#also i fully recognize dark will never ever ever get the credit he deserves but doesnt want for like

[dnangelic]

and its like. at the point they're at, the way that dark is always ready to separate or fling himself away from daisuke in a heartbeat with the complete, utter unassailable faith and expectation that daisuke will always come back for him (and he WILL) drives me insane. dark has nobody else to rely on, nobody else to speak with, nobody else who truly, deeply knows him the way daisuke does: he already only 'half exists,' and being abandoned by daisuke (who did wish that dark didn't exist initially, who had nothing on his mind but being free of his curse,) could be as easy as how krad described the way dark could abandon daisuke; forget him, keep the body for yourself, only dark doesn't do that Despite Legitimately Wanting his own body That badly. there's literally nothing that dark can do for himself in so many circumstances where he gets either trapped or captured, beyond let daisuke go --- but then wait, with nothing more than hope and total faith in his 'other self' and their determination and skills. then there's the funky magic stuff: even when they're separated, they're not really alone. even when they're separated, they're not truly apart. at most it's matter of voice and consciousness, and all dark has to do is wait for daisuke to find and fetch him again. that's part of why he's always telling daisuke that he's too slow or that he's been tired of waiting around; it's a confession of reliance, it's an expectation, it's dark's complete and utter trust, it's 'i'm you,' it's 'you've woken up to my existence inside of you.' dark himself would never and doesn't ever hesitate to reach out 'for the things he wants,' but the words 'i'll help you,' 'i'll come get you,' 'i won't leave you behind,' 'i'm here for you,' all without fail is what that kind of thing entails, though dark so rarely expressly says it - instead it's the honest, simple daisuke who doesn't obscure these sentiments in any way, but they really do operate in the same way for those they care about beneath it all.

[ericamzdm]

Food and the Horde - Hordak

There are two things food-related things we can take from the tiny soups scene:

(1) Hordak eats ration bars

(2) Hordak's relationship with food - with all of his bodily needs - is real bad.

Hordak and Rations

The soups are pretty obviously liquefied and heated ration bars, so we know that's what Hordak eats.

Give Entrapta a little credit here - if not as someone who cares deeply about her friends and their needs, then at least as an incorrigible snoop. She's definitely gone through Hordak's snack drawer.

Ration bars also just make sense as the whole of Hordak's diet. After all, clones live in a gilded cage [made of razor wire] where food simply isn't a concern - Nutrient Rich Amniotic Fluid is always, endlessly available.

Which means that when Hordak got dumped into a pocket dimension, he had zero knowledge of how to feed himself. Just an utter lack of basic skills like "recognizing hunger" and "putting food aside for later"; never mind advanced ones like "buttering bread".

Hordak was faced with a really steep learning curve ... which he had no interest in mastering, because he has negative patience for his own needs. He would have learned just enough to get to "good enough", and no further. And that's ration bars. Not good - not tasty, not quite nutritionally complete, not even fully consistent - but good enough.

Good enough to free him from the tyranny of choice, to mean he doesn't have to deal with different tastes and textures and nutritional profiles. Good enough that he could delegate production to his force captains. Good enough to let him pour all his energy into finding the magic trick that will finally, finally prove his worth to Big Brother - and let him go back to never having to think about food [or anything else] ever again.

Food and Shame

So Hordak considers food - and bodily needs in general - tedious and frustrating, a distraction from and roadblock to his return to Prime.

But frustration alone isn't enough to explain why he is refusing help. After all, Hordak and Entrapta's relationship, to this point, has been all about her ability to resolve aggravating problems. If he simply wanted better food and medical solutions, he should be happy to talk to her.

No, Hordak isn't refusing help because he is frustrated; he is refusing help because he is ashamed. His body's needs are not simply an irritation, a problem to be evaluated and solved (even if with ill-grace). They are a disgusting symptom of his unworthiness, a manifestation of the loss of Prime's favour - material proof that he is a failure, and does not deserve help, love, or care. It is not a technical issue that can be fixed - it is a shameful imperfection, something that can only be denied and hidden, left to fester in the unspoken darkness.

A darkness Entrapta banishes when she tells him his imperfections are beautiful, and he does not have to be ashamed.

Bonus Headcanon Content

Hordak has serious texture/flavour issues, and a "sensitive stomach" - everything I said about Scorpia applies to him many times over, with bonus medical complications.

Prior to ration bars being a thing, he spent a lot of time accepting prestigious meals as "Lord Hordak", and then having to mash them into a fine paste to be able to choke them down.

His inability to perform 'hearty eating' is another source of shame for him. Not only must he engage in the disgusting act of eating, but he can't even do it well.

Because of the above, he absolutely hates eating in front of people, and the implication that he needs help eating (eg, Entrapta trying to spoon-fed him) is a special hell of humiliation.

He gets better after the end of the series! But better doesn't mean "able to perform food in accordance with social norms". He will still have to eat carefully, and may never find it an uncomplicatedly joyful activity - but he won't be constantly ashamed (and when shame does rear its head, he'll be able to fight back).

[maxwell-grant]

Thoughts on the Shadow's Doppelganger, Lamont Cranston

The funny thing about Cranston in the original stories is that, yeah, one of the most famous scenes across all Shadow media is the “Lamont Cranston Talks to Himself” chapter in The Shadow Laughs, where we learn that The Shadow is not Lamont Cranston, but has usurped his identity, and now shows up at his bedside looking like him, talking like him, knowing more about his own life than he himself does, and ordering him to leave town, effectively blackmailing him into letting him use his face. It’s a very iconic scene that exemplifies a lot of what makes The Shadow unique as a character, and you can imagine why so many adaptations have gone with the idea of Cranston being either a hapless stooge bullied into submission, or an actual villain, because that whole scene is very much a horror movie scenario. 

Thing is, none of them seem to remember how Cranston and The Shadow’s relationship developed past this. I’ll post this excerpt from Atoms of Death:

"Good morning, Cranston," came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

"You should say: Good morning, myself," chuckled The Shadow, dryly.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow's.

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip."

Cranston shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow's lighter bore the initials "L. C." 

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today."

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first."

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!"

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!"

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

Or this excerpt from The Hydra, which is an incredible book where the chemistry between the two really shines:

Lamont Cranston woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was driving him home. 

He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston heard a low-toned laugh beside him. He turned to see the black-cloaked figure of The Shadow.

"What did you hit me with?" asked Cranston. "All four of your automatics?"

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow

Look at these two dorks, just palling around and getting into shenanigans and The Shadow outright joking around Cranston, like they are just two old chums having a laugh at the weirdness of their lives. The “real” Cranston didn’t show up very often in the original stories, especially in the last stories when Lamont Cranston essentially became the real identity of The Shadow, but when he did, part of what makes him stand out as his own character is that he’s funny. Gibson gets a lot of mileage out of Cranston as this guy who is completely nonchalant and chill about all the weird shit that happens to him, even in The Hydra after he kills a man with an elephant gun, he’s still more or less the same, he largely just walks out of it with a newfound realization. 

Relieving Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet and dismiss arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they felt the house quake. 

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it -" 

“Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads.”

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his big-game hunts with The Shadow's quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that his game hunts were more deserving of rebuke.

His encounters with The Shadow gradually changed Cranston from a useless millionaire wasting his resources and talents on idle pursuits, to...still largely a useless millionaire, except his resources and talents are no longer wasted and he’s gradually grown into a useful ally and friend to The Shadow. The Shadow tends to have that effect on people who work by his side and even Cranston, the guy whose main role in his organization is to just stay away and be useless somewhere else, can’t help but change a little into a better person when he appears. 

There’s an interesting article written by Bob Sampson called “The Third Shadow” which refers to the Bruce Elliot run of The Shadow Magazine, which is incredibly maligned by fans and not without reason, the stories all largely suck and the Shadow bears little resemblance to his former self, instead mostly feeling like a diet take on the radio show Lamont, more of an average detective. The theory Sampson puts out is that, during this period, it was actually Lamont Cranston who became active as The Shadow while Allard was busy overseas, and I definitely like this theory. It makes sense specially considering The Hydra sets up for Cranston to become more pro-active and serious:

While not the towering master-mind of Allard, he does become the next best thing: A post-war sleuth. He even indulges in wearing the cloak and slouch hat from time to time (to varying degrees of effectiveness), while trying to laugh like Allard (also to varying degrees of effectiveness) as if to fulfill that forbidden fantasy until he finally gets it out of his system. After all, The Shadow pretended to be him, why not the other way around?

As Bob Sampson put it: “It is always Cranston who explains all and takes the credit”. 

Probably very cathartic for Lamont, who for the last 18 years was relegated to being a distant supporting player in his own life. Cranston is still in contact with the agents however. He even receives "assignments" from Burbank. 

This entire arrangement could only be with The Shadow's tacit approval. Let us remember, Cranston was not merely some insipid fop. He certainly had done his own share of exploring and was indeed a hunter. He could handle a variety of firearms, was familiar with exotic peoples and their customs, knew how to stalk dangerous animals through the jungle and veldt, but he was not, nor ever claimed to be, a master secret-agent and soldier.

I think it is fitting that the writing is completely different for this period as well. Not the enigmatic journalistic style of Allards exploits, but the witty, modern champagne fizz of Cranston's odyssey in a Post-War world. He feels a full range of emotions. In the Gibson stories, The Shadow is at arms length. In the Elliott stories, Cranston is sitting right next to you on a train or an airplane or roadster. 

It’s also interesting to consider how Lamont Cranston has basically become the true name of The Shadow in pop culture. Often times it’s the name people use when they specifically want to reference The Shadow, the supposed “Ghost of Gay Street” hauntings in Gibson’s former apartment took the form of Lamont Cranston, and even in the stories, more and more people became aware of it as the years went by (which also helps reinforce the idea that the “real” Cranston eventually took to acting as a fill-in for The Shadow, to draw attention away from the real Shadow’s operations), and Gibson even mentioned a few times that Cranston was The Shadow’s “favorite” identity along with Arnaud. Which is kinda fascinating to think about and does hint at some weird underlying aspects of The Shadow’s psyche, that his favorite identity is one not his own.

And at last, there’s these passages from The Whispering Eyes, a book that does not mention Allard once, and the very last Shadow novel: 

From beneath the seat he was taking his black garb. Cloaked and hatted as he stepped from the cab, Cranston merged immediately with the darkness. He had become The Shadow. 

Cranston's switch to his other self could well be attributed to a hypnotic mood. The mental lapses produced through hypnosis were the sort that would often cause a subject to revert to habit. Now, as The Shadow, Cranston was still in what might be termed a haphazard mood. He was skirting through darkness, pausing, changing direction, behaving generally as though avoiding something that did not exist.

Lang had flung away his glasses; his eyes now showed the shining, hypnotic force that the lenses normally softened. He recognized the eyes that met his above a leveled gun muzzle.

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them.

Which begs the question: Did Cranston succeed in fully becoming The Shadow? Or did The Shadow succeed in fully becoming Cranston?

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter two! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @epithymiahua​ ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves. Especially since this chapter includes her own oc! All credit for his creation goes to her because she’s worked so hard to create him!

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. I will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter!

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy! 🧜🏻‍♀️

.

Chapter 2: The Dragon’s Pearl

The man and the young boy made their way to the far side of the docks, the sun was beginning to make it’s descent to the sea. The water rippled below the hull of ships, anchors being lowered or weighing anchors to begin their sails back at sea. Some of the townspeople were making their trek home. Quinn and Remus approach the ship that Remus had seen earlier in the day from a distance. 

But up close, it was truly a sight to behold. The masts that were open, were a starking white, the wooden haul a rich brown mahogany, spotless with not a barnacle in sight. The railings were painted gold like the sun, freshly polished and not a splinter out of place. The bow had a golden nautical figurehead of a creature that Remus had never seen before. With a long serpentine body fully covered in scales, and large horns protruding from its head. A white spherical object clutched in one of its clawed hands. It’s jaws open as if to strike.

Remus’ eyes widened as he gazed upon the ship he had studied earlier. Glancing at Quinn, he couldn’t help but ask, “How has no one tried to steal this ship?”

Quinn chuckles, “Oh they’ve tried, but never got very far. My brother, the captain, is a force of his own that is not to be reckoned with.” He says with a smile. At Remus’ growing concerned face he quickly adds on, “Don’t worry. He might seem a bit… well, rather cold at first. To put it lightly. But he’s not a bad man.”

“How far have they gotten?”

Quinn muses for a moment in silence, as they make their way up the loading dock to the ship’s deck, thinking of the many times pirates - including the Blacks - have tried to take over the ship. “Never past deck.” He smiles at the crewmen preparing to sail as he stands in the middle of all their work. “Anyone seen the Captain?” 

“Last we saw him, he threw Ethan overboard.” A sailor responded courtly. He was dressed in black pants and boots, a white shirt, and a gold sash around his waist. 

Quinn looks to the sailor in bewilderment, “Again? What is that, the fifth time now?”

“Seventh actually, Ethan told the joke about the donkey.” 

“I told him not to do that.” He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “Never learns does he?”

A young man with short curly dark brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin was soaked to the bone in water as he marched back up to the ship. He looks to Quinn.   

“Don’t look at me like that, I told you not to tell that joke. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” The young man rubs his necks as he walks below deck to change. Quinn shakes his head before he turns to Remus as he claps his hands and rubs them together. “It’s harmless really.” The man groans in pain, as if to contradict Quinn. “Eh, mostly.” 

Remus watches the man in pain walk below the deck with widened eyes. He looks back to Quinn and the sailor, “Does that happen often?”

Quinn tilts his head back and forth with his arms crossed, “I’d like to tell you no, to ease you, but that’d be a lie. It happens on more than one occasion, though less often than you’d think.” He chuckles under his breath, “Now come along. I think it’s time to introduce you.” He then turns behind him and just smiles. “Hello, Min-Jun.”

Remus turns to follow, and nearly jumps in surprise. Lo and behold, said Captain was standing right behind them. The Captain was a tall young Asian man, around the age of twenty-one, with an expressionless face, had short straight black hair with part bangs, fair skin, and dark eyes. He was dressed in a well-tailored black coat with a dark forest green vest on top of a white shirt, black pants, and boots. At his hip was a wide sword with a dark forest green sheath with gold accents. 

“Quinn.” He says in a deep monotone. His posture was as straight at a board, his hand at his side, his left hand on the hilt of his sword. His gaze lowers to the boy beside Quinn, narrowing a fraction before he looks to Quinn. “You were at the Taverns again weren’t you?”  

“I will neither confirm nor deny.” 

“So that’s a yes.” A brow rises ever so slightly before it’s gone in the blink of an eye. The captain turned his head slightly to look over the boy. “Apologies for any idiotic schemes my First mate may have dragged you into. He is not the brightest, but his heart is in the right place. Usually. He has the unfortunate ailment of defying gravity. I once caught him upside down on the masts so there’s that.”

“And who put me there Min-Jun? Cause it certainly wasn’t me. I may do many schemes you might consider idiotic-”

“Because they are.”  His head leans to look at Quinn in a bored expression but his eyes held amusement. 

Quinn raises his eyebrows, giving a pointed look before continuing, “But I wouldn’t do that out of my own volition!’

The captain simply looks away, fully content to ignore the auburn-haired man. “I am Min-Jun Hua. The crew calls me Captain Hua. What is your name?” He looks back towards Remus. 

Remus was silent during the whole exchange, internally studying the interaction closely. He was uncertain whether the Captain and First Mate actually got along or if they hated each other, however, he caught the amusement in his eyes within their banter. They did get along. It was as if they were teasing each other. Maybe they actually did consider each other siblings. He noted with his own amusement now that his initial caution has about this new Captain has diminished. They’re so very different. How did they become companions?

“My name is Remus Lupin, Captain,” Remus replies with a curt nod, as he was trying to contain his nerves and seem content in the situation. He was uncertain if it was effective or not, but he seemed to take comfort in the fact that Quinn was so relaxed with the man.

Captain Hua says nothing for a long while as he stares silently at Remus. Completely motionless for what seemed to Remus, eternity, before the Asian finally looked like he took a breath. The Captain turned his gaze to his First mate. “He’ll be under your care for the meantime. Have him bathed, dressed, and fed before you send him to bed for the night. Tomorrow he can begin.” The captain says nothing more before he looks to Remus once again. “Welcome aboard the Dragon’s Pearl.” He gives a curt nod to Remus before he walks away to resume his duties. 

Remus lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before looking to Quinn in surprise, “Why didn’t he ask any questions? Wouldn’t he want to know more about me before deciding to let me aboard?”

Quinn merely shakes his head before looking to Remus, “The Captain is an incredibly loyal soul, he respects privacy. If you wish to talk about your past then he will listen, and he will never mention it again without your approval.” He says with a smile. “He cares, deeply. He’d rather have you upon this ship then let you be on your own. That’s what happened to Ethan as well, he’s actually not that much older than you, Remus. He’s turning seventeen next moon.” Looking to the ship, he runs a hand upon the railing gently before continuing. “This old vessel has seen many stray boys board her, and she’s seen many of them become family. The captain only asks for loyalty, truthfulness, bravery, and devotion to family.” 

Remus smiles, comforted by his words. There was always more than meets the eye. He looks around the ship in surprise, “This ship looks brand new. How long has it been sailing waters?”

“Quite a long time. Practically hundreds of years. It’s been passed down through the generations of his family.” 

“That’s incredible.”

“It is.” Quinn remarks with a nod in agreement, before looking back to the boy, “Now, we’ll be embarking at dusk. You want to watch the ship be put to sea?”

The two got situated at a good viewing point for the departure after taking care of duties below deck. It felt rather strange, yet refreshing to Remus to dawn a new set of clothes. Yet his scarf stayed tied around his waist, as usual, at least he could take some part of familiarity with him. The Captain began to call out orders to the crew before he took his place behind the keel, the crew lowered the masts, catching the wind. The colors were hanged, where Remus could see the emblem on the masts and flag of the ship. A gold circle and in the center was the same creature that Remus had seen on the bow of the ship, but from the side. Only without the sphere. 

What sort of creature was that? Remus couldn’t help but wonder in curiosity as he watched the emblem upon the masts and flag of the ship.

“It’s a dragon. An eastern dragon.” Quinn says in reply, with a smirk upon his face as he looked to the boy. It seems Remus accidentally spoke aloud, and for once, he was alright with that. 

A loud shout echoed from a grumbling man who was making his way to The Dragon’s Pearl loading dock. Remus flinched as he recognized the voice of the drunken man from earlier, while Quinn moved defensively to shield the fourteen-year-old from sight. 

 “I know he’s up there! Where is he?!” The slurred words from the drunk captain all but screech out. The hooked nose man stumbled his way on board, his eyes locked onto the auburn-haired man who stood defensively in front of the former deck boy. “You!” 

“Me,” Quinn answered easily with a faint smirk. 

“Where’s that deck boy!?” The drunk captain practically roared into Quinn’s face. To which Quinn’s nose simply twitched at the smell of alcohol that reeked off the man. 

“Behind me, though I doubt you’d be able to grab him.” 

“Where’s your captin’, I ought to have a word with him. You goin’ ‘round stealin’ deck boys, ought to be ‘shamed of yeself.” The man nearly tumbled over.   

“Not stealing when he willingly came aboard. If anyone’s to be ashamed it’s you for your actions.” He retorts with a roll of his eyes then simply tilts his head, “You sure you want to have a word with my captain? You can hardly hold a proper conversation in your state. He won’t take too kindly to that factor.” 

“I wan’ see yer captin!” 

Quinn doesn’t respond for a moment, only looks behind the drunken captain with a bored look upon his face. “Turn around mate.”

“Wha’?” The drunk captain frowns with his mouth hanging open before he turns, nearly falling down when he sees someone standing behind him. Remus couldn’t help but hold a snicker back from behind Quinn as the drunk man flinched at the mere sight of the tall and sober captain. 

Captain Hua looked down at the drunk captain with an emotionless stare but his eyes held a look that screamed ‘How dare you bring your drunken arse onto my pristine and clean ship.’

“You wished to speak to me?” Was the leveled voice of Captain Hua. 

“A-aye.”

“You are not qualified to speak to me.”

The drunk captain staggered at the impassive tone. His face grew red. “Ye think you’re bet’er than me?” 

“To ask that question offends me.” Captain Hua raised a brow. 

“Where’s ye captin’s hat?”

“I don’t need one, I do not need to parade my status on my own ship, nor to ensure the respect of my own crew. They know who I am.” The Captain looked to his First mate. “Please escort this, man back to his ship.” Calling the drunk captain a man was incredibly respectful. Remus thought, truly Captain Hua had a class that was, unfortunately, being wasted upon this drunkard. But then again, Captain Hua didn’t acknowledge him as a Captain either. 

“That’d be Captain Barclay ta ye.” He shrugs the hand that grips his arm.

“No. I think the Captain is right. Mr. Barclay.” Quinn contradicts with a smile, “Now, allow me to escort you back to your ship. I’m sure you embark soon.”

“Not without that boy.” The drunk captain glared at the boy.

Captain Hua looked at the drunkard, then at the boy. “First Mate Sandoval, please step aside.” The drunk captain’s eyes widen at the title.

Quinn ignores the surprised look upon the drunkard’s face and instead looks to Remus. Giving him a small smile of comfort and a look that says ‘Trust us. You’ll be alright.’ Then looks back to his Captain, and with a nod, he steps aside. 

Captain Hua looked to the drunk man. “You can take this child to your ship, if you answer one question. If you answer correctly, you’re free to take him. If not,” His dark eyes narrowed, his left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, this sword was red compared to the first one Remus had seen. It was sheathed in a red case with gold accents. A strong pulse emitted from the sword as the pulse rippled through the ship. The ropes freed themselves from their knots, moving very much like serpents slithering up trees. 

The crew has stopped working and watched openly. “I will throw you overboard.”  

The drunk man didn’t notice the pulse of gold energy, nor did he notice the ropes begin to move on their own. Remus’ young eyes watched in amazement at Captain Hua, who’s sheer presence became overpowering, his aura seeming to infect the ship. Stupidly, the drunkard agreed. 

“What is the child’s name?”

“...” The drunkard frowned, Remus could practically see the mental strain on the man’s face. His brain was too far gone from the rum. “... Bernard.” 

Captain Hua did not look impressed. Not at all. He simply raised a brow before he looked to Remus to correct the man’s answer. 

Remus simply smiles and shakes his head. “Wrong.”

What happened next happened rather quickly, it was really a blur to be completely honest. Captain Hua wordlessly grabbed the drunkard by the collar of his shirt, lifted him off the ground and proceeded to walk, not in any hurry, effortlessly to the side of the ship, and threw the man overboard with ease. Remus’ jaw dropped a bit. 

“Why didn’t you just use the ropes?” Remus couldn’t help but ask in curiosity. 

Captain Hua merely gazed down at the swimming crewmembers from the drunk captain’s ship who threw themselves overboard to ensure the man didn’t drown. “And deprive myself of the pleasure of doing it myself? Never.” Captain Hua’s stoic face gave a smirk in delight. “I would never disgrace The Dragon’s Pearl to so much as even touch that drunk. It was painful to watch an alcoholic parade around with a captain’s hat and acting like a child throwing a temper tantrum.”  

“... How did you know he didn’t know my name?” 

Captain Hua looked down at Remus. “I have two answers. One; most people who make port hardly ever ask for a deck-boys name.” The captain began to walk away from the railing, Remus followed. “Two; even if by the off chance he did know your name, he would not have the sentimentality, nor the intellectual capacity to remember your name, especially while drunk.” He turned to look at Remus. “I would not have made that wager had I believed for a second he would be able to say your name. Not when he preferred to think with an organ that he did not have instead of his brain. Not to mention your name is unusual. I am not one to gamble. Especially with someone’s life.” 

Remus pauses for a moment taking in the Captain’s words, before asking the question he was truly reluctant to hear. “... What if he did say my name?”

Captain Hua looked at Remus for a long time before he looked away to the setting sun. “Then he would have won.” Captain Hua looked back to Remus. “It may seem cruel, but I will not lie to you, Remus. I do not break my word.” Captain Hua looked to the sunset once more. “I would have just challenged him to a duel if that was the case. The man couldn’t even walk straight let alone hold a sword.” Without another word, he walked away.  

Remus stood silently as he watched the Captain walk away, and looked out to the sunset once he was out of view. There was no relief of tension like he had initially anticipated when he first heard the words of the wager, as if he already knew he was safe. How exactly he determined that conclusion, he had no clue. But in his heart, he knew that was the case. 

He watched the shoreline of the port town he had always known, grow smaller and smaller with every glide of the ship, until it vanished from view- it was the start of a new life. A new chapter. Like each morning rise and evening set of the sun upon the sea.

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[things2mustdo]

When I ask myself what films in recent years have been my favorites, I find that the answers all seem to have a few things in common.  One, the movie must tell a compelling story; two, it must rise above its genre to make a larger statement about life or some universal idea; and three, it must be technically well made.  All great art—including film—can serve as a vehicle for the presentation of ideas, and the promotion of a certain virtue.  Although the mainstream American film industry has become more and more a sad repository of feminist cant and lowest-common-denominator commercial pandering, the foreign film world has undergone something of a renaissance in the past fifteen years.

The best films of France, Germany, Spain, and the UK are edgier, more intelligent, and more masculine than anything found in the US.  It was not always so.  But the work of great European directors like Jacques Audiard, Gaspar Noe, Nicolas Winding Refn, and Shane Meadows leaves little room for doubt that the true cutting-edge work is being done in Europe.  (Argentina deserves honorable mention here as having an excellent film industry).  The mainstream, corporate-driven US film industry has effectively smothered independent voices under an avalanche of political correctness, girl-power horseshit, chick-flickism, and mind-numbing CGI escapist dreck.

Movies that deal with masculine themes in a compelling way are not easy to come by these days.  Honest explorations of masculine virtues are repressed, marginalized, or trivialized.  One needs to scour the globe to cherry-pick the best here and there, and in some cases you have to go back decades in time.  Luckily, the availability of Netflix and other subscription services has made this task much easier than it used to be.  Access to the best cinema of Europe, South America, and Asia can be a great way for us to catch as glimpse at a foreign culture, as well as reflect on serious ideas.

I want to offer my recommendations on some films that I believe are an important part of the modern masculine experience, in all its wide variety and expression.  Out of the scores of possible choices, I decided to pick the handful of films that are perhaps not as well known to readers.  My opinions will not be shared by all.  I encourage readers to draw up their own lists of films dealing with masculine themes, and hope they will reflect on the reasons behind their choices.  Below are mine, in no particular order.  In italics is a brief plot synopsis, followed by my own comments.

1. Straw Dogs (1971).

A mild-mannered American academic (Dustin Hoffman) living in rural Cornwall with his beautiful wife becomes the target of harassment by the local toughs.  Things escalate to a sexual assault on his wife, and eventually to a brutal and protracted fight to the death when a local man takes refuge on their property.

Dustin Hoffman reaches his breaking point in “Straw Dogs”

This is a classic example of the type of movie that could never be made today.  Arguably Sam Peckinpah’s most daring film, it contains a controversial rape scene that seems to leave open the question whether Hoffman’s wife (played by Susan George) was a victim or a willing participant.  Faced with his wife’s betrayal, and continuing harassment from local miscreants, Hoffman’s character finds himself completely isolated and must learn to stand his ground and fight.

A chance incident later in the film sets the stage for a blood-soaked confrontation which is as inevitable as it is necessary. Peckinpah presents a compelling case for the cathartic power of violence, and the achievement of masculine identity through man-on-man combat.  It is a theme I find myself strongly drawn to. Controversial, powerful, and unforgettable, Peckinpah proves himself an unapologetic and strident advocate of old-school martial virtue.  We would do well to listen.  His voice is sorely missed today.  (Note:  avoid the pathetic recent remake of this movie).  Honorable mention:  Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch (1969) and Bring Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974).

2. Sorcerer (1977).

A group of international renegades find themselves down and out in Nicaragua, and volunteer for a job transporting unstable dynamite across the country to quell an oil rig fire.

