAAAAHP!

Any trace of sleep was shoved out of my system, replaced by sizzling alertness when I realized I was hearing ship-wide alarms. Shoving myself into the first clothing I grabbed, not even bothering with shoes, I was hot on Conor and Maverick’s heels as we raced out of our quarters and into the corridor. We paused only long enough for both men to kiss me and for “I love yous” to be exchanged before they turned and headed toward the areas indicated on their datascreens, while I hauled ass toward the Archives, ducking and twisting to avoid anyone in my path.

“Forty minutes,” Tyche told me crisply as I basically fell through the door, panting. “The Ark could be invaded and the battle over by the time you make it.”

“I ran….huff….the whole….ugh….way….” I managed to gasp out. Part of me felt like puking, but I was pretty sure the muscles in my abdomen were too busy to figure out the logistics.

Clicking her tongue, she pulled me up from the floor. “Alistair, make a note to suggest to Xio that Sophia’s quarters be relocated once we have a better idea of when we are dropping into real space.”

I nodded numbly. “And probably… amp up… sensors… give… earlier… warning.”

“Nice outfit, by the way,” she laughed quietly as we finally reached the shelter point within the Archives.

Glancing down, I had to suppress a sigh. The first thing I grabbed to dress myself had apparently been a pair of Conor’s boxer shorts and a very filthy t-shirt that I assumed belonged to Maverick, since Conor’s was usually under coveralls. “At least you can’t say I took my time getting dressed.”

Her shaking head was greeted by faces in various states of wakefulness - this had been a drill, and woke nearly the entire Ark during their sleep interval on Delta shift. But we weren’t out of the woods, yet: the drill didn’t end until all of Xiomara and Evan’s scenarios played out, including the mock combat and various tests of concealment for the other shelters. As such, Tyche stood guard over the choke-point into this section, while Alistair had stayed behind at the entrance.

Early on, when the drills started, there had been fifty-fifty odds that the mock-invaders would make it this far, but over the past few weeks, that had narrowed to maybe twenty-percent. It was still too high a chance in my judgement, and Xiomara clearly agreed as she stepped up training schedules and randomized the timing of the drills.

Taking a swig of water from a stash of bottles, I queued up my datapad and stood next to Tyche, watching the ‘casualties’ from a point where no one could see over my shoulder to avoid panic, which I would have done in a real situation. “They didn’t find mess hall seven this time,” I murmured.

She glanced at my screen. “Acoustics are still too damned high. She must not be simulating for that this go around.”

One of the decoy locations lit up. “Looks like this time it’s heavy on thermal.” The location in question had been equipped with a cooking surface, triggered to activate when the klaxons that had woken me up went off. Which Xiomara knew, but did not tell the ‘pirates’ for authenticity.

“How did they get past the combatants this time?” She asked, both curious and slightly worried.

Rolling back the sensor data, I watched it carefully. “Looks like these got in during the initial breaches, multiple points. But the line has held since, that’s good.”

Doing another check toward Alistair’s direction, she didn’t seem to see anything concerning. “How many?”

“Four,” I confirmed. “Sam’s thermal camouflage is working beautifully, though.” I couldn’t help but grin, and Tyche snorted at the same time. ‘Thermal camouflage’ was a bit of overkill as a name, but it was working well in every round. Potential access points were equipped with fast-acting environmental simulators - originally designed for temporary habitats on inhospitable moons - modified to release atmosphere like a Terran equatorial rainforest within one minute in an enclosed space. It was a much more simple and elegant solution than any others we had found for giving combatants defending the Ark an advantage - instead of trying to create technology to make them look colder, make the entire area match human heat signatures. Boom, instantly blinded enemies.

A tense half-hour later, the ‘all clear’ sounded, queueing grumbling from those who had dozed back off as everyone stood to make their ways back to their quarters. I waited with Alistair and Tyche for everyone else to be accounted for on the way out, and the three of us headed back toward our quarters together. Alistair peeled off first, living closest to the Archives, and no sooner had my sister and I reached my door than the page sounded for the post-drill meeting. She waved me off as she answered on her databand, and I did the same as I pushed into my quarters and flopped on the couch. “Councillor Sophia Reid, present, audio only,” I answered. “And no jokes, Pranav… I look like I smell awful.”

“Alistair Worthington, present, audio and video. I can confirm that she does, and she does.”

Laughter filled the comms and the rest of the group leaders and Councillors joined the debrief. Finally, everyone was present and Xiomara called the meeting to order. First, the leaders of each shelter reported in, as those usually went the fastest. There were a couple malfunctions in the deployment of the shielding to disguise the entrances and hide heat and electrical signatures, but nothing Huynh’s team couldn’t fix. Tyche and Alistair made the recommendations around earlier detection and the need to move those sheltering in the Archives closer as we approached time to drop out of relativistic space.

Once that was out of the way, it was on to the combat and invasion teams. Overall consensus was that Sam’s trick with the portable environments was a rousing success and would be installed at each point determined to be most likely as a breach, with trigger conditions to be determined later. “I hate to say it,” Michael sighed, “but we also need Charly’s team to crank up the scovilles on the arrows and grenades.” His team had played the ‘invaders’ this go around, equipped with sensors and readouts to simulate the effect our defenses would have on the various species who most commonly were found on pirate vessels. Evan had worked intensely with Pranav and Derek to ensure that the strategies provided by the readouts were modelled after similar strategies based on which ever species each team member was assigned, to ensure we weren’t accidentally drilling against human tactics.

Michael hated it, but he was strict about his team complying nonetheless.

“Seriously?” I squawked, and I wasn’t the only one. “One of those things accidentally went off in my quarters…. Can confirm, they’re pretty potent.”

“They dissipated too fast against my team, and also the contact element left a lot to be desired. Charly, you may want to consider adding a sticking element.”

