#and I don’t even mean the sympathetic kind of pathetic like they’re just a fucking loser

[painonthebrain]

Whumpee who acts all mean and serious and is a bit of an asshole but really they’re just a pathetic loser on the inside

[braunbakery]

salvation, maybe (ii)

☞ reiner braun x reader [fem bodied] [chapter word count: 2.5k]

☞ sfw, angst, fluff, post-season 3 [after 4 year time jump], season 4 spoilers

☞ cross-posted on ao3 (very much ahead on ao3, just wanted to bring it to tumblr)

☞ fic plot: you have walked these streets many times before. you have passed this bench many times before. you have seen this man (lost in his thoughts, always drifting, always looking lost) many times before. but this time, this time you take a seat.

prev. next

ii. company

the glass clinks against the bar counter and reiner shifts idly in his seat as the bartender slowly pours him another drink. he watches you bring your glass to your lips in the bar stool next to him, your other hand rested on the counter. the orange lighting of the bar reflects off of the two glasses and, even though the bar is filled with the lazy chatter of other customers, reiner feels like he can hear your every movement.

he doesn't know how a walk through the streets of liberio wound up with him sitting with you at a bar in the middle of the night. he doesn't know how his daily trip to the bench in front of the fountain wound up with him sharing a drink with a stranger when he had been isolating himself since his return from paradis. he doesn't know how the hours passed so quickly, or why you had decided to spend an entire day with him. he can barely remember what you had talked about, faintly recalling sparse conversation about your family, about his family (about gabi and how there was definitely no one in liberio who didn't know her with the way her voice echoed around the alleyways.) he remembers a calm quiet settling between you two, he remembers visiting an empty, overgrown park. most of all, he remembers the feeling of your company.

his chest doesn't feel as hollow, his thoughts don't race as rapidly. and, even though his eye sockets are still full and his muscles are still tense, there is a part of him that is happy to not feel alone. even if just for a day.

and this relief that you offer him eats away at him like a parasite. he locks eyes with you and you offer him a small, kind smile, fully content to sit in the comfortable silence you have both accustomed yourself to. reiner doesn't know why he's letting himself have an escape. he doesn't want to find solace, he doesn't want to feel at peace, he doesn't want the warmth of someone else being with him and not expecting anything of him. he is guilty. in his head, he should always remain guilty, no matter the pain or the agony. no matter how dark the circles under his eyes become, or how tight his jaw clenches.

but, at this moment, he brings himself to ignore his self-condemnation as he watches you raise your glass once more to your lips. he doesn't know if it's just because you are a person, if anyone would have done, if it's because you seem like you would like the company too or if it's something particular about you that makes him want to stay. that makes him feel like it doesn't matter whether or not he deserves to stay. but he can't believe he had gone this entire time without the presence of this other someone with him.

"are you okay?" you ask him, noticing him slowly losing himself in his thoughts. reiner snaps out of his conflicted daze and loosens his tight grip on his glass.

"yeah, thinking about how they're going to beat my ass for not showing up at HQ today," he jokes, offering a cheeky grin. you laugh, pretending not to notice his genuine concern over the issue,"i-"

"reiner," a soft voice interrupts. a woman with dark, raven hair and large deep eyes slowly approaches the two of you on crutches. she dons the same uniform as reiner (the same off-white jacket and red armband, reiner's jacket is currently bundled up on the stool next to him), and reiner feels his grip on his glass tighten again.

"pieck," reiner responds, suddenly aware that his earlier joke is probably the reality. pieck smiles softly at him, and he knows that she holds no contempt for his absence today. but, that doesn't make the bundle of anxiety brewing in his stomach any less.

"where were you today? everyone was wondering where you'd gone off to," pieck slightly leans on her crutches, her head tilting to the side as she questions reiner good-naturedly.

"i..." reiner trails off. he can't find the words. how can he say that, hours ago, he had unconsciously made the decision that spending an entire day mostly in silence with a stanger he had just met seemed like more of a pressing matter than his duties to marley. as he struggles to find the words to express himself, pieck spares you a glance, finally taking note of your presence. she doesn't introduce herself, instead content to offer you another warm smile in greeting.

"maybe you should get home, yeah?" pieck suggests. behind her kind voice and sympathetic eyes, reiner easily recognises the sense of urgency in her words. it's a warning. he should probably get an early night's sleep before his attempts to offer a multitude of excuses when he goes into HQ the next morning. also, knowing pieck is here, it would be safe to assume that porco isn't far off. reiner had already pictured his smug face when he sees him tomorrow, probably feeling like his superiority over reiner had once again been proven. if porco finds him here, in this bar, reiner would never hear the end of it. it would just be another reason for porco to assert the fact that between them, he was the warrior and reiner was the coward. and even though reiner doesn't necessarily disagree (he doesn't really have the energy to think about it anymore), it doesn't mean he's particularly looking forward to it.

"yeah," reiner replies, nodding thankfully at pieck. pieck nods back and raises a hand from her left crutch, waving goodbye before going back to her table. but, she stops in her tracks and turns her head back, "don't worry, by the way. porco hasn't seen you." with that, she turns back and makes her way back to her table. reiner is thankful for her decency.

he scrapes back the bar stool and begins to stand up, getting ready to leave. but, as he reaches for his jacket, his vision blurs. you watch as reiner slightly stumbles forward, grabbing onto the bar stool for support. how many refills has he had?

he seems fine enough to speak normally, but as you watch him rapidly blink his eyes to regain his composure, you stand up, grab his jacket from the seat, and tug at his sleeve as you make your way to the exit of the bar. he seems okay now, walking normally behind you and reaching for his jacket from your grasp. once you finally leave the busy bar, the chilly night air meets your warm faces and the glow of the orange lighting inside reflects off your skin. reiner quickly pulls his jacket on and turns to you. you let go of his shirt sleeve that you didn't realise you were still holding.

"you don't have to leave with me," he says. in truth, he doesn't want to allow himself to be in your company anymore. this was just a break. a day where he could forget everything that he had to do and be, and it took all of his will to reject the consolation your presence offered. the reality was grim and brutal, and even if it was a reality where he was condemned to eternal guilt, it was still reality.

"i don't particularly want to be left alone in a bar," you say, already beginning to slowly make your way down the street. reiner tries to ignore the small relief he feels in knowing that you won't leave yet. that you don't want to leave yet. it was starting to prove tiring having to drag himself back to the guilt he felt lost without.