Due to inept marketing when this movie was first released, it never achieved the credit it so fully deserved.  A motley group of international riff-raff (including the always appealing Roy Scheider) seeks redemption through a harrowing trial.  But will they get it?  Is it even desirable to escape one’s dark past?  The answers are complex, and director William Friedkin refuses to supply easy ones.  The characters in this film are doomed, and they know it, but they still hold true to their own code.  Which is itself honorable.  Consequences must be paid for everything we do in life, and often the price comes in a way never expect.  Dark, brooding, and humming with a pulse-pounding electronic score by Tangerine Dream, this film has deservedly become a cult classic.  The ending is a shocker you’ll never see coming.

Roy Scheider undertakes the most perilous journey of his life in William Friedkin’s 1977 masterpiece “Sorcerer”

3.  The Lives of Others (2006).

A coldly efficient Stasi (East German security service) officer (Ulrich Muhe) is enlisted by a Communist party hack in a surveillance program against a supposed subversive writer and his girlfriend.  But monitoring the writer’s life awakens sparks of nascent humanity in the Stasi man, and he eventually must decide whether to follow orders and destroy the writer, or to sacrifice himself to save him.

This German masterpiece was made with great fidelity to the look and feel of 1980s East Germany, and the results are evident in every frame.  It belongs on any list of the greatest films ever made.  The masculine virtue here is of a different type than viewers may be used to:  it is a quiet, understated heroism, the type of heroism that probably happens every day but is hardly noticed.  There is no bragging here, no chest-beating, no big-mouthed bravado.  (In short, none of the wooden-headed caricatures that pass for masculinity in the US).  The ethic here is about love and self-sacrifice, the noblest and greatest virtues of all.

The ethos of self-sacrifice is now considered old-fashioned and almost a punch-line, but historically it was valued very highly.  It features in nearly all the old literary epics and dramas of Europe and Asia.  Actor Ulrich Muhe pulls off a minor miracle of characterization here with his portrayal of a Stasi man named Weisler, whose special wiretapping assignment against a playwright transforms him from heartless automaton into awe-inspiring hero.  The movie made me wonder just how many quiet, unassuming men there must be out there, whose toil, heroism, and sacrifice has never been, and never will be, acknowledged.  The ending is transcendently beautiful, and moving beyond words.

4.  Homicide  (1991).

A police detective (Joe Mantegna) is assigned to investigate a murder case.  The case awakens in him stirrings of his long-suppressed ethnic identity.  Unfortunately, he will eventually be forced to choose between conflicting loyalties.  And the consequences will be devastating.

No modern American director has probed the meaning of masculine identity more than David Mamet, and all of his films are meditations on themes related to illusion, reality, masculinity, and struggle.  Homicide, a nearly unknown gem from the early 1990s, is perhaps his profoundest.  Mamet knows that a man must make choices in his life, and for those choices, consequences must be paid.  And very often, we find ourselves derailed by the mental edifices we construct for ourselves.  The Mantegna character is led through a complex and increasingly ambiguous chain of events, only to find that at the heart of one mystery lies an even more inscrutable one.  Beware the things you seek.  You may not like what you find.

Joe Mantegna deals with the fatal consequences of his decisions in David Mamet’s “Homicide”

5.  A Prophet (2009).

An Algerian Arab is incarcerated in a French jail, and is drawn into the savage world of Corsican gangsters.  Forced to kill or be killed, he is drawn into a pitiless world that recognizes only cunning and brutality.  He finds himself straddling two realities:  the world of his own nationality, and that of the Corsicans.  And to survive and emerge triumphant, he must learn to play all sides against each other.

This film must be counted among the greatest crime dramas ever made.  You simply can’t take your eyes off the screen.  The lesson here is that a man must learn to survive on his wits, and do whatever is necessary to stay alive.  The Corsican boss whom Al Djebena (Tahar Rahim) works for is just about the most malevolent presence in recent screen memory.  Part of France’s continuing internal dialogue about its immigrant population, A Prophet is not to be missed.

Tahar Rahim learns a thing or two about Corsica in “A Prophet”

6.  The Beat That My Heart Skipped (2005).

An intense young man (Romain Duris) works for his father as a real estate shark in urban Paris.  His “job” consists of intimidating deadbeat immigrant tenants, vandalizing apartments, and forcibly collecting loans.  He also plays the piano.  Eventually, he is forced to decide which life he wants:  the path laid out by his shady father, or the idealistic path of his own choosing.  He’s seeking redemption, but will he find it?  And at what cost?

Again, we have here the themes of redemption and moral choice.  Romain Duris has a screen presence and intensity that rivals anything done by Pacino in his prime, and some of the scenes here are fantastic.  (His seduction of his friend’s wife, Aure Atika, is one of many great scenes).  All men will be confronted and tested by crises and situations beyond their control.  How they respond to those situations will define who they are as men.  Duris’s character proves that redemption can be achieved, if wanted badly enough.

Romain Duris embodying screen intensity

7.  Red Belt (2008).

Martial arts instructor Mike Terry is forced, against his principles, to consider entering a prize bout.  He is abandoned and betrayed by his wife and friends, and must confront his challenges alone with only his code and his pride.

Another great meditation on masculine virtue and individualism by David Mamet.  In his own unique dialogue style, Mamet showcases his belief that, in the end, all men stand alone.  At the moment of truth, it is you, and only you, who will be staring into the abyss.  Our trials by fire will not come in the time and at the place of our own choosing.  But when they do come, a man must be prepared to hold his ground and fight his corner.  Watch for Brazilian actress Alice Braga in a supporting role here.  We hope to see more of her on American screens in the future.

8.  Fear X  (2003).

A repressed security guard (John Turturro) is searching for answers to who killed his wife.  His strange behavior and ticking time-bomb manner begin to alarm friends and co-workers.  One day he finds some information that may be a lead to solving the mystery.  This discovery sets him on the path to realization. Or does it?

I am a big fan of the films of Nicolas Winding Refn (The Pusher trilogy, and Valhalla Rising), and this one is perhaps his most penetrating examination of a wounded psyche.  It failed commercially when it first appeared, as many viewers were put off by his artistic flourishes and opaque ending.  For me, this film is the deepest study of grief and repressed rage ever committed to film.  All men will be confronted by tragedy, grief, and inexplicable loss during their lives.  How we handle it will define who we are.  The greatness of this film is that it explores Turturro’s claustrophobic, neurotic world in a deeply personal way, and at the same time suggests that he may actually be on to something.  This film covers the same philosophical ground as Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation, in that it hints at the ultimate ambiguity of all things.

John Turturro confronts the unrelenting darkness of his own psyche in “Fear X”

If you are a Netflix subscriber and watch movies frequently, as I do, you may find it useful to keep a notebook near your television and jot down the titles of movies you see, and a few notes about what you liked or didn’t like.  You’d be surprised how much you can learn from movies.  There are just so many good and bad ones out there that having some system for keeping track of them will be time well spent.

[jackcinephile]

L'Inferno (1911) Movie Review!

As promised, we're gonna be celebrating this Spooky Season with a Devilman Crybaby headcanon! In order to fully express my HC, I will be reviewing icons of horror cinema and literature that helped contribute to many of the themes and ideas that are prevalent in Go Nagai's original manga. So, without further ado, let us descend into the Blind World. Put all fear and cowardice aside. I will be your guide through this eternal place, where you shall hear the shrieks and see the tormented spirits who all bewail the second death.

And how appropriate? Because our first film is the 1911 adaptation of The Inferno by Dante Alighieri. I suppose it's only right to begin this saga of horror films with one of the first horror films ever made. Okay, "first horror film" is actually debatable, so keep in mind that I said "ONE of the first." In any case, it remains one of the most important landmarks in horror cinema.

"Stopped, in the middle of what we call life,

I looked up and saw no sky, but rather a dense cage of leaf and tree and twig,

For I was lost."

The film opens as the iconic poem does. Dante Alighieri is a middle-aged man who finds himself lost in a dark, gloomy forest. This opening of the story always had a way of making me feel somewhat lonely and isolated. In my interpretation, I always saw this forest as being symbolic of how Dante felt after the death of Beatrice. Allow me to explain...

For those who don't know, Dante met a young girl named Beatrice when they were both nine years old. The young boy immediately fell in love with her, even though they hardly interacted. Despite their lives continuing in separate directions, Beatrice had always and forever held a special place in Dante's heart. When he received word that she had died, Dante was absolutely devastated. He felt that she deserved to be immortalized in what he intended to be his magnum opus; The Divine Comedy.

I believe that this opening to the Inferno is actually Dante going to a journey to find Beatrice so that he could say goodbye to her. Along the way, he got lost, both literally and spiritually. That, in my opinion, is what this forest symbolizes. In many ways, this opening kind of reminds of the opening to Silent Hill 2, just from how dismal it is.

Having said all that, I think the film does a very poor job of conveying those emotions. Sadly, I just don't feel any of the despair that was present in the original poem. He just wanders around for a few seconds, then steps out into a clearing. But don't worry! As soon as Dante steps into the clearing, the film IMMEDIATELY gets better. Upon entering this clearing, Dante finds himself at the base of, what I believe to be, Mount Purgatory. I can only assume that's where he is, because the gates of Hell are at its base, and Dante seems to suggest the gates of heaven are at its summit, just like Purgatory. Unfortunately, his path is blocked by three ravenous beasts: a leopard, a lion, and a she-wolf, all representing different Earthly sins. He runs back the way he came, before being rescued by a strange apparition. It's here that the film begins to remind us all of why the original poem is regarded as a self-insert fanfic...

Upon introducing himself to the apparition, Dante learns that it is the actually the ghost of Virgil, author of the Aeneid. The significance of Virgil being in the story is that he was Dante's favorite poet of all time, and Dante always longed to meet and interact with him. It's literally a self-insert fanfic of Dante meeting and interacting with all of his inspirations. It's honestly a mystery to me why I love The Inferno so much, because it's everything I hate! It's a Catholic's fanfic about why he sees himself and his friends as morally superior and why everyone he ever disagreed with is going to Hell. Somehow, in spite of all that, I still love it.

So why did Virgil even decide to help Dante in the first place? Well, remember when I talked about Beatrice dying? It turns out, she descended from Heaven into Hell to ask him for help, because she knew how important he was to Dante. She tasked Virgil with being Dante's guide, after seeing that he has gone astray.

This is where the film's innovation starts to take shape. Beatrice has often been drawn as having a halo around her head. The problem is, how do you show that in a film made in 1911? The effect was strikingly realized with, what I assume to be, spinning rods covered in reflective material. I can only guess this is how it was done, but it appears right to me, because that's how a similar effect was created for the lightsabers in the original Star Wars. It looks like the rods were placed behind the actress, so that the rig couldn't be seen, making it appear as if the light was emanating from her head. This scene also displays an early appearance of wire work on film. In those days, that shit wasn't easy. It was even harder to hide the effect, which this film does fairly well.

So, Virgil explains to Dante that he must take him on a pilgrimage through the three different stages of the afterlife. To be perfectly honest, I never understood why. Maybe I'm just an idiot with little to no reading comprehension. It's also a factor that I haven't read parts II and III of the Divine Comedy, so maybe it's elaborated better in there. From what I gathered, since Dante is going on a journey to find the literal Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin intensifies) Virgil needs to take him to Hell and Purgatory, so he can face his sins and better appreciate Paradise. And thus, Virgil's pilgrimage to lead Dante through the Afterlife begins!

"Through me, the way to the City of Woe

Through me, the way to everlasting pain

Through me, the way among the people lost

Divine Power made me

Eternal I endure

Abandon Hope, all ye who enter here"

That is the inscription above the Gates of Hell. It is here, that Dante is already planning on turning back. Virgil literally tells him to stop being a pussy, and I was satisfied. Once they enter the gates, it becomes apparent to the viewer, if it hasn't already, that this isn't just an adaptation of Dante's work. This film is actually a cinematic translation of the ICONIC illustrations by Gustave Dore that were created in the middle of the 19th century. So much care and detail was put into recreating his AMAZING artwork, that many consider to be his magnum opus. This film was basically the Zack Snyder's Watchmen of its day!

Those familiar with the story will recognize this iconic scene that is being recreated onscreen. Dante and Virgil have come to the shores of Acharon, where the souls of the damned board Charon's vessel to be taken before Judge Minos, who lives in Limbo.

Speaking of Limbo, that is the first spiral of Hell Dante visits. This is where good people who weren't Christians come to face eternity. Their punishment is meant to be the denial of Paradise, but if you ask me, it doesn't seem so bad. Apparently Dante felt the same way, because this is where he meets his other great inspirations, such as Homer and Ovid! The poets all enjoy their visit together before Virgil must take Dante on his way. This is honestly the part that makes me cringe the most. Nothing reeks of self-insert fanfic more than meeting your idols and being greatly respected by all them. This is exactly why I abandoned my Silent Hill fanfic.

Anyway, Minos's throne lies at the lower boarder of Limbo. The king himself appears as a giant naked bearded man with a snake tail. The tail is used to determine the punishment of sinners by wrapping around Minos's own neck multiple times. However many times the tail coils determines which spiral the sinner is sent to.

And here we get to my favorite scene in the whole film: Lust! This spiral perfectly displays the true innovation of special effects. In this spiral, sinners are punished by being caught in a tumultuous whirlwind. The wind symbolizes the tumultuous feelings that arise between lustful lovers. It's one of Dore's best illustrations, and it blows my mind that the filmmakers were able to recreate it so well!

Our two pilgrims move onward to the Spiral of Gluttony, where we come across Cerberus. He guards this spiral, but Virgil subdues him by throwing a clump of dirt in his face (still more respectful than Lore Olympus). Honestly, Gluttony is nothing to write home about. It's just a raining landscape with people laying in the mud. Still, I have to give credit for the meticulous recreation of Dore's art!

Down in Greed, who else do we find guarding this spiral, other than Plutus?

SIDE NOTE: I've read a very strange "translation" of his dialogue. The original line reads, "Pape Satan, Pape Satan, allepe!" Strangely, no one seems to agree on what exactly this means, so most translations are different. Particularly, in the case of Douglas Neff, he translates "Pape" to "Papa," which is strange because "Pape" means "Pope" in Itialian. Then, he changes "allepe" to "you are my king." Let's also not forget that Plutus was also occasionally used as an epithet for Hades and/or Pluto. This means Douglas Neff literally wrote Hades to say, "Daddy Satan, I worship you" (still more respectful than Lore Olympus)!

In the Spiral of Greed, the sinners are forced push heavy sacks of gold around for eternity. Once again, this scene is nothing special, but still an admirable recreation of the illustrations that inspired it.

The next scene, however, shows off more of the innovative talent that makes this film so amazing! Virgil and Dante move on to the Spiral of Anger, where the sinners are punished by being submerged in the black sludge of the River Styx. The only way across is by boat. This is where Phlegyas comes in. The two poets stand by a giant tower which they use to signal for passage to the City of Dis. Along the way, the boat is stopped by Dante's political and intellectual rival, Philipo Argenti. It's here that one realizes just how petty Dante truly was. "Oh, I disagree with you politically. Therefore, you deserve to drown in sludge for all eternity!" He sounds like people I used to know. Hell, he sounds like me in high school!

All while this is going on, we see an amazing special effect of a double exposure of Dis in the background. It's an amazing miniature of the city's outer wall, optically printed to take up the entire top half of the screen.

Finally, they make it to the other side of the river, where we actually get a cameo by Hades' and Persephone's children! No, not Zagareus, Makaria, and Melinoe. None of those people were Hades' and Persephone's children. I'm actually referring to the Erinyes (also known as, the Furies). They block Dante's entrance to the city's gates, so Virgil calls upon the aid of an Archangel to rid them of the Furies. It is here that Dante asserts the superiority of Christianity over the Hellenistic faith (still more respectful than Lore Olympus).

Within the City of Dis, Hell begins to look more like how we always imagined, with fire and brimstone. In the Spiral of Heresy, sinners are stuffed into eternally burning ovens embedded in the ground.

Beyond that is the only omitted sequence from the poem. In the original Divine Comedy, the Spiral of Violence is originally guarded by the Minotaur! Beyond that are sinners, stewed in a boiling river of blood (The Phlegethon). On the banks, we see a heard of Centaurs practicing their archery on them. These are the individuals who were violent towards other people. In order to cross the river of blood, Dante and Virgil must ride on the back of one of the centaurs. You know, having heard of centaurs' notorious reputation for being horrible rapists, it makes me concerned for the sake of our Pilgrims. Maybe they didn't include this in the film because they couldn't figure out how to make a centaur?

On the other side of the Phlegethon, Violence continues into the suicide forest (*Logan Paul reference here*). Here is where sinners, who were violent against themselves, are punished. Once judged to this spiral, they grow into trees. The symbolism being that trees are a symbol of life, of which these sinners have deprived themselves. I'm surprised this scene isn't more controversial. After all, seeing as how seriously mental health has been taken recently, it's fucking awful to tell someone they're going to Hell for committing suicide! As a peice of horrific imagery, I love this scene, but knowing that Dante actually believed this makes me despise it.

In addition to being a horrifying concept, this scene also includes one of the first instances of bloodshed in a horror film. Virgil explains to Dante that he can speak with the sinners if he breaks one of their branches. When he does, blood sprays out of the tree like a drinking fountain!

After a brief conversation with the sinners, Dante moves on to the final section of violence, where people were violent against God. Here the sinners are punished in a desert that perpetually rains fire.

Now, not every special effect in this film is good. Because when Dante rides down to the eighth spiral on Geryon's back, it is such a stiff, unnatural, badly puppeteered marrianet that they couldn't even keep stable for the shot!

"There is a place in Hell called the Malebolge..."

Now, we get to my favorite part of the whole poem: The Spiral of Fraud. Here the deceivers are punished in a myriad of ways, depending on how they lied to others.

In the first Spiral of the Malebolge, those who pander towards others are mercilessly whipped for all eternity. This marks the first appearance of the classic image of the winged demons that we all know and love.

In the second spiral, the flattererers bathe in a stagnant pond of their own feces and vomit. This symbolizes the value of the words that they spew at other people. I think this might be where the expression, "You're full of shit," came from. Think about it; you say that to people whom you think are lying to you, and this is in the Spiral of Fraud.

Incidentally, this punishment was referenced in a Turkish horror film called Baskin -- a film about a small group of off-duty police officers who crash their car and wake up in Hell. In that film, the main characters realize they're in Hell when they find demon raping someone, while shoving her face in a bowl of her own face and vomit. Baskin is not a part of this HC, so I'll have to talk about it later. For now, I'll just say it's one of the best horror films I've ever seen!

In the third spiral, those who joined the Catholic Church for their own personal gain are buried head first, with their feet sticking out in the air.

In the fourth spiral, fortune tellers have their heads turned backwards. This prevents them from looking forward, symbolizing their attempts to see into the future.

In the fifth spiral, the sinners are repeatedly dipped in boiling tar. This scene is especially interesting because it shows that the demons we see aren't actually monsters. They're just creatures doing their jobs, punishing sinners. In fact one of the demons named Malecoda assigns a group of demons to help escort Dante and Virgil through the rest of the Malebolge. That, unfortunately, doesn't work out, however, because the demons are distracted by a sinner trying to escape, so Dante and Virgil move on alone. What's also unfortunate, is that other demons, who assume that Virgil and Dante are also sinners trying to escape, chase them into the next spiral. Luckily, each demon is confined to their own spiral, so they can't keep chasing them.

In the sixth spiral, the hypocrites are forced to wear robes made of solid gold. They also find Caiaphas nailed to the ground. As someone who has Jesus Christ Superstar on his top three list of favorite albums, I was happy to see Caiaphas get referenced.

In the seventh spiral, the thieves are bound by snakes, whose venom causes them to burn to ashes. One thief in particular gets attacked by a giant lizard that makes him into a lizardman (someone tell Alex Jones).

In the eighth spiral, the false advisors are eternally engulfed in flames.

In the ninth spiral, the sowers of discord are viciously mutilated. My favorite part about this scene is that it's one of the first instances of gore in a horror movie. The prophet Muhammad has been cloven from his belly to his throat with his guts spilling out all over the place. That's right! Muhammad is depicted in the Inferno. Not only that, but Gustave Dore drew him. Damn. Dante has no chill. Hey, the founder of the most homophobic religion in the world rots in eternal Hell? I'm not complaining! This kinda makes up for the portrayal of suicide victims.

In the tenth spiral, the falsifiers are punished with enternal leprosy.

At last, we make it to the Spiral of Treachery, at the center of the earth. Here, the traitors are frozen within the Lake Cocytus.

"Lo! Dis Himself!

Emperor of the Kingdom of Woe"

Finally, at the climax of this horrific epic, we see Satan, and it's not what you're expecting! He is in the very center of the lake, frozen up to his waist in ice, and forced to eat the three greatest traitors of all. His body is covered in course fur, and he has three heads and six wings. Satan's appearance in this story is disarming and almost pathetic in a way. You'd imagine Satan to be this fearsome king, but he's just shown to be suffering like everyone else. It's kind of sad, really.

The film ends with Dante and Virgil climbing down Satan's leg fur and ending up at the base of Mount Purgatory.

L'Inferno is one of the first true masterpieces of horror! It's hard to believe that this movie is almost 110 years old! Just think of how it would have been to see it in theaters for the first time when it was new. We owe it to this film for proving the language of Cinema could be used to tell the most epic stories possibly conceived.

You can watch the film for yourself here:https://youtu.be/cMUPbPOGPdM

Now, you're probably thinking, "What the Sam Fuck does any of this have to do with Devilman Crybaby?" Well, for starters, in Go Nagai's original manga, the character Asuka Ryo implies that Dante's Divine Comedy might have been based on a true story. This is futher validated when the demon Xenon appears and bears a strong resemblance to Dante's description of Satan. But beyond the surface-level details, let's discuss some of the deeper implications of what Hell actually is. Within this headcanon, the Afterlife is an entirely separate dimension, occupying the same space as our Earth, but invisible to our eyes. There is a way, however, to see and explore this separate dimension. You see, when different dimensions intersect at certain angles, they sometimes leave gaps through which we can come through and cross over to the other dimension. It was through one of these gaps that Virgil was able to find Dante. These angles and gaps between dimensions will be further explored in a later film.

[chittaprint]

Bad With Words

Paring: Hendery (Wong Kunhang) x reader

Genre: fluff, romance, comedy, mild angst

A late christmas present to the lovely @cherrysweettea​ !! I hope you like it! Hendery is such a sweet angel, and I really tried to do him justice with this story despite not usually writing for these genres. I hope it’s enjoyable

“You need to give yourself more credit! You’ve worked so hard. Honestly, nobody deserves this opportunity more than you do,” you lectured, lightly rolling your eyes at Hendery’s, your best friend, antics. He was always doing this, thinking lowly of himself. Unfortunately, this was quite the habit of his.

“Yeah, I know, but so many other people dedicate their whole lives just to get this opportunity and done…” Hendery responded, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m thrilled, don’t get me wrong, but I still can’t believe that I, out of the tens of thousands of people who auditioned, got picked…” he trailed off. So humble. Although he was facing away from you, you could tell that he was reflecting on everything that had happened all within a matter of months. Hendery often talked to you about his case of imposter syndrome, his belief that he wasn’t good enough to join the ranks of celebrities. 

While it hurt you to see him constantly tear at his self-worth, it was nice to know someone who embodied so much talent and also such humility. Too many celebrities, in your opinion, understood that they were famous, that they were talented, and flaunted it as if it were some golden VIP card for superior treatment. Maybe it was different because you knew Hendery personally; he was one of your best friends and had never used his talent as a form of superiority. At heart, he really seemed just like an ordinary, kind boy.

“Exactly!” you jumped up out of the beanbag and extended your arms. Hendery’s dark eyes widened a bit in surprise and he stopped folding the shirt in his suitcase. “And SM is going to be so thankful to have an idol as hardworking and talented as you! Or at least he’d better be, or I’m going to fly to Seoul and fight Lee Soo Man on your behalf,” you declared, swiping your arms through the air dramatically. “Korean laws be damned, mess with my best friend and I’ll come for you – CEO? Secret assassin? Doesn’t matter.”

Hendery began to laugh as he crouched over his suitcase. He tried to cover his wheezy laughter with one of his hands, but he failed to mask the sound as per usual. It was also at this moment that he realized that he wasn’t going to get anymore packing done with you around, so he stopped and stood up. “Aw, but what if you get barred from our concerts?” He pouted. “What will I do without your support?”

You arched a brow at him and recoiled slightly in seeming shocked. Bringing a hand to your chest to feign disbelief and scoffing lightly, you replied, “have you forgotten that my acting skills are what got me accepted into our high school and my dream university? You’re talking to a future actress, here! If I received As on all my acting performances throughout high school then I can get past security.” It was all true.

Hendery laughed again, this time making no effort to hide his laugh, and you smiled. “Oh yes,” he pondered between laughs, “how could I forget. You really convinced Mr. Chen that he cancelled the quiz for that class, huh.”

A smile pulled at the corner of your lips in response as the fond memory resurfaced in your mind. Ah, junior year - that had been a particularly fun year. It was also the same year that Hendery had placed second in your school’s annual talent performance contest, which was no small feat considering you both attended one of the best performing arts academies in East Asia. “Only because you caught on and helped me,” you giggled slightly before sighing. “My point is,” you continued with an added emphasis, “you deserve this so much.” The smile grew on your face as his gentle eyes met yours, causing a small grin to swing up onto his lower face

Your eyes moved down to look at Hendery’s half-packed suitcase and the entire mood in the room seemed to shift somewhat. Whereas the space had seconds ago been filled light laughter and smiles, the atmosphere had no ebbed away into feelings of melancholy and unspoken uncertainties. Even the setting sun helped add to the effect. Hendery peered at you with a questioning look on his face, not quite sure what to think of your sudden change of attitude. That was until his eyes followed yours to his suitcase, and he understood everything; nothing needed to be said.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow...” the words escaped your mouth before you registered what you had just said. Just as quickly as the words had slipped out, you realized your mistake. Eyes widening and shoulders tensing, it took everything in your power not to slap your hand over your mouth or jump right out the window on your right. Oh, was it a tempting offer right now. 

You dumb emotions! Why is now that you decide to show yourself and not when I’m on stage and need you? you shouted mentally. “I–sorry,” you stammered, glancing at Hendery and hoping that your cheeks were not a crazy mess of pink. “I just–” but the words would not come out, and in fact no more words formed. Instead, you were restrained to only being allowed to do weird hand motions. Oh god, how did you hate your own vulnerability and emotions.

You may be a skilled actress with superior command over each of your performances and personas, but you were still human. Like everyone else – maybe more than most, in your opinion – your inner emotions, thoughts, and worries you lacked control over. They were rampant and destructive, like a wild storm at sea, and you did not know how to keep them in check. To make matters worse, the storm always seemed to rage at the most unpredictable moments. And oh did you hate it. You hated it because you knew they left you exposed to everyone around you; you could be hurt by even those who had nothing but good intentions.

Nothing needed to be said, however. Hendery just smiled and pulled you into a loose embrace against his chest. You didn’t protest because admittedly you liked the feeling and this wasn’t out of the normal for the two of you. Being friends for so long, Hendery had seen you at almost all of your lowest points, and you’d seen him at his. Each time, you’d helped each other back to your feet and move past whatever obstacle had knocked you down. You quite liked the feeling of knowing that you had someone who would be there for you no matter what. But now that Hendery was leaving, were things still going to be the same?