“Duly noted,” she chimed in with a yawn, her normal pep doused by being woken up and then the drop in adrenaline post-combat.

“What about the sonic weapons?” Xiomara asked, moving the meeting along.

“Still less effective than Nixe is on her own,” a familiar voice I couldn’t put a name to responded with a sheepish tone. “How hard would it be to train more people to shatter glass with their voice?”

“Incredibly,” Grey stressed. “It takes a very unique combination of training and the right vocal chords.”

“Then we may need to work on adding a projection component. The sonic devices can match the pitch, but not the actual tone and direction. They’re very effective given time and especially contact, but we need something more immediately disabling.”

Xiomara groaned. “Are we back to Mariah Carey on this one?” Objections exploded until she muted the comms. “It’s that or opera.” Votes started scrolling up the screen, and I could see Xio nod. “Opera it is. Let’s find a suitable piece and try using more analogue-style speakers.”

“I still say that death metal would work better,” Arthur suggested as soon as the comms were back on.

“Annnnd we already tested it, I will remind you. The volume works, but the pitches aren’t high enough to hit a broad enough population of species sensitive to sound.” After that nearly-obligatory objection, the meeting continued going through reports from each combat team until finally Xiomara announced the end results. “I have to admit, this was one of our best drills yet. Ten percent casualties of the combatants defending the breaches, only two percent among non-combatants, and the invaders were only able to traverse three decks before they were subdued.” She let the cheers go for a couple seconds before getting everyone’s attention again. “Yes, great job on the improvements, but let me remind everyone - those numbers still leave us below threshold for a healthy genetic population. Engineering teams, make the necessary adjustments with whatever resources are necessary. Shelters Three and Seven, you will start training for armed and unarmed combat with Shelter Fourteen and Combat Team Two daily. Sophia, your team will coordinate schedules. Any questions?”

There were no arguments, not even a groan or mutter as the meeting was dismissed. Before I could even add the new task to my agenda the next day, I received the notification that Alistair had beaten me to the punch.

Glancing at the time, I wanted to hit something. I had to be back up and at work in four hours, and the realization weighed me down with exhaustion. The guys had come in and gone to bed while I was in the debrief, and I could already hear synchronized snoring coming from the bedroom. Rather than risk waking them with my now-frozen feet, I pulled the quilt off the back of my couch and rolled myself into it. Only minutes later, a heavy weight oozed across my hip and started purring furiously.

“Yeah, buddy. I agree. We need a nap.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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etheralisi · 4 years ago

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ᴛᴇ ɪɴᴠᴏᴄᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ɪs ɢᴏɴᴇ

Perhaps she has hit the unlucky jackpot with getting Tamara as her roommate. What kind of reality did she wake up in to have to come home to a summoning circle?

Ao3

--------

They were low on flour.

And it’s not as if they necessarily need it, per se. Not really, because hey, there’s a few snacks laying around, and their neighbor Marla’s built up a reputation from giving stuff out from bottomless pockets of sweets and chocolates that fits the picture book description of every five year old’s dreamscape to a t.

But Anthea’s hands are itching to do something, anything that isn’t homework, and as always, she’s drawn back into memories of large and steady palms pressing hers into dough, and the scent rising yeast in the oven — the furnace she’ll endearingly label as home. Even now, away on her studies, away from that little country kitchen, it’s that little piece of her past that’s trailing after her through the shopping aisle, Anthea mulling over the brands they have available.

“You’re going shopping?” Her roommate had shouted from the couch when Anthea’s foot was half out of the door, holding it in place as she turned exasperatedly towards the other girl. “ Can you get me anything? Like, I dunno, gummy worms or something. Maybe some crisps. Oh, oh! See if they have any of those-” She snapped her fingers, a disappointed pout forming as she made a vagueish gesture. “Ah, you know. Those things.”

“Sure, sure. Very helpful,” Anthea had said in drawl, fairly sure there are at least five possible contenders for what ‘those things’ may be from her past purchasing habits and, chances are, she’ll end up purchasing the wrong thing. So. You know. Helpful. “I’ll see what I can find, Tam. Pay me back later.”

She’s gotten Tamara a good few bargains, and if she were any less of a person, Anthea would charge her full price for them and pocket a little extra cash. Like a certain someone — not naming names, but Tamara — had done a few months back in her ploy to ‘get rich quick’ after taking inspiration from a few life hack videos guaranteeing her ways to save money, though not as borderline fraudulent as she put into practice.

So. Yes. What a wonderful roommate Anthea’s been blessed with. Truly an inspiration.

(And to think that once upon so long ago, Anthea had been a sidestep and a jump from a breakdown, worrying if she’d be considered the weird roommate. The one people grumble about to friends over the phone.)

After staring at the prices the flour is selling at — long enough she swears barcodes and prices are burned into her retinas, thin black lines and all — Anthea pulls out her phone, just long enough to send a text or two to Tamara. Just checking in, is all. Reminding Tamara of her half of the chores, and praying to every entity out there that she's not going to have to come back to their shared living space surrounded by firefighters because of a science project gone wrong.

(“Hey, I was just pulling apart my Magiorb to see how it ticked! I couldn’t have foreseen the fire. Or how couches aren’t fireproof. Uhh, what’s the cheapest fireproof furniture selling right now?”)

Needless to say, there’s a very low bar in the terms of her expectations for her return. Very low bar. ‘World’s best limbo dancer can’t even hope to cross’ kind.

Still. Somehow Tamara manages to bring a spade and tunnel right under this metaphorical bar until she reaches hell’s gates, because, well, Anthea’s pretty sure that everything you can find in a ‘ cultists starter kit to summoning demonic entities’ has been strewn across the room to the point that rather than baking, her hands are screaming for her to grab a fire extinguisher before house fire electric boogaloo can make a comeback.