"do you live far? i can walk you back first," he says, sidling up next to you on the footpath. god, he was pathetic. for someone actively trying to isolate himself, he sure did manage to find every excuse to spend more time with you.

"i live on just the other side of market square," you say, recalling reiner telling you where his family home was, "it's close to yours. i'm walking you back first." in reiner's stumbled state (even though he had all but regained his composure now), you don't feel right making him walk you home and then himself. at least, that's the excuse you were telling yourself. in reality, you don't want to be alone. you're not ready to say goodbye. when reiner hears your adamance, he can't help but smile. he's too tired to argue, instead just humming in confirmation.

"are you going to be in much trouble tomorrow?" you ask. reiner turns his head towards you, and even though he had looked at you many times already, he never seems to get over the initial shock of someone else being there with him.

"it'll be fine," he says (he hopes.) maybe commander magath will just chalk it up to another tired day of being a warrior? maybe zeke had offered magath some sort of excuse in reiner's absence? maybe porco had shut the fuck up and not encouraged retribution for reiner's slight insubordination? reiner knows that you can tell from his clenched fists that he's lying and that he has no idea what's going to happen. but, he's grateful that you don't make an attempt to address this. reiner wonders if you know that he doesn't regret it.

"i'm guessing you have an early morning then?" you say, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket as the temperature of the night drops.

"ha," reiner laughs drily, "it's always an early morning." he watches you laugh at his disdain, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, "you as well?"

"yeah. i think i'm delivering papers tomorrow," you respond. you had told reiner that you worked as an assistant for the newspaper. the manager was an old man. he was kind, but you often found yourself doing a bunch of odd jobs that were either his responsibility or the requirement of someone he had yet to hire.

"do you have a permit to leave the internment zone for that?" reiner says without realising. the words are tumbling out of his mouth as soon as he thinks of them, and it scares him. he had spent years in paradis having to carefully think of everything before he said it, and now the words were just escaping his mouth and he had no restraint.

"yeah, just for an hour on the specific delivery days. we only really get delivery requests from the marleyan soldiers living just outside the fence." reiner nods.

"you should deliver a paper to us," reiner feels that he basically blurted that out and tries to save himself, "to HQ i mean."

"i didn't realise the people the paper is usually about took an interest in reading it," you joke. you're already planning your route to the warrior unit HQ, already planning what you're going to say to reiner when you deliver. even though it's just a suggestion on his behalf, you can feel the delight rushing through your body at some sort of insinuation that he wants to see you again. reiner chuckles at your comment, knowing full well that he's probably not going to read that paper and he'll probably just toss it off to zeke (if he doesn't end up spending the whole day being reprimanded for his antics.)

god, he can't stand himself. how can he ask to see you again? what's wrong with him? is he seriously so pathetic that after one day of enjoying someone else's company other than the warrior unit and the candidates (who, even though he appreciates them, are just a constant reminder of his mistakes and shortcomings and everything he fails to be) he can't go on without it? even though you hadn't given a straight answer, he can't ignore the feeling of blood rushing to his cheeks at the thought of seeing you again, no matter how hard he tries to pull himself together and scold himself for being such a half-assed piece of shit.

before he realises, his vision is blurring again and he's stumbling forward. instinctively, you reach out and grab his upper arm. your hand wraps around it, steadying him in place, and you didn't expect him to be so...warm. is that a titan shifter thing?

reiner mumbles a quiet 'thanks' in embarrassment and continues walking on. but, your grip on his arm never loosens and reiner realises (rather embarrassed with the fact that this is something he considers worth realising) that, other than the odd tug to his sleeve to beckon him forward, this is the first time you have actually touched him. his muscles relax under your hand. and it scares him.

reiner slightly pulls away at your grasp, pulling down at the armband on his opposite arm as an excuse to distance himself. he doesn't know why he's doing this (yes i do, he thinks, coward. you don't deserve this.) without thinking, he shrugs off his jacket and places it around your shoulders, his hands slightly brushing against your neck. even though he's warm, goosebumps form under his fleeting touch and you watch as he puts his armband back onto his arm.

"you looked cold," he says curtly, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking away. he realises that, in an attempt to use taking off his coat as an excuse to distance himself from your grip, he managed to just end up being closer to you. you can't help but smile as he tries to avoid your gaze.

a few more minutes pass, and you both find yourself outside reiner's house. reiner turns to you, opening his mouth and about to bid you goodbye, ready to spend the night wondering how he let a simple conversation at a bench this morning get this far.

"reiner," you say, before he can say anything. "i..." as you look at him, you realise how bad you don't want to say goodbye. and maybe it's just the fact that he really doesn't know you that well, or that if you really wanted to, you could very well ignore him for the rest of your life if things went wrong. or maybe it's the fact that you had lied earlier, and you don't actually live on the other side of market square, but the complete opposite direction that you had started walking from the bar, and if you said goodbye now you'd have to walk back all the way by yourself. alone.

alone.

"yeah?" reiner says, hand on the door knob, eager to get inside. he doesn't want to leave. really. it seems like he does, but the longer he stays out here, with you wearing his jacket and struggling to make the words come out of your mouth, the more he has to think about a life he can probably never have. but, what you say next takes him a minute to register, and takes you a minute to realise has actually come out of your mouth.

"can i...can i stay?"

[jjuzoir]

Overdue | T. Shoto

request: “Hi! If your requests are still open, could I request a todoroki x reader oneshot please? Basically they’re childhood friends and go to UA together. Everyone ships them and Todoroki always treats reader super sweetly, but doesn’t realize that he’s also low-key pining for her. (always using endeavor’s credit cards to get her gifts LOL) eventually Todoroki figures out his feelings and confesses. Then the class catches them kissing in the dorms, making Todoroki and reader flustered! Thanks so much!”

a/n: this took me so long omgjdjsj fck all my reqs for this batch are taking me long :’) anyway thank you for being so patient with me @sugarandsoft ;;;

word count: 2933

When it came to romance it was safe to say Shoto was simply blind to it, the romantic feelings of those around him and himself were practically foreign to the teenager.

In all of your years of knowing him you had never once seen him actually be able to recognize the difference between friendship and crushing. To him there was no “I like you romantically” or “I don’t like you romantically”, it was always “I like you as a friend” or “I don’t like you as a friend”. The whole liking someone, crushing on them, dating-courting thing was as complicated as astrophysics is to an eight year old. Which led to everyone around him to immediately be put in the friendzone the minute they got to know him.