“Ah, worried that you’re not going to be able to get into enough trouble without me,” he teased, still holding you close to him. You could practically hear the smile in his voice and it made your heartbeat quicken ever so slightly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you can get into trouble without–”

“It’s not just that,” you cut him off abruptly, placing your hands against his chest to step back slightly. You were so focused on the torrent of emotions in your chest and trying to control your heartbeat that you failed to notice Hendery change his embrace, and his hands rested gently on your waist.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Do I really have the guts to tell him? You wondered to yourself. This question, again... It just loved to irritate you and invade your conscious at all the wrong times. “Yeah,” you let out a slightly shaky breath and refused to meet Hendery’s concerned yet curious eyes. “You know, you’re my best friend and I’m just a bit sad that you’re moving away from here,” you explained. Well, while it wasn’t the full truth, it wasn’t a lie either. While you were proud and ecstatic that Hendery was finally achieving a once-in-a-life-time opportunity, selfishly you were still upset to see your best friend go. Things were always like this; you could never fully express what you wanted to. Maybe being an actress and portraying fake personas was the only thing you were good at. Because while you immersed yourself in make-believe personalities and struggles, you failed time and time again to figure out your own troubles and express your own desires.

Of course, I don’t have the guts to tell him…

“You’re not going to get rid of me so easily,” Hendery clicked his tongue, almost as if he was scolding you. “I’m afraid to say,” he lifted up a hand close to your face, “you’re stuck with me,” he booped your nose. You stepped back a bit further in surprise, and Hendery’s grip on you disappeared. For a moment it seemed that something flashed across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Hendery quickly walked over to his computer on the desk and began to rummage through the papers, looking for his keys. As he rummaged, your eyes skimmed over all of the photos on his bulletin board. It brought a bittersweet smile to your face as you spotted several of the two of you. All of them were happy and joyous memories, but each one left a faint bitter taste in your mouth, like a splash of lemon, as they reminded you that such times may not be possible in the future. You rubbed your arms softly as you gazed at one of the photos, in which you were both smiling brightly at the camera behind massive cat-eyed sunglasses and frilly scarves. A few months ago Hendery had taken you to visit one of his friends in Hong Kong. His friend threw a small party and there had been a massive prop box next to a photo booth. Being the ridiculous duo that you were, you’d spent over half an hour taking dramatic photos together in a photo booth with a wide variety of accessories.

“Y/n, are you sure this is a good idea? Your parents think that you are behaving yourself, and what if a photo of their intoxicated daughter gets out onto the internet.”

“Yo, easy solution – the bigger my sunglasses and hat are, the less likely my parents will recognize me.”

The memory forced a smile onto your face, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, which were clouded with a layer of sadness. Like all good things, nothing this good could last forever, surely. This really was your last night with your best friend, but it was still nice that he was taking time out of his schedule to spend it with you. That had to count for something, right?

Beneath the billboard, you spotted a yellow envelope. There was nothing that unique about it but something about the small item still called to you. You found yourself reaching for it, only for Hendery to snatch it away.

“Hey, what was that for?” You exclaimed, pouting.

“Some things are not meant for strange, prying eyes, you know,” he explained as he tucked the card into his jeans’ pocket.

“You’re not going to let me see?”

His expression wavered for a moment from one of teasing disapproval to slight remorse. “Well, maybe later, but not right now.” Then he went back to looking for his keys, as you stood by and watched.

“Okay, I got them!” Hendery exclaimed, holding up his keys. He pulled his red jacket off the back of the chair and began to put it on. “Are you ready to go to the Thai place?” His question drew you out of your trance.

“Huh?” Your eyes whipped back to his half-packed suitcase and scattered clothes on the floor. “But aren’t you in the middle of packing? Don’t you want to finish before we go out?” You quizzed, turning back in Hendery’s direction.

He just shrugged and twirled the keys around his fingers. “Well it’s clear that I’m going to get nothing done with you around, so I’ll just finish after dinner,” he explained. Before you could take a step toward the door, Hendery had moved behind you and began pushing you toward the exit. “Now come on,” he persuaded with a soft smile. “Let’s go since it’s just going to get busier and I have to sleep before my flight tomorrow.” He paused after the sentence, and you turned back to look at him. He had a strange look on his face like he was thinking about something worrying, something personal. You wondered just what was going on inside his mind. But before you could ask, he cut you off.

“Do you still want to come to the airport tomorrow with me?” He asked, but the questioned wavered with uncertainty almost like he was afraid you were going to say no.

“Yes, of course, I’m coming” you reassured, pulling your signature half-smile back into place. “How could you think that I’d let you leave without saying goodbye. I’m bringing a massive poster and everything,” you trailed off with a small laugh.

Both of you knew that you were joking about the poster, but your reassurance seemed to bring some relief to Hendery. A small smile reappeared on his face and the creases of stress began to ebb away. “Okay, good,” he replied quietly and you weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or more to himself.

Why did it have to be so hard to tell him how you actually felt? Every time you mustered up what little actual courage you had and faced him with the intention of coming clean, your voice always failed and your emotions broke the dam that was supposed to keep them secure. Each time the world seemed to shake and it felt as if the sky was going to come crashing down. It was just a few simple words, just the honest truth. So why was the truth the hardest thing for you to say to him? You weren’t sure if it was because you were afraid to admit it or you were just incapable of coherent and adult conversation. While you were a skilled actress, you never had been good with personal things, and especially formulating your words. If you had any control over these feelings you would banish them because to you there really was nothing more tragically cliche than this.

Hendery took you by the wrist and began to tug you down the hallway after him, saying: “if you’re going to be this slow, then I guess I’ll just have to drag you to the restaurant.” Your heart jumped slightly at the action and that strange feeling that you hated so much somersaulted in your gut.

“Hey, you could act a bit more chivalrous,” you called out to him as you both burst out the front door into the busy, bustling night of Macau. All you got in return, however, was his usual laugh. Nevertheless, you still smiled.

Yes, there was nothing more tragic – tragically comedic? – than realizing that you were in love with your best friend, a best friend who was destined for great things that didn’t involve you. What a classic cliche modern tragedy.

                                                      •••

The loud bass of the club music was just a blurred hum in your ears; dimmed red and blue flashing lights danced across every inch of your figure and every bottle of alcohol that you were currently eyeing up from your barstool. There was something so tempting about alcohol; it was alluring and welcoming, but still dangerous and extremely destructive. Hah, it’s just like love, you realized. Your e/c eyes skimmed over each label with an intense focus as if analyzing something forbidden that you would never see again.

Lifting your glass, you downed the last of your drink. While it burned the back of your throat ever so slightly, you enjoyed even more the feelings of lightness and peace that the drink inflicted on you. You felt as if you were floating, as if the weight of all your responsibilities, worries, and unanswered questions had suddenly disappeared from your shoulders. You knew that it was only a temporary feeling paired with an unhealthy habit, but the sensation of freedom was still nice and you welcomed it.

You dropped your glass and beckoned to the waiter with your hand, immediately gaining his attention. “Yo, Eric, can I get another glass please,” you called out to him.

“No, actually she’s had enough for right now! Thank you, Eric,” Hendery spoke up next to you, dismissing the waiter. Eric, the bartender, lingered for a few seconds in confusion before several other young adults waved him over to take their orders. Meanwhile, Hendery stealthily moved your empty glass away from you.

You groaned and turned to look at him in your slightly drunken stupor. You pouted out your lower lip, slumping down on the bar. “Aw, and here I thought you were going to be more fun tonight,” you complained slowly. Spotting your drink in his hand you tried to steal it back, but Hendery just moved it farther with apparent ease. “Heeeenderrry, pleeease,” you whined, trying to reach for the glass. “I swear, I’m, like, totally fine right now. I–”

“Nuh-uh,” Hendery just shook his head and turned on his barstool to face you. “No more drinks for you, at least not for now,” he declared loudly over the beat of the music with a tone of authority. You just groaned and rolled your eyes in protest as he patted your back gently. 

God, why was he always like this, so attentive, cautious, and caring? He was acting like a responsible older brother, keeping a careful eye on their more reckless younger sibling. You weren’t sure for which reason you hated his behavior more, because a destructive part of you wanted to get absolutely obliterated tonight or because he probably saw you as a sister, and you clearly didn’t see him the same way. Maybe – definitely – it was a combination of both factors.      

You weren’t sure how long you had been zoning out, but you were suddenly brought back to reality by Hendery snapping his fingers in front of your face. You didn’t lift your head from the bar but shifted to look up at his face. “Do you want to do something or stay here and recover,” you think you heard him ask, but it was so loud in the club that you weren’t certain if you’d actually heard him or not. Maybe in hindsight, those three drinks hadn’t been the best idea. Hendery was still watching you with a mildly concerned expression, so you smiled at him through your drunk giggles. The pulsing lights decorated each angle and crevice of his face and neck, painting him like an abstract canvas. Maybe it was partially due to your tipsy state, but you remembered thinking about how special and handsome he looked in that particular moment.

Do you want to do something? The question echoed in the back of your mind, and you smiled slightly even though it was meant for yourself. If I was more capable of handling my emotions, I’d kiss you and tell you how I really felt, you idiot. But of course, you couldn’t. A part of you twinged with regret that you still couldn’t admit your honest feelings even in such a state. Weren’t people supposed to be at their boldest and most honest while drunk? Well, perhaps it didn’t matter. After all, you were with each other right now, and you both should make the most of your experience. That was good enough for you.

Slinking off your barstool with a drunk smile, you took him by the hands, pulling him along with you toward the raging dance floor. “Come on,” you called, looking back at him through hazy eyes. “Let’s go dance!”

                                                          •••

“Y/n, I have something really important that I want to tell you.” You never found out what Hendery wanted to tell you because you both got swept away by the dancefloor.

You couldn’t recall everything that happened on the dancefloor. You just remembered how loud and packed it was with young adults in similar if not more drunken states. The music had just been a blur in your ears as you moved your body to the rhythm. One thing you did remember though was holding on to Hendery’s hand the entire time to make sure that you wouldn’t get separated in the massive crowd of chaos. And as you smiled and danced next to him, he’d smiled and danced along too. For a second, everything felt normal; it was like you were the only two people on the dance floor, and the world didn’t exist around you; it had been almost the perfect reality, and you had wanted to live in that moment forever.

But then some other drunk accidentally spilled his drink all over your shirt, ruining the illusion. Like any good friend, Hendery had quickly pulled you off the dance floor toward the restrooms. There he insisted that you change into his jacket because there was no way he was going to take you home looking like that. Even drunk, you reasoned that it was better to not show up at your home smelling of alcohol so you accepted his offer.

I really do look like a hot mess right now, you mused to yourself as you tried to wipe away the smears of alcohol off your skin with a wet paper towel. You were aware that there was no feasible way that you were going to clean this all off, but at least Hendery had given you his jacket. Pushing your hair back, you zipped up the red jacket and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Well, at least you looked a bit more put together now. Behind the sharp smell of sweat and alcohol, the jacket smelled like him. Your eyes widened slightly. Whoa, hold on, now that you thought about it, wasn’t this something that boyfriends did with their girlfriends? Oh my god. At the realization, that familiar untamed feeling backflipped in your stomach, and you immediately shouted at the feeling to dissipate.

You shoved open the door to see Hendery standing against the wall in his white tank top, waiting for you. He straightened up as he spotted you exit, and for a second it looked as if he’d lost his breath. But you’d shared clothes many times before, so why was he acting this way now? It was a bit weird, but you quickly dismissed it and walked over to him.

The two of you walked outside and were greeted by the cool night air. While the night was still alive with rushing cars and bustling people, you felt a sense of peace. “Do you want to go home?” Hendery asked.

A smirk crawled onto your lips as you eyed him. “Trying to get rid of me already, huh,” you teased, laughing and punching his shoulder lightly.

“I didn’t mean it like–”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” you replied, tacking on, “let’s walk to the waterfront at least and then we can finally head back home.” Let’s just make this night as long as possible. After all, it would be your last one together for a while.

You and Hendery walked up the street, side by side, taking in all of the night festivities. Sign lights blinked, cars honked, and people bustled along the streets. You talked some, bringing up old funny and sentimental memories. While they were all sweet memories, there was now a certain bitterness to them as the reality of your situation hit you: you were scared of losing your best friend. You knew that in actuality you weren’t losing him, but the possibility of such a thing still terrified you. While the night brought a sense of peace, the storm inside your gut continued to rage, growing more vicious with each passing moment. Calm on the outside, everything was a whirlwind just beneath the skin. You only hoped that these feelings would dissipate.

But they didn’t.

And as you neared the waterfront, the dam containing your emotions broke and you lost control. Stopping in your walk, you drew in a shaky breath and Hendery turned to face you, seeming slightly concerned.

“Is everything ok–” he began to ask, but you cut him off before he could get a full sentence out.  

“I–Hendery,” your words had become like putty in your mouth, intangible and incomprehensible. You could feel your heart beat rapidly in your throat, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the words coming out of your mouth. “I–ha, you know, like, I’m bad with words, but I-uh, I really want to kiss you right now.”

“What?” he replies just above a whisper, and the bewildered tone matched perfectly with how you were feeling on the inside. The way he said it though leaves you confused as to whether he didn’t understand what you had just said or was in shock because of that. But none of that mattered at the moment.

Feeling like a puppet in your own skin, you took a few steps toward him until you were standing right in front of him. You tilted your chin to look up at him, and the second you met his eyes you realized that he had his own storm raging inside of him. The look in his eyes revealed that a million thoughts and questions seemed to be rushing through his mind, but you couldn’t understand a single one of them. Your mind was elsewhere.

I’m such a hot mess, a rational realization surfaced in your mind that was still spinning at a hundred miles an hour. Yes, maybe you were a hot mess, but at least you were an honest one. You accepted the fact that you were scared of losing your connection with one of the people who mattered most to you, and you resented that you hadn’t been fully honest with him about your true feelings. And like people say, there is no time like the present; aided by the effects of alcohol, you reasoned that this was the best opportunity you were going to get to be open.

“You idiot,” you whispered as hot liquid built up in the corners of your eyes. You jabbed your finger into his chest. “D-don’t you see that I like you.”

You weren’t sure who acted first, whether you kissed him or he kissed you, but it happened. It was a soft and short kiss, but despite that you could feel the depth and emotions of affection and long-time longing behind the action. It was when you pulled away that the embarrassment of the situation finally hit your finally sobering mind.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” you pulled back and your hands flew to your face. While a large part of you was relieved that you had finally come clean, another part of you was burning with embarrassment. “I don’t know what overcame me. I just–you know–ha ha,” your explanation was no more coherent than your earlier statement, and you laughed half-joylessly half-embarrassed as you wiped a tear from your eye.

Only once your mind and gut began to calm down did you look up. Hendery was still watching you, and when you met his eyes this time you felt calm. It was strange because usually you felt the frantic wings of butterflies almost every time you were with him, but now that feeling was replaced by serenity. You weren’t sure why this was, but you weren’t sure you wanted to understand either.

“Oh, come here,” Hendery cut off your babbling by pulling you into an embrace up against his chest. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, but you didn’t resist. Rather, your body seemed to instinctively relax into the embrace. “I really like you, too,” he mumbled against the top of your head.

Like usual, your words failed you, and you weren’t sure how to respond so you just reciprocated the hug. Actions seemed to speak louder than words because as you stood there intertwined everything became clear; all your uncertainties disappeared, and your mind felt clear. You knew exactly what he meant, and he understood you.

After some time you began to speak again. “I would never guess you could love a mess like me,” you admitted, still smiling as you drew away from him. You both continued walking toward the approaching waterfront, but this time your fingers were just barely hooked around each other.

“Maybe I’m just drawn to destruction,” Hendery chuckled lightly at the comment. “You’re like a tornado, but a very cute and lovable tornado.”

That might have been the strangest compliment you’d ever received, but it still brought a large smile to your face and made sparks ignite in your chest.

You approached the waterfront and stared out at the open darkness. On the other side of the water, you could make out the lights aligning buildings, shops, and bridges against the night sky. You both used to spend a lot of time down by the waterfront together when you were younger. It felt sentimental coming back to it after all this time, but there was also a sense of closure.

“Um, I know you think you’re the only one bad with words here,” Hendery started, “but I’m pretty bad myself.” That caused you to turn and look at him. He looked a bit nervous, but there was still a small smile on his face, which let you know that everything was okay. Before you could ask what he meant by that, he pulled out the small yellow envelope from his pocket. It was the same one that you’d tried to pick up from his desk earlier that evening.

Hendery eyed it for a few seconds before he moved it in your direction. “I was going to give this to you later and tell you not to read it until after I left, but I guess that after this then it isn’t that important,” he explained as you took the envelope from him.

“What’s in it?” You asked without looking up.

“A few photographs and a letter...where I say I love you,” he admitted in an almost timid manner. He looked almost like a young boy shyly confessing to his crush, how cute.

You opened up the envelope and pulled out of the photographs. Another wide smile immediately manifested itself on your face as you looked down at one of the photos. You were both smiling widely at the camera in summer clothing as the waterfront rested just behind the two of you. Gosh, you both looked so young. You remembered this day. It was after your first day of high school, and you and Hendery had set off down by the waterfront to talk about your first impressions of the school and all the teachers. Now that you thought about it, you were standing in the exact same spot as that day.

Turning to Hendery, you declared excitedly, “let’s take a photo together!”

“Right now? In the dark?” He questioned, seeming confused.

You rolled your eyes and placed your hands on your hips. “Come on, it’s our last night together and I want it to be special with you. We might as well take a second to memorialize the moment,” you suggested, quickly adding, “plus, phones’ cameras have a flash on it.”

Hendery looked like he was thinking about it for a second before nodding his head in agreement and smiling. Excited, you quickly moved over next to him. Hendery smiled at your excitement and wrapped an arm around your waist, as you both looked up into the camera that you held. Behind you, the city lights reflected off the dark water. Just as you went to click the button, you felt Hendery kiss your cheek. You visibly blushed and couldn’t force away the smile on your face. You hoped that the camera captured the moment.

Yet, when you brought the phone close for your viewing, only the home screen greeted you. Wait, what?

“The app crashed!” You exclaimed in shock.

“See this is why you didn’t major in film and photography,” Hendery teased next to you, giving you a slight squeeze. “You don’t know how to operate a camera properly. We really need to buy you some professional lessons.” You knew that his teasing was all in good spirit.

“You think this is all my fault,” you gasped, turning on him. Waving your arms, you declared, “I take one photo of you and the camera breaks! You’re obviously cursed.”

“Only because I let myself be around you,” he replies as he pulls you into another embrace.  You weren’t sure what would happen now or what would become of you in the future, but you were satisfied with the present and that is what mattered most at the moment. You knew that you were a bit of a mess, but that was okay because Hendery and others seemed to love that about you. And sometimes messes were necessary because you would not be able to discover things without cleaning them up. Because while your heart may have been a mess, at least it was an honest one.

“Looks like I’m going to have to hire the best security at my concerts, hmm.”

You smiled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Didn’t get a lot of writing done today, so have an Avengers fic I never posted from 2016.

Howard Stark was on his way back from a night celebrating Stark Industries’ latest business deal.  He had invited Maria, but she never wants to come to these more causal things, saying Howard deserves “a night out with the boys” every so often.  He decided to forgo the chauffeur and drive himself back tonight – and his blood alcohol content actually cooperated with the idea.  He’d walked from work to the bar, and went to retrieve the Aston Martin from Stark Industries’ secure parking garage.  As Howard passed a dark alley, no different from five others on this street, a bulky figure wielding a hunting knife stepped out.  Howard knew quite well that even in his prime, he wasn’t a skilled fighter, and his prime was over thirty years ago. He carefully raised one hand while reaching into his back pocket with the other.  “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.  I’m getting my wallet out right now; it has over two hundred dollars in cash.  You can take it, and I’ll turn around and go the other way.”

Unlike any mugger with sense, though, the man didn’t accept the wallet, or demand that Howard hand over his watch, or his cufflinks, or his fancy cell phone (the carrying case for that is a bit obvious, miniaturization is definitely going to be the next area for improvement, Howard’s already working on a half-dozen ideas). Instead, the man punched Howard in the head and pulled him into the alley before he could get his bearings.  The beating continued, although the knife wasn’t brought into play yet.  Howard clawed at the attacker, hoping to provide enough of a fight that the man would seek out a different victim.  If nothing else, maybe Howard could make the man bleed, get some DNA evidence.  He managed to catch the edge of the man’s scarf, and pull it away.  Howard started to catalog the man’s features for a police report – brown hair, blue or green eyes, hard to tell which in this light, stubble, about six feet tall – when a flash of familiarity hit him.  “Barnes?  I thought you died decades ago.”

The attacker says “That’s not my name.”

“Oh? What is your name then?”  It’s highly unlikely to work, but sometimes even a practiced agent – which Howard was beginning to suspect this man was, based on the impersonality of the hits that still manage to hit every place that can cause maximum pain combined with the fact that Howard hasn’t been able to get even one hit in – will fall for the obvious simply because they don’t expect it.

The question actually made the attacker pause, one hand cold around Howard’s throat and the other raised in the air.  “I don’t know.  A weapon doesn’t need a name, only people do.”

Okay, Howard was being attacked by a crazy man.  Might as well run with what he had, hopefully someone will come by soon – the bar wasn’t in that bad of a neighborhood.  “Then how do you know you’re not Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th?”

“You said he was dead.  I am not dead.”  A hard punch to Howard’s kidney made the point especially clear.

“No body was ever found.  The fall should have been fatal, but if someone had come by in the next hour or two they could have taken him – you captive.”  Whoever this was, he wasn’t punching Howard as long as Howard was talking, and there’s a lot he can say about Barnes without going near anything classified.  “Maybe you don’t remember the name Barnes but Captain Rogers – Steve – called you Bucky.”

The man actually seemed to recognize this name, and Howard began to wonder if this might actually, miraculously, be Barnes.  “Bucky… Who are you?  How do you know so much about me?”

“My name is Howard Stark.  I was a friend of Steve’s and your friend as well.”

That brought the knife out, appearing at Howard’s throat.  “Prove it. Prove you’re not just tricking me to get me to break orders.”

“I have pictures of you at my house, even some with both of us together.”  The knife didn’t move.  “There’s also a photo in my wallet of Steve.  You recognized your name, you’ll probably recognize Steve.  He’s the blond man.”  

The man who might be Barnes sheathed the knife, but instead picked Howard up by the throat, holding him against the alley wall while he grabbed Howard’s dropped wallet with the other hand.  Credit cards, receipts, and cash were all dumped carelessly to the ground. Howard felt a twinge of guilt past the suffocation as his attacker pushed aside the photographs of Tony and Maria with the toe of his boot.  He stood stock still for a long moment before rounding on Howard.  “This is wrong!  The face is familiar, but the man shouldn’t look like that.”

“He was in terrible shape for most of his life,” Howard gasped.  “You’d probably remember him being about five foot two and ninety pounds.  I and another scientist gave him a serum that made him tall and strong, far more so than an ordinary man.  Come to think of it, you’ve probably got some too, the blood tests we did after you were rescued were a bit odd.”  This seemed to calm the other man, as Howard now had both feet on the ground and could breathe fully, although the man’s left hand still rested on his collarbone.

“Can you show me proof?”  

“Yes, I have photos of Steve before the serum as well.  I can even prove that you’re really Barnes, I have a copy of your fingerprints.”

“Good. Bring me to them.”

“Are you done trying to kill me?”

“Yes. If I go back, they’ll take what I’ve learned away from me, and I need to find out who I was.  The information I was given for this mission was obviously incomplete, and you are the only relevant source of information.”

“Okay then, follow me to my car; my house is bit of a ways from here.” Howard actually found it reassuring to have confirmation that this is the work of an organization, and not just a very crazy solitary mugger.  Hired killers can be bought out, and even a loyal agent can usually be persuaded to see reason.  A legitimately insane man would be far less predictable.

The drive home was the tensest half hour of Howard’s life, as Barnes – the man seemed less and less likely to be anyone else – was apparently carrying a pistol, and spent the entire ride pointing it casually at Howard’s let ear.

Howard turned to Barnes when they reached the mansion.  “I don’t suppose you could put the gun away for a bit?”  Of course, that just got the gun placed right at his temple.

“No. You’ll try to run, they always do.”

“I’m not going to try to run; I don’t need to.  They always run because they don’t want to die, but you aren’t trying to kill me.”  The gun didn’t lower, so Howard thought of something else.  “Look, you could probably kill me in less than five seconds without the gun. I’m not asking you to throw it away, just put in your pocket or wherever you had it before.”

“If you’re not trying to escape, why does the location of the gun matter?”  Barnes seemed honestly curious, apparently unaware that not all social situations are improved by firearms.

“If you have the gun out, my wife, as well as possibly the butler or the doorman, will see you and call the police.  They’ll assume that my life is danger.”

“If I have the gun out, I can shoot them before they can call for help.”

That startled Howard, hearing Barnes talk so forthrightly about shooting random people just for being in the wrong place.  “NO!  If you shoot them, I won’t tell you anything about your past.”

“You will tell me all I need to know, whether or not you want to.”

Howard changed tack again, realizing that an exchange of threats with an amoral assassin – possibly with the serum, based on the alley – was unlikely to succeed, and putting on the sweetness instead.  “I’m not trying to threaten you.  If you’re willing to follow some of my – guidelines, I’ll be much more cooperative, and you’ll find out what you need to know faster.  I’m just trying to warn you that shooting anyone will make the police come, and then you won’t have as much time to look at the pictures of your past.”

Barnes looked at Howard for a long moment.  “In the field, it is necessary to defer to those with more expert knowledge of the situation at hand,” he stated, then tucked the gun somewhere under his coat. Howard breathed out and led Barnes in to the house, trying to convince himself he wasn’t letting his family’s future murderer in the front door.

~~

After two hours, Howard has been able to figure out a few things about the situation.  First, the man before him truly was Barnes, at least according to the finger prints from the right hand.  The other hand is metal, which can be seen to go up past the elbow when Barnes removes his jacket due to being too warm.  Barnes doesn’t know who wanted Howard dead, other than that Barnes believes them to be the same people he usually works for.  However, Barnes’s memory is completely shot – he not only doesn’t remember the war, but also doesn’t remember anything beyond a few months ago, although his sense of time seems odd, with Reagan having been president then.  

“Why don’t you go to bed now?”

“I have not yet recovered the missing information; several of these objects trigger headaches and images but the images are incomplete.”

“I need to go to bed now.  It’s one a.m. and I have an eight a.m. meeting in the morning.”

“Your presence is not necessary for me to gain information.”

“You can take that big trunk with you; it’s mostly pictures and files about things you already witnessed.  But I’d really prefer that you stay in a guest bedroom overnight; you’ll startle the maids if you stay in my study.”

Barnes cocks his head, obviously trying to figure something out, then nods. “I will follow you to my assigned quarters.”  Barnes picks up the trunk – no mean feat, it’s three feet long, two feet wide and two feet deep and full of paper – and watches Howard like an actor waiting for the next cue.  

Howard decides that one the third floor east wing guest rooms will do – Howard, Maria, and Tony have rooms on the north side, and the servants who stay overnight are all on the west wing, this is as far away from innocents who might be in danger as he can put Barnes while keeping the man in the house.  Barnes doesn’t look around, doesn’t ask about food, just sets the box down and resumes paging through it.

“There’s an ensuite bathroom behind the door on the left, feel free to use it if you need to.”

Barnes looks up and meets Howard’s eyes, but gives no other sign if he likes his accommodations.  Howard leaves the room and head towards his bed, but not before stopping at his lab to turn on the surveillance cameras for that wing, and check the footage from outside.  

~~

As Howard slipped into bed, Maria murmured “Hmm, you got in late.”

Howard: “I met an old friend, and he needed a place for the night.  I put him in the east wing; I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.” His voice is still a bit hoarse from being choked around the neck, but luckily Maria seems to accept it as exhaustion.

Maria: “You know the reason had better be good, I hate being unprepared for guests.”

Howard: “Trust me, my dear, it is.  Now why don’t we both get some rest?”