Candles. So. Many. Candles. Over that little couch, over her bed. Why are they over her bed?

Multiple pressing questions bulldoze their way down the fast-pass lane to the forefront of her mind, so pressing they may as well be full on slaps to the face like this whole nonsensical scene displayed out in front of her. Anthea hardly registers dropping the shopping bag, slipping from numb fingers now completely useless for pinching her awake from this living nightmare.

‘Life hacks,' okay. Guess this extends to hacking away at their own lifespans too. It’s flashing before her eyes, disco party style, as they speak.

“Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?” Anthea says with this tired sort of calm calm. Like the anger and frustration and fear are too big for her body and physically unable to manifest themselves into her tone. It’s just. Too much.

“Your text told me to satanize the kitchen before you returned, and the other rooms if I could. Don’t worry, I did the kitchen too,” Tamara says like it’s a perfectly normal request and every bit entirely in character of Anthea to say, and not in the least worrisome to the point that Anthea doesn’t so much as want to think about the state of the kitchen. She knows the text. She knows what she sent. And yeah, pulling out her phone, Anthea’s now doubly sure that her request wasn’t nearly as demonic as Tamara has taken it.

“I wrote sanitise, Tamara,” She corrects with not nearly enough stress on the name as she is feeling right now. Not even close. “Sanitise . And here you are with… with this pentagram…”

“Summoning circle.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Anthea wants to laugh, really laugh, but she’s afraid she won’t be able to stomach something so bitter. “And how is that any better?”

“I mean, it’s not the Satan on the line. I couldn’t get a hold of him.” And is it her, or does the slight pout of Tamara’s bottom lip make her look — dare she say it — disappointed. Demonic flames are no way to sanitise a home. Insta-cook it? Yes. But she just wants to bake. Not recreate hell’s kitchen.

Anthea pinches or nose and lets loose a long, drawn out sigh as she tries to recall what optimism sounds like again when her half full glass has been shattered against a wall repetitively.

“Well that’s clear. If you had, I’d be coming back to nothing but the circle. Thank the stars you didn’t manage to summon him.”

And by him, she means whatever alternative demon Tamara had turned to after her temporary setback. Anthea never really studied demons above the mandatory lessons where the overall takeaway was ‘ stay the heck away from demons unless you have a death wish for both you and your entire neighbourhood .’ And good old Mr Rivera had a knack for making even the most entertaining of things about as interesting as witnessing fifty coats of paint dry, the sound of his voice alone giving insomniacs the well needed rest they deserve, his droning on a magical cure-all. But she swears that the patterns ring some incredibly distant alarm bells amongst the fog of memories.

“Ehhh…” Tamara hand wanders to the back of her neck, sheepish. “I mean...”

Her stomach drops. Ten, twenty floors of an office building and into the plummeting void of ever present worry and why ever did she think leaving to buy flour would be a safe activity?

“What,” Anthea says, fire encased in a cage of ice for a tone, “Did you do?”

As if on queue — and perhaps so, because stage queues and flair have been attributed to their species for years — the answer makes itself known as the Dreambender himself, materialising into existence with a faint pop and waft of pine needles to mask the smoke.

What.

What the-

“Oh, y̤͈̣̭̝͎̹o͖̝̻̲̤̪͇u͖͉̥͙’̥͖̟̗͍̮͡r̼̩̣̻e̞͔̝̜̹ ͔̺̘͈̰͎b̞̦͍͔͡a͖͜c͇̘k̛̮̙?̹̼͓̖͖̳̝ ” He grins, too many teeth. Far too many teeth. “And you’ve brought my gummy worms! Thanks!”

#Transcendence au #Bread fic #I know it's been a while but.... hi?

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thedoctor-his1hercompanions · 5 months ago

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Rouge (Episode)

#Doctor Who #Rouge #Fifteenth Doctor #Rouge and Fifteen #Rouge (Episode)#DROUGEdits #otp: who's hot #When he's stressed; he likes to queue species

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uncertaininnit · 4 years ago

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who wants to read an essay about my relationship with simping/an appreciation(/simping lol) post about Will+Eret and also seperately tommyinnit that was written at 4:22 am and then added to the queue because i love the queue system also fun fact i pronounced the word ‘queue’ as ‘cc-week’ for like an entire year and idk why anyways

lets just jump into it

lol

so. if somebody was to ask me who my favorite mcyt is, i would think about it for a moment and eventually answer with either Wilbur or Eret. and i think that is purely out of simping instinct or whatever the fuck.

to start, Wilbur; the prettiest man, period. i do not take constructive criticism. he is literally gorgeous and i get so mad at him for putting himself down all the time because he doesnt deserve the shit, especially not from himself. he is 24 years old and has the lowest self-esteem out of anybody i can think of. i want to yell in his face all the time. i want to tell him simps are the same species as him, and they have REASONS to simp. if you keep seeing appreciation posts about yourself (which im sure he does) that means people APPRECIATE YOU and WANT YOU to feel APPRECIATED.

anyway, back to simping. let’s start from the top. his goddamn hair. it is, it is, and i just took a deep breath, so pretty. maybe it isnt the hair itself, probably, but the way it is done. wavy dark brown hair all floofy in the front. and he is constantly messing with it, which is THE cutest thing. when he is excited, he moves a lot, and his hair moves with him and gets messed up and ahhhcvkvyr moving on.

his face? lets start with his eyes. they are so pretty. i think my opinion on eyes is probably weird, and allow me to explain why. i never ever notice somebodies eye color when talking to them. i just dont even look. so when i am actively paying attention to somebody’s eyes, they are that much more important to me. but idk, i kinda feel like his eyes are one of the biggest factors of his face? like, he looks really pretty whether he is smiling or not, because his face doesn’t ride on his smile.