Everyone knew that, especially Class 1-A who had to bear witness to one of their top students crush hopelessly on you without even being aware of it. They knew, other students knew, the teachers knew, your parents knew, his mother knew, the League of Villains knew— everyone knew that Todoroki Shoto of class 1-A has a big, fat crush on you except Todoroki Shoto himself. Hell, it was so obvious All for One could’ve seen he had a crush on you.

It was the “little” thing that gave it away, like using the number-two-pro-hero’s credit card to get you a new phone because yours got a small crack. When confronted about it, he’d always say the same thing.

“She’s my friend and I enjoy using the old man’s money,” he’d scowl at Midoriya— Shoto’s self proclaimed wingman and president of the [Name] x Shoto club, who had questioned his spending habits when it came to you.

“So you'd do the same thing for any friend?” Izuku would push the boy further, he was going to get him to realize he liked you even if it killed him- and by the way the year had been going and Shoto’s complete obliviousness to the situation, the latter seemed more likely.

“I guess.”

“Oh really? Then where the fuck is my new phone, lukewarm? If you’re gonna call me your ‘friend’ where is my phone?” Bakugou questioned him with a snarl.

“Yours isn’t cracked, Bakugou-”

“Is that what it takes? ‘Cause I’m gonna do it!”

“Hey Izuku- what’s going on?” Ochako looked at the trio in front of her, easily being drawn to the loud noises coming from the living area.

“Half-’n-Half over here is gonna buy us new phones if we crack ours.”

“I see…”

“Seriously?” Mina barges into the room to pick up the teasing where the blond has left off, “But I like my phone- oh! I know, instead of a phone why don’t you get me some new sneakers!”

“And if I break my house, would you get me a new one?” The brunette asks, she’d rather shoot her shot or miss trying.

“So- you’re gonna admit you’d only do it for [Name] are you gonna need help placing some orders?” Bakugo smirks at Todoroki.

“Ochako and I can check real estate for you!” Mina giggles.

But rather than answering, the bi-colored haired teen simply looked down and mumbled to himself, annoyed; “I’m not buying anyone anything.”

Safe to say he didn’t keep his word because not a day later and he had bought you a new TV after you joked about getting tired of going down the stairs to the shared living space.

He’d make exceptions for you all the time, always covering it with the excuse of “she’s been my friend for longer”, even when it didn’t make much sense. From his limited physical contact rule to the reckless spending, you had him wrapped around your pinky and he didn’t even know it. Everyone would always tease you two about it yet both of you dense as rock to the implications never really paid them much mind.

But soon Todoroki was confused, really confused, by his peers and their words; they were constantly insinuating that he liked you in a more than friends way. At first it was easier to deny such claims, you were just friends— but the more the pestering continued the more aware he was of the ways his heart seemed to flutter at the mention of your name or how he began noticing how he stared at you more often than the rest.

But he couldn’t like you, you were his first real friend— the only person in his life that was always there, if he did like you and he did act out his alleged feelings there was always the possibility you’d say no. And that scared Todoroki more than he’d like to admit. You, on the other hand, did acknowledge the butterflies he’d bring you and welcomed them with open arms. Knowing your chances with him were slim, you unknowingly turned a blind eye to his behavior, chalking it up to him seeing you as his best friend (as much as it might’ve pained you to think like that).

It didn’t take long for you to notice how he seemed more hesitant around you, how he was shying away from your touch and the way he’d avoid giving you any response longer than two sentences, soon enough he was practically avoiding you altogether, and you were worried. In all of your years being his friend, Shoto had never been so cold and distant with you. Had you upset him? It was a complete 180º from before and it left you wondering why.

“Ugh, he’s just-! I’m so annoyed, Ochako!” You groaned into your pillows, “He's never acted like this before, he’s barely talked to me in weeks! I don’t know what I did or what to do.”

“[Name], it’s okay! He has been pretty off lately,” the brunette patted your back, “You should try talking to him!”

“How am I supposed to talk to him when he barely even lets me get near?”

“Hm, maybe leave him a note!” She suggests, brown eyes looking at you sympathetically.

“A note?” You look up and meet her gaze, “Huh…”

And so you did it, you scribbled down a meeting place and signed it anonymously before huffing, stuffing it in your bag and deciding.

“Dear Todoroki, please meet me in the kitchen after practice. It’s very important, you really need to come!”

Simple, short— straight to the point with little to no wiggle room for interpretation (other than a very insistent and kind of annoying person, but that’s a price to pay for the restoration of your friendship), if he didn’t come you’d simply harass him with more notes until he gave up or had enough to open up a paper store. Hopefully the former because you doubted you’d have enough post-it notes or the money for that many.

“Hmph! That should do,” you rub your hands before throwing a thumbs up at your friend, “Thank Ochako, I owe you big time!”

That morning you told Izuku and Iida about Ochako’s plan and how you hoped they’d make sure Shoto actually came to the meeting place.

“But, don’t you think he might, I don’t know,” the freckled boy scratched at his neck, “Think you’re going-to-confess-or-something?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” You look at Midoriya confused.

“He means that Shoto might think the note might be from someone who wants to declare their feelings for him.” Tenya informs you, maybe a bit too matter of factly for your liking no one likes being talked down to.

“Don’t worry guys, I think a love confession is the farthest thing Shoto will assume this is.” You wave your hands in an attempt to convince them otherwise.

“There is no way this is going to be a confession.” Bi-colored eyes squint at the blonde that walked besides him.

“Look, all I’m saying is this definitely smells like a confession scene to me,” Denki smirks at Todoroki, “The kitchen is a weird place though, maybe they’ve baked you some sweets! Bro, you’re so lucky!”

“You might want to check your nose because there’s simply no way, Kaminari.”

“Why?” Sero smiles as he asks, “You’re pretty popular with girls, why can’t this be another confession?”

“Because,” Shoto snatches the note from the black-haired boy’s hand, “This is [Name]’s handwriting.”

“Wait a minute-! You’re telling me she’s making a move before you?” Kirishima asks in surprise, “I knew you liked her but I had no idea she liked you back, huh. I can kind of see it though.”

“What are you even saying?” The boy in question grumbles, he knew he should’ve gone with Midoiya and Iida but he knew you were going to be there and he didn’t want to risk being a fool. Now he’s got dumb, dumber and the dumbest giving him butterflies by insinuating you like him back, great.

“That she likes you, dude!”