[hoodwinkedtoohoodvsevil]

sappy "i've loved my spesh for a year now" post

[[MORE]]

one year ago today, i got into twrp.

that's not to say i wasnt familiar with them before june 3rd, 2019. my big love was nsp, so i very much knew and appreciated them! i remember when nsp played on conan i was so happy for all of them and hoped twrp was getting just as much credit as nsp because they totally deserve it! i remember listening to guardians of the zone a couple years back in david's car and latching onto rock n roll best friends (my first favorite twrp song and still one of my faves!) and listening to that a lot. i remember the third starbomb album coming out last april and thinking, wow, this is definitely their best album musically because of twrp's instrumentation! and of course, like everyone else, i was obsessed with starlight brigade when the video came out, and recognized it was twrp's song featuring dan, not just a dan project. but i didn't have their names memorized, and for whatever reason, i thought they were all silent performers? like, i thought none of them talked and sung only talked/performed with talkbox. (i mean, i was like 60% right? at least at the time.)

on this day last year, i was showing my best friend arin and suzy's (gg) hot pepper gaming videos and then i noticed twrp's in the related videos. i was like oh my gosh! i didn't know twrp did one of these! and you can imagine my surprise when sung and meouch started talking fhfhdjdlfj i was literally like WAIT THEY TALK??? I REALLY THOUGHT NONE OF THEM TALKED. it's always really funny to look back on. and even though they spent most of that video suffering i thought they were so funny and likeable that i was like. maybe i should finally actually get into twrp.

and holy shit.

there's so much to twrp that i know i didn't do it all in a day. it's hard for me to get used to a band by listening to all their music once, so i took it album by album. i started with guardians of the zone, because i was already very familiar with it. listened to that on loop for a while, then moved onto together through time since it was their most recent album at the time. then, i went backwards from there.

i searched for all the lore i could. i read wiki pages, spent literal hours reading reddit AMAs, watched every video on their youtube channel and the hour long compilation of their instagram videos. this all took place over the span of like? a few days? a week? it's hard to say really. i fell so fast.

from that point on, i have so many stories, we would be here all day. i remember listening to believe in your dreams on repeat the day i became a d*sney trainer, and the literal day after that, they released hidden potential. then of course, the release of return to wherever, which i listened to nonstop for ages. the album is my jam because i love albums with a cohesive theme and songs that blend into each other. it's hard to beat together through time, but rtw comes really close.

i saw them for the first time live on july 30th, 2019. unfortunately, something happened that night that changed my life for the worse. but that wasn't twrp's fault at all. the show itself was incredible. i'd never been to a general admission concert of one of my faves, it was absolutely surreal that they were all right in front of me. and of course, they put on a hell of a show. they always do. god, i love them.

on august 9th 2019, i went to my first sung stream. it was a party stream and i'm on the east coast, so i stayed up until 3 AM to hear sung give me my first talkbox shoutout. i recorded it and still have the video. it made me smile in the early part of a very dark time in my life.

i made a lot of friends in that stream, we all shared twitters and i'm still friends/mutuals with all of them! and i've only made more friends since, especially at nsp10. nsp10 was incredible for many reasons, but a big one was that the three hours my fiancé and i were waiting outside the venue to be let in, we were just walking around saying hi to my twrp friends, meeting a bunch of them for the first time. and i made new friends! i remember standing in a group, shivering in my heart boner cosplay, and one of the guys saying "you're artie, right? i follow you on twitter, i love your cosplay!" he seemed like he was really gathering the courage to say it to me, he had no idea how happy it would make me! (shoutout to logan! you're awesome!)

really, if any of my twrp friends are reading this, i love you to pieces. meeting you has definitely been a high point of the last 365 days.

again, i have so many stories. but since this is already so long i'm just gonna cut to march 5th, 2020. that was the night i met them. now, i'm not a shy person at all, and over the past few years i haven't really been very socially anxious. i'm able to carry myself in conversation, even with strangers. but i've never met a fave before. let alone four faves at once. so, naturally, everything i had planned on saying completely left my brain. but they're literally the best, so it was still an absolute dream. the first thing sung said when he saw me was "hey you look great!" (my outfit was clearly inspired by his own, fancy orange hat and all, so he probs wanted to Respect The Drip but he was right regardless and also HOLY SHIT) and i had my baby porg gary with me (the sunshine of my life) and they all interacted with him and it was super wholesome.

they played two nights in orlando, and i went to both shows because of course i did. first night was great, second night was even better even though that was my GA show. they played life party on night 2, which might as well be my favorite song of all time. it has carried me through every bad moment since i first heard it. big and small. i have a lyric from it tattoo'd on my arm as a constant reminder that i'm alive, and that is something to be ecstatic about. i also had more room to dance and move around on night 2, and dance and move around i did. then, when the show was over and scatman played, i got out everything else i had. august-november 2019 was actual hell for me, and i was still dealing with the aftermath of it all. but that concert high made me realize, holy shit! all of it is over! it doesn't matter anymore! twrp carried me through one of the roughest periods of my life, and met me at the finish line with a fucking gold medal. i fucking did it. now i have none of the bad, and all of the good. it was one of the best feelings i've ever had, and one of the happiest nights of my life.

since then, twrp continues to keep me going. of course the world has been a total shitshow, but everyone's streams (especially the twrp show) have been the highlight of my week every week.

i've always considered myself a very positive person, but last year was a very bad year for my depression, as well as traumatic at times. and i've always had problems feeling understood. i still do. but twrp said hey! literally nobody understands us. not even ourselves! but that's okay! we want you to be happy and feel loved and supported no matter what. and i really can't thank them enough for it.

this part is mostly for another longer post, but i wanted to mention it since it's also really important. i fully came to terms with being a mlm last year after years of compulsory heterosexuality, and twrp played a big part in me exploring and accepting that about myself. and i was already very secure in my gender identity when i found them, but hearing "this song goes out to all the ladies, fellas, and everyone in between" shook me to my very core. i've never loved a band that literally said "shoutout to trans/nb people" at every concert. god. i love them so fucking much.

so this was even longer than i expected (and i expected it to be long bc yknow. spesh.) but i just have so much love and gratitude for this band. every day of my life i'm so thankful that doctor sung, commander meouch, lord phobos, and havve hogan exist and are spreading all this love and positivity to their fans every day. i've never loved a band like this, and i probably never will. they are truly special.

and it's only been a year!!!!

[literallyusuk]

Song of the Sea (USUK) Chapter 1

Summary: An unmarked Clubs Queen with a secret. A Spades King that can't help falling in love. A Clubs King desperate to hold onto what is his. A Spades Prince blinded by jealousy.

Oh, and that secret? Big enough to send the two Kingdoms plunging into war if it were to come out.

Notes: Alternate title: Smells Fishy.

Hello hello! Yet another new story that I don't have fully written out yet, but by golly I love this one so much. The beginning chapters are fleshed out and edited from an rp I did with my friend @aziraho. ^0^ I hope you'll enjoy this one! Please let me know what you think!