sidetrack paragraph about george: i think george is that way. he is adorable, but he is only really adorable when he is smiling. if i look up ‘georgenotfound cute’ it will be entirely him smiling, and never any other facial expression because he genuinely looks like the fucking weirdest thing sometimes when making a serious face. back to will.

i dont pay attention to noses because who even cares dude but i’m sure his nose does a good job of supporting his looks as well so good job nose

his SMILE. he doesn’t need to smile, but dude, when he does, it’s like i always used to say (and still would say) in regards to eijiro kirishima. it’s like... sunbeams, like rays of light are in his mouth and escaping when he smiles.i wonder how he keeps a star in there. because his smile literally lights up my heart. and when he tilts his head(basically all the time luckily)? so goddamn pretty. pretty man. pretty.

that brings us to his neck, which is- no, kidding, but i do want to talk about his vocal chords! firstly his speaking voice, which i guess as an american it hits different for me because of the accent. but- i dont think i can put it into words. but the way he puts thoughts into words-(lol) idk, his voice is just really sweet. and his SINGING VOICE, here we go.

so he sings, duh. and i- holy fuck. he just sounds good, you know? he is a good singer. i want to put my emotions simply this time. he sings well, and he sounds good. a pretty voice for a pretty man. i cant even try to elaborate.

basically the only other thing of my concern is his fucking yellow sweater? or jumper or whatever the fuck? and his beanie? on his body? damn. i am genuinely attached to that sweater. it just looks good, ok? it does.

oh yeah, and he’s hella fucking tall. 6′5? are you kidding? you couldn’t have at least been short so we could make fun of you?

oh yeah and his laugh-

it is now 4:53 am and a bitch is tired but i have an entire fucking train of thoughts and they must be somewhere before they slip away

the next part- Eret. i adore Eret. so incredibly much. and let me start this by saying i’m going to consistantly call him a he, because he doesn’t care and so that makes it easier for me. ok? ok.

he is the opposite of Wilbur in this one regard, confidence. and self-esteem. eret loves himself. that attitude spreads. look, not only is he like the #1 bicon in the world as far as i’m concerned, but he also actively fucks gender roles any day. strawberry dress pog? strawberry dress pog.

but seriously, he rocked the strawberry dress. and the suit, though i missed that stream. he rocks his crown, his sunglasses, just anything he puts on. and don’t get me started on the BOOTS

(im started on the boots) so firstly the heel boots, the first ones he got. when i first saw clips, my only thought was something like ‘woah.’ or maybe ‘damn.’ at that point i didn’t know much about him, just that he looked STELLAR in those boots (and the betrayal and shit yknow) and the PLATFORMS DUDE

the platforms are the same but moar tall, which is incredible. oh and now back to strawberry dress- have you seen him twirl? the twirl? hello? have you seen it? you must.

also i havent even talked about HIM yet. hove you seen that picture of him with a bird on his shoulder? he is facing the bird, i think looking at it, with a wide smile across his face. and it is so pretty. he has the prettiest smile.

also today i was looking for flour at the store place and a clip of him was playing in my mind- he was doing like an announcer voice, like in every superhero movie trailer- and he was just coming up with something to say, and what he ened up saying was ‘in a world... where.... cookies.... are made of pringles’ and OMFG its making me laugh even now. like of absolutely anything, that was the example he made. just thinking about it is making me smile.

speaking of, have you heard his voice? his normal voice is really really deep anyways, but he has crazy range- he can effortlessly(i originally wrote effortly and when i noticed i laughed because i am so fucking tired bfv9wuocl) go from like an elmo impression (and a good one) to a just REALLY low voice, lower than his normal low voice.

AND HIS SINGING VOICE! he doesn’t like actually make music like wilbur but on that one stream where he did kareoke (how the fuck is it spelled) with fundy and his voice is SO LIKE its deep and its just pretty and i never want to hear normal sweater weather ever again, just him singing it.

i think this is where i’m done with eret- it is 5:18 now, and a BITCH IS TIRED but i need to finish this while i’m still feeling this wayy or i’ll never finish it, i know this from experience.

and now it’s tommy time

the og reason i decided to make this an actual post . but i had to explain the simping thing before i got into my thoughts about tommy.

but let me start this with just saying yes, i love him. he is a big man and i want him to be happy. which is the topic for today’s discussion, AHEM.

so tommyinnit, right? he is 16, which is why i do NOT simp.i dont care that im also a minor, i wouldn’t do anything to make him feel uncomfortable, ever. in any world. never. because look- i dont know how to put it, but tommy is SIXTEEN. still young and impressionable and all that junk. and he is a fairly fucking famous twitch streamer. he does that almost daily.

what i’m saying is i dont want him to get hurt. him, and tubbo too. they are a part of the world, part of the public, all the time. don’t you think that is stressful? do you guys remember his haircut stream? on the day of his haircut? and chat was making fun of him for it, and wilbur was making fun of him for it. that is how i express affection, with my real friends as well. playful bullying. but at some point while Will was teasing him, he says something along the lines of ‘yeah, the big man hasn’t been having too great a day’ or something like that, and dude, my heart dropped.

a. he had mentioned earlier that he didn’t want to stream the day of his haircut because hair is always weird that first day, but since he hadn’t streamed in a good bit he felt obliged to. i dont really.. idk, i dont really like that. i dont want him to have to put himself in uncomfortable situations because he feels like he needs to for us. i don’t think that is healthy.