“Totally! And you- you like her back! So all you gotta do now is go accept her confession and stop moping around being all pathetic- ow!” Kaminari rubbed his arm, cursing Kaminari’s strength.

“Don’t say that!”

“Yeah, at least not to his face.”

Todoroki simply rolled his eyes at the boys before hurrying up his pace, today was going to be long as he asks himself if he should really go.

He had a lot to think about, this information was important to him; there’s a chance you like him and the thought made him happy— very, very happy. Just the idea that you might return these feelings, which he’s still trying to come to terms with, just confirms it in his mind that he, Todoroki Shoto, does like you; in a more than friends way. He’s not going to let the chance slip away.

By the time he’s at the meeting spot, he can’t deny that he’s excited even if  his face doesn’t really show it. He had been confessed to many times but this was different because, for the first time, he planned on saying yes.

He heard you approaching, the soft tap of slippers matching the beat of his heart. He liked you, he really did like you and you liked him back.

As you turn around the corner you’re met with a frowning Shoto and are slightly taken aback at his serious expression. You knew he tended to be quite inexpressive sometimes but after a while of not hanging around you can understand why others are off-put by his cold features and intimidating stature.

“Shoto, you’re here.” Even through your shock you still smiled at your friend, relived he’d even shown up with the way he’d been avoiding you. You make your way near the counter, before sitting on top of it, you had chosen the kitchen in case that he'd forgotten about the note but be there anyway getting himself something.

You’d have to be quick before he’d run away,  wanting to get straight to the point and ask him what had been going on. You cared about him and you missed him, you didn’t intend on wasting more time.

“I know it’s sudden but you've been avoiding me all week and I’m sick of it! I really care about you Shoto and you ignoring me like this hurts-!” You stuttered, too caught up in trying to pour out all your feelings at once— accidentally giving him the confirmation he needed that this was indeed a confession.

“It’s okay, I think I know what you mean,” he cuts in, his expression softening, “And I feel the same way too.”

“Huh-? Shoto what are you-?” You look around the room confused, if he knew how you felt then why did he continue avoiding you? Did he even really know what you were talking about?

“I was scared,” he continues paying your previous statement no mind, slowly approaching your sitting form before taking your hand, “that’s why I avoided you but knowing that you feel the same way, makes me happy I guess.”

You blink in confusion, what was he talking about? Neither of you were on the same page, you probably weren’t even in the same chapter, you furrow your eyebrows at the thought.

“Shoto, just to get this straight,” you look into his eyes causing him to blush a soft pink, what the hell was going on, “what feelings are we- uh, talking about?”

First he avoids you like the plague, now he’s blushing and talking about feelings? What did he think this was?

“Like.” He says staring at you in confusion as if you were the one not making sense.

“Like what?”

“Like.” Todoroki looks at you, soft skin creasing at the frown that was now adorning his face.

“Like what, Shoto?”

“Like as in ‘I like you’-like.” He squeezes your hand and you’re thankful you’re sitting down or else you think you’d fallen over at his words.

“Wait, you like me?” At the realization of what you had been just talking about it’s your turn to blush, the blood rushing to your cheeks giving them a soft glow, “You had been avoiding me because you liked me?”

“Well, yes, I just said that,” a pale hand comes to hold your cheek, “[Name], are you feeling alright?”

“You like me?”

He nods, a soft smile in his face as he assures you with a hug;  “I really do”.  This wasn’t the conversation you were expecting but it wasn’t unwelcomed either. In a way, it did answer your question but it left you in a bit of a dilemma because you did like Shoto and he liked you but, now, what did that make both of you?

“Do you like me?” He asked, his hand rubbing your back delicately and a sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember all the times you’d comforted him when you both were younger. You just nod in fear of your voice giving out and accidentally ruining the moment.

“Are we- uh, dating now?” You ask into his shoulder, the soft smell of his shampoo filling your senses,

“Only if you want to.” He whispers. Neither of you were really physically affectionate with each other before this, at least not since you were little kids, but Shoto had to admit that holding you close like this was nice. Even if it had only been a week or two, you missed him and he missed you a lot and being able to hug you so freely made his heart feel like it was about to burst.

“I’d love to.” You pull away slightly from the hug to face him, your noses touching ever so slightly. You were happy, not only was your relationship with Todoroki restored but it had leveled up and you swore it was as if you were floating.

With hesitant hands he pulls you closer and you close your eyes, he smelt like soft wood and tea and you were reminded of all the times you’d go over to his house where a little Shoto would show you around his room and toys, excited to have a friend his father approved of. You were proud of the way he’d grown, how he’d soften up and learned, how he was able to let go of the anger and grow into himself, you always liked Shoto and to finally be able to be his girlfriend was all you could want right now.

“Can I?” He asked, the whisper soft and delicate in your lips; you nod.

His lips meet yours for a second, a sweet peck that left you giggling into him. You both pull away for a second before kissing once more, it was longer and almost sickeningly sick. You could taste the mint from him and you wondered if he could taste the sweets you had been eating earlier.

But, of course, in class 1-A nothing is really a secret for long and you hear clapping from behind you. Shocked, you both pull away flushed red as your friends are left stifling laughs. The kitchen door is wide open and you can see most of them pilling against the frame with wide eyes.

“Fucking finally, I thought we were gonna graduate before you two got together.” Bakugo is the first to speak.

“I’m surprised they even kissed, I thought it was going to take them another 15 years to get there!” Mina giggles to Ochako who can only nod in amusement, she gives you a thumbs up and you roll your eyes.

“How did you even know we were here? Aren’t you meant to be at practice or something?” You ask them, clutching Shoto’s shirt in an attempt to hide your face.

“Come on, you passed the note to Kaminari and Sero and expected us to not come?”

“I wonder what your kid’s quirk is gonna be like,” Midoriya mumbles into his hand, “Will they get both of Todoroki’s quirks plus [Name]’s?”

“Izuku! Don’t say things like that!” Iida begins scolding the green-head much to both your boyfriend and your amusement, “To say something so suggestive when they’ve only gotten together-!”

“Iida now you’re making it creepy!” Everyone begins grumbling, some annoyed and some laughing at the comments and the once peaceful and romantic atmosphere turns rowdy as everyone starts talking about the newly formed relationship.

“Great now I can’t use the kitchen without thinking about you two making out!” The blonde grumbled before storming out bringing with him a new round of laughs as you and Shoto blush awkwardly.