Warnings: There’s one curse word in it for now. Will get steamy later tho.

~~~

The Clubs castle had, for a day, become something more vibrant and beautiful than ever before. The cold King of the North had never held celebrations before – no birthdays, no weddings, no holidays or anniversaries – so it was a shock to every royal to receive an invitation, and even more so when they saw the event; the birthday of the Queen of Clubs.

People only knew the Queen’s name, Arthur Kirkland, and that he was a fair man with green eyes. Arthur never travelled outside of Clubs- or even outside of the castle, really. The Queen of Clubs was not even the true Queen, bearing no mark on his body, but since there hadn’t been a Chosen Queen for over a century, no one questioned the arrangement.

It seemed King Ivan had been lucky enough to marry for love…though the other royals couldn’t even remember receiving a wedding announcement.

Clubs Keep glittered in the evening, for once a warm gold instead of the cold blue of ice under the moonlight. The very air seemed warmer as well, though many of the guests still had cloaks and capelets draped over their shoulders. The party was in full swing in the Grand Ballroom, with tables of food and drink lining the walls and a band in the corner and a dance floor taking up the centre of the space. Laughter drifted to the ceiling, perhaps a bit muted for a celebration, but still there.

The Queen of Clubs inclined his head in thanks at yet another murmured congratulations and moved further along the room. He was dressed from head to toe in Clubs green and gold. His trousers and jacket were a deep, hunger green, while his gold-trimmed cloak was a more vibrant hue. Messy blond hair stuck out from underneath a heavy crown, and his gait was as smooth as the rolling waves.

He ignored the false King of Spades’ attempts to get his attention, his eyes rather trained on the similarly dressed figure exiting the room into the hallway. Curiosity piqued, he followed. He made no sound as he left, and couldn’t help rolling his eyes at what he eventually found.

The Spadian had stopped next to a mirror and was, for lack of a better word, peacocking in front of it. Smiling and smirking to himself, running a hand down the side of his long dark blue and silver coat to smooth it down and momentarily allowing the rapier at his hip to be visible.

“The food had better be good,” he muttered, “for why else would I entertain myself with this miserable place? Even the inside seems frozen over.”

Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not a very kingly thing to say, is it?” he asked quietly, stepping closer. Of course he knew this man was the true King of Spades, and it wasn’t hard to see exactly what kind of person this King was; pompous, full of himself, a spoilt brat of a royal. “Especially out in the open, where anyone could hear.”

Those blue eyes locked onto Arthur’s figure through the mirror. The King of Spades ran his fingers through his low ponytail nonchalantly and didn’t bother turning around. “Perhaps it isn’t,” he replied, voice playful and recognizing no guilt. “A good King spins pleasant lies, but a great King speaks the truth. At least, that’s what my father always told me.”

“Hmm.” Arthur neither sounded nor looked impressed.

The other man finally turned to face him, offering a polite smile. “He also told me not many royals would agree with that.” The modest grin spread, revealing white teeth that contrasted with his tanned skin. “The Kingdom of Spades wishes you a happy birthday, even though it seems that you’re not enjoying too much of it. It’s a pleasure, Queen Arthur. Ivan has weaved many tales about you, and you are even lovelier than he gave you credit for.” He reached his hand out to the Queen, palm upward, was the custom.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arthur would refuse the King’s gesture and leave the hand hanging there, but eventually he reached out and delicately placed his hand atop the other man’s. This was definitely a child of a ruler, but Arthur knew he had to be at least polite, or he’d get it from Ivan later. That’s the last thing I need, to top this whole farce off, he thought bitterly, but forced a smile onto his face. “Thank you for your wishes,” he replied, coolly if not a little coldly.

The Spadian King’s touch was surprisingly gentle on the Queen’s hand as he brought it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gloved back. He spoke a formality in Old Spadian before releasing the hand, pocketing his own deep into his coat. The bow had released a few strands of hair from his ponytail that now fell into his face- which would have made him look aloof if not for the smile.

Holding himself perfectly still, Arthur didn’t even look like he was breathing until he had been released.

The King kept on grinning. “Has dear King Ivan stepped on your feet one too many times to deserve to be left alone on the dance floor? He did have that habit, at least back when we were young.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I merely wished to step outside for a moment for some air. You need not worry yourself with Ivan’s dancing.” Despite himself, Arthur’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Though knowing your kind, I suppose if I’d given you the opportunity, you would have started waxing on about how great of a dancer you are?”

“I learned my dances from the best,” the King replied, leaning his shoulder against the ice. “It seems I’ve been caught before my escape plan could come to fruition, so I could prove my prowess to you on the dance floor if you’d like, my Queen.”

He was talking, of course, about the false King of Spades that was weaving through the crowd back in the ballroom.

Arthur resisted the urge to snort. Yeah, this King was exactly what he’d expected. “Escape plan, hmm? And are you sure it’s wise to be telling me about that?” he asked, one of his eyebrows arching. “I could very well be offended that you find a party in my honour so dull. It would be the simplest thing to tell my…loving King about the slight you’ve given us.” He completely ignored the offer to dance.

“Oh, that old boy would just laugh it off, don’t I know him,” the other man said, shrugging away the notion that anything bad might have come from his unorthodox behaviour. He glanced to Arthur. “If you want, I could take you with me.”

Arthur did let out a laugh at that. “Stealing away the Queen? You are bold, my dear King of Spades. I can almost appreciate that.” He half-turned, smirking at the other royal and staring at him from half-lidded eyes. He definitely didn’t miss how the Spades King appeared dumbstruck for a moment. “Unfortunately, I will have to decline. I actually have duties to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me…” He started walking back towards the ballroom, though paused after just a few steps. “Pity you won’t be sticking around. Perhaps I would have taken you up on that dance later on. Though, this might be for the best. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me anyway,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he left the bait hanging there in front of the King’s open mouth and continued forward.

Confident that he’d be seeing more of the actual Spades King later on, Arthur weaved easily through the crowd. He ignored both servants and nobility, and took extra care to avoid the King of Diamonds. King Francis was an aggressive flirt with an abrasive personality that reminded Arthur too much of him- the cause of all of Arthur’s troubles. And Arthur really didn’t want to cause a huge scene by punching another royal. Out of the corner of his eye he once again saw the false Spades King trying to get his attention, and was happy to ignore that man too. Though the thought of going up to the imposter did cross his mind briefly, he was just as quick to brush it away. There was no point, really. He’d met the real one already, for all that was worth.

He made a beeline for the refreshment tables instead, and especially the lone platter of salty mackerel and tuna. There were only a few pieces left, to his annoyance, and he was quick to snap them all up. Politeness be damned, saltwater fish were a delicacy. Ivan didn’t often allow them into the castle. Munching away on the last of the tuna, he allowed a neutral, almost content expression to settle over his face.

“Arthur,” a low voice murmured to him a few minutes later.

Arthur turned to meet Ivan’s violet eyes. His back stiffened. “Ivan.”

“Where were you? You vanished.” The Clubs King’s mouth stretched down into a soft pout.

“I didn’t go outside,” Arthur immediately snapped, though he kept his voice low enough that no one else would notice. “The air in here grew stifling.”

“It always gets stifling when you’re pressed into the corners. The dance floor looks like it has more room.” Ivan gave him a small, hopeful smile. “Dance with me, my Queen?”

The request was a simple one. Such a simple one, phrased so innocently, but Arthur knew better, and he couldn’t dare refuse. Instead, he returned a bland smile to the taller man. “Of course, my King. It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Ivan’s smile faded somewhat, though he still took hold of Arthur’s elbow and led him to the dance floor. Some of the murmuring voices hushed as royalty and nobility alike turned to watch the host King and Queen dance. The pair moved well together, if a bit rigidly. Arthur made no excess movements, no effort to dance with grace. He moved mechanically, like an automaton, and a few times it almost seemed like Ivan had to pull and tug him along. The King of Clubs watched him carefully as they spun and twirled.

“Arthur, please,” he whispered when the music shifted to a second song and nothing changed. He leaned in for a kiss.

At the last second, Arthur turned his face so Ivan’s lips pressed against his cheek. “You asked me to dance. I’m dancing.”

His mouth opened, but then Ivan just sighed and pouted again.

Arthur ignored him. His green eyes swept the crowd to where everyone not dancing was looking at them and seemed to be talking amongst themselves. He spotted the two Kings of Spades next to each other, the crown back on the rightful man’s head. Briefly, he wondered what a dance with the other King might look like. Would it be more or less of a farce than this? He waved the thoughts away and focused his gaze on the clasp of Ivan’s cloak as he waited for it to be over.

It seemed as if the man had heard his thoughts, because at the next quick break the musicians used to tune their instruments, there was a touch on his arm. Arthur flinched, then turned to meet the eyes of the King of Spades.

“I believe you owe me a challenge, fair Queen,” the blond man said, ignoring Ivan and the murmuring crowd around them.

Arthur’s expression didn’t betray any emotion. “My, how eager you are to lose,” he murmured. “It hasn’t even been an hour.” Then, seeming to remember himself, he glanced to Ivan. “May I?”

Glancing between the two of them, Ivan eventually nodded. His grip tightened on Arthur’s body. “We will dance more later?”

“…Of course.” Arthur smiled at him and then disentangled himself, stepping closer to the other King. “Very well, King Alfred. Let us see where those dances from the best left you.” He didn’t spare Ivan a glance as the Clubs King retreated to the side of the ballroom.

Alfred accepted Arthur’s hand and confidently led him to the centre of the dance floor. “Say,” he said, before the music started. “I couldn’t help but to notice the tension between you and your King. You are…alright, are you not?”

Arthur couldn’t help the small amount of warmth that coiled in his stomach at Alfred’s question. It was…sweet, even though it was sad that he had to ask it in the first place. “I’m fine,” he replied. “There is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am unhurt, and this is my home.” He gave Alfred a polite, distant smile.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Alfred told him.

The music swelled and the Spadian King immediately took a strong lead in their dance. He moulded his steps to the music rather than a rigid pattern, and Arthur was so surprised that for a moment it was all he could do was follow. His body, lax with shock, was whirled and moved by Alfred’s will alone. Alfred wasn’t too forceful, though, and once Arthur had recovered he was able to push back against him. He spun faster and stepped out further, forcing Alfred to chase after him a little bit.

He didn’t stop there, stepping into Alfred’s personal space to force him in the direction that he wanted to go- almost as if he was trying to take the lead occasionally. To his surprise Alfred was game for it, following for a little while before tugging the lead back. A spin, followed by a dip, and Alfred was leaning over Arthur, smiling down at him warmly.

Arthur very pointedly tried to ignore the way his heart leapt, both at the dip and the sight of Alfred’s bright smile above him. His eyes slid to the side, and he allowed Alfred a few beats of control again while he composed himself. Snap out of it, Arthur. Don’t you dare get any foolish ideas. He rebalanced himself and seized the lead, spinning Alfred out even further than before, then reeling him back in until they all but crashed into each other. He barely gave Alfred time to breathe before they were moving again, whirling around the perimeter of the dance floor.

“You’re not doing as badly as I feared you would, I’ll admit,” he said, smirking up at the King. “But this dancing is still nothing special.” The dancing he really loved, really poured his heart and soul into, he hadn’t been able to do in what felt like eons. It was slowly fading from his memory. Arthur roughly dipped the taller man to distract himself, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers.

“Oh, well thank you, Your Majesty,” Alfred replied, his voice teasing, before a ‘whoa’ escaped his lips at the dip. He laughed loudly as he came back up, and smiled even louder. They moved away from one another, hands still linked, and when they came back together Alfred used the opportunity to take back the dance, pulling the Queen a little bit closer than when they had started and adjusting his pace to the slower melody that now played. “My offer to steal you away still stands, Queen Arthur. There are many dances out there to be danced, for fun, not for a good show for a bunch of stuck-up nobles who see us as walking bags of gold.”

At this, however, Arthur’s energy diminished somewhat, and the line of his shoulders grew rigid. Alfred was foolish, true, and childish, and bright and warm, but he was also dangerous. Unquestionably dangerous. The Clubs Queen had forgotten himself, his place. Arthur’s relief was palpable as the music faded, and he stopped his dancing when they were off to the side.

“And how do you know,” he asked quietly, removing himself from Alfred’s hold, “that I haven’t been stolen already?” For the first time in his life, he was glad to see Ivan waving him over. “It seems I’m being summoned. Thank you for the dance, now please excuse me.”

Inclining his head to Alfred, he then spun around on his heel and strode to his King’s side. This time when Ivan’s arm snaked around Arthur’s shoulders, his face didn’t betray any expression at all.

“I wish you’d dance like that with me,” Ivan mused.

Arthur didn’t respond, and luckily Ivan didn’t press him to. Instead, they did another round of the room, Ivan chatting with various nobility and Arthur trying not to look too bored. The Jack of Hearts gave him a sympathetic glance when they passed, though Arthur’s returning look was quite chilly. He didn’t need sympathy. He didn’t need pity. Anger and hatred fuelled him, would keep him going until the time was right.

“Alfred!” Ivan called, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. “Matthew! I haven’t properly introduced my Queen to you- well, at least to one of you.” He glanced curiously to Alfred, and his grip on Arthur was almost possessive.

Turning his attention to Matthew, Arthur gave a stiff bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Matthew replied, offering a bow in return.

Alfred stuck his hands into the pockets of his cloak and gave Ivan a questioning look. “King Ivan, I’m perplexed that you didn’t invite us to the wedding! Surely a loving couple like yourselves must have had a grand celebration!”

Sighing softly, Matthew elbowed his brother in the ribs. “What he meant to say,” he said with an apologetic smile, “was that we regret missing such an occasion and wish we could have given our congratulations to the couple at the proper time.”

Ivan shifted on his feet. “Yes, well-”

“There was no wedding,” Arthur said shortly. “We aren’t married.”

“Arthur…” Ivan peered mournfully down at his Queen, and his brows furrowed even more when he was ignored.

“There are also no plans for marriage in the future.” Arthur’s voice was low and firm. “I am Queen in name, and Ivan is my King, but marriage between us is inconceivable.”

The two Spadians glanced between each other for a long while. “Well, I hope your rule is fruitful despite this,” Matthew finally said after a moment.

“Thank you. Ivan isn’t as much of an idiot as his predecessors, so I’m sure that under his rule Clubs will begin to return more to its former glory,” Arthur said sweetly, glancing up at Ivan. “Isn’t that right, love?” His smile was razor sharp.

Ivan looked uncomfortable for a moment, before his eyes hardened. “Where is your coat, Arthur?”

Arthur’s expression darkened. The power play between them was multi-layered and nuanced, but the Queen knew when he he’d stepped out of bounds. “I’m afraid I misplaced it, my King,” he gritted out. “I apologize.” Shifting his attention to Matthew and Alfred, he bowed to them again. His eyes lingered on the Spades King’s features for a touch longer than necessary. “Some of the nobles are looking quite ignored. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go…entertain them.”

He all but wrenched his arm from Ivan’s grip and stalked away, back towards the food tables. There was nothing left that interested him, but if he was at least nibbling on something, most of the nobility would leave him alone. Most.

“Queen Arthur,” someone said.

Arthur’s mood further darkened when he turned around and spotted one of the older Clubs Lords behind him. “Can I help you?”

The man smiled thinly. “I was hoping I would be able to snag a dance with the False Queen before the night was over.”

“Don’t call me that, and you just might,” Arthur replied stiffly.

“Of course, of course, Your Majesty.” The Lord reached out and snatched up Arthur’s hands, dragging him to the dance floor. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I’m a bit rusty. It’s been so long since I’ve last danced, and even longer since my last one with you.”

“Not long enough,” Arthur muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I said, it’s been long enough, since Clubs had something to celebrate.”

“Indeed.” The Lord yanked Arthur more tightly against himself. “Don’t you get bored here?”

Arthur eyed the man sharply. “What’s your point?”

“You seem…agitated. Frustrated.”

“I wonder why.” The Queen bit back a growl as he was pulled even closer to the older man’s body.

“The Blizzard Council still isn’t sure what involvement you might have had in King Petr’s death.”

One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched. “Are you accusing your Queen without proof?”

“You bear no mark. You are not Clubs’ true Queen.”

“And yet I’ve been crowned. I suggest you don’t overstep your boundaries, Lord Morozov.”

The Lord gave a cruel smile. “And I suggest you don’t forget what you are, pet.”

Arthur wrenched himself free. “Don’t you dare call me that,” he spat, no longer able to keep his expression neutral.

Nearly everyone in the room turned to look at them. Disgusted but also embarrassed at the scene, he whirled away and stalked towards the doors.

“Arthur!” Ivan called, hurrying to intercept him and leaving a confused Alfred and Matthew in his wake.

Arthur shot him a glare cold enough to stop the King in his tracks before continuing out of the room. Though part of him was curious as to Alfred’s exact expression, he didn’t allow himself to look. He didn’t allow himself to hope.

His hands clenched tightly at his sides when he finally managed to escape the ballroom. ‘This will be a good opportunity,’ the Blizzard Council had promised. Arthur snorted. Good opportunity for what? Parading him around? Pushing him until he snapped and did something to embarrass Clubs? There was little love lost between the Council and the Queen. They’d always disliked the fact Arthur had been crowned, and he’d always hated them by virtue of their humanity. Ivan’s fondness of him protected Arthur from them, but also kept him trapped in Clubs.

He growled and slammed the door to the royal baths shut behind him. One of the pools was soon filled with lukewarm water and Arthur fell back into it, clothes and all. Only beneath the water was he able to relax a little bit, and time slipped away from him as he soaked. The water was freezing by the time he finally rose out of it. He stripped from the damp clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile by the poolside, and put on a thin white nightgown after rubbing a towel through his hair.

It wasn’t long after that he stalked through the gardens, his sandy hair gleaming almost silver under the light of the full moon. His feet were bare as he stole along the snow-dusted path. The weather had been a touch milder than usual so there was only about an inch of snow on the ground, but it was still enough for him to leave a trail of footprints. The thin fabric of the nightgown shivered and bowed against the wind, but Arthur still walked confidently towards the far corner of the castle grounds.

The old Astronomer’s Tower speared the sky near the joining of the northern and eastern walls. It was also known as the Old Tower and the North Tower; lately, ‘Queen’s Tower’ and ‘Monster’s Tower’ had been added to the list of names. No one stopped Arthur along the way, and there was no one inside the tower to meet him. He’d claimed it as his own, and everyone within the castle walls knew it. The Queen climbed the one hundred and fifty steps alone, lit a few candles in the empty room at the top, and then stepped out onto the balcony to commence his nightly vigil.

“You’ll freeze to your death here yet,” a voice murmured sometime later, warm hands draping a heavy cloak over his shoulders.

Stiffening at the touch, Arthur’s eyes jerked from the far horizon to focus on Alfred’s face. When he recognized the Spadian King he relaxed a little bit, though his expression was still wary as he assessed the situation. His arms moved up, fingers trailing through the fur trimmings. Goosebumps rippled across his skin from the shift in temperature.

“Alfred. What are you doing here? This is yours, you should wear it. You’re not as used to the cold as I am.” He started shrugging the cloak off.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me,” Alfred said, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I basically grew up on the seas and docks. These little inland breezes have nothing on a good ol’ storm out on the open sea.” He reached out, only to pull the cloak tighter around Arthur’s shoulders.

Despite himself, Arthur managed a small smirk. “Oh trust me, I know how rough the seas can get.” Even if he hadn’t felt it in ages, and most certainly had a different perspective. He turned his head to the side, eyes seeking out the horizon once more, though he didn’t step away from Alfred’s body.

“I wanted to check on you, too,” Alfred continued. “I uh- Ivan seemed pretty upset, heh, at me too when I told him he should maybe lay off the awkward attempts at husband emulation. I know he can be a bit rash, so I dunno. I guess I got a bit worried when I saw you marching through snow barefoot.”

Arthur’s hands fisted in the fabric of the cloak. “Ivan seemed upset, did he?” he spat, anger simmering within his expression. “Did Ivan send you here as well? Are you his spy now? If so, then kindly fuck off. I neither need nor want your forced concern.”

“I am nobody’s spy, Queen Arthur. I did not have to leave my nice and warm chambers to trudge through snow and walk up stairs to check on you, and I certainly wouldn’t do all of this if Ivan had asked me to. I am half-blind, my feet are soaked from the snow, and my hair has never seen a worse day- yet I’m still here, offering you my concern.” Alfred ran a hand through his tangled hair. “By the Mage, you are difficult. If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll go back between my silken sheets and forget I scaled half the castle and most of the courtyard by hearing because – imagine – I was worried about you.”

Arthur couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. The merriment shook his frame and echoed in the still air. After a moment, he lifted part of the cloak to cover his mouth and try to stifle it. Really, how much more spoilt could someone get? Immediately moaning about silken sheets and damp shoes and a bad hair day. Oh, that had certainly made Arthur’s night. Slowly, his laughs faded away and he took a few deep breaths. His eyes slid over to meet Alfred’s annoyed gaze, then focused on the banister of the balcony.

The Queen released the cloak and placed his hands instead into the inch or so of snow gathered there. “Why were you worried?” he asked softly. “I am not your Queen, so why do you care? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Should I not care for my brother because he is not my Queen? Should I not care for my people because they aren’t royalty? Should I turn a deaf ear to the calls of the occupied Kingdoms because they are not on my land? You are not my Queen, but neither are you Ivan’s, and if not him, then there must be someone else to worry about you. Being forgotten is a fate worse than many other.”

Arthur’s fingertips scraped against the stone of the banister. He ignored the burning pain that shot up his forearms. “I am Ivan’s Queen. For better or worse, I am the current Queen of Clubs, so don’t you dare say otherwise. As to being forgotten, well. I think I would prefer that path to the one I’ve been forced to follow.”

“For worse, considering your King is courting a Prince of Spades,” Alfred said, his voice seeping with bitterness. He reached out a moment later, laying his hand softly on Arthur’s. “What’s going on in this castle? It feels like everyone is miserable here.”

The touch startled Arthur out of his thoughts. He shook away questions like It was a good thing, right? and Would he be replaced if Ivan and Matthew took things further? and Would he lose the only bargaining chip he had? and had to avert his gaze. If he looked into those bright blue eyes for too long he might spill everything, and then it really would be the end.

“Everyone is miserable here,” he managed to say with a somewhat steady voice. “After all, we live in eternal winter.” By that point his feet and hands had gone numb from the cold, and his lips were taking on a blue tint.

“Your people make the best of it. Those who remain, anyway,” Arthur said, before gently taking Arthur’s hand off the cold stone and into his own, warm fingers trying to rub some heat back into the frozen skin. “We should get you inside,” he murmured. “The guests are all gone by now and the King is busy in his study. You should be able to relax in the warmth.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No, I’d like to stay here a bit longer.” He shivered at the contact between them, watching how Alfred’s fingers moved against his skin. “I can never relax in there. This is the only place I feel…” Free. “You don’t have to stay with me. If you wish to go back to your comforts, then go ahead.”

“Very well. I’ll stay too, in that case.” The young King took the Queen’s other hand as well and moved closer to him, offering body heat that seemed to outlast any cold weather that Clubs could throw at him. He remained silent after that, watching the stars as his fingers kneaded Arthur’s delicate skin, trying to keep it from completely freezing.

Arthur lifted his eyes to Alfred’s face then, taking in the planes and shadows of his features under the light of the night sky. “We can at least share the cloak, can we not?” He slipped his hands from Alfred’s and slung the heavy cloth around the taller man’s shoulders as well, then slowly stepped even closer to him until they were nearly flush together. Afterward, he ducked back under the edge of it, and his hands automatically reached for Alfred’s again. “Ah.” He froze before he could touch him, though. “Is this alright?”

Though Alfred had tensed at the closeness, and momentary shock and surprised flitted across his face, he was soon smiling. He positioned Arthur so they could both hide in the cover of the warm fabric. His smile widened and became more encouraging when he saw Arthur’s hesitation, and he closed the distance between their hands himself.

“Quite. Let’s try to keep you warm, hm?” he murmured, thumbs now trailing more meandering patterns into that pale skin, careful and appreciative as if bent on learning all there was to Arthur’s hands.

Warmth coiled in Arthur’s belly the moment his hands were cradled within Alfred’s again. It felt foreign, but not unwelcome. For a while, he watched their joined hands, but before long his gaze was pulled towards the mountains. “If I look long and hard enough,” he confessed, his voice barely audible, “it sometimes feels as though I’m able to see the ocean again from here.”

Alfred followed Arthur’s eyes to the mountains, beyond which the Devil’s Sea lay, frozen over and desolate of life. “Did you live by the sea before?” he asked.

“Yes, you could say I did.”

“It’s gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it?”

“I…think I remember it being so. I haven’t seen it in so long I confess it’s fading from my memory.”

Alfred hummed. “The fish swim so close to the surface that the water looks as if it were made of pure silver, and the spring storms clean away any filth. It smells fresh, like a new beginning. Like home.” He then chuckled, squeezing Arthur’s freezing hands more tightly. “A bit like you.”

Arthur’s fingers twitched, and one of his eyebrows arched high as he tilted his head up to glance at Alfred’s face again. “I smell like home? Well that’s highly unlikely. Are you sure the cold isn’t getting to you?”

Alfred laughed. “You smell like the sea, Art,” he said, grinning. “Y’know, a little fishy.”

“How rude of you,” Arthur said, though his tone was still light. He smiled a bit more as he eased one of his hands free and used it to scoop up some snow. In a flash he had deposited it onto Alfred’s face, practically cupping the Spades King’s cheek as he pressed the snow to his skin. “Also, my name is not ‘Art’.”

Alfred, master of all combat, failed to see the attack coming. He gasped, quickly scraping the freezing snow off his skin and pressing what he could salvage against Arthur instead. He grinned at Arthur’s gasp. “Your nickname is,” he said, chuckling and, a little sheepishly, took to brushing the rest of the snow off Arthur’s cheek. “King Alfred the Rude? Sounds as good as anything.”

Arthur couldn’t help laughing at their antics. What were they, children? The whole situation was foolish, but…he found he didn’t really mind. “It certainly fits you,” he teased, leaning the tiniest bit into Alfred’s fingers while they were still against his skin.

They seemed to curl a little more, caressing him, before Alfred took his hand away. “but really, why not visit it then, if you’re forgetting what the sea is like? Surely you could take a diplomatic trip to the Spades shores? It’s beautiful there, and the people are nice.”

As warm as his insides had gotten from the nickname and the gentle brush of Alfred’s fingers against his cheek, Arthur’s core flared hotter still at the offer. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; it had been a long, long while since spending time, alone, in such close quarters with a man had left him so relaxed. So…longing for more. He adjusted the edge of the cloak so it rose higher around his shoulders, covering his cheeks reddened from the snow and the warmth he felt inside.

But…

“As tempting as your offer of a visit sounds, it would be impossible. I’m not- I’m unable to leave here.” The Queen bit down on his lip. Well that sounds suspicious- shit. “I made…a promise to Ivan, and I intend to keep it. But thank you.” He offered Alfred a small, slightly sad smile.

Alfred’s own smile dulled as he averted his gaze, as if realizing the intimate atmosphere between them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have the magic to gift you a likeness of the sea,” he said, slipping back into a more formal manner, “but I will remember to bring you something back from it when I return to Clubs.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. After so long of being so observant of the men around him, he caught the shift within the King instantly. The realization was like a handful of snow shoved against his back, and his own smile fell away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he told him, stepping out from underneath the cloak. “I tend to stay up here for hours. Really, you should return to your chambers now. You’ll have a long journey home tomorrow.”

Alfred sighed when he found himself alone against the cold once more. “Arthur,” he began, then hesitated, then stepped after the Queen, catching him by the waist and pulling him close. “I wish our circumstances were different, my Queen, but I will come back for you, even if just to lay my eyes on you again,” he vowed, releasing Arthur once he’d finished speaking. He threw his cloak over Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a dashing Spadian smile as he moved towards the stairs. “Just give it back to me next time, kay?”

This time it was Arthur who moved after Alfred, reaching out to catch him by the wrist. His eyes were wider than usual, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. What was he doing, what was he doing? “My King, I-”

In a moment of selfishness, he adjusted the cloak more snugly around his shoulders instead of giving it back. He wanted Alfred to return for him. He wanted what Alfred was promising, despite the fear humming in his veins. In his heart. As Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur leaned up and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the King’s cheek. His cold lips brushed more against beard than skin, and were gone after not even a second had passed.

“Thank you, for both your concern and your company. It wasn’t awful spending time with you, I suppose,” he said, his lips quirking upward.

“I guess I didn’t have too awful of a time, either,” he replied, resting his hand on Arthur’s for a moment. Then, as if the King had been left behind so easily, he grinned and in a thick accent more suited for the fields than a castle said, “I’ll see ya ‘round, Art.” With a wave over his shoulder he was then gone, trudging back towards the main castle.

Oh heavens above, Alfred would actually be the end of him. Arthur buried his face into the warm cloak and let out a groan. That accent, and that goddamn nickname. It was infuriating and somewhat frightening how quickly Alfred was slipping past all of his carefully erected and maintained barriers. The Queen watched the King’s small figure on the ground until he was gone from sight, and then let out a sigh as he once more turned towards the mountains. The sea was there, just beyond them. Arthur could almost feel it singing to him, but he could neither hear it nor leave his gilded cage to answer.

He only left the tower when the moon started sinking low in the sky and slipped back into the castle with only a few guards for witnesses. The heavy cloak was stowed in the very back of his wardrobe, and when he finally slid into bed, he fell asleep to the burn in his limbs as warmth returned to them.

In the morning he watched from his bedroom balcony as the Spadian procession left. Matthew led the small column, the King’s prize war steed tied to the Prince’s young Arabian. The King himself was draped over the neck of his mount, as if an exotic pelt that snored very, very loudly. Arthur could even hear a few from his balcony before the group left the castle grounds, and he smiled.

If he allowed himself to think that Alfred’s tired state was due to him, well, there was no one there to bear witness or argue.

[animegirl431]

Trifiesta June 14th (2019)- Home/ Family

Arms full of shopping bags, Yokozawa looked down at the still energetic fifteen years old girl. A beaming smile stretched across her face as she scanned the mall for her next target. The teens light brown hair had been carefully put in a pony tail using the worn out pink scrunchie that Yokozawa gave her shortly after they first met. When Yokozawa suggested to Hiyori that the scrunchie has fulfilled its role as a hair accessory and should be thrown out, Hiyori determinedly held the scrunchie out to him.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Yokozawa had said taking the scrunchie out of the teen’s hand.

Nodding her head in confirmation, Hiyori had turned around so Yokozawa could fix her hair. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the feel of the his gentle fingers moving with utmost care to make sure that he didn’t hurt her. While Hiyori typically said all that was on her mind, she held back from telling Yokozawa that she imagined this is what it would be like if he mother was still around.

A lot of what Yokozawa did made her feel as if she had a mother around. Yokozawa had that certain nurturing personality that she associated with mothers. He put in extra effort into helping Hiyori with everything she asked of him which reminded her of how her friends’ mothers acted. In addition, her father had continued to teasingly address the salesman as a mother never failing to elicit a blush from Yokozawa.

She found it secretly adorable how Yokozawa got all flustered. Though Hiyori made sure to defend Yokozawa when her father started going to far. This interaction brought amusement to her as it showed how close a relationship the two men had. Lately, something had changed. Hiyori didn’t know when it started, but watching this common display had left a strange ache in her heart. However, she couldn’t quite place what exactly the cause of it was.

Ignoring the mysterious ache, Hiyori focused back on listening to the multiple apologies and the repeated asking of if she was alright whenever the dark haired man assumed he had been to rough. She smiled at this cute side of the man that people missed out on due to being thrown off by his intimidating mien.

Hiyori made sure to deny being hurt each time. She could her relief in his voice each time he said to make she spoke up if he did or told her okay just making sure. It didn’t take long for him to complete the task as the salesman had plenty of experience.

“All done,” Yokozawa had announced when Hiyori had not moved for five minutes after he finished styling her hair.

“Okay,” Hiyori responded, spinning around to check how it looked in the hand mirror Yokozawa was holding.

“All good?” Yokozawa had asked, prepared to do it all over if she wasn’t satisfied with how her hair turned out.

“Yep it’s great. Thank you, Onii-chan,” Hiyori said throwing her arms around him in a hug.

To his credit, Yokozawa only slightly flinched at the action. He would never fully get used to how affectionate the Kirishimas were. Pulling away, the brown haired teen reached up the run her fingers over the pink scrunchie. This simple hair accessory had been around for a lot of events of her life. More importantly, it had been given to her by someone who irreplaceably important to her.