and b. chat and wilbur were bullying him. good-naturedly, but still, when he mentioned he had been having a bad day, the chat turned around and instantly started yelling shit like ‘AHHHH SORRY BIG MAN YOUR HAIR IS FINE’ and when Wilbur kept teasing him (you fucking beautiful bully man fuck off) yelling stuff like ‘WILBUR QUIT WE ARE H U R T I N G HIM’ and ‘WILL STFU HES HAVING A BAD DAY’ so im glad we all want him to feel ok

but still, it cannot be healthy. when i first got into MCYT, i though tommy was fucking loud and annoying. and he is! he is. but that is a big part of why i like him so much. and everyone jokes about him being a child, because he is, but i choose to not say stuff like that in chat just because i want him to be happy. those jokes are fun, but i want him to be happy. and he is happier when not being called a child.

im not attacking you, do whatever the fuck you want. i dont know why i feel the need to protect him or whatever, if he read this he would probably think i was hella creepy. i just- listen, i just want him to be happy. i just want him to smile and laugh. i sound SO GODDAMN CREEPY but- as ive said- i just want him to be happy.

is this literally just what having a comfort streamer is? am i not crazy? does everyone experience this? and can we talk about tommy’s playlist it’s literally so sweet and bubbly compared to his personality and i love that. and the song he always plays at the start of stream and always like buzzes along to? that moment in time is my very favorite.

it is 5:44-

#simp #like im literally the biggest simp #mcyt #dream smp #wilbur soot #the_eret #tommyinnit

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gh0stwrit3r · 5 years ago

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Let's cause a little trouble. Oh, you make me feel so weak; {Isla && Luca}

“So how’s it going so far? Are you liking Hollowbrook?” Scarlet asked, as the queue of the local coffee shop seemed to stand still. It was only a small town and this was the locals favourite, it was always brimming with customers at all hours of the day. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans with an undertone of cocoa filled the small shop, the sound of milk being steamed to silky perfection, and names being called for coffee collection. The girls names were called and Scarlet stepped forward, collecting their coffee orders and handing Isla hers.

“Bored. Like always. Dad insisted I go to this university when all I wanted was to get the hell out of here! I’m not one for small towns. He gave me a car to convince me. You’re better with them than I am, aren’t you Scar?” Isla said, peering at the girl who was her opposite in many ways. Scarlet was a straight A student, always kind and well mannered, got along with most people. Whereas Isla had trouble fitting in.

“I’ve just been here a bit longer..” Scarlet played it off with a meek shrug of her shoulders as the two found a table and sat down. Her friend had no idea that the reason she fit into the town so well was because they were so accepting of her species. She never had to fear anyone, just so long as she kept her head down and didn’t cause any trouble. “How’d he get you into this university mid-term anyway?”

“My professor wrote some crap on my essay like I could do a million times better if I applied myself. And my dad did the stupid thing of forwarding my grade transcript from high school to some of the professors here. So now they think I’m some sort of lazy genius who just lacks inspiration.” She said with an eye-roll at the notion. “I’m not. There’s nothing to inspire me in this stupid town.” Isla took a gulp of her coffee and involuntarily let out a small moan as it reached her taste buds. “Shut up! I can’t take you anywhere!” Scarlet laughed, throwing a sachet of sugar at her friends chest as her antics garnered the attention of others in the coffee shop.

Isla laughed as the sachet of sugar bounced off of her breast and back onto the table. “This coffee--” Isla held up her disposable coffee cup for reference “--Is orgasmic! Don’t blame me, blame them!” Isla gestured in the area of the front counter. She heaved a sigh as the two fell into a comfortable silence. “You know what this place needs? Someone to throw a party. I’d do it myself if I knew more interesting people. From my five minutes of being around, I can say there are definitely cute guys here. Now it’s all about finding them!” Isla wagged her eyebrows, as if to say this was the perfect segway from her orgasmic coffee to talking about boys.

“I’m not interested in dating or parties.. I need to focus on maintaining my gpa and graduating valedictorian.” Scarlet replied, rubbing her temples softly as she felt the stress of the rest of the university year on her shoulders. She gazed down at her watch and caught the time, she was gonna be late for her first class of the day. Worst yet, she was gonna make a bad impression on the professor. Isla was such a bad influence on her! “Speaking of which-- I’m late. I’ll catch you at lunch?” Scarlet asked, receiving a less than enthused nod in response from Isla.

Isla continued to sip her latte and was reading a book when to her dismay someone filled Scarlet’s occupied seat. The nerve! “Excuse me.. There are plenty of other seats in this coffee shop..” Isla started, not raising her line of sight from her book for a second. Okay, I’ll bite, Isla thought when the person refused to move and she glanced up to see a handsome man, smiling charmingly at her. This piqued her interest and she shut her book. “On second thought.. tall, dark and handsome never hurt anybody. What can I do for you?”

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castielista · 4 years ago

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Dreams of Electric Sheep

AU-gust: A Cherik Futuristic AU + Coffee Shop AU + Private Detective AU

Note: Well, I couldn’t let AU-gust end without writing something for it, right? rIGHT? Prompt 31 was to combine two AUs but things got out of hand and I combined three. So as a result I got this absolute mess of a fic that I really hope you enjoy. <3

Summary: Detective Charles is investigating a case where the murderers are two androids, and if there's something Charles hates, that's androids. However, with the EL7 working at his favourite coffee shop, things are a bit different.

Words: 1925

Read on Ao3

The EL7 was graceful and efficient like no other.

The amount of coffee that his human coworker could prepare in thirty minutes, he did in ten. The kind of queue that could drive anyone mad, never caused the slightest sign of stress in him. Collected but always impeccably polite to customers, he moved across the counter with the poise and the care of a craftsman, virtually indistinguishable from humans in looks, but meticulously programmed to perfect his job like no one else could.

Every once in a while, Charles glanced at him.

Erik, said his nametag, in a smudged, childlike writing.

Giving androids names was far from being common practice, let alone naming an EL7, a Level 1 android. They were simply addressed by their model and were considered, like every other android, a ‘species’ inferior to humans or mutants. Anthropomorphic servants that imitated life, but that had no soul.

Charles had always believed that, too.