Safe to say, none of your classmates will ever let you live down how long it took you two to get together.

[fireemblems24]

Verdant Wind: Chapter 17

First off, it's weird only doing two routes this time, since SS skips over this chapter, and I'm not going back to CF until all the final chapters are ready.

Below's all my thoughts about VW's take on Gronder Field. 😭I was not ready. OMG. How could you do this to me?

Pre-Battle:

Oh dear, God, no, Hilda. Is this Fog of War?

I picked "I'm worried" for Byleth, but it's not for the reasons Claude thinks. It's because I know Dimitri's coming (it's clearly setting up Battle of Eagle and Lion Round 2), and I'm betting he's not doing so hot.

Oh, shit, yep, here he is. I'm not ready for this guys.

It wouldn't make sense to "kill" Dimitri, just to bring him back and kill him for real a second later though.

I'm clinging to that. But I still don't feel good.

It is kind of pathetic that Dimitri has a more interesting plot in VW than Claude so far.

Oh, crap, everyone's here. Mercedes, Dedue, and Bernie. Do I have to kill them? I'm going to avoid killing whoever I can. So much for "kill 'em all - I am pathetic. Except Hubert lol. I love the guy, but I don't feel bad taking him out.

OK - but like Dedue and Mercie? They are too precious to have fun with "kill em all." And Bernie was so sweet after Jeralt's death that I feel bad.

At the same time . . . Killing them all . . . could be fun.

But Dedue and Mercie 😭And then I feel bad excluding Bernie.

I wonder if my dancer!Felix can fight Dimitri. I'll make sure Claude fights both lords, but I'm curious to see if Felix and Dimitri get unique dialogue.

What if I said - I don't want to defeat Dimitri - but the game said - defeat all enemy commanders 😭

Ohh - cut scene! God, it's been forever.

Edelgard fire bombing everyone. Dimitri getting revenge for the dead. Nothing's changed.

Seriously, Edelgard? She's like "we were classmates, but not today" and looks so sad. Like, girl, you caused all this.

I'm kind of annoyed at how she always feels so sorry for herself, not going to lie. I don't mind the characterization, but just it's always so focused on her and never her victims. But I feel this is my annoyance with CF bleeding through.

Which makes me wonder how I'd feel about her if I played this game one route after the next.

"Kill every last one of them!" - Chris Hackeny is a gem.

Imagine how shocking that is if you didn't play AM. I'd probably quit right there and see wtf happened, since all the Kingdom drama + Dimitri's Disney death + mysterious reappearance with a totally new attitude and sexy eyepatch would just be too much.

I feel so bad for Claude though. I've spent more time talking about Edelgard and Dimitri than him. But they both get such interesting in-character stuff, and he's like "man this class reunion sucks." Only Byleth got less stuff.

OK - Edelgard got some points back with her chaotic warfare and smarts trying to block the Kingdom and Alliance.

Battle Thoughts:

I've got a million fliers on this team, and Bernie's range is just too long. I think I'm going to just have to kill her.

Eh, whatever. Let's kill them all.

Hubert doesn't think much of my strategy.

Dimitri's not holding back here. It makes it really clear how far he's actually come in AM seeing him in VW like this.

Lysithea nuked Dedue and he . . . retreated? Does Dedue get to live? 😭😭😭

Dimitri's "Shut up and retreat. You must live, Dedue." after Dedue insists on fighting 😭😭😭Again - even at his absolute worst, Dimitri always gives Dedue special treatment.

HOLY SHIT - Edelgard just lit Bernie on fire. Oh my God. Guess that means I'm killing her :(

LAMO - Claude crit Edelgard. Kinda deserves it after that.

Now to have him (and Felix) fight Dimitri. If they can. Apparently Dimitri can one-shot Ignatz (that was one use of Divine Pulse).

Can anybody explain why Dimitri gets the "effective against" warning against literally every unit??

It's too bad Dimitri and Claude don't just team up. The situation feels kinda forced, but it makes sense given Dimitri's state of mind. Still feels like the game is just forcing "no two lords for you!"

WTF is this? Dimitri's even got effectiveness against an infantry dancer.

So Dimitri told Felix he's not worthy and to get out of his sight. Then Felix crit Dimitri and told HIM to get out of HIS sight. No unique dialogue though. 😭😭

OK guys, I spared Mercie. I . . . just couldn't. Dedue got nuked but retreated? And Bernie got set on fire AND had a droppable Brave Bow. Sorry.

So . . . Did Dimitri retreat or die?

Post Battle Thoughts:

Oh, shit. Hilda's "I saw him" doesn't sound good.

Well that sucks.

😭😭😭😭😭😭

They really brought Dimitri back to life, only to kill him off two seconds later. It might be my Dimitri bias coming through, but that seems . . . kinda pointless tbh.

At least he's getting sympathetic treatment 😭😭😭

Dedue lived and he's all alone 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Why is it that Kingdom characters seem like they're getting a better story than poor Claude?

Lysithea's story is more interesting than Claude's 😭😭😭 Poor girl had it rough. Fuck the Empire.

Aww, Lorenz is the first one who said he'd follow Claude.

I love how on VW, Leonie and Raphael realize that the Empire's actions are a threat to the things they want to protect, but in CF they'll just toss that all into the wind because professor power.

Aww, Marianne's "I'll fight too." 😊😊😊I needed that after the drama with Dimitri and Dedue.

Why do we never get to see Holst??

Oh - so that's why Lysithea held off on her A-Support. It was waiting for that stuff with the mages.

Judith is so hot. I'm still mad I can't use her in battle.

All I need to take Fort Merceus is Dimitri - oh wait.

Is this the best the game could come up with for Claude's "schemes?" They dress up as Imperial soldiers and just walk in?

VW's tone feels too lighthearted for this game (esp after Dimitri 😭😭😭) , but at the same time it's a nice breather.

[scottfuckingreed]

It’s a Pogue thing - JJ Maybank

NOT REQUESTED

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Warnings!: Swearing, drugs and alcohol, and SMUT!