In someway this scrunchie became a symbol of their friendship and a connection between the two in Hiyori’s eyes. Getting rid of it almost felt like breaking an unspoken promise that they would continue to be a part of each other’s life. It is an extremely childish way to view it, she knew, but when she placed that significance to it there was no way she could toss it out.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Yokozawa had apologized sincerely.

“No, it’s okay. You are right. This scrunchie should have been tossed in the trash a long time ago,” Hiyori said dismissing his apology. “It’s probably stupid to keep it at this point, but it’s special to me.”

Ruffling her hair gently, Yokozawa smiled softly as he was able to relate to wanting to hold on to the important things in life. “In that case, I look forward using this scrunchie in the future.”

Spacing out, Yokozawa heard his name being called. Glancing around the mall, he noticed Hiyori standing there concern shining in her brown eyes. He must have been distracted for longer than he thought. The teen stood there examining him worried that she might have missed signs that he needed a break. From previous experiences, she knew Yokozawa would follow her lead even if he got overly exhausted.

“Do you want to go rest for a little?” Hiyori asks, guilty that she had let the thrill of going to the mall with Yokozawa make her ignorant to the state of her companion.

“I’m fine,” Yokozawa responds dismissing her offer. “Where to next?”

Observing Yokozawa for a few seconds, Hiyori decides to believe him. Although she made a note in the back of her mind to pay more attention to him. She wanted to both of them to enjoy the time spent together. Even though she is sure that Yokozawa has grown to hate going to anywhere that Hiyori could buy clothes from. Hiyori liked to look cute, so she could easily spend hours finding all the items required to make coordinated outfits.

Yokozawa is too polite to actually tell her this. It’s one of the things that she both loved about him and caused her to worry. People could easily take advantage of this trait of his. Of course, Hiyori had no intention of this happening as Yokozawa didn’t deserve to have people trample over him and his nurturing personality. She took pride in her self assigned role of being his protector.

Amused at the thought of how flustered Yokozawa would be if he found out about this, Hiyori held back laughter as she replies, “You choose where we go next.”

“Me? This trip is a way to for me to spoil you. I don’t have anywhere...,” Yokozawa said, until he saw the sweet girl’s lips form a pout as her face displayed the tell tale signs of disappointment.

“At least pick one shop to go to. For me,” Hiyori pleaded, while Yokozawa instantly recognized this behavior as being similar to what he would expect from her father.

Yokozawa felt conflicted between being impressed that she had learned an efficient way to get her way and wanting to yell at Kirishima for corrupting their innocent daughter. Silently, Yokozawa prepared a lecture to give his lover for teaching Hiyori to be manipulative. Of course, this little assault tactic wasn’t any less effective when Hiyori did it than when Kirishima did.

Giving in, Yokozawa scanned the area. Also, he searched his brain for anything he might need. Nothing came to mind. There was honestly nowhere he wanted to go. It occurred to him that to do something immature like to close his eyes and randomly point to a store. If not for Hiyori watching him, Yokozawa might have actually performed that action.

Suddenly, an idea come to him. It had been inspired by looking at Hiyori and recalling his conversation while helping put Hiyori’s hair up earlier today. Going over to a map, Yokozawa searched under the section of stores relating to beauty and hair supplies. Sliding his finger down the list, he stopped as one store stood out. Walking back towards Hiyori, Yokozawa bowed respectfully as one might expect a servant of royalty to do.

Offering an arm, Yokozawa requests, “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to guide you to our next destination, princess?”

Giggling, Hiyori composed herself and did her best to imitate the princesses she has seen in movies or read about in books. Placing her hand on his arm, Hiyori replies, “I grant you permission to do so.”

Both of them laugh unable to hold a straight face. Moments like these made hanging out with Yokozawa so fun. She always looked forward to their next adventure. Hiyori wondered when it was that she had started expecting Yokozawa to be there by her side no matter what. And when it was that saying goodbye when chose to go back to his apartment for the night had become so painful.

Yokozawa had fit into their home like the missing puzzle piece required to bring the color and sound into their world they didn’t know they had lost. At this point Hiyori couldn’t imagine not having him in her life. Yet, there was always that thought that someone could catch Yokozawa’s interest. That someone would cause the salesman to fall in love. That someone would steal Yokozawa from them.

Frowning at this, Hiyori couldn’t distinguish what the different unpleasant feelings that bubbled up inside her were. What Hiyori was sure of is that she didn’t want to share Yokozawa with anyone. She rejected the idea of Yokozawa showing his special smile to anyone else, of Yokozawa cooking with anyone else, and most importantly of Yokozawa giving his attention to anyone else.

It was selfish and maybe even cruel to desire that Yokozawa only focus on her father and herself. Yet, Hiyori believed that they understood the salesman better than anyone else. That they could make him happy. That Yokozawa was the only one that would ever fill the hole that would be created

if he left them for somebody else. The three of them were a family. And she would never give that up without a fight.

Shaking her head, Hiyori tightens her grip on Yokozawa’s arm. Yokozawa who had been walking along, stopped worried at the tension in the girl’s face. It confused Yokozawa that her mood had shifted so unexpectedly. The care taker side of him brought up that she might not be feeling well. Yokozawa was well aware of how reluctant she could be to speak up when she assumed it would ruin the good time they were having.

Placing a hand on her forehead, Yokozawa found that she didn’t have the signature warmth that came with running a fever. The teen jolted at his touch and gazed at him. She forced herself to stay near him, even though she was ashamed the thoughts that had crossed her mind.

“Are you okay?” Yokozawa inquires worriedly his eyes meeting hers.

Forcing a smile, Hiyori nods. “I’m great! I have been spending the day with you. How could I not be okay?”

Yokozawa could tell that something was off, but he didn’t press her for further details. He trusted that Hiyori would confess what was bothering her when it was necessary. Returning a smile, Yokozawa continued on to the shop.

Arriving in front of the shop, Hiyori quirked an eyebrow at the beauty shop. Admittedly, this hadn’t even made the list of possible places Yokozawa would choose. At first Hiyori had thought he made a mistake, however the salesman made no move to leave or gave any indication that this shop wasn’t the right place.

“I told you to pick somewhere you wanted to go, not somewhere you think I would want to go,” Hiyori complained sounding annoyed, once again showing the familiar resemblance to her father.

“And I did. I have a special reason for picking this store. You will see,” Yokozawa vaguely explains heading inside.

Intrigued, Hiyori followed Yokozawa as he made his way over to the area that had all the hair products a person would ever need for exploring what style hair they want. Specifically, Yokozawa made his way over to the area that displayed an army of colorful hair ties, bandanas, and hair scrunchies. Her eyes were drawn to row of scrunchies in particular.

“You see something that you recognize?” Yokozawa asked, as the teen took a closer look. “This is the store I got your pink scrunchie from.”

“Really?” Hiyori chuckled, her cheerful nature coming back. “Most people aren’t able to remember where a gift comes from.”

“I probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken such a liking to the scrunchie. However, when you started treating it as a precious item and using it nonstop for years, I figured that it would be important to know where the scrunchie came from, so I could get you a new one when it wore out,” Yokozawa explained, an amused smile on his face that turned a bit sheepish as he spoke further. “It’s late, but I hoped that it would be okay for me to get a new one.”

Yokozawa finished speaking relishing in the beaming, sweet smile that was turned his way. Honestly, he was a bit nervous that Hiyori might get mad at him for doing this. Her reaction said she felt the opposite which was a relief. She searched the countless scrunchies for less than a minute. Looking over her shoulder, she grinned at him.

“You have to be the one to pick one out,” Hiyori ordered, grabbing his arm to usher him forward.

“Huh? Wouldn’t it be better for you to get one that would match one of you outfits or something?” Yokozawa asks caught off guard. He was hyper aware of his lack distinction and knowledge when it came to what was fashionable or “in” trend wise when it came to clothes or accessories.

“No it has to be the one you choose,” Hiyori said, a blush on her face as she continues. “That’s what made this scrunchie so meaningful.”

Tenderly smiling at the endearing girl, Yokozawa felt loved and flattered when he heard the reasoning behind her holding onto the scrunchie. Searching thoroughly along the row of scrunchies, Yokozawa picked up a light blue one, a pink one, a red one with white polka dots, and a black one with white stripes.

“Are you planning to get all of those?” Hiyori asks looking at the small handful of scrunchies Yokozawa had.

“I am. This way you can switch them up and they will last longer,” Yokozawa reasoned and then grinned at her. “Also, I mentioned earlier didn’t I about how I planned to spoil you today.”

“Thank you,” Hiyori replies with bright eyes, enjoying the special treatment.

Yokozawa ruffles her hair. Hiyori blushes and pushes the hand away. She does her best to give him a displeased look at his action with her cheeks puffed out. Yokozawa found this to be cute as they both knew that Hiyori actually liked when he ruffles her hair. In her opinion, it seemed like something you did to show affection to a younger child, so Hiyori was embarrassed to admit that it was comforting to her.

“You two make such a charming father and daughter pair. I hope I can achieve that strong of a relationship with my daughter when she gets older,” a man comments holding a baby in his arms.

A silence ensues as Hiyori doesn’t meet Yokozawa’s eyes or release her normal giggle as is typical when they receive this type of commentary. The reason being that this time the words finally sunk into the brown haired girl’s mind. It had been a slap in the face as things finally fell into place. She finally understood why she had an ache in her heart. The fog that had prevented her from truly putting together what she desired had lifted.

It all made sense. The reason why she had felt an ache when comparing how Yokozawa acted to a mother’s, why she panicked when people mentioned how she should get a new mother, why she disliked Yokozawa leaving to go to his apartment instead of staying the night and why she couldn’t stand the thought of Yokozawa treating someone else the way her father and herself were treated. The answer was so simple, yet it took four years for her to acknowledge this.

Hiyori didn’t want a new mother, she wanted a new father. She wanted Yokozawa to fill the role of being her dad. She wanted her father and Yokozawa be in love with each other. She wanted Yokozawa to step into the spot that had been left vacant after her mother had passed away. She wanted Yokozawa to be truly accepted and acknowledged as their family, as belonging to and with her father and herself.

Now the tricky part was how did she go about telling her father and Yokozawa about this. If she wasn’t careful she could end up destroying the perfectly stable and comfortable relationship they have developed. She wasn’t sure the best way to bring up the situation, but she did know that she was going to bring it up tonight. All Hiyori could do is hope everything worked out.

Blinking, Hiyori realized that Yokozawa had been staring at her. Nervous about what she had planned, Hiyori avoided looking Yokozawa in the eyes. Yokozawa frowned, for the second time that day Hiyori had been acting strange. Wariness made Yokozawa start to question whether it was the best idea to ignore these signs of something being wrong for much longer.

“Hey, I’m feeling tired. Can we go home?” Hiyori inquires in a soft voice.

Surprise flashed in Yokozawa’s eyes as she had been bursting with energy a short bit ago. Frowning, Yokozawa felt his anxiety and worry increase. The teen continued to evade his gaze as she shifted from foot to foot. While Yokozawa was originally going to wait for Hiyori to open up to him when she was ready, this he had definitely changed his mind. Her behavior concerned him and that warranted him questioning her when they got home.

“Okay. I will pay for these and then we can head back,” Yokozawa said, heading to the register.

As soon as he paid for the scrunchies, Yokozawa handed the bag to Hiyori. The teenage girl clutched the bag to her chest before walking ahead of him.

___________________

Entering the apartment, Yokozawa slipped off his shoes as did Hiyori. The pair walked down the hall towards Hiyori’s room. There was silence during the short travel. Both Yokozawa and Hiyori had different ideas on what they planned to have happen when they reached the room. Opening the door, Hiyori moved to the side to let Yokozawa in. The salesman put the bags of clothes and all sorts of jewelry they picked up from the mall on the floor near the closet.

Hiyori sat on the bed unable to freely speak due to the anxiety. The teen had already came to the decision that she should wait until her father got home to get what she needed to say off her chest. For now, she just wanted to be alone to prepare how to approach the important topic of their relationship dynamics.

“Hiyo,” Yokozawa began trying to inquire about what was bothering the teenage girl.

“I had a lot of fun today. Thanks for hanging out with me. I’m feeling worn out after all the shopping we did,” Hiyori interrupted while crumpling the bag containing the hair scrunchies. “Would it be okay if I laid down to rest?”

“Yes. Go ahead and rest up for as long as necessary. Call for me if need anything,” Yokozawa replies, disappointed and concerned at being cut off from talking to her.

“Of course. Talk to you in a few,” Hiyori said as she flopped on her side facing the wall.

Lips twitching, Yokozawa sighed as he closed the door softly behind him. Going to the living room, he pressed the power button on the television. The salesman sank into the couch. He was too worried about the Hiyori’s abnormal behavior to calm down. He racked his brain for anything he might have said or done to upset or offend her, but he couldn’t pin point anything.

Yokozawa really wished Kirishima was here. He was sure his handsome, smooth talking, lover would have been able to easily deal with Hiyori. They were partners in crime and amazing at reading each other. The father-daughter duo could tell when the other was feeling down or distracted by something even when to any outsider it appeared that Kirishima and Hiyori were fine.

Yokozawa worked hard to improve his skills on recognizing and interpreting the masks and little actions that father and daughter used when they were attempting to obscure their true feelings and opinions on subjects. Obviously, he still had a long way to go to reach their level of being able to read the two. So, it is frustrating when something like this happens where he gets shut out because he couldn’t read the signs of what had caused Hiyori to become distanced from him as she had.

Pulling out his phone, Yokozawa noticed that the time was 5 o’clock meaning that Kirishima wouldn’t be home for at least another hour or two. It occurred to Yokozawa that calling Kirishima would help alleviate some of the stress that built over Hiyori and his travel back to the apartment. Also, it might quiet the nagging voice in his head that demanded he be more authoritative with the teenage girl and tell her that they needed to talk.

Refusing to be a burden to his lover, Yokozawa dismissed the tempting idea. It would be bad to distract Kirishima at work over what could be Yokozawa overthinking things. Blankly, Yokozawa stares at the television screen hoping that Kirishima would be done sooner rather than later.

Two hours passed, before his lover returned from work. The light brown haired man drops his work items on the floor. He had been jealous that he got called in to work while Yokozawa and Hiyori got to spend have a fun filled day together. Kirishima figures that tomorrow all three of them could go to the park and have a picnic or go to the aquarium.

Honestly, Kirishima could care less about where they went, he just wanted to be around the two people that his world revolves around. In a jolly mood, Kirishima went to go playfully tell Yokozawa and Hiyori about how they better get some rest tonight because they were going to have a busy day entertaining him starting early in the morning the next day. The editor figured he would find the two out in the living room watching a movie.

He was mildly shocked to only see Yokozawa slumped on the couch. His lover looked tense and exhausted. Not at all the attitude he expected to see. Frowning, Kirishima stepped in front of Yokozawa’s sight. Gray eyes blinked rapidly as Yokozawa sat up straighter.

“When did you...welcome back,” Yokozawa said running a hand thru his hair.

Skipping the greetings, Kirishima went over to his distressed looking partner. “What’s wrong?”

Flinching, Yokozawa gave a bitter smile. “I don’t know. The day started off great. Then, Hiyo grew a bit distant. And when we got back she chose to avoid me by telling me she needed to rest. I have gone over all the details of the day, but I can’t figure out what I did that made her close herself off from me.”

Placing his arm behind Yokozawa, Kirishima rubbed circles in his back to soothe his lover. Yokozawa leaned against Kirishima’s shoulder, allowing himself to calm down and to break up the whirling thoughts in his head. It was a bit disorienting how all it took was Kirishima being near him to make him feel like everything would be okay. Kirishima places a kiss on his forehead giving a few minutes for his lover to destress.

“I’m okay,” Yokozawa breathes out, feeling foolish for being this worked up without having heard any of Hiyori’s side.

Removing his arm from Yokozawa’s back Kirishima takes in the sight of the tint of pink on Yokozawa’s indicating his embarrassment. Smiling, Yokozawa ruffles Yokozawa’s hair, pleased to see Yokozawa’s typically feisty reaction of swatting his hand away. The salesman sits up missing the warmth and smell that surrounded from being that close to his lover.

“How about we have a chat with our precious girl?” Kirishima says lacing his fingers with Yokozawa’s.

Nodding, Yokozawa has more confidence about investigating Hiyori’s strange behavior with Kirishima by his side. He squeezes Kirishima’s hand as he says, “I’m ready.”

Reluctantly, Kirishima unlaced their fingers as yells, “Hiyo, come here!”

Hurrying down the hall, Hiyori half heartedly smiles at the the two men sitting on the couch. “Welcome back.”

“I’m back,” Kirishima says as he motions towards the chair. “Take a seat.”

Plopping down in the chair, Hiyori begins to uneasily twirl a strand of her hair. Folding her hands together to keep them from shaking, Hiyori takes a deep breath. It was ridiculous to be this unsettled when in front of her father and Yokozawa. They were the people she trusted to listen to her, to protect her, and to find solutions to any problems appeared.

It just goes to show how desperately she wanted this conversation to go over well. The logical part of her said that she was overthinking things. To take the leap and get off her chest everything she figured out. Another part of her kept rolling out all the possible ways this could go horribly awry. Squeezing her hands together, Hiyori gathers her courage.

“My angel, I came home assuming to you two out here being adorable as you the two of you are. So, it threw me off when I came home seeing Yokozawa having a mini break down due to panicking that he had upset you in some way. I figured that Yokozawa probably just read to much into things, but you are sitting here looking as stressed as Yokozawa was when he came home,” Kirishima spoke up having decided that they would get to the main issue faster this way.

Guilt crossed Hiyori’s face at hearing about Yokozawa’s state. The last thing she had been trying to do was cause the man to worry unnecessarily. However, when she recalled how she had acted it isn’t hard to see why he would be. Her lips twitched. She dipped her head as she bit her lip.

“Are you upset with Yokozawa? Did he offend you in some way? Do you need to speak to me privately?”

Yokozawa winced when Kirishima said this. While Yokozawa knew that Kirishima doubted that this was the reason behind Hiyori’s mood, it didn’t prevent him from feeling attacked by the implication of those words.Worse, it caused a sharp pain in him That’s he might actually confirm this. Hiyori might actually ask him to leave while they talked. He would though if that’s what the situation called for.

This got no reaction from the unusually quite girl. Kirishima tilted his head at Yokozawa and gave a him a look that said ‘sorry, but can you leave so I can take care of this.’ Nodding, the couch creaked as Yokozawa got up.

Clearing his throat, Yokozawa fought to hide the sadness he felt at having to be dismissed from the conversation. He never imagined that it would happen, but even more surprising is how it felt like a punch in a gut that made catching his breath difficult.

“I’m going to head back home. Call me when...if I can come back,” Yokozawa said his voice rough as there seemed to be a certain finality that would accompany him walking out the door.

His body seemed to weigh thousands of pounds. Taking even one step brought the possibility of shattering the salesman. Kirishima could see his lover slowly breaking. As much as he loved his daughter, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let Yokozawa leave like this. Kirishima prepared to reach out when Hiyori suddenly sprang into action.

Head whipping up, Hiyori’s eyes widened as she processed what he said. The only thing that her brain focused in on was that Yokozawa was going to leave. That he said he was going home. It irritated her to hear him use that word to describe his practically empty apartment with that word. She felt as if she had been insulted in the one of the worse possible ways.

Sinking to the floor, Hiyori wrapped her arms around Yokozawa’s legs. She had a strong hold that one wouldn’t have guessed such a delicate looking body would be capable of producing.Effectively, the girl had immobilized Yokozawa’s legs.

“No! You can’t leave! I don’t want you to!” Hiyori yelled causing both of the men to jolt.

Shocked, Yokozawa froze at the teenage girl’s action. Blinking, Yokozawa didn’t dare attempt to move his legs for fear that he would lose balance and end up crushing Hiyori. Glancing at Kirishima, Yokozawa could see the exact same shock along with concern reflected in his expression. The silent question of ‘where did this come from’ passed between the two men. Meanwhile, Hiyori had buried her head against Yokozawa’s leg shielding her face from them.

“Why do you go back there? Why do you have to leave?” A muffled sorrowful voice came from the the girl drawing both men’s attention.

“I don’t have to leave...I-I....,”Yokozawa began, stuttering as he switched gears to adapt to topic brought on following Hiyori’s outburst.

“Then you shouldn’t go. You should just live here. Stay here”

“Hiyo....it’s not a good idea.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

Conflicted, Yokozawa debates on how best to answer this. All kinds of possible things to say came to mind. Hit occurred to him that Kirishima had been silent so far. When he shifted his eyes over to Kirishima, the man looked at him shaking his head. It made sense, after all Kirishima had wanted an answer to this same question for years. So, Yokozawa couldn’t count on Kirishima to take care of this. It was his responsibility.

“People wouldn’t be suspicious if I moved in,” Yokozawa weakly explained. “They might treat you cruelly if they...”

Faltering, Yokozawa didn’t finish the sentence out loud. He look down as he felt the brown haired girl’s head shift. She met his gaze those big, beautiful brown eyes shimmered due to unshed tears. Yokozawa had to close his eyes for a moment as he despised being the reason for Hiyori’s sadness. What Yokozawa missed in this few seconds was the recognition that lite those brown eyes at his words.

“If they found out you were dating my father,” Hiyori completes his sentence.

Yokozawa stared dumbfounded briefly. His instinct had been to blame Kirishima for telling her even though he had promised to wait until she was sixteen. However, a quick peek at his lover revealed that Kirishima had also been blindsided by this. Kirishima remained composed, however Yokozawa could tell that now the man was rest to step in to do damage control.

“Yeah,” Yokozawa quietly confirmed realizing that no lies would fool Hiyori as she wasn’t asking if they were dating she was stating that she knew.

Releasing her grip on Yokozawa’s legs, Hiyori stood up. Her face was blank. Yokozawa stiffened not sure what to expect. Anger, disappointment or maybe even disgust. His heart was thumping so loud that he wouldn’t be surprised if all of them could hear. The couch creaked as Kirishima moved closer towards the two. It may sound bad, but Yokozawa couldn’t entirely be sure that Kirishima would be on his side if Hiyori began to hate him. To be fair though Kirishima has had Hiyori in his life longer than Yokozawa. And she is his child.

Breathing out in relief, Hiyori glared at them accusingly. “You should have told me. It would have saved us from all the trouble and stress today!”

“What are you talking about?” Yokozawa asked as soon as he could get his mouth working.

“The reason that I had avoided you is because I was afraid that of how you would react when I brought up the fact that you two should date among other things,” Hiyori explained shaking her head. “As it would turn out you two already one or probably ten steps ahead of me.”

“Y-you were going to ask us to date?” Yokozawa stuttered out.

“Yes,” Hiyori said. “I was so worried that you would be against the idea. Most importantly, I was afraid we might lose our close relationship. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Yokozawa felt as if he was talking to himself. Those were the exact thoughts that kept him from telling Hiyori about their relationship in the first place. Or well at least it was the main one. Yokozawa felt as if the biggest of the weights dragging him down had been lifted. Kirishima had been right as always: Hiyori didn’t have a bigoted bone her body.

It made him ashamed for ever believing this precious girl would ever turn on him. “It was the same for me. I didn’t want you to hate me. The thought terrified me.”

“Never! I would never hate you,” Hiyori firmly stated.

Yokozawa smiled at Hiyori who had a grin of her own. Kirishima watched with his own tender smile. Reaching forward Kirishima went to pat them both in the back, but ended up using to much force.

“Ow.” “Ouch.” Yokozawa and Hiyori groaned as they turned narrowed eyes to Kirishima.

Raising his hands, Kirishima quickly says, “My bad. To be honest though you both deserved that for being idiots.”

Both Yokozawa and Hiyori went to deny that. Instead, they exchanged a glance and ended up chuckling. It had been stupid of them to keep get so worked up over something they both knew in the deepest parts of their heart was never going to be an issue.A peaceful silence occurred as all three of them sat on the couch. Yet, Hiyori hadn’t finished saying all that she had on her mind. Turning towards the two men, their was an excited sparkle in her eyes.

“When are you moving in?” Hiyori questions.

“I can’t,”Yokozawa quietly refused again.

“Eh? How come?” Hiyori badgered bit about to let this go.

“If I move in with you people will get suspicious. It could make life difficult. I don’t want to do that to you two,” Yokozawa answers aware that his resolve to not live with them was slipping away.

“And?” Hiyori asks as if Yokozawa hadn’t replied at all. “Is that all you got?”

Flustered, Yokozawa grasped for something else to say. In his mind this had been all the reason he needed. It had been enough to fend Kirishima off from pushing to much. Yet, Hiyori didn’t appear to be phased at all.

“Go ahead. Let people say what they want. I’m not some delicate flower that is going to wither up just because some people get off on putting other people down. As long as the three of us have each other’s backs we can handle anything,” Hiyori challenged, her hands balled into fists.

“I second this notion,” Kirishima pitches in, approval in his voice and eyes.

When faced with their confidence, Yokozawa has no choice but to be swept along in their pace. Although this time is a bit different. Instead of being dragged along by their pace Yokozawa finds himself wanting to dive in head first. All his insecurities and doubts be damned! There was still a bit of hesitation though that made him remain quiet.

Hiyori grabbed Yokozawa’s hand. “Many people have told or asked my father and me about having a new mother. And it always made me feel uneasy or angry. Some part of me never wanted another person be a part of the life my father and I had.”

Yokozawa had his full attention in the adorable girl. Kirishima also had a rare intensity in the way he watched his daughter and had his complete focus on her. Both of them were curious about where this was going to go. Hiyori squeezes Yokozawa’s hand and smiles so sweetly and lovingly.

“At least until you came around Yokozawa. You were always like a parent to me. And it took me way to long to realize this, but I do want a new parent in my life. Not a mother, but a father, more specifically you as my father as well,” Hiyori said, exhilarated to be able to put all the pieces together at last.

“Are you absolutely sure you are okay with me?” Yokozawa blurted out showing his lack of confidence and insecurities. “Do I deserve to take the place beside your father as his partner and fill the place a mother should be?”

“It has to be you. Only you,” Hiyori confirmed, making Yokozawa’s lips twitch in amusement at words he had been told before by her father.

“You are our family and it’s time for you to come to where you belong. Come home,” Kirishima and Hiyori said in unison with their typical cheery smiles. Both of them held out their hands. Their faces fully expressing the love they had for Yokozawa.

Yokozawa’s heart swelled. If he was being honest, he couldn’t dispel the feeling of beings a stranger here. Even though he practically came over everyday. It had been five years and that feeling had followed him for all that time. Now he was truly family. And now he truly belonged their.

Grabbing their hands, Yokozawa was pulled into a hug. And from the bottom of his heart, truly and sincerely, Yokozawa could say, “I’m home.”

@trifiesta

[thewhiterabbit42]

WIP Tournament

Week 2 - Roommates vs Sex Pollen

Roommates [Gabriel x reader]: You start a new chapter of your life far from home where you don’t know anyone, including the person you’re sharing an apartment with.  It isn’t long before you start to notice strange things lurking in the shadows and about him.  Is your roommate really as great as he seems?  Or is there something he’s hiding?  

Sex Pollen [Debriel x OFC]: Not your average sex pollen fic.   

Below the cut are 300-500 ~800-1200 words from the beginning of each WIP and tags that currently apply to the story as a whole.  Choose which one you want to see continued by:

Sending an Ask (anon’s allowed)

Leaving a comment on this post or in the body/tags of reblogs

Voting is open until 6/14.  Thanks in advance to everyone who does!

Roommates

Section warning: a swear, maybe?

General story tags:  long fic, canon divergent, normal reader, nurse!reader, dark fic, stalking, more tags to come as story develops

You wake up to what can only be described as sheer deliciousness; a smorgasbord of smells that remind you of the big breakfasts your mom used to make on Sundays when you were younger.  It fills you with an aching warmth that’s bittersweet. You’re so far away from your family, from everything you’ve ever known, and as much as you miss them and everything familiar, a reminder of it all fills you with comfort.  

You have a feeling that’s exactly why your place smells like a brunch buffet.  

Everyone was against you moving away, let alone moving in with a stranger.  A man no less, and every piece of advice you received had nothing to do with starting a new life, but protecting yourself in your own apartment, like he was guaranteed to be some monster.  

Yet, Gabriel has been nothing but a godsend.  

He’s the one you call when you get held over at work (which is far more nights than it isn’t), when there’s no way you’ll make it home without falling asleep at the wheel.  

He’s the one who handled everything so you could just get some sleep when the hospital messed up your parking sticker, your car got towed, and you walked out to find it gone after a twenty-four hour shift.  

He’s even walked you home from the bar at two in the morning when you were worried about someone following, you even though he had to be to work in four hours.

He’s kind.  Funny.  He listens, better than some of your friends you’ve known for years.  He runs a little hot and cold sometimes, but it’s easy to tell when he’s in a mood, and he usually keeps to himself when he’s that way.  Mostly though, he’s thoughtful, so much so you almost don’t know what to do with him.

It doesn’t surprise you he’s noticed that Sundays are the hardest for you, or that he wants to do do something about it.  What does, is you have no recollection of ever telling him why.  

You give yourself a once over in the mirror and make a face.  He’s certainly seen you worse, but it’s not lost on how you handsome he is, and how self-conscious you feel when you look washed out with some of yesterday’s makeup still shadowing your eyes.  

You’re thankful you each have your own bathroom attached to your rooms so he has no idea what you really look like when you first wake up.  You do a quick wash of your face and what you can with your hair, which usually means throwing it up and hoping it looks more fashionably messy than hobo chic.  

What you find when you’re finally ready to emerge throws you for a loop.  

If he were your boyfriend, you would be walking into a scene straight out of the movies.  He’s got your red checkered apron on, (the one with the rooster on the front your brother gave you for being such a dick about how to cook a pie, because his always turn out doughy in the center and you refuse to eat them until he learns how to actually make one), and to top it all off, your roommate is humming happily to himself as he samples something from the stove.  

The spread already laid out on the kitchen table is out of this world.  There’s a little bit of everything from pancakes to fresh fruit, bacon, sausage, eggs, waffles, and what you suspect is a bowl of fresh, homemade whip cream.  

You let out a low whistle of appreciation.  “Somebody’s been busy.”  

He turns, giving you a dazzling smile.  “Morning, Sleeping Beauty. I didn’t expect you up for at least another hour.”

It is a little early for you considering you’re coming off back to back fifteen hour shifts, but if this were a fairy tale, you could honestly say true love’s kiss had nothing on a breakfast like this.  There’s hashbrowns on the stove you didn’t even see, and what looks like a raspberry sauce simmering away.  

The smell fully hits you now that you’re right there, and you’re pretty sure it’s amazing enough to wake the dead.

“Pull up a chair.  Let me get you some coffee,” he offers, gesturing to your normal spot at the table.  

“I can get it my–”

He cuts you off, wooden spoon leveled at you in warning.  “Sit.  You’ve been on your feet all weekend.”

You hesitate.  You normally fight him on these things, but there’s a persistent ache that has yet to leave after an unruly old woman with dementia accused you of being the harlot who stole her husband right before trying to use her cane to take you out at the knees.  Literally.

He moves toward the coffee pot, gesturing at your chair once again.  “I mean it.  You spend most Fridays and Saturdays helping people, while the rest of the world is out partying.  Let someone return the favor.”  

You’re not certain you deserve that much credit for being an ER nurse, but it’s nice to acknowledged.

You smile, shyness driving your silence as you finally take a seat.  

You don’t have to remind him how you take your coffee.  He knows, just as he’s absorbed what seems like a hundred other little things about you.  

You can’t help but feel guilty.  You don’t know much about him beyond he’s a janitor at a local college, his room looks like several decades vomited all over it at the same time, and he must roll out of bed looking perfect because never once have you caught him looking less than amazing.

It’s not that you haven’t tried.  He just manages to maintain that air if mystery by talking his way out of everything.

“What are we going to do with all this food?”  You wonder.  You rarely see him eat unless you’re both sitting down to a meal together, and there’s more than enough there to last you for over a week.  

“Figured I’d just take whatever we didn’t want to the homeless camp across town,” he says, setting a full mug down in front you.

Everyone told you that you’d get murdered in your sleep, and yet here you were, having breakfast with a freaking saint.  

He must catch the way you shake your head, his brow quirking up.  “What.”

Incredulity overtakes your features as you begin to fill the plate in front of you.  "You’re unreal, you know that?“

His eyes crinkle in the corner with a mixture of confusion and amusement.  “What are you on about?”  

As if he doesn’t know.  

His hands land on his hips as he waits for your answer.

Someone like him has to know, right?

“You’re like, I dunno, an actual angel?”

A bark of laughter escapes his lips.  “Oh, honey, angels are boring.  Who wants to be one of those?”  

His hand lands on the back of your chair as he leans over your shoulder, stealing a piece of fruit off your plate as if to prove a point.  Something warm and sweet with a hint of spice undercuts the aroma of the food surrounding you.  It’s him, and the rest of your senses begin to prickle with awareness with how close he is.

Just as suddenly as he’s there, he straightens up, popping his bounty in his mouth. “Besides, if you really knew me, that is the last thing you’d call me.”

Sex Pollen 

Section warning: threats of violence

General story tags: multi-chapter fic / potential series, canon divergent, dark fic, non con, dub con, smut, all the sex (oral, anal, vaginal), more to come as story develops 

  She presses her face against cold concrete, leaning closer to inspect the brightly glowing spellwork in front of her.  The color shifts the closer she is to it, morphing into a warm golden glow that casts shadows across her face and brightens the abandoned warehouse.   

Interesting.

Every field has their experts, and even though there’s technically no career path for this, she is the one hunters and scholars alike will call when they encounter anything unusual or ancient.  It’s a point of pride, knowing all her hard work speaks for itself.