Androids got on his nerves more often than not, and he tried to interact with them as little as possible. Perhaps it was because when he read their minds, he found nothing. Perhaps it was because, for him, they were more unpredictable than any human being. And he found it unbearable to know that there were toasters sophisticated enough to trick him into thinking they had feelings.

But some months ago, when he ordered at that coffee shop for the first time, Charles’ exact words were: “Thank you, Erik.” And he never knew why.

At that moment, the EL7, taken by surprise, raised his eyes from the coffee and looked at Charles. “Thank you,” he said, smiled shyly, and then glanced down again.

After that thank you, Erik, there were more thank you, Eriks and hi, Erik and hi, Charles, and countless but brief conversations held while Charles ordered. By now it was a habit of his to go into the coffee shop when he needed to think about any case, which he needed fairly often. So, fairly often, Charles and Erik knew a bit more about each other.

Erik had a very reserved personality, but whenever Charles arrived at the counter, he seemed to light up. He talked about the books he had read, the music he had heard, and about how much he liked old cinema, specially from the 21st century. And when Charles spoke, he listened with veiled fascination.

Charles tried to reply with a certain skepticism, reminding himself over and over again that he was talking to a machine. While it was not the norm for an android of his level to have that many interests, it was not rare either, as their personalities were always developed to the last detail.

However, Charles couldn't help but like their little interactions, and the timid but burning spark that crossed Erik's eyes whenever Charles called him by that name, which he did a bit more often lately. And no matter what he told himself, every day he looked forward to ordering his bloody coffee.

Lost in thought, Charles caught sight of the only physical detail that gave Erik away — the logo on the back of his neck.

Shaw Systems.

Charles looked down. It was the same name that appeared on every page of the bunch of files he had on his table. They all contained the details of two seemingly unrelated murder cases committed by two androids, both of them — like Erik — property of Shaw Systems.

After a couple of minutes looking at the documents, Charles wanted to drown himself in his coffee. He had absolutely nothing. Some very basic information about the victims and the supposed murderers, and the rest, nonsensical theories written during some very dubious moments of clarity.

It was not easy, he thought, when the entire universe seemed to be against him.

Emma Frost, head engineer of Shaw Systems, had refused to provide information, stating that the design of their androids was faultless. If they had malfunctioned, she said, it was the owner's responsibility. Besides, she added while showing Charles the way out, she owed no explanation to a third-rate investigator. And thus, Charles' official relationship with the company was sentenced to death.

To make things even worse, that morning, Logan, his colleague in this case, had decided to step down. “We better not mess with them, Charles,” he told him, sincerely worried.

He was probably right. Hell, he was right. They were a small agency and Shaw Systems was a monstrous company, carrying on with the case would only lead to more problems. But Charles was already too obsessed with the investigation, too invested in those two murders. And though he could not put a finger on it, he knew that something else laid beneath the surface.

“Hello, Charles,” a soft voice spoke over his shoulder.

Charles almost jumped on his seat, startled, and promptly, he hid the documents on the table. Then he glanced up to find Erik's eyes. The android giggled at his reaction.

“Erik, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were here.”

Why the hell did he insist on talking to him as if he was a human being?

“Can I…” said Erik, pointing at the chair next to Charles'. He looked around, there were no customers at the moment.

Charles nodded, and Erik sat down, cautious, like a child at an unknown place. Having him there, so close to him, Charles asked himself if it was really necessary to design an android to be as attractive as Erik.

For a while, neither of them said a word. Charles' mind instinctively tried to reach out for Erik's, and as always, nothing came out of it. He could only rely on what he could see.

Erik was acting a bit erratic, making quick movements, examining his surroundings, and looking at Charles like he intended to say something but couldn't find the way.

It was one of the android's gestures that drew Charles' attention to the synthetic skin on the side of his neck. Part of the tissue had been torn, exposing some of Erik's inner circuits, and there was a small gap that seemed to continue expanding towards his chest, as if someone had ripped something out of him. Charles had enough knowledge on robotics to identify the missing part— the device that connected androids to the Shaw Systems central.

“Are you... are you okay, Erik?” he asked, just a little concerned.

That question was enough for the android to start talking.

“You are Xavier. Charles Xavier,” he said, lowering his voice.

“That’s me," Charles frowned. He never told him his full name.

“Detective from the M Agency.”

Now Charles was fully alert. “How do you —

“They are following you.”

Charles was more than used to those kinds of situations, but the concern in Erik's tone made it sound more disturbing. “W-who?”

Erik gave a quick glance around the room and pointed to an ad on the wall. Then his eyes went back to Charles. "Shaw," he almost whispered.

Charles wanted to act as the investigator he was, but he was too confused to do so. Erik continued, “You are beginning to appear in the media. They fear you.”

Fear. The greatest technological empire in the history of humankind and mutantkind was afraid of detective Charles. At any other circumstance, he would have burst into laughter. “This… this is a very minor case, I have no information at all, I'm positive I won't find out much more. I don't think —

“You are getting into something larger than you think,” the android interrupted him. “Those malfunctioning androids, they did not malfunction, they killed because they were told to do so.”

“What do you know about that?” Charles asked, bewildered but guided by his investigative instincts.

“Not much more, everything is wrapped in a veil of secrecy. But the maker is an ambitious man. Right now, he has control over every operative android, and I know him well enough to be certain that he wants to use that power. The company has always been untouchable, but now you’ve become a problem. You are making them very nervous, which means you are getting dangerously close to something." Erik moved one hand across the table and laid it a fraction of an inch away from Charles'. His voice trembled, “You have to be very careful, Charles."

Charles did not move. The electricity of Erik's body reached him too. He struggled to speak out loud. “Why do you know so much about this?”

Erik took a moment before answering. “Because I was commanded to kill you.”