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“Morning guys!” I beam as the boat comes to a steady stop at the edge of my front garden. It’s almost like a routine. More often than not we sail into an open set of water. Sometimes we fish, mostly we just simply do nothing. Pope extends his hand out to help me onto the boat. It strikes me sometimes that, although we are all the best of friends, it probably seems a strange mix of people to some people. We’re the scraps of the island. The ones who no one really acknowledges. Kiara and I would technically be Kooks. Both of our families have money but it doesn’t really mean shit. Everyone from ‘our end’ are airheads. They care about nothing and no one but themselves. Pope’s parents have worked their asses off, so they’re in a stable place. They don’t understand why Pope hangs with us, and sometimes I wonder the same thing. He has a real chance of getting out of this place. John B and JJ are childhood besties. Their upbringing is similar, except John B’s technically an orphan, and JJ’s father’s a piece of shit. But that’s just pogue life.

“Is your mum still out tonight?” JJ asks, making my head slowly turn towards him. Do I even need to ask? “I mean, yeah-” “Great! We’re throwing a party,” I raise my eyebrows. “Hahahahaha, definitely not.” The last time I had a party with these idiots, so much shit broke in my house. I’m not getting grounded again. “Come on Y/N! It’s summer. We could all use a party!” I roll my eyes at his words. I open my mouth to shut him down but John B lets out a cough. “Actually, Y/N, I agree.” Kiara looks just as confused as I do. His father’s been missing for almost a year. Recently he’s been looking more in depth, which I support to a certain extent, but it’s at on overload right now. I’m surprised a party would even be on his radar. “I need to talk to Sarah Cameron.”

Sarah Cameron. She’s like Kook royalty. I don’t think she’s too bad. A bit sheltered maybe, but her and Kiara have a history. So you can imagine the change in look on her face as he mentions her name. “She mentioned something that might help me figure out what’s happened with my father. Do you think she’d come?” Okay that makes sense. Ki’s face doesn’t change, and the rest of us just glance between each other. “I mean, probably... but I don’t really wanna hang-” “I just need to talk to her, then you can call the party off,” a smile - too shiny and wide - spreads across his face. John B’s always had this affect on people. He gets exactly what he wants.

As soon as I get home I scan my house. Anything fragile, valuable, or anything of the sort needs to be hidden. Vases, mini statues, ashtrays from holidays abroad. Things that make this house a home will be locked in an upstairs bedroom. I’d like to live this life a little longer.

So here I am; picking an outfit for a party I don’t wanna go to. A party that I’m apparently hosting! Since I’m not dressing for anybody, I go for a simple short black dress. It really resembles my mood. Almost as soon as I put it on, I hear my front door shut. I jog down the stairs, adjusting my boobs into their rightful positions to come face to face with my intruder.

“You should really announce yourself or something. I thought I was gonna get murdered,” in front of me stands JJ. His outfit consists of a pair of lovely beige shorts and a colourful shirt; left open to show off that torso of course. “I could kill you,” he flirts. His eyes immediately go to my cleavage. This is nothing new. I think he’d fuck a table if it gave him the right vibe. “Hey!” I snap my fingers at him. “My eyes are up here you know.” Before I go to kick him, he makes a very boyish comment of how I look sexy and whatnot. He wanders away into the kitchen, probably to raid my fridge before the party. Let’s get this over with.

More and more people start to gather in my house. In the Outer Banks, everyone kind of knows everybody. I don’t actually know all these people, but I’ve seen them around. I close my eyes for a second, before pouring a drink for myself into a classic red cup. “Are you okay?” Ki nudges me with a smile. Ki and I are very similar people. She probably doesn’t wanna be here either. She could leave, but I know she won’t. “I just realised I’m the host, and I don’t wanna be here,” I laugh it off and hold my drink up to her. “Cheers!” I add.

After about 2 and a half drinks, I’m really starting to feel this party. The music is average. It’s the ‘for everybody’ kind which means it’s majoritively overplayed and everybody more or less knows it word for word. Despite that, and despite the fact that I didn’t really want this party to happen, I drag Ki into the dance area and boogie with her. Well- I dance, she stares at me with a concerned look on her face. “The trick is you have to pretend you’re having a good time,” I giggle into her ear in a slightly tipsy tone. Although she shakes her head, I can see her trying to contain herself from moving to the music. I take her hand and spin myself into her. Her eyes give me the ‘can I go now’ look. Grunting, I give in. “Fine! Please if you see anyone doing or touching shit they’re not meant to, beat them!” I smile innocently after my words, and she scurries faster than she should. Damn. Am I that bad of a dancer?

Music vibrates the walls. It’s been almost 2 hours since the party started and it’s actually going quite smoothly. John B has asked every 5 seconds if Sarah’s here yet. I shush him with my finger. “I promise I will let you know when I see her. Honestly, you sound a bit obsessed with her...” I chuckle. “Hey!” I poke JJ on the arm. At this point, just call me mother. “Please don’t smoke that in here,” I gesture towards the spliff in his hands. “It’s a party Y/N! Relax!” With that, I snatch it out of his hands. His face grows serious. Confusion fades as I realise it’s not aimed at me. Both JJ’s and John B’s eyes stare at the group entering my house.

First in, Sarah. Like I said, I don’t really have a problem with Sarah. She comes across a bit self centred sometimes. That’s minor.

With her, her boyfriend Topper. Topper’s a dick but I think he’s harmless. He’s honestly a pussy.

And his best friend. Her brother. My ex boyfriend. Rafe.

There’s a saying; dead things should stay buried, or something like that. That relationship should be 6 feet under, but times that by 10. I guess it was a ‘serious’ relationship. It lasted about a year. It was almost perfect at the beginning, that I can’t lie. As both of our families are respected, and very close anyway, it just seemed right. There was no disgust. He was accepted. I was accepted. We did everything a couple should; went on dates, were around each other 24/7, even did weekends away together. And we argued. The thing about Rafe is he’s an over thinker. He’s paranoid. When traits like that mix they can... make a monster. The last time he set his hands on me was about 4 months ago. I’ve avoided him like hell ever since.

“This is why I shouldn’t have a party,” I sigh. My eyes can’t seem to leave that area. It’s strange to see him. I don’t want him here. “Why’s he even here? He does have some balls,” John’s tone sounds somewhat impressed. I’m not. I’m not sure if my body is ready to cry, or laugh, or scream. Finally, I blink my eyes away, and set eyes on my two friends. Before I speak, JJ opens his mouth. “We can kick him out,” he assures me. The slight nudge on my shoulders by each boy is comforting. “It’s fine,” I sigh, taking JJ’s drink out of his hands. As much as I’d love to see Rafe get his ass kicked and thrown out, and I can promise you I would, this is my battle. I can’t avoid him forever. “Fuck,” I whisper, knowing what I’m about to do. I bring JJ’s cup up to my lips and tip the entire contents into my mouth. “Shit Y/N, I wouldn’t-” before he can warn me fully, I swallow. My eyes instantly water. “What the fuck!” I gasp at the disgusting taste. I’m sure a toilet would taste better than that. And yet, that concoction would be easier to digest than the conversation I’m about to have with Rafe.