What she’s looking at, however, rivals anything she’s seen, save Enochian.  There’s an immense power here, layers upon layers of it, woven together so finely she can’t tease it apart on sight alone.  It makes Rowena’s spells look like child’s play, and has to predate most civilizations she’s aware of, which likely means two things.

One, whoever laid this trap knew what they were doing.

Two, they likely know a hell of a lot more than she does.  

She stares, entranced as the light flickers, shifting hues once more.  She absorbs every detail about it, wracking her brain to recognize the ancient language that fades in and out of sight.

“The craftsmanship on this is exquisite,” she marvels, the intricacy of it nearly breathtaking.  

“I’ve got something exquisite for you right here.”

The remark pulls her out of her reverie, her head tilting up as a familiar set of boots moves into the side of her vision.  

“Why don’t you come a little closer and I’ll show you…”

She knows she should move, but she doesn’t, opting to inch her hand closer to the edge instead.  The raw energy prickles across her skin sharply, and she almost snatches it back.  It feels angry, like there’s a thousand tiny hornets trying to sting her, but can’t quite get close enough to fully do it.

“Nessa.”

She can tell Sam doesn’t like her being that close, and she doesn’t blame him.  She knows she has a tendency to push it, but she’s also well aware of how seconds can mean everything in situations like this.   

She inhales, bolstering her resolve, fingers stretching out a little further, knowing if she could just get past the edge of it she might –

There’s a sudden movement in front of her a split second before Sam grabs beneath her arms, hauling her away from the circle and his brother who’s now crouched inches from where she lay.

The spell work cuts back to a deep red, and the smile Dean wears looks that much more menacing.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?  Afraid she’ll have fun for once?”  There’s a burst of sanguine in the darks of his eyes that matches the rhythm of the light flickering at his feet.  "Or are you just trying to keep her to yourself?“

It’s a strange remark to make.  She and Sam are friendly, perhaps even friends, but anyone with eyes and half a brain could see her relationship with that Winchester is the epitome of platonic.  

Dean clucks his tongue.  “It’s not nice to hold out on me, Sammy.  We’re family.”

Sam helps her to her feet, and they angle their body away from Dean, trying to ignore him.  

“I just needed a few more seconds,” she mutters.  She tries not to sound irritable, but she can’t shake the feeling if she had the chance to touch it, she’d have that much more information to work with.  

The look on his face suggests he is highly unimpressed by that statement.   “It’s always a few more seconds with you.”  

He has her there, but he’s usually not the huffy one when it comes to her lack of self-preservation.  She imagines someone has to be, though, considering the usual suspects aren’t themselves enough to care about these things… possibly anything.   

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get that close again.”

She recognizes what he’s saying is sound advice.  She also proceeds to stuff it into the part of her brain that also knows her life would be so much easier if she just did stuff like keep a running grocery list as things ran out or found a nice, normal man to settle down with.  

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, eyes drifting back to the circle as Dean smoothly stands up.  The movement is graceful as it is intimidating, the sheer confidence pouring off him sending a shiver down her spine.  

“I mean it.”  Sam rarely snaps, and the severity beneath his words has her refocusing on him.   

Ness can see it in his face that he’s nervous, really nervous, and she doesn’t blame him.  Not only is this Dean intense, but whatever they’re dealing with is strong enough to also overpower an archangel.

“C'mon, Sammikins, we’ll take real good care of her,” Gabriel slinks out from behind Dean, drifting back into view, and his stare rakes over her in ways she can feel before devouring Sam.  "Or you, if you prefer.“

“He’s all yours,” Dean passes, eyes never straying from her.  

“Hear that?  You’re all mine, big boy.”

Gabriel winks.  

Sam makes a face.  

She simply wonders what kind of hunger it is that’s overtaken their consciousness.   

By the way Dean licks his lips, continuing to stare like Ness might be the last tasty morsel in existence, she might have an idea.

Which leads to a completely different one.

"Walk up to the circle ”

Sam stares at her.  Hard.  Likely trying to decide if she really said what he thinks she did, or if there’s possibly something crazy in his ear.  "Excuse me?“

“What’sa matter, Sammy?  Scared?” Dean taunts.  “You should be.  I may not have a hammer this time, but who’s to say I need a weapon to bash your head in.”  

Well that answers that question.

Sam comes to the same conclusion a moment later.   “That’s… not just a lust spell, is it.”  

“That’s a hard no,” she drawls

Roommates or Sex Pollen?  Send an ask and let me know!

[katiekitty261]

Tonight you belong to me//Michael Langdon X Fem!Reader

Tonight you belong to me- Inspired by the song, from murder house and when they play it for our lovely man. 

This is also inspired by a few requests I got for a story about knowing Michael before the apocalypse and meeting him again in the outpost. From anon and @moneyismysavior . Hope you guys like it! 

Warnings - SMUT, Sensual love making (Some people aren’t into that) lots of good stuff, Dom Langdon

Words - 2000+ 

Gif Credit to Owner

__________________________

I know you belong

To somebody new

But tonight

You belong to me

Although we're apart

You are a part of my heart

And tonight

You belong to me

__________________________

I knew at this moment. The moment I looked into his eyes, I was in trouble. He was supernatural. No one human could possibly be this beautiful. He was flawless. The way his golden brown hair curled perfectly, his full lips, his soul melting blue eyes. He looked like an angel. I don’t know what I did to deserve the pleasure of looking into this man’s eyes.

It was surprisingly easy to get his attention, a simple kind gesture was enough to gain his curiosity. He had told me people usually wanted something from him, used him. I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t imagine wanting to use this man.

We never moved beyond being friends. He had too many secrets that he wasn’t willing to share. So much inner darkness he tried to hide. He was mysterious, but I loved him anyway. I had never loved anyone like I love Michael. I wanted nothing more than to hold him. Kiss him. Be with him. Within the year I knew him, we got close so many times, but never as close as I wanted. I knew he was with other people, men, woman. It hurt.

I tried not to linger on it. I was content with the relationship we had, willing to be anything with him.

On the last day I saw him, he acted strangely. The most significant part of my memory was when he left my apartment. He pulled me into his arms and held me. He never touched me, he usually kept his distance. He held me like his life depended on it. He kissed me so gently on the forehead I almost didn’t notice it.

“You’re special to me…” He said. I was confused. I tried to ask, but he was out the door before I could find the words.

I didn’t see him anymore after that. He never answered my texts, and he no longer visited me every weekend. It broke my heart.

I was thankful though, for having the time I did with him.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek at the memory. That was years ago now. Before the end.

The day the bombs fell, I felt a crushing pain. I knew everything was gone. Why was I chosen to survive? I thought of Michael as I dressed for the first time in those gaudy purple clothes they made us wear. He had told me once he loved the way I looked in purple.

I broke down into tears when I remembered him. I felt the worst pain I had ever felt imagining him dead. Blown up by the blast, or killed by radiation. I knew it was stupid to imagine he survived. It had been so long, but I never stopped loving him. Michael Langdon was my undoing.

These days, He crossed my mind most nights. When I saw Timothy and Emily look at each other in secret, the look on longing in their eyes. The way they secretly kissed.

I wish I had the nerve to kiss him before he had left. I wish I had known he was leaving, I never even said goodbye.

He was like a fantasy to me now, nothing but my imagination.

____________________________

Nothing much changed around here. Not since the first few weeks, we had all been here. That is, until the day the alarm went off.

“Someone else is here.” I turned and looked at everyone, I was nervous. I was certain no one was surviving living out there. I was scared we were being invaded, but when Ms. Venable never said a word,  I didn’t question it. I wasn’t one who questioned authority. The others, not so much.

A man was in her office. She wouldn't tell us more.

After an unsettling meal of Snake Soup, Ms. Mead called us all into the sitting room.

I sat with my head down. My corset was tight and uncomfortable, but I felt so nervous I barely noticed it. I could feel my pulse race as we sat and waited. Who was here? Someone from the Cooperative? Where they here to rescue us? Kill us?

Ms. Venable stared down the hallway from where she stood at the front of the room. Her eyes gave nothing away.

That’s when I heard it, footsteps. Loud footsteps walking toward the room.

I looked up and my heart stopped.

I had to lean on Mr. Gallant so I didn’t fall out the couch. There, striding in the room with an air of superiority and elegance I had always admired was Michael Langdon. His hair was significantly longer now. It flowed down his shoulders softly, somehow making him look even more beautiful than I had remembered.

I felt every emotion someone could feel in one second. I was shaking.

“Are you okay?” Mr. gallant whispered into my ear, I wasn’t ok.

Michael was alive, and he was standing in this room, with me.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, he was staring at Ms. Venable. Urging her to move away. When he stood at the front of the room, he announced himself. His eyes stayed fairly forward, not looking at our faces.

“My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative.” His voice was exactly as I had remembered it. Smooth and clear, it sent chills down my body.  

“I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds In Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.”

Langdon… Representing the Cooperative… the people who took me here. I couldn’t pay attention to the words he was saying. Everyone else was looking at him directly, I couldn't look at him. I couldn’t bring myself to meet those sinful eyes.

“Clearly some people are less concerned with their survival.” His voice rung out, Gallant shook me on the shoulder.

I looked up nervously, meeting his eyes for the first time.

His eyes went wide, as he recognized who I was. I expected him to question me, say my name or walk over to me. He did none of these things.

As quick as he noticed me, his face returned to normal. He turned to face everyone again with a broad heart-melting smile.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

He walked out without a glance in my direction.

I shook my head in confusion. He didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Did he not want anyone to know I knew him? Did he even remember me? The latter hurt too much to imagine.

All the nights I dreamt of him, cried over him. Prayed to every god he was alive. He was here. He was real.

I was to shook up in my thoughts to say anything to anyone else. Some of them tried to ask, but I just brushed it off as nervousness of our pending demise. I didn’t leave my spot on the couch until someone forced me to go to my room.

I lay on my bed, still fully clothed for what seemed like hours.

“(Y/N)”

I shot up so fast I was dizzy.

Standing at the end of my bed was Michael. He looked at me with mixed emotions, peeling off the mask he wore in front of everyone.

“Michael…” I whispered, I was about to stand up but he was on me before I could.

I fell back into my pillow as he crawled on top of me, looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. His hair fell down around his face, surrounding me with his intoxicating scent.

“You’re alive…” He breathed before he pressed his lips to mine.

I acted on instinct. I kissed him back as hard as I could, Wrapping my fingers in his hair as he held me in his arms. Kissing me like it was the end of the world, when in fact it was.

My heart was exploding in my chest, feeling his body warmth through my clothes was enough to drive me insane. He kissed me fervently. His hands traveled along my dress, untying the complicated knots without even breaking the kiss.

He growled impatiently when he reached my underdress, straddling me before ripping it right off. He pressed kisses to my skin, leaving a trail of fire as he bit and sucked on my neck. I ran my hands over him still fully clothed. I wanted to feel him against me, skin to skin.

He sat up again, smirking as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Tossing it delicately with my dress that he had so promptly ruined. I felt him press against me, his heat melting into my own.

It was bliss. Heaven.

I gasped loudly as he bit into my neck hard, but I enjoyed every moment. I wanted him to mark me. I wanted to be his.

He somehow managed to remove his pants, and he pressed his hard cock against my very soaked center.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt about this…” I said in a breathy voice, he smiled and leaned into me so he was directly next to my ear.

“Oh, I know… You think I didn’t notice how you looked at me? How could I miss that delicious hunger in your eyes…” He purred

“Then why did you never?”

He kissed me instead of answering my question, effectively making me forget I had even asked. He began to kiss and suck down my skin, on my stomach and my sensitive thighs. Leaving a trail of bruises along the way.

At this point, I was positively soaking, and the only thing I wanted was his beautiful cock inside me.

“Please… Michael…”  I moaned He brought his eyes which were burning with lust. I had never seen them so beautiful before. “Please what?” he asked teasingly.

If I wasn’t already blushing on my entire body, I was now. Speaking like this, in front of him was something I had never imagined I’d ever do.

“Say it,” he bit my earlobe, his breath fanning against my skin.

“Please fuck me, Michael,” “Please…”

The look in his eyes now was positively primal. He grabbed me by the hips and traced his cock along my entrance, teasingly. “You belong to me,” he said in a tone he hadn’t used before. It was commanding and breathtakingly sexual.

He pressed his cock inside me achingly slow. Feeling every inch of his warmth inside me made me moan in ecstasy. He began to fuck me harder, possessively. I was feeling pleasure like I had never felt before.

Then he pressed a hand to my throat, and I felt my body explode. He held me down and fucked me like his life depended on it, pressing me into the mattress and making my toes curl. I wasn’t sure how long I could handle this. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming in pleasure, but I never wanted it to end. I wrapped my arms around him and he kissed me again, I raked my fingers down his perfect skin and I heard him moan. It was truly like music to my ears, the only thing I ever wanted to hear.

“I’m going to fuck you every day until you can’t feel anything but me…” He breathed into my ear, it sounded like heaven. “You’re the only thing I want…” I said back, he kissed me harder at the point. I could barely breathe, but there was no stopping.

I could feel myself tip over the edge, an orgasm like no other building and building until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wrapped my fingers in Michael's hair and pulled, He moaned again as I did. He suddenly lifted my hips higher and slammed into me, before I felt him cum. Cock pulsing deliciously inside me.

He waited a few moments above me, us breathing heavily. The air scented with sex, the atmosphere hazy.

He collapsed beside me, laughing as he did.

“What is so funny?” Although I loved hearing him laugh, I didn’t exactly want him laughing at me.

“I love you (Y/N). He said in a serious tone, not breaking eye contact with me. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, but now. I'm being selfish…” he pulled me into my arms so he was holding me to his chest.

“I love you too…” I began to cry. “I’ve always…” He wiped my tears away before kissing my cheeks.

“I know… I know…” He repeated, before pressing another kiss to my forehead.

“I am never letting you go.”

That’s when I knew, I would do anything and everything for Michael Langdon. I was never letting him go again.

____________________________

Hope you guys liked this! I kept listening to this and it made me want to write esp the “you are a part of my heart, even when we are apart.” I felt that really fit the tone I wanted with these requests to have. If you have any Michael Requests just ask!

[ajaegerpilot]

It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t happy to have his dad back, he was; he was over the moon about it. His mom was alive, his dad was alive, hell – Sam, Jack, and Cas were all alive. Dad had made up with his sons, was working on things with Mary, and he liked Jack. So Dean of course was . . . again, beyond thrilled to have his entire family back, pieced together. Things were great. That just left Cas.

It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t happy to have his dad back, he was; he was over the moon about it. His mom was alive, his dad was alive, hell – Sam, Jack, and Cas were all alive. In the evenings, they’d get together around the dining room table where Dean would serve proper meals for his family who would alternate pitching in.

Somehow, John being there grounded them into some sort of a structure; instead of everyone grabbing what they wanted from the fridge whenever they wanted it, they’d all get together for dinner. Being surrounded by his family like that was the closest Dean had ever gotten to a happy ending, or the happiest he’d been before the other shoe dropped. He woke up some mornings not believing it was real.

First thing, John had gotten himself acquainted with the Bunker, finding out what he could about his heritage, the Men of Letters, and what else he’d missed in the years he’d been gone. New monsters bumped in the night – angels and archangels, the Darkness and the Nothing. It’d be a push to say that John was jumping back in the saddle to hunt, even Dean was getting close to being too old for that, but it wasn’t like the man was ready to retire either.

Also, it was weird, seeing his mom and dad together again. Mary’d had difficulties enough fitting back together with this new version of her life, and the twenty-odd years that had passed without her, John included in them. They’d pumped the brakes a bit, which Dean could respect, but Dean kind of didn’t want to pay too much attention to it. He didn’t need to see them feeling things out again; they were his parents for Christ’s sake.

Sam and John had managed to make some sort of amends. Sam had been able to admit that he’d probably never be able to fully leave the hunter’s life, and John had managed to admit that he should’ve never dragged his kids into that life to begin with, that he should’ve found some alternative. And maybe those were just hollow words, but Dean could see it helped for Sam. The two of them weren’t suddenly buddy-buddy, but things were easier, a little lighter maybe.

It was an odd fit overall, Dean could admit, to suddenly be alive again and find the kids you’d raised had grown a family of their own. John liked Jack well enough, didn’t fully trust him which Dean could get – they still hadn’t told him about the whole spawn of Satan thing, thought better against that. But, given the kid was polite and curious and loyal as hell, he and John got along just fine.

And Dean of course was . . . again, beyond thrilled to have his entire family back, pieced together. John didn’t treat Dean like a kid anymore, which, granted, was a hard thing to do when they were roughly the same age. But yeah, there was a bit of respect there. Still a little weird, but that was ironing itself out. Things were great. So . . . that left Cas.

Initially, John seemed to like Cas. He was interested in the angels, and Cas had kind of shut him down. Told him that a lot of what Cas had been able to do had kind of – worn and torn over the years. Actually, overall Cas had been pretty cold to John. He didn’t like him for whatever reason. Dean didn’t take it personally. His dad could be pretty prickly, and Cas wouldn’t be the first person not to like him. In fact, Bobby still pretty much hated his guts.

The weird thing was, though, that John kind of dug the fact that Cas was withholding. In retrospect it was possible that it’d gone straight over John’s head that Cas didn’t like him, and that he’d interpreted Cas’s dislike as some sort of macho stoicism. Cas not liking you led to pretty brisk conversations, and John loved efficiency so. On the surface, John seemed to like Castiel so Dean’d hardly been pressed to convince Cas to change his behaviour.

But eventually something else gave. It’d been maybe the third hunt John had tagged along for – Jack and Cas in the backseat, John riding passenger-side (because as much as Dean loved his dad, and he did, he hadn’t even let his mom drive Baby, and fuck if he’d risk relinquishing her now). Once inside the place, Jack and John had split off, with Cas sticking around with Dean – one angel for each broken old man – and Dean had gotten his ass soundly kicked.

With the ghosts all salted and burned, Dean aching and bruised, Cas had reached out to help Dean back to his feet, to heal him the way he usually did. “You should be more careful,” Cas had lectured as Dean got upright again.

“Okay, yeah, says my backup,” Dean had grouched back, and Cas had actually smiled a little at that, carefully smoothing his hand across Dean’s arm with a gentle touch. It was always a little jarring, being healed, but it was pleasant too. Like getting knots out of your back through a massage that sat just on that edge of pain.

Getting healed had usually been accompanied by some sort of baggage for Dean, mostly because it meant that Dean had made some dumb mistake to get his ass in a state that needed healing, so he rarely felt he deserved it. But over the years Cas had worn Dean down to a point where healing was something – not routine, because Dean’d be damned if he’d say that he needed it often – but normal enough. And nice enough to enjoy.

That day, in addition to the warm buzz of Cas fixing him up, Dean felt good about the success of the hunt, so he’d let himself grin a little at Cas who’d looked away, smiling at himself. He’d been teasing Cas, of course, about being his backup. He and Cas worked well together; it wasn’t Cas’s fault that Dean’d gotten himself thrown ten feet into a brick wall. But the credit of putting Dean back together? That was all Cas’s.

And then John had rounded the corner and caught sight of Cas’s hand on Dean’s arm. There wasn’t anything weird about it, beyond the fact that Dean had been leaning into it and grinning sappily while Cas smiled right back. But still, Dean remembered himself, pulled back. But John had registered it. Every last inch of it. Round about that time, John started treating Cas differently.

“Cas gonna be joining us for dinner?” Mary asked, smiling over at Dean. There were two empty seats that evening, belonging to the two resident angels, leaving a gap at the head of the table and a gap to Dean’s right.

“Uh, him and Jack are off doing some angelic breathing exercises in the basement,” Dean explained, feeling awkward because John’s eyes had flickered up from his plate to watch Dean’s response. “They’ll uh . . . be done at seven and there’s plenty left over for Jack. Plus, Cas doesn’t need to eat, he just . . . likes to.” God, Dean felt weird, like he’d just listed out some intimate detail about Cas in front of his father.

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Mary laughed to herself. “You’ve gotten yourself a pretty weird angel, Dean.” Dean couldn’t help but crack a grin at that, his mother’s warmth distracting him from all else. He wanted to tell her about the time Cas had eaten hundreds of hamburgers one Valentine’s day; how Famine had been fucking with him and how Cas’d insisted he could quit anytime because he was an angel. That had been one of the worst days of Dean’s life up till that point, but Cas had been pretty funny in retrospect.

Then John spoke up, moody, “Sure we should leave him alone with Jack?”

“What?” Sam laughed. “It’s not like Cas’s gonna accidentally drown him in the tub.” Out of the three of them Dean probably had the most practice being a father, but Cas was no slouch himself. Dean didn’t know the details of what he and Jack were up to, but it wasn’t like Cas would let Jack do anything dangerous.

“They bathe together?” John asked, eyes widening.

“What?” Sam repeated, laughter fading from his face, quickly drawing into discomfort. His eyes darted between Dean and Mary, then back to John, because there were no answers. All of John’s strange looks at Cas, how his attitude towards him had so swiftly changed, all clicked into place for Dean then.

“Listen, all due respect, but what the hell’s your problem with Cas?” he suddenly bit out, sick and tired of John’s bullshit.

“Nothing,” John said curtly. It was an obvious lie, and one that was undercut with some irritation, probably due to the fact that his opinions on Cas were even being challenged. “I’m sure he’s a fine man but he’s. Well.” John wasn’t denying it, and the way he spoke was so . . . disgusted. “He’s a little – off.” Off.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked.

“Language, Dean,” John said, voice harsh with warning.

“I’m friggin’ forty,” Dean said, getting to his feet. “And this is my house. Answer my question.” Jesus, if he’d ever talked to his dad like that when he was young – God help him. Sam shifted in his seat in a way Dean immediately recognized, obviously ready to stand with him in a fight if he needed it. He didn’t need it.

“Now I’m not saying anything,” John said coldly. “But there is something strange about him that – I’ll come out and say it – I don’t trust around my family.” Dean got so angry so fast he almost felt woozy.

“Cas is part of this family, and you might not like him, Dad, but that’s nothing new!” he said, almost yelling. “I mean – hell, half the time, this family hated each other! And you not liking Cas ain’t gonna change the fact that he’s one of us, so Dad –” Dean took a breath, “You’re just gonna have to get used to him.”

He felt flushed, jumpy, and pissed off. But John was not one to back down. “Oh, he’s family?” he asked, playing with his scotch glass, voice ugly with something Dean didn’t want to name. “How’s he family? You two get hitched when I was gone?” What the fuck?

“Jesus Christ, Dad,” Sam complained loudly, pushing his plate aside.

“John, that’s enough,” Mary snapped.

“I’m just saying,” John went on, holding up his hands. “If Dean’s sweet on him, at least that makes sense.” Dean’s mouth dried up.

“Enough!” Mary yelled. She looked beyond pissed. “John, get your coat. We’re going for a walk.”

Dean was cleaning up after dinner. John was weird about that too sometimes. Shooting Dean looks, just because Dean was washing the fucking dishes. They couldn’t exactly get a dishwasher installed in a secret bunker, so everything had to be done manually. Dean didn’t mind doing the work, but his dad’s judgement got under his skin. Especially after the argument.

His hands were still shaking a little. Which was weird enough, Dean didn’t usually get the shakes anymore. Sure, he was older, and yeah that had gotten heated, maybe too heated, but. Dean hadn’t thought it’d affect him like this. What Dad had said . . . clearly he thought Cas was gay. And when Dean defended him . . . he’d implied Dean was gay, too.

Dean could take a lot of shit from his old man, and always had, but he’d be fucked if he’d let John talk down about the people he cared about. Dean’s prime directive as a kid had been to take care of Sam, so when Sam and John had fought and Dean had had to pick a side it’d been pretty much impossible. Now Dean was older, he’d had a life without his dad. His dad would have to fit into it, not the other way around. Dean scrubbed the dish in his hand particularly hard.

Dean had heard Cas approach, his steps soft on the floor. Dean could appreciate him not sneaking up anymore, he was getting too old for the jump scares. “I heard you and your father had an argument,” Cas spoke up softly, regretful. “I’m sorry I was the cause.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a dick,” Dean sighed. Dean had thought it’d been different now, because . . . it sort of had been. Dean didn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder constantly regarding stupid shit like whether or not he was eyeing a guy for a second too long. There was a chance that this was, to an extent, because it had become second nature to him over the years, something Dean carried without even noticing. It just went out the window around Cas, apparently. “I just . . . forgot.”

Cas picked up a dish and dishcloth from the sink, scratching harshly at some food that had crusted up because Mom was apparently an inconsiderate roommate. “He is a dick,” Cas agreed, voice barely above a growl. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been right about Cas not liking John.

“Anyway, he’s just . . .” Dean went on, not sure how to phrase it. “Old-fashioned. Stars and stripes, that kind of thing.” For Christ’s sake, John didn’t even like the fact that Dean cooked – it was beyond bizarre the hang-ups he had, especially considering that Dean’d been cooking for Sam and himself since before he hit puberty. “It’s not like you’re actually into dudes he’s just . . . you get it.” Because Cas usually did.

“Right,” was all Cas said in response, apparently not too happy with Dean’s explanation. Dean glanced over at him, finding him frowning. Dean didn’t know what else to say. Cas squinted ahead. “Why do you suppose your father cares about my sexuality?” he asked. “Or yours?”

Dean couldn’t blame Cas for asking, but it was a difficult question. How could he explain to an angel, one that was apparently fine with gay people, that plenty of humans thought gay sex was weird, wrong, or gross? John’s view on the subject had never been something Dean had questioned he was younger.

Dean hadn’t believed in God, much less a God that gave a shit about what he did in the bedroom, but he hadn’t had to – he’d had his own family to worry about. Dean had just accepted John’s distaste and kept that part to himself. And it wasn’t that John had necessarily been a loudmouthed asshole about it, the way he’d been at dinner. When Dean was young his father’s views had been so self-evident that John hadn’t even had to say it out loud the way he had to now.

In his life, Dean’d had what he’d consider a healthy level of curiosity, especially when he was younger, especially when he was alone for the first time in his life after Sam had gone to college and Dad had been off on his own Odyssey. It’d just been some fun, some bullshit for Dean to forget about by the time the sun rose. He honestly hadn’t thought about it in years. He’d been doing a . . . he’d been doing a good job with that.

“Well, it’s not exactly standard practice, two guys,” Dean said, clearing his throat. At the end of the day, Dean had to believe that everything about John, even the sharp, fucked up parts, were about protecting the ones he cared about. And Dean could remember firsthand that . . . being with a guy was a ticket to misery and danger, especially when you could be with a woman instead. “He’s just looking out for his family, in his own way.”

Cas still wasn’t satisfied with this answer, though he’d gotten Dean to dig pretty deep. “But, why do you suppose he cares about me?” Dean felt himself start to get flustered because it seemed like Cas was trying to drive towards some type of point and Dean couldn’t see the end of the road.

He didn’t know how to put this nicely. Cas was a badass, but he was also really . . . gentle sometimes. Not feminine per say, but it wasn’t like Cas was ripping apart mountain lions with his bare hands 24/7. Softness hadn’t exactly been a valued trait in the Winchester household, as far as Dean recalled. It translated to weakness, and liking men was to willingly paint a target on your back.

“Dude, I don’t know. He just got back, maybe his brain’s cooked,” he said, trying to laugh it off. “Seriously, Cas, don’t pay attention to him.” Winchesters weren’t the most rational bunch when it came to family, and Cas didn’t need to worry himself over anything John said, he’d earned his keep. But Cas shook his head, effectively rejecting Dean’s suggestions.

“He cares,” he said, firmly. “Because I care, Dean.” He caught Dean’s eye, leaning in closer, like he hadn’t done in years, like he really wanted Dean to pay attention. “Because it’s so easy to care about you that I can’t hide it, as hard as I’ve tried.” Dean couldn’t hold Cas’s gaze. He looked down at the water in the sink, at the soap clinging to his arms. What the hell?

“Dude, saying shit like this is exactly why everyone thinks you’re gay,” he muttered. Why everyone thought him and Dean were together. He’d tried to tell it like a joke, but it was the truth.

“If your father ever makes you feel lesser,” Cas said, solemn as a soldier. “Just remember that I care for you so obviously that he noticed. You’re worth treating well. As long as I don’t make you uncomfortable, I don’t plan to stop.” Dean didn’t know what to say that. So, he didn’t say anything. Together, they finished doing the dishes in silence.

Mom and Sam had probably managed to chisel John down into something presentable. Dean had been too pissed for it, and the stony silence around the house the past while had been pretty harsh. But, eventually, John grated out over dinner one night, “Listen, Castiel, I want to apologize. I said some unfair things about you a few nights back.”

“Oh?” Cas asked, tone polite even though Dean could recognize he was pissed. “Like what?”

“It’s embarrassing,” John allowed, shifting in his seat with some shame. “I thought you were gay.” Castiel nodded, expression not betraying anything.

“You want to apologize to me for thinking that I’m attracted to men,” he observed.

“Yes,” John gritted out. “And I’m hoping that you can accept my apology.”

“Should I have found it insulting?” Cas asked, and he had a dangerous sort of stillness about him. He looked up at John and stared him dead in the eye. “You were right.” Sam choked on his water.

John was determined to apologize. “Sorry,” he said again, raising his voice and rising to his feet. Dean moved aside his chair, ready to spring into action. “Listen. You’re an angel and you possess vessels like a demon would. I shoulda figured there could be some sort of mismatch. It’s not your fault.” If anything, that pissed Cas off more.

“I can assure you, there’s no problem,” Cas started in.

“I’d have to disagree with that,” John said coldly, and this argument and chance to show up Cas in front of everybody was obviously what he’d been waiting for. Dean got to his feet, putting himself between the two of them in the conversation.

“Alright, Dad,” Dean called out, voice hard. “That’s enough. If Cas is gay, we –” but he couldn’t finish the sentence. He looked over to his side at Cas and blinked. He was gay? Cas’s expression of anger melted into something else under Dean’s eyes, to something horrified and pale. Sam let out a harsh laugh, cutting through the air.

“It’s okay to be gay, Dad, it’s 2019,” he said, a little snootily, standing up to walk over to Cas and Dean’s side of the table. He put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. “It’s not any of our business.” Dean’s mouth dried.

“Right,” he said, voice splintering in his throat. He swallowed. But the way Cas looked over at Dean, eyes wide, panicked like he was begging Dean to not change his mind about him based on this revelation. So, Dean put a pin in it. “He’s still Cas and he’s still part of this family and if you need to – if you need to take some time to accept that, then Dad – you better get started now.” He took in a shaky breath.

John looked at Dean like . . . like he was a goddamn stranger. Looked at him like he had that time Dean had nearly gotten Sammy killed as a kid. But now, with this underlying trace of disgust. Dean got hit with something like nostalgia, because he realized it wasn’t the first time he’d seen that look in his dad’s eyes.

Dean gritted his teeth and steeled himself. John could look at Dean anyway he liked, but he had to respect Cas. Seeming to realize this, John nodded and left the table, nearly knocking over his chair. Dean sank back into his seat. Mary apologized to Cas many times, but Dean hardly heard her.

Baby needed her tires changed for the winter, and Dean was getting comfortable working on that and other things on her that needed primping. It was easier than hanging out in the house where Mom was reconsidering her marriage, Jack was pacing around like a puppy left alone for the first time, with Cas and John avoiding each other, and Sam preening like he’d just announced himself president of the GSA.

It was easy to shut off and ignore all that was happening out here, easy to mute the thoughts Dean might’ve had on the subject. Well, not easy, but easier to deal with when those thoughts inevitably crept back in. This was a safe place to think about them when he did. And, Dean did.

So, Cas was gay. Dean didn’t know why he was surprised. The guy had never exactly been crazy about the ladies. Dean had chalked it up to him being an angel but, in retrospect, some of the horniest devils Dean’d ever had the misfortune of dealing with, Gabriel, Balthazar, had been batting for Heaven’s team so. That theory didn’t exactly hold water up to any sort of scrutiny.

Dean had just . . . never thought about it. Shrugged off all the comments. People didn’t get it, him and Cas. Hell, when he was younger, people had thought Dean and his brother were together sometimes. As if Dean was gonna start taking their opinions seriously now. Cas and Dean had a pretty unique relationship, given their history, and if people looked at it and thought it was some weird sex thing, that was their own problem. Dean liked women and so did Cas . . . or so Dean had thought.

Cas had some experience with women, not as much as Dean or even Sam but still, some. He could list them off on his fingers, and he only needed the one hand. First, Cas’d had that thing with Meg, which had never really gone anywhere, despite the number of opportunities they’d had to take it somewhere. He’d also been married at one point, to some religious nut that they’d never seen again and honestly, could probably still claim her promise ring if she needed to.

Then, more recently there had been Hannah . . . but she’d kind of been Cas’s relative, technically, so . . . Dean didn’t really know how far he could press all that. Cas’d at least had sex with women before. Or at least, with that one reaper – who’d shoved an angel blade through his ribcage immediately afterwards. If Cas walked away from that feeling like he was gay, Dean couldn’t really blame him.