Charles almost fainted right there.

Everything around him was spinning, and it took all his concentration to stay conscious. His best option was probably getting out of that place as quickly as possible and running away from the EL7. But he did not have the strength for that, and a part of him was dying to know more.

“Poisoning you. Getting rid of you as discreetly as possible.” resumed Erik, keeping an eye on Charles to make sure he was fine. “I tried everything, but my program forced me to obey.” He signaled the wounds on his neck. “So I disconnected myself from the central. Now some of my subsystems are malfunctioning, but I'm still working… and you are still alive. My next option was deactivation.”

Death. That meant deactivation for him. He was saying that he would have died to avoid killing him.

“However, I may be more useful for you alive,” he gave a hint of a smile. “When they realize I have not accomplished my mission, they will start looking for other ways to eliminate you… But you are very good at this, and I am now the only android that’s not under Shaw’s control, so if you trust me and you want to continue, maybe we can stop him.”

After that, Erik went silent for a moment. If he was expecting a reply from Charles, he could wait forever.

But he was not.

“Whatever you decide, whether you trust me or not, I promise you no one will hurt you as long as I live.”

Now Charles could barely breathe.

It was impossible. Impossible for an android to go against a direct order from the central. Impossible that he had chosen to disobey, when an android could not choose, nor disobey. Impossible that he had done it because —

“Why?” Charles asked.

This time Erik did not answer. He simply stared into Charles’ eyes.

It was not a robot's stare, it was just the stare of someone who didn’t know how much eye contact was common between humans. Charles saw himself in those eyes. Same hopes, same needs, same desires. And for the first time, he could almost read an android's mind. Erik didn’t fully understand why he had done what he did, he was confused, too. But he knew that there was, indeed, a reason. And it was a reason powerful enough to neutralize and counter the very purpose he had been designed for.

“There’s a movie theater across the street, they show old movies,” Charles finally spoke. “If you...”

Seeing he was unable to end the sentence, Erik smiled tenderly. And it was the most genuinely human reaction Charles had ever seen. “I love old movies.”

At that moment, a couple of customers entered the shop, and Erik stood up immediately, going back to the counter to do his job as efficiently as always. And for the rest of his shift, they could no longer stop looking at each other.

Thank you so much for reading! <3

#cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #xmen #cherik fic #fic #au-gust 2020 #coffee shop au #futuristic au #cherik au #chessinparis fic

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thedoctorloveshis1hercompanions · 3 months ago

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Doctor Who Parallel

#Doctor Who #Tenth Doctor #Graham O'Brien #S4 Special #S12 #Parallel #When he's stressed; he likes to queue species

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crepeshifter · 5 years ago

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character profile i use

Full name: add their whole name, including middle names

Preferred name/s: any nicknames they like? what they tell people to call them?

Previous name/s: if they changed their name, or if they forgot it, what was their name before that happened?

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Species: in a multi-species world, it’s useful to specify species just in case someone reading these profiles gets confused as to why your character has blue skin

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Age: if a character is a different species from human, it’s useful to add both their chronological age (the years) and the biological age (in relation to human years, how old would they be in regards to body development?)

Mental age: mental age often differs from physical age. it’s a good idea to specify this so that any behavioural problems can be linked to mental age, if that’s the case.

Birthday: always add this, if you get a fanbase on your story/fanfiction/game/whatever else you may be making, your fans will want to know their favorite character’s birthday, as that’s the best time for fanart!

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Height: this helps keep consistency. if a tall character interacts with a short character, height difference is a good way to make the situation more realistic. forgetting the height difference could be an issue so keeping a note is a good plan.

Weight: again, helps with consistency and story elements. heavy characters will likely be louder when walking, for example.

Blood type: not a super neccesary base point but don’t forget that transferring blood between people is harder than just ‘here have some blood’, especially in a game. crossing blood types can be fatal so adding this point gives a new way to kill characters off >:)

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Eye color: this is simply an appearance point. try to be as specific as you can (i like to take the hex code and copy and paste it in, so there can be no mistake!)

Eye shape: again, just an appearance point however this can help to almost give characters animal qualities! e.g you can make a person seem more ‘cat-like’ by giving them more slanted eyes. an easy way to do this is make an eye shape sheet, numbering and lettering tables for shape, lashes and pupils.

Glasses: this can be really useful especially in game situation. glasses can be used to focus light and start fires, and story element; what if your character has bad eyesight and loses heir glasses? how does this affect their performance - maybe even their overall morale!

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Hair color: as with eye color, try to be specific as possible so mistakes are less likely. giving a loose description such as ‘ginger’ or ‘black’ is fine, but only if you want the reader/player to have a wide scope for their own imagination. e.g ‘ginger’ could be more on the red side or the blond side, specifying even ‘red-ginger’ or ‘gold-ginger’ can be really useful. is it dyed or natural?

Hair length: this one doesn’t need to be super specific - don’t go measuring it accurately, simply stating ‘shoulder-length’ or ‘mid-back’ is perfectly fine.

Hair type: for this one try to describe the texture of the hair, whether it’s thick or thin, greasy or clean, knotty or brushed etc. this gives the reader/player a good visualisation of how they treat themselves.

Fringe/Bangs: again, this helps with visualisation. try to specify if it’s a neat cut, or choppy, or if they even have bangs at all.

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Freckles: this isn’t super important but it can add some uniqueness to your character’s design. specify how dark the freckles are, how they are distributed (many freckles, few freckles) and where they fall e.g cheekbones, bridge of nose, all over face etc.

Scars: this can add some personality as well, if a character has more scars, it can tell a lot about their personality - are they daring? try to describe where their scars are, how deep are they? are they burn scars or gash scars? do they open up under stress? how did your character get them?

Beauty marks: again, a cute uniqueness point. as with freckles, where do their beauty marks fall, on their neck? a dot under the eye? how dark are the spots? are they large or small?