The walk over felt somewhat unreal. As if, if this was a movie, my passionate walk would be in slow motion. Between the music and my racing heart, my dramatic ‘I am the main character’ strut was complete. If only I wasn’t totally shitting myself. A brave face Y/N. Just fake it.

And then I’m in front of them. Perhaps my slow motion moment wasn’t quite slow enough. It could’ve been everlasting for all I care. “Hey Sarah,” I smile. Her sympathetic smile is warming, but ultimately useless in this situation. I doubt Rafe told her the whole story, but I can imagine she knows too well what he can be like. Maybe he even made something up. I wouldn’t be surprised. She drifts away rather quickly. I don’t know what the deal is with her and John B, but I imagine Topper intends to watch her like a hawk. He’s that type of guy. Topper doesn’t even speak, just stands slightly behind as if he’s one of Rafe’s minions. To be honest that kind of describes him perfectly. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rafe just has him around to lick his ass. When I have to, I finally look at Rafe’s face. “What are you doing here?” I ask. My eyes scan everywhere on his face but his eyes. The thought of doing that makes me uncomfortable. “It’s a party Y/N,” the smirk on his face screams fuckboy. “Plus, I wanted to see you,” he raises his hand to my face, going to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. My hand forcefully bats his away, making a loud slap sound; even over the music. “I’ve missed you,” he leans closer so his shouting can quieten a little. My limbs instantly tense at his words. Somehow it makes me feel kind of sick thinking about it... thinking about us. The fact that it was a thing is just... “You need to leave Rafe,” my attempt to sound blunt and assertive is a massive fail. Instead my voice echoed in a wobble, making me sound weak and pathetic. “You don’t mean that, come on-” his hand wraps around my wrist, taking my back to a time I’ve tried desperately hard to forget. I pull my arm away once, but his grip holds too strong. As I go to pull away again, a pair of large hands push against Rafe’s chest. “What the fuck man?!” Topper’s voice erupts from Rafe’s shadow. A henchman fighting his duties. I turn to see JJ, red faced, standing with a threatening stance. “We don’t want no trouble JJ, my girl here is just being a tease,” Rafe’s tone is patronising. “Leave it, JJ,” my right hand gently squeezes his left shoulder. “Let’s get a drink, Topper,” I wanted him to leave, but I watch him walk towards my kitchen. I hate that he’s in my house, but at least he’s away from me. For now.

I fade away. Without full control, my body makes it’s way upstairs. Just to breathe for a second. Almost as soon as I drop my body onto my bed, the door reopens. Startling me, I come face to face with JJ. “Hey,” his voice rings soft. When he closes the door behind him, the music becomes muffled. Peaceful. I press my lips together into a forced smile. “Should I tell everyone to fuck off home?” He gestured towards the door. I shake my head, cracking a smile. “It’s fine. I just needed a minute away from... that,” his arm extends, a red cup at the very end. I screw my face up at the smell. “How do you drink this?” Just from sniffing it, I feel myself getting more and more tipsy. “If you need it, it goes down quite easily-” he pauses as I take it. “Plus I’m really cool and manly so.” “Ah, of course.” A big part of my body (probably my stomach and liver) starts screaming no. I have no idea what alcohol is in this cup. I know it’s a lot. After this cup, I will probably be more or less gone. A micro part of me says fuck it. That’s the part I listen to. The liquid burns down my throat, and yet it strangely goes down quite smoothly compared to the first.

“I am sorry about Rafe,” JJ has taken a seat next to me on my bed. Usually I’d banish people away from my room, but I feel like JJ saved me tonight. He’s a bit of a prick at times, and an absolute idiot, but I trust him. Maybe I trust him too much. “It was gonna happen at some point,” I shrug. “He’s such a pussy,” when I start laughing at JJ’s words, I realise that the alcohol may have sunk in. A hiccup escapes my mouth. “Fuck.” I whisper to myself as my smile fades. I’m an idiot to have ever gotten with him. Young and dumb maybe. “Hey...” JJ rests his hand on my knee and squeezes gently. My body, in my tipsy state, reacts to this motion is a strange way. Why did that just give me butterflies? He’s only comforting me. My eyes drift up to look at him properly. Is he... leaning in?

I stand up before he gets close. I rub my eyes frantically. Maybe I’m about to wake up from a nap or something. “I’m sorry... I just...” I breathe. The crazy thing is, I felt it too. My body is reacting in crazy ways right now. I think I’m turned on? By JJ? That’s something I never thought I’d say. I mean... he’s hot. I’m not blind. I guess I’ve never looked at him like that. But I am now. I’m looking at the blonde hair, and the jawline, and the smile. Okay, that’s enough. I’m just in shock of seeing Rafe again. That’s it: “Pogue on Pogue isnt allowed,” I state, mainly to myself. I need massively convincing right now. I need JJ to tell me that I got the wrong idea. Tell me it’s disgusting and I’m too much like a sister. We’re meant to be family. Come on Y/N! That’s gross! Before he says anything, he shrugs. That damn fucking shrug. In my state of mind, it’s attractive. “I don’t really care,” that’s it. I’m convinced. I needed him to say something else, but that’s ultimately the answer I hoped for. “Me neither.”

I practically jump onto him, straddling him and crashing my lips onto his. The softness, yet passion, against my lips is something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. This should feel wrong. Only, as JJ’s hands smooth up and down my body before sitting on my waist, it couldn’t feel more right. Without a second thought, I glide my tongue into his mouth. I can sense it takes him by surprise. The most attractive moan escapes him, which I can imagine was not intentional. The kiss proceeds to get more and more intimate. Somehow we just move in sync. He slowly lays back, our lips not separating once before he’s fully beneath me. Maybe JJ was previously holding back, but a rush of ‘horny teenage boy’ suddenly rushes over him. Both hands go to my ass. As much as I don’t want to fall apart under his touch so fast, the immense pleasure radiates through my body. I break away from his kiss slightly and moan massively into his mouth.