Still. Dean felt like it was something he should’ve . . . he should’ve noticed. His best friend was gay. Dean felt like he’d cheated him somehow by not paying close enough attention, or too close attention to the wrong things. Memories of their night at the brothel all those years ago – and Cas’s shit flirting with Chastity, brought heat to his neck. God he was stupid.

Dean heard a knock at the doorway. He glanced up from his work at the tire, spotting his dad. “Son,” John said. And then softer, “Dean . . . I want to talk. If . . . that’s alright.” Dean felt a wave of dread card through him – Christ, what was this going to be about? Dean braced himself, turned away from the car.

“Yeah, Dad?” he asked, keeping his tone light and even, even while he folded his arms.

“I . . . wanted to . . . apologize,” his dad said. “About what I said about your friend. You and your brother are right . . . it’s none of my business. And if you guys trust him – well – I trust you. I’m fine with it now.”

“Maybe you should talk to Cas about that,” Dean said, letting himself be a little cold about it. Fortunately, John laughed a little, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

“Yeah, maybe I should,” he agreed. He amended, “I will. He’ll probably be thinking about killing me the whole time but . . . I will. I don’t . . . I don’t want us to fight. The way we used to.” Dean nodded, throat clenched.

“We never used to,” he managed to choke out. “You and me.” And not because Dean had never disagreed with him. But because he’d trusted his dad. Hell, he’d sided with him over Sam. Sam had left Dean, but Dean had left Sam too, in his own way.

“Yeah, I know, son,” John said, putting his hand on the Impala. His lips stretched into a small smile as he ran his hand along her. “You’ve taken good care of her,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Dean said, letting the pride burn in his chest, a low flame.

“You know, I’m just not used to this world,” John had to say. “A whole lot can change in twelve years apparently. And now, with – with the multiple genders, not to mention the marriage thing, I can’t keep up with all that. And, I’m sorry, but it’s just . . . not normal.”

And Dean couldn’t keep it in. “Damn it, Dad, what the hell even is normal?” he asked bitterly. “For this family, for us?” The way John had raised Dean and Sam, and he had the audacity to talk about what being normal was? “Cas is a good guy. If you bothered to find out, you’d know he’s given more to this family than even you or mom have.”

“And is it . . . is it that fucking bad? Really?” Dean couldn’t stop because it was rapidly become apparent to him how shitty the whole situation was. “I mean, Christ dad – things have changed since Ellen came out. Trump is president, weirder things are happening than two guys – or girls – getting it on.”

“And . . . you and mom were . . .” Dean’s voice was suddenly incredibly tight. But fuck if he was going to get teary-eyed in front of his father. He took a deep breath, and got himself under control enough to say, “You love her so much and . . . Cas deserves a shot at something like that and if he can only get that with a dude then fuck it. I’ll wave that rainbow flag because Cas deserves that much.”

John seemed to take just one thing from all that. “Listen, Dean . . . are you gay?”

Dean straightened himself out and said, “No, what the hell – we’re talking about Cas and your problem with him!”

John didn’t budge. “Dean. I don’t get it and I won’t,” he said. “But fine. You’re right. It’s a new world and my opinion doesn’t count for much anymore.” And then he said something Dean hadn’t expected. “Just want you to know that if you are . . . that’s fine by me, too.”

Dean wanted to defend himself but John just kept pushing on, saying, “I don’t want to think about it but, if you are . . .”

Dean could feel his throat constricting. “Dad, I still like women,” he said, because that’s all his brain kept looping around to. His father thought he was gay.

“Dad,” he said, knowing how desperate he sounded, “You don’t even know how many women I’ve been with!” The countless one-night stands in seedy motel rooms, Cassie, Rhonda, Robin – names he couldn’t even remember, guilty as he felt about it, and John had never even met Lisa. Just because Dean wasn’t with anyone right now, didn’t mean that he liked men. It didn’t.

The next look John gave him was sad. But at least he didn’t look so goddamn repulsed anymore. “It’s okay, son,” he said. “You’re a good friend. And I’m proud of you. I just . . . want you to know that.” Dean settled, some of the fight draining out of him. He nodded.

This wasn’t a hug and make up moment. Hell, John would probably call Dean gay if he tried to make it into one. Which was fine, because Dean didn’t want it to be. He let it hang between them, ugly and painful, until John, after what felt like hours, nodded and left, quietly closing the door behind him. Dean kept standing there for awhile. He thought about what his dad had said. He thought about it a lot.

Dean was in his room, lying on his bed with his laptop warm on his chest, just about ready to doze off. He’d had a big lunch earlier and he was feeling lethargic, eyes drooping shut by the time he heard Cas walk into the room. Cas hadn’t even bothered to knock. “Hey Cas,” Dean greeted, a little surprised by Cas’s sudden visit but not mad by a long shot. “What’s up?”

Cas hovered at the foot of Dean’s bed for a moment, looking conflicted but also relaxed somehow. Like he fit there alright. “Dean . . .” Cas said, in that gravelly voice of his. “Can we watch Netflix?” Castiel asked. Dean raised an eyebrow, but he made room for Cas on his bed.

“Sure, what’s your fancy?” he asked, moving his laptop off his chest and onto his lap, booting it up and drumming his hands across the keys like he was a hacker. Cas had never really spent that much time in Dean’s room but . . . they hadn’t talked one-on-one for awhile and Dean was missing it.

“Anything,” Cas said. “I’ll trust your judgement.” Well, that was a sore mistake. Dean put on Riverdale, just to gauge Cas’s reaction. Cas didn’t have any. He curled up next to Dean, leaning against the headboard of Dean’s bed, folding his arms to keep himself from falling off the side. He took care to maintain the few inches of space between him and Dean.

Cas had never cozied up on Dean’s bed like this, but Dean was too comfortable to insist they go to the living room to watch TV. Not to mention that his dad was probably there, and that’d be awkward. But now, even Sam or Jack, or Mary, being around, was not something Dean wanted to deal with. He was sleepy and Cas’s presence was warm and relaxing. Dean didn’t feel the need to involve others.

They watched quietly for awhile, as teenagers in their mid-twenties got themselves into hot shit, and Dean had started to doze off again when Cas stirred. “Your father apologized to me,” he spoke up. “Properly, this time. For the most part.”

“Hey, that’s good,” Dean said, cracking a lazy grin.

“I still don’t like him,” Cas said, frowning at Dean’s laptop. Dean chuckled, glancing up at Cas.

“Yeah, he’s a tough pill to swallow, but he’s my dad so,” he said. “I want you two to get along. Or at least . . . deal with each other.” He’d lived too long trying to mediate between the people he cared about, and really didn’t want to go through that again if he didn’t have to.

“I can try to do that,” Cas vowed, pulling at the blankets and pillows on Dean’s bed, shifting himself further down on the bed to make himself more comfortable next to Dean.

“You know,” Dean said, before his brain could catch up to his mouth. “Cas, I – that you’re gay . . . I’m cool with it.” They hadn’t had a chance to talk about it yet. Cas had withdrawn himself, Dean had been avoiding the house, not to mention how awkward the whole topic was. But Dean’d seen the look on Cas’s face, he’d been terrified. Dean had to tell Cas that it was okay and there was no time like the present.

“I know, Dean,” Cas murmured. “Or . . . I’d hoped.” He closed his eyes, settling next to Dean. He added, “I know gay men make you uncomfortable.” Jesus.

“Do I really come off like that?” Dean asked, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. Cas didn’t say anything. Because of course, Dean probably did. “I’ve been a real asshole,” Dean muttered and Cas, again, didn’t say anything. “It’s not like it has anything to do with me, right?” He looked over at the laptop screen, where Betty was being a weirdo once again. “None of my business,” he muttered to himself.

This time, when Cas didn’t say anything, Dean looked over at him. Cas’s eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking at the laptop, wasn’t looking at Dean. Dean’s mouth dried up. He didn’t know what to say. Eventually, he said, “Right, Cas?” And Cas started picking himself off the bed.

“Thanks for indulging me, Dean,” Cas said, already halfway out the door. “But I just remembered that Jack and I were going to spend some time together before dinner and I should go find him.” Cas was a shit liar.

“Hey, hey, Cas,” Dean said, suddenly wide awake, slamming his laptop shut and getting off the bed to follow Cas. “Hold on, can we . . . are you . . .”

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly, at the doorway. “I care for and respect you deeply. That will never change. Let’s leave it at that.” There was that same look on his face again. Terrified. Begging.

“Cas,” Dean said. Cas looked like a deer trapped in headlights. What the hell was Dean doing . . . “C’mere,” he said, soft like he was afraid Cas’d bolt. And Cas stayed and Dean, carefully, reached out to get his hands on either side of Cas’s face, just holding him there. God, Dean was too old for this. He bit the bullet.

Cas’s lips were surprisingly soft for how chapped they were. Dean had spent a lot of time wondering when he was younger what a trenchcoat-wearing salesman from Illinois was doing with a mouth like that but Cas suddenly moved, and put his mouth to good use. He wrapped his hands in Dean’s t-shirt and pulled him closer so they were right on top of each other.

“Dean,” Cas murmured when he broke away, looking up at Dean. Fuck, Dean felt a flush of panic chase through him.

“Cas,” Dean broke out, taking a step back and Cas let go of his shirt. “I can’t promise you – I can’t –” But Cas was looking at him with those wide blue eyes, looking so old and tired and – and scared but understanding that Dean cut himself off. “God,” he muttered to himself. “Screw it.” He grabbed Cas by his lapels and dragged him back to the bed.

Dean got Cas on his back and moved on top of him, nearly knocking his laptop to the floor in his haste. “Dean,” Cas gasped as Dean moved down from his mouth to his jaw, to his neck. Cas’s hands moved to the backs of Dean’s arms, gripping tight. “Dean, I don’t –”

“What, Cas?” Dean asked, moving up so that he could undo Cas’s tie. Cas was flustered, hair sticking up all over the place, eyes dark on Dean and lit with awe. It was a good look, Cas on Dean’s bed, trenchcoat bunched around his waist, his tongue wetting his lips as he worked to remember what to say.

“Shouldn’t we –” Cas got caught off with Dean’s mouth as Dean started working on his buttons, making room for himself there, a small moan hitching in Cas’s throat. Fuck Dean should’ve been doing this since always. Cas grappled with Dean’s arm with one hand and his other hand got control of Dean’s head, opening his mouth up. Dean could’ve melted against him.

Cas was actually a fantastic kisser, Dean had thought about it before, tons of times if Dean was going to start being honest with himself, and it was kind of blowing Dean’s mind. Just as Dean started to settle himself down onto Cas, anchoring him to the bed, Cas’s hands pushed him away. “Dean, we should talk about this,” Cas grunted out against Dean’s lips, sounding just as fucked up as Dean felt. “This is – you’re – what this means.”

“I’m a fucking dumbass is what this means,” Dean said, pressing a kiss to Cas’s jaw, then his neck, his collarbone. “And I’m a dumbass that’s going to make it up to you.” Cas’s hands on Dean’s face kept him from moving further. Dean looked back up at Cas, stilled, just enjoying the touch.

“I already knew that first part,” Cas told him dryly, but he was basically glowing beneath Dean. There was something else underlying it all, as he ran the pad of his thumb across Dean’s cheek, soft. “You don’t have to do this, Dean.” In response, Dean went for his zipper.

“Good thing I want to, then,” he said.

If John knew, which he almost certainly did, he didn’t talk about it. Likewise, Dean and Cas didn’t mention it. But Dean could bet that it was probably pretty obvious. The way Cas hung around after Dean, the way Dean tailed him in turn. There was an attempt to keep business and pleasure separated, but it was hard to manage with Cas so eventually they got figured out.

After a few days of acting supremely weird, Sam finally decided it was hilarious, and Jack had actually cried happy tears when he’d found out Cas and Dean were . . . kind of seeing each other, what that meant. And they’d still have dinner together most nights so, as it was, Dean really was living as best a life as he could hope for.

Tonight, Jack had been helping prep dinner but he’d run off with Sam to do research for a hunt out in Utah, so Dean was working alone. Or at least had been. “Hey, Dean,” Mary spoke up, smiling over at Dean, finding her way into the kitchen. “Mind if I give you a hand?”

“Of course, Mom,” Dean said, beaming at her. Mary rarely helped in the kitchen, mostly due to the fact that she was more of a liability than help, but it meant a lot that she was willing to give it a try.

“What are we making?” Mary asked, looking over the kitchen with a light in her eyes.

“Uh, pretty simple,” Dean said. “Just some soup, and I’m going to freeze some stock for later.”

“Oh wow, from scratch?” Mary asked, sounding really impressed. Dean couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah, usually we just buy stock but since we had leftover chicken I figured I’d use it,” he said. “Wanna give it a shot?”

“Absolutely,” she said warmly.

“There’s some celery in the fridge, you can wash and chop them up,” Dean suggested. Mary nodded and obeyed.

Dean had no idea how Mary had ever put Dean under the impression that she’d known how to cook. It wasn’t like Dean was an amazing chef or anything, but he liked things to taste good and living here, really getting comfortable and building a home, had helped him build his repertoire of skills. She chopped up the celery in mismatched chunks and tossed them in the pot. When she was done, he handed her some carrots to work on.

They worked diligently, in silence, just the gentle chop-chop of knife on wood. He let her cut them up finer than she needed to. “I just wanted to let you know,” Mary spoke up after awhile. “That your father is alright with you and Castiel. But, if it ever comes to it, I’m always going to choose you, Dean. I’m always going to choose Cas.”

“You’d choose Cas?” Dean asked, surprised.

“Definitely,” Mary said firmly. She smiled. “You know . . . I’ve made some mistakes in my life. I have regrets. And one of them is that . . . I never got to raise you. And I don’t know who you would’ve been if I’d been around to help you grow. I know you still would’ve been a good man. But I think . . . I think if I’d been around, you would’ve been at peace . . . long before now.”

Jesus, at peace. “I mean, I . . .” Dean cleared his throat. “I’ve seen guys in the past. I knew on some level. It’s just. It’s never been serious.” He never took it seriously.

“I know,” Mary said.

“What do you mean, you know?” Dean asked, feeling grouchy. Mary grinned.

“A mother knows,” she said teasingly. “I just . . . know how hard your childhood was, what it’s like to grow up a hunter’s kid.” Dean nodded. “But . . . you’ve just been so happy lately. So free. And I think that’s Cas’s influence.”

Dean was choked. “Maybe a little,” he agreed, embarrassed. Maybe a lot. Mary smiled.

“When I met your father,” she said frankly. “I really saw a way out of my life as a hunter. That was half the reason I was so desperate to pursue him. And I love him, of course, and he loved me. And we tore each other apart over it. And now I . . . now I don’t even know if I’m going to stay with him. Life’s a crazy thing.” Dean nodded.

“It’s just good to have someone that . . . makes you less crazy,” she murmured. “Or at least someone you can be crazy with.” She carried on chopping her vegetables, smiling thoughtfully to herself. “I’m happy for you Dean, and so proud. I love you.” Dean’s eyes were stinging and she noticed. “Oh, Dean,” she said.

“It’s the onions,” Dean blurted defensively, wiping at his eyes with his free hand.

“Honey, put down your knife,” she ordered politely, and pushing away her own cutting board, she pulled him down into a hug.

“I love you, too, Mom,” he mumbled into her neck, clutching her back.

It was an odd fit, Cas and Sam and Jack and Mom and Dad and all the trauma they were carrying on their backs. But when they tried, they came together easy. And the end of the world could come, Dean was ready for it. That night they ate dinner, talked shop, made plans, and Cas kept his hand in Dean’s all the way through to the end.

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

From the Top: Prologue

Summary: Personally, I think the MCU would be much better as a love story between Stephen Strange and Tony Stark. Don't you? Starting from Iron Man, and going all the way to Endgame, with all the appropriate stops in between. Let's take it from the top. (warning for mild sexual content)

“This thing on?”

. . .

“Hey, Miss Potts. If you or Rhodey find this recording, don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end.”

. . .

“Just for the record, being adrift in space with zero promise of Rescue is more fun than it sounds. Food and water ran out . . . four days ago . . . oxygen’ll run out tomorrow morning, and that’ll be it.”

. . .

“Stephen, if you’re . . . there somewhere . . . when I drift off, I’ll be with you again. I can’t wait.”

— 2008-2010 —

They first met at a party.

This one was organized by the hospital to raise money. It was also Stephen's first upper-class party like that, and he had been more nervous that he would like to admit. He was alone unless you counted the other, more experienced doctors who were also there and who immediately fucked off and did something else as soon as they got there, leaving him alone at the bar. Stephen resisted a sigh and took a drink.

Across the room, Tony was growing increasingly bored listening to doctors fight to get his funding. He planned to give it regardless, but he usually enjoyed it when people fought for his attention. Tonight though, he was looking for something . . . different.

He looked past the doctors around the room, marking off options in his head. Boring, boring, bad in bed, cries during sex . . . huh. His eyes landed on a man standing at the bar. That’s new. Dark hair, unblemished skin, tall and slender without being skinny, young, but not too young. Looked like he was trying to hide how uncomfortable he was. Not exactly a challenge, but Tony wasn't looking for one.

“Yeah, okay, bye.” He left the doctors behind, eyes trained on his newest target. The man didn’t seem to notice him at first. Tony took the time to look him up and down before asking, “Bored?”

To his credit, the man barely seemed surprised to see him. Or maybe he just didn’t recognize Tony. Bit insulting, it’s my party, but fine.

He nodded. “A bit.”

“My bad.” He held out his hand for the doctor to shake. “Tony Stark.” There we go. There was recognition in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t react apart from that, merely shaking Tony’s hand.

“Stephen Strange.”

Tony smiled and opened his mouth.

“Whatever it is, don’t.”

Tony chuckled, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “You’ve probably heard just about every ‘strange pun’ under the sun, huh?”

“Twice. It got old around the time I started to speak.”

“Sounds like you could use something new.” Tony turned towards him, angling his head so that his attention was fully on the other man.

Stephen seemed to realize immediately what he meant. He took his time looking over Tony before a smirk slid over his face. “Projecting, much? What, are you tired of the same one-night-stands?”

Tony smiled. “Knew you’d heard of me.” He took a long draw of his drink. “So what do you think? Want to be my something new for the night?”

“If you think you can keep up with me.”

“Cocky. I like that in a man.”

“Really? The version I heard is that you like it in you.”

Tony arched a brow. “Planning to join that list?”

Stephen ‘hmmed’, sliding a hand over Tony’s free one. “Mister Stark . . . you’re going to beg me to join it.

Tony snorted, looking Stephen over his glass of champagne. “I've never begged for anything in my life.”

Stephen smirked. “Then I will be honored to be the first.”

Tony laughed, louder than he meant to. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with you.”

“Well”, Stephen muttered to himself, walking up to his apartment, “I can add that to my list of achievements. First person to ever make Tony Stark beg in bed.” It was the best night he’d had in a while, but now he was exhausted from staying awake so long and getting up early, not to mention the party. At least I don’t have anything to do today, he thought, falling into bed. So naturally he was forced to wake up four hours later to go to the hospital.

“I’m going to murder Nick,” Stephen said when he got a chance to talk to Christine. Christ, residency was even worse than med school.

“It’s not his fault he’s sick,” Christine said half-heartedly.

“Yes it is.”

Christine rolled her eyes and walked off, probably having better things to do than put up with his bitching. Stephen downed a cup of coffee as quickly as he could, having little time before he had to go back to work. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered before reminding himself that the rewards were worth the effort.

Stephen was about to get back to work when his phone chimed. He looked down, wondering who was texting him when pretty much everyone he cared to talk to was at the hospital.

I'm not hungry. Let's get dinner. — You know who I am

Stephen stared at the phone. How the hell did he get my phone number?

. . .

Okay, that was a stupid question. The man was a genius who owned a tech company, it probably took him two seconds.

He considered ignoring it, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to. If nothing else, Tony Stark was new and interesting, two things his life was decidedly lacking lately.

Eyes on the clock, he texted, Can’t right now. Work. Then, Will you still be up at 3?

It’s like you know me.

Stephen didn’t realize he was smiling until someone snapped at him to get back to work.

It was not a walk in the park to date Tony Stark.

The first few weeks were like a dream. When they actually sat down to have a conversation, Tony was surprised by how intelligent Stephen was and how much he genuinely enjoyed speaking to him. It wasn’t long before he was thinking up every excuse he could to stay in New York, even relocating business meetings that would have been in California only to blow them off in favor of showing Stephen off and lavishing him with gifts. But they were two months into their relationship, and he didn’t know how he thought it could last.

Honestly, it was kind of a stupid fight. They were having sex at Stephen’s apartment — he had repeatedly turned down Tony’s offers to buy him a better one — when Tony, curled around Stephen’s back as he fucked into him, said, “God, you’re such a slut, so desperate for my cock, such a fucking whore—”

Stephen turned, pushing Tony away with hands and feet. “Get off— get off of me!”

Confused, Tony did as he was told, staring at Stephen as he got out of bed and started to get dressed. “What’s wrong?”

Stephen paused, his pants haphazardly hanging around his waist, Tony’s shirt only half on him. “Are you fucking serious? What, do you think I don’t get called that enough already by your ‘friends’?”

Tony did know. He could hardly go three days without someone making a smartass comment about his boyfriend who was ten years younger than him and had little status or resources of his own. Normally he could shrug it off, but tensions were high between them as Stephen had grown more unsettled with Tony’s job and company.

Not that Tony was willing to admit that Stephen might have a point. “Well personally, I thought gold-digging slut suited you better.” He winced when he saw the angry, hate-filled look on Stephen’s face, immediately regretting what he said. “I didn’t mean that—”

“Get out,” Stephen said in a low, cold tone. “Get out. I don’t want you in my apartment.”

“Stephen—”

“No, if all I am is your hooker than I’m sure you can find a cheaper one who’s willing to put up with you. It is New York, afterall.” He started throwing Tony’s clothes at him, realizing halfway through that he was wearing his shirt. He took it off and threw that too. “Get. OUT!”

Soon Tony was standing outside the apartment with his shirt and shoes in hand and wondering how he fucked up so badly.

“Come here often?”

Stephen started at the familiar voice, rolling his eyes when he saw Tony. “Not anymore. The company is terrible.”

“I deserved that.” It had been three weeks since their disastrous breakup, and Tony was no longer too proud to admit that he missed the doctor. And he thought that enough time had passed that Stephen wasn’t as angry as he’d been when he changed the locks on his apartment and blocked his number.

“And much more.” Maybe not.

“I know. And I want to make it up to you.”

Stephen scoffed. “What, the prostitutes in Malibu aren’t up to your high standards?”

“I apologized for that.”

“No, you didn’t actually.”

Tony thought back. “Oh. Well, I meant to. To be fair, you didn’t really give me a chance.”

“And why should I now?” Stephen demanded, looking him in the eye for the first time since he got here.”

“Because the suite I'm staying in has a private hot tub.”

Stephen paused. “That does sound fun.”

Tony smiled, knowing he’d already won. If Stephen were really as upset as he seemed, nothing would have swayed him. But if Stephen wanted him to grovel a bit, then he could do that.

“Plus,” Tony said, reaching into his pocket, “I got you something.” He set the box on the counter, standing back to let Stephen choose whether or not to take it.

Luckily, resisting temptation had never been one of Stephen’s strengths. After a brief moment of curiosity, he took the box, his eyes widening a fraction when he saw the label on the top. He looked up at Tony. “Are you serious?”

“Open it and find out,” Tony said with a sly smile.

Still looking at him, Stephen obeyed, delicately lifting the watch out. “Jesus, Tony.” The watch was perfectly designed, made of shining platinum and steel, with a white face and black leather band.

“You said you wanted it,” Tony said.

Stephen frowned. “When?”

“Don’t know,” Tony lied, distinctly remembering when Stephen had brought it up when they were lying in bed together. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Stephen’s mouth. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?”

“Is it working?”

Stephen couldn’t help a small smile. “It’s incredibly ostentatious. And, I’m sure, ridiculously expensive.”

“Oh good, you like it.”

For the first time in weeks, Tony heard Stephen laugh.

They lasted two months.

So they continued, apart for a few weeks, together longer, much to the annoyance of everyone who knew them. Christine, especially, grew tired of Stephen’s periods of whining, mooning, and bitching. But it was worst in November of 2008. That year, Stephen’s birthday just so happened to intersect with his relationship with Tony. And Tony, being the show-off he was, wanted to plan something big.

Christine still doesn’t know how she got roped into helping him.

“Now, for Stephen’s sake, and hoping we can keep this out of the tabloids—” a problem she never thought she’d have— “let’s try to keep it low-key and classy.”

“I agree completely,” Tony said. “How many strippers do you think we need?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

The party ended up taking place on an island in the Caribbean. There were two hundred people, of whom Stephen knew around ten, plus about two dozen strippers, and a champagne tower that someone knocked over, and then someone else cut their tongue open on the broken glass when they tried licking up the champagne from the floor. Stephen and Tony missed this because they were having sex on a completely different part of the island. Christine never went to another one of Tony’s parties.

When the next year rolled around, Tony and Stephen were decidedly not together. Work was stressing him out, and the idea of taking a break for his birthday was laughable. He only got home at four am. When Stephen fell into bed, he was annoyed to realize that he couldn’t fall asleep. His apartment was too . . . quiet. Quiet and empty. He just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Sighing, he sat up and grabbed his phone. 5:21. He groaned, running ideas through his head for something to take his mind off of how fucking depressing this was before he remembered hearing about Tony being in the city for a conference.

The last thing he’d wanted when he woke up that morning was to see Tony. It was just a reminder of how things had changed since the year before, of how they were never going to work because they could barely stand to be around each other for more than a month.

But I miss him.

He waited a few minutes before calling him. “Hey. I . . . heard you were in New York.”

Thirty minutes later, Stephen was screaming Tony's name into a pillow and had completely forgotten about why he was upset.

At least until afterwards when Tony kissed his cheek and whispered, “Happy birthday.”

Christine sat listening to Stephen complain about Tony, who was of course in New York again, clearly expecting Stephen to fall into his bed later, and Stephen was saying that that would definitely not happen for the third time that year. Once he paused for breath, Christine said, “You know Stephen, every time Tony turns up in New York again — which he does ten times as much as he did before he met you — you insist that nothing's going to happen and you'll just ignore him. Then you say it was just a one-night stand and it didn't mean anything. Two days later, you're singing his praises, talking about how thoughtful he can be and how things really weren't that bad before and there was no reason this time couldn't be better, and can we just skip to that part already? Because honestly, that is when you're at your least unbearable during this whole thing.”

Stephen flushed. “That's not—”

“It has been exactly like this every time for three. Years. Three years! Just fuck him and get it over with.”

Stephen bristled, sitting back and refusing to speak to her for the rest of the day. Christine was perfectly fine with that.

Later, when Stephen was laying back against Tony’s arm with the blankets over them, he asked Tony, “Why do we keep doing this? I know the reasons we never work — all of them — but why do you keep coming back?”

Tony chuckled, rolling over to grab a complimentary bottle of champagne from the hotel room’s nightstand. “Three years and you’re just now asking?”

“It was on my mind.” He kicked at Tony’s leg. “Come on, Tony. If this was just sex, you could go to anyone. You wouldn’t have to fly across the country and fuck up your schedule even more every two weeks.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a schedule.” He gulped down some of the champagne and offered it to Stephen, who refused.

“Just answer me, Tony.”

Tony sighed, thinking about it with one hand curled around the neck of the bottle. “You're charming . . .”

“Charming?” That was about the last thing he would use to describe himself, but Tony seemed serious.

Tony nodded. “Charming, and smart, and witty, and nicer than you seem. And I . . . miss you. When we're not together, I miss you.”

Stephen stared at him, stunned. He knew why he was still there. Tony Stark was . . . electric. He was life personified. Stephen was drunk on him.

But he never realized that his infatuation was so . . . mutual.

Stephen pulled Tony back down to the bed, taking the bottle and dropping it gently to the floor. “Get some sleep. You have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Tony groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Next time, you come to California so I don’t have to make two trips in two days.”

“Or you could just not decide to fly to New York at the last minute when you know you’ll have to go back and go to Afghanistan right after.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

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[craftyprettymuch]

PRETTYMUCH Imagine: Meeting His Family - Nick: Part 1

I didn't take that picture of Nick obviously. Credits to who did! Enjoy! ❤️😬

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Nick

Nick and I have been together for about 3 months now. Our relationship has been going strong and he has met my family already. He's hinted around that he really wants me to meet his family too. For Nick, that's a very big deal. It takes a lot of time for him to fully trust people around his family, especially, his momma. So, for Nick, taking a girl home to his mom is a big deal. I don't take it lightly either. Obviously, that means he sees a future with me and obviously I'm excited. But I'm also very nervous. I have very, very strong feelings for Nick. Stronger than I've ever felt before. I've never been in this type of relationship before, either. I would describe it as an unorthodox situation. We can't go out in public without him getting recognized, or paparazzi being everywhere, we never have any privacy and people are always very forward and nosy with questions. Nick will be the first one to tell you that he likes his privacy. He genuinely loves his fans, but he loves his privacy just as much. I mean, in a normal relationship, thousands of girls constantly falling on their knees, in love, with your boyfriend would be an absolute deal breaker.... but Nick was so worth the hassle and frustration. He is the kind of guy that deserves to be famous. He's so genuine and passionate that it flows through his veins. It's like an organ or an essential part of living. It's as relevant as breathing air and eating. He is the embodiment of hard work, determination and success. He's the kind of guy who, should be put on the tallest podium, to win first place every single time. That's the type of celebrity he is. He deserves the best life has to offer. And if Nick Mara wants you to meet his family... you must mean just as much to him as they do. But what do I know, it's only been a few months... 😝

The next day:

I woke up to my phone buzzing and immediately checked it. It was texts from Nick.

Nick❤️:

Text 1;

Ay girl. You're probly not woke yet but it's cool I'm gonna swing by your place in a bit

Text 2;

Tty in a min❤️ xo

I rubbed my eyes as I was still tired and groggy. I read the texts and sent the red heart emoji back to him. Then, I quickly laid head back down to rest on my side, facing the wall. Shortly thereafter, I felt a  warm hand on my arm and a presence behind me. It was Nick. He lay down behind me to spoon, cupping my body in his. This was nice. We haven't had sex yet, so, this was special. I know what you're thinking, "Haven't had sex yet! Are you crazy? Look at the guy, how can you resist?" I know, I know, it sounds weird, but we wanted to take it slow, like, really slow. In all of our past relationships, both of us agreed that we jumped in too quickly with them. We wanted the timing to be perfect. We wanted everything to be right. Now, don't get me wrong, have we "almost?" Yes, absolutely, it's been very difficult. We have this absolute fire physical connection, that's for sure. But we want the emotions to be there too. I don't want to just have sex with someone I barely know, who I don't have strong feelings for, who I don't love. He feels the exact same way. For him, sex is less about the physical connection and more about the emotional connection... he's a Scorpio, look it up.😉 When we have sex, we want it to mean something, to be more than just about pleasure. We both want it to be worthwhile. Plus, the longer the tension, without release, the better the experience will be!

We are spooning. It's warm, it's nice. We are resting together. We've slept in the same bed before but this feels different. It feels more important than the other times.

"Are you ready to get up?" Nick says, rubbing my upper arm softly and slowly. I yawned and said, "Yeah, but I need five more minutes..." I said sticking up my hand. He chuckles and says, "Okay, babe." After, what I would assume, is three minutes, he gets up and walks out of my bedroom. I can hear him rustling around and making small noises here and there. I can't fall back to sleep so, I decide to get up. I put on my fluffy white slippers and head toward the kitchen. I look in the mirror on the wall, on the way out of my bedroom. I look a mess. I'm wearing thin pj pants and a white t shirt. Oh, well. Nick doesn't like fake girls so, I didn't fix anything. I go pee and then, head to the kitchen. Nick is standing over my stove making something. Whatever it is it smells delicious. I walk up behind him and put my hands on his biceps. I rest my chin on his right shoulder peeking over to look at the pan with pancakes in it. "Mmm. It smells so good!" I said, breathing in the delightful smell. "Yeah, it's my secret recipe." He said, kind of side glancing to look at me. "Well, I can keep a secret. What is it?" He chuckles to himself and looks at his feet. "If I tell you, you have to give me something in return." I laughed and nodded my head up and down, on his shoulder. "It's my deepest darkest secret, you know?..." We chuckled at the same time. I just said, "mmhmm." He let go of the handle on the pan and reached his arm to cross over himself, and stuck out his pinky finger. I quickly, snatched his pinky in mine and we shook them, slightly. He flipped the pancake to reveal the golden side. Then, he sat the spatula down on the counter and turned to face me. He put either of his hands on my sides and smiled, looking down at me. "Okay, my secret ingredient is.... a small dose of vanilla extract ... but you can't tell nobody!" I laughed and started to scream it at the top of my lungs, "NICK'S SECRET INGREDIENT-..." I stopped and separated myself from his grip and started to laugh. He chuckled to himself. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. So, what do I owe you?" He was leaning on his hand, against the counter. He looked down at his feet with a little bit of a smirk. He looked up at me slowly and said, "Um... Well, uh...-" I cut him off asking, "it's not dirty or sexual is it?" He was quick to shake his head no. "Um... I really want you to meet my family..." The mood changed quickly. It went from lighthearted and flirty to deep and emotional, real quick. Wow, he really was serious about me. He wants me and trusts me to meet his mom. This is getting significantly serious between us. He doesn't take every girl he dates home to his mom. I'm pretty certain I'll be like only the second or third. That's enormous, especially, for Nick. I looked him in his alluring, pretty brown eyes. His dark, thick lashes curled up, defining the stunning almond shape. He blinked really fast a few times in a row, like he normally does when he's focused on something. I smiled and said, "Of course I'll meet them, Nick!" He smiled and we came together for a long precious hug. My head resting on his shoulder, my arms around his torso and his wrapped around me, over my arms. While, his hands were interlocked at my back. He chuckled and said, "No backing out, though. This is our pinky promise. You owe me."

To be continued...

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Let me know what you think!🥴👍

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