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Skin tone: this can also add personality to your character. for this point, add a sort of rating for the skin tone e.g 1-10, 1 being palest and 10 being darkest. hex color values are also useful because you could have a character with green skin, but if you don’t specify color, how would anyone know from the profile? give reasons for the skin tone. do they go out a lot? where do they live? do they work? what is their skin like, tough? delicate? sensitive? do they have a rash, or a skin condition?

Nationality: make sure you add this, it can be useful to justify skin tone and other pints like their hair and eye colors.

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Allergies: this is always useful, especially for a game character. if your character is allergic to mushrooms, tell the reader/player! in a game situation, a character who eats mushrooms but is allergic to mushrooms could be severely affected. how serious is the allergy? will it kill them, or just give them a headache?

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Any health issues? : this could be mental or physical. it’s useful to add these for plot points, or stats in a game. can it be solved? how does it limit their capabilities? is there someone/something that is an exception, e.g do they refuse to talk to anyone due to social anxiety, but they get really happy and excited when their best friend calls them up? do they have to take medication for it? what if they don’t take their meds? do they refuse to take these medications? how do people judge them based on their health problem? is their issue countered by something which is amplified (this is often the case with autism for example). is their issue noticable at first glance? can they cover it easily or do they have to make excuses? do they even want help?

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Sexuality: oh, this. the ships will roll, when you add this. it’s useful to add, just in case they have a crush on someone whose sexuality prevents them from having a relationship, e.g a gay male crushing on a straight male. it also helps in the way of distractions, are they interested in boys? girls? how much do they like the people they’re attracted to (would they stare at someone they find attractive, or just glance and think ‘cute’, before looking away?)

Gender identity: for this point, add their physical sex, the gender they identify as, and pronouns. if you have a transgender character, add the sex they were born as, then the sex they feel they are, e.g female-male trangender, male, he/him/his.

Crush/Lover/Spouse: delete as appropriate. if they have more than one crush, list them all, if possible. if they’re in a relationship, but they’re crushing on someone else, put ‘Lover: [name of lover], Crush: [name of crush], [who they like more]’.

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Favorite color: useful for personality and helps to decide what they would wear as well as what things they would buy. if they have multiple, just list them, and if they have no favorite, then say that. if they hate all colors, say that too. it’s also useful to mention if they’re colorblind, this could justify their lack of preference. also specify what type of colorblindness they have.

Favorite food: useful to show where they would eat, and what they would eat there. is their favorite food something they’re allergic to? if so, do they eat it anyway, or do they suffer in silence as their friends all help themselves to the peanut butter sandwiches? again, if there are multiple, it’s useful to add that, as well as if they don’t like any food in particular.

Favorite drink: same as with the food. it’s also useful to mention if they can even tell the difference between pepsi and coca-cola for example, especially if one of these is their favorite. can they only drink the branded drinks, or are non-branded drinks just as good to them?

Least favorite color: this is a good plot point. some people associate memories with colors, so maybe your character does too. is there a reason behind their dislike for a certain color, or is it just unappealing? did they used to like it, but went off?

Least favorite food: it’s useful to specify why in this section. why doesn’;t your character like curry, is it the spiciness, or the weird flavor? do they not like meat? is it because they’re vegetarian, or is the issue the texture?

Least favorite drink: same as with food. do they dislike non-branded drinks, or maybe, do they prefer the non-branded ones? do they dislike fizzy drinks because it makes bubbles go up their nose, or maybe do the bubbles give them heart-burn?

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Loves: this is helpful for plot. what do they enjoy? is there a reason behind this? are all the things they love just people? is it something their friend gave to them? is it a hobby which they find peace in? do they take pride in these, or do they try to hide it?

Likes: what do they find enjoyable but not as much as what they love? is it all food?! what if they only like it because their friends do? is it something they get money from?

Tolerates: add things which they don’t like, but they won’t try to argue with. e.g loud people, queue-cutters? cold weather?

Dislikes: this could define their friendships! what if they don’t like hyper people, but they have to work with a hyper person for example?

Hates: the things they absolutely, under no circumstances, ever, will tolerate. spiders? liars? this is an opportunity for plot!

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Weather: the weather they feel most at ease in, or enjoy most. does your character like to read books indoors while a thunderstorm cracks outside? do they love to be at the beach in scorching weather? throwing snowballs? kicking autumn leaves?

Temperature: which temperature makes them happy? the winter chill that clouds their warm breath? the summer air which makes the cool breezes all the more welcome? add the temperature in both °C and °F, and add factors which may affect this.

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Notable strengths: things they pride themselves on. is it their artwork? singing ability? the capability to stay motivated? calming people? physical strength?

Notable weaknesses: things that they maybe aren’t so good at, and may or may not be working to improve. social interaction? sword skills? cooking? maybe it’s as simple as their dissatisfaction with appearance. bear in mind that these ‘weaknesses’ will likely be things that, when mentioned or pointed out, will make them uncomfortable or protective.

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Piercings: do they have ear piercings? are the earrings they wear significant? did they have a piercing, but it closed up? make sure to specify how many they have and if there’s a reason at all, mention it. it could me important.

Tattoos: where is it? did it hurt them? why do they have this tattoo? how old is it? did they even want it? if they have none, but want some, what do they want? are their tattoos faded? did they have any removed?

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Hobbies: things they enjoy and love to do. walking in the rain? stroking kittens? singing along to music? sleeping?!

Style: their clothing choice. do the prefer light or dark colors? do they expose a lot of skin, or prefer to cover up? do they like loose clothing? why? do they prefer to wear warm clothes or ones that let them stay cool? do they have loads of the same hoody?

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Other: this is where you write any other important things. backstory, maybe? quotes? catchphrases? alignment?

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