We stop kissing for a second. Our heavy breaths bounce against each other. It’s a strange moment to be in. Was this always bound to happen at some point? “Should we stop?” Confusion hits as he speaks those words, and yet he proceeds to trail kisses down my neck. I push his head down onto the pillow with my right hand cupping his chin, bringing my face close enough to his that our noses are pretty much touching. “Do you want to?” I simple ask. I’d be almost offended by his words, but only if his hands weren’t grinding me down onto his crotch. Perhaps it’s a guilty conscience. We are both massively likely to regret this in the morning. We are also likely to get caught and get grief from our small circle of friends. They are good enough reasons to stop. They are good enough reasons for this to have never started to happen in the first place. They just don’t amount to one thing, and that’s that I want this right now. His head begins to move side to side. I can’t help but begin to smile massively. “Then shut up and fuck me.”

It was as if that was a jump start. JJ’s manly hands flip us over immediately. I let out a giggle as he begins to undo his shorts. The speed of the removal of both his shorts and boxers was impressive. They get thrown wherever they go. My eyes quickly glance at his penis, before looking back up to his eyes. I suck in my bottom lip before pulling him back down to kiss me again. This shouldn’t be this easy. His tongue slides back into my mouth, battling with mine for dominance, all too easily. I’m not even a little bit nervous... until I feel his fingertips glide up under my dress. He hooks his finger under the waist band of my thong and does nothing for too long. It might’ve only been seconds, but those seconds were some of the longest seconds of my life. He pulls them off ever so slowly. I was becoming a literal puddling mess beneath him.

He knows what he’s doing. He knows he has me wrapped around his finger right now. His tongue plays against mine skillfully; slow and passionate. He’s doing everything right. Once my underwear finally reaches my feet, I just can’t hold it back anymore. “Are you done teasing me now?” I practically beg. I’m soaked, a mess, and almost fully sober. If anything, I wanted this more now than I did when we started. My heart continues racing, but I stay composed and reach over into my bedside table. I rip it open. I simply hold his shaft with two fingers. JJ takes a deep breath in. Fuck. He watches my hand roll the condom down with his mouth slightly open. “Time to break some Pogue rules,” he whispers before lining himself up. I should not be this ready for this.

Even with just the tip, I could’ve come apart then and there. I haven’t had sex in months. Whether you believe me or not, I had not imagined it would to be JJ Maybank who I was going to break my ‘no boys’ commitment to myself with. When he begins inserting himself inside me, I realise this is actually happening. The slow, easy slide in had me in pieces. I was already moaning and he wasn’t even moving properly yet. He stops. “This-” I pause to steady my breath. My entire being is, dare I say it, excited. “This has to stay between us,” I compose myself. Although this is a one time thing, it has potential to ruin a hell of a lot. So, even as I wrap my legs around his body, we have to make this promise. “Scouts honour.” He brings his pinky up to me. Kissing the backs of our hands, it was sealed.

He starts pulling out slowly, making my jaw gradually open wider and wider. He pauses before pushing back in. His eyes lock with mine, and he smiles cheekily. I’m not certain what that smile means, but I can sure take a guess. There is a part of me that wants to stop. Nothing’s really happened yet. But no part of me actually wants to. When he pushes himself back inside me, my fingers spread into his hair. His lips land back on mine, my tongue swirls around his like it’s an everyday activity. I pull gently on his hair as he begins steadying a pace. “Shit,” I moan against his lips.

Fingertips glide across my thigh, tracing patterns and sending my stomach into spirals. I couldn’t hook my legs around him tighter if I tried. The wave of tremendous pleasure of each thrust was like a drug. Every time his body collided with mine I wanted more. I needed more. To feel this, in this moment, with JJ was wrong. So why doesn’t it feel that way? His lips leave mine slowly, tracing kisses across my cheek until his lips land near my ear. “You feel so fucking good,” the vibrations of a deep husky moan forces a moan out of me. His teeth latch around my ear lobe, sucking down before moving down to my neck.

The friskiness of JJ’s lips and tongue is like motivation. With strength I didn’t know I had, and confidence in myself I thought I’d lost, I push against JJ and flip us over. Lust fills his eyes. I just sit there, only for a second, actually liking the way JJ is looking at me. Yes, it’s because I’m straddling him half naked. It’s still nice. His hands squeeze the tops of both of my thighs as well as moving up to my hips... then my ass. It was as if he pressed fast forwards.

I move my body up to start thrusting onto him again, with his helping hands guiding back down. “Fuck JJ,” I moan, leaning forwards to bring my face close to his. My moans become more and more prominent between our kisses. The hands, that remain on my ass cheeks, remain strong and steady. The way he still controlled my body, even though I was on top, was such a turn on. I reach for the headboard. If there wasn’t a party going on downstairs I think everyone would be hearing us loud and clear. The bed starts making a rather persistent squeaking noise. I let out a laugh-moan when the headboards makes a ‘one time’ bang against the wall. I could tell, with the way I was grinding myself down onto him, he was close. What a relief!

“I’m so close,” I moan against his lips in a muffled whisper. Although my body grew tired, JJ continues helping my body thrust up and down. The knot in my stomach started to tighten. My heart rate increases quite a bit. “Fuck Y/N, you feel so good around me!” His fingers grow stronger against my hips as he came closer and closer to finishing. Even with his grip being quite forceful, all I could feel was an astonishing amount of pleasure flushing through my body. The release felt like a long time coming. Once I started to let go around him, it only took seconds for JJ to reach his climax too. With his help, we ride out our highs. I grow slower and slower, until both of our climaxes finished. My heart is racing. I lift my body with the last piece of energy I had. My sensitive core flinches as he pulls out from me once more. Collapsing onto him, I fall into the crevice on his arm all too well. “Shit,” I mumble. I don’t think it’ll actually sink in until tomorrow. I’m too scared to punch myself in case I don’t wake up. “That was... uh...” he doesn’t even need to finish his sentence. “I know.”

The next morning

I wake up in a strange yet awfully familiar place. The walls, the blanket, and the view outside my window are all home. The curtains weren’t drawn last night. When I roll over, there’s something that shouldn’t be familiar. I set eyes on a naked JJ sleeping soundly next to me. My eyes widen. I can’t help but sit up drastically fast. I first find my thong. As quietly as I can, I open a drawer beside my bed and rummage for a t shirt. I find one and put it on, only to turn and see JJ’s eyes staring my way.

“Morning sunshine,” he smirks. His bed hair sticks up in every direction. I notice his boxers across the room so I stand and throw them his way. I watch as his face changes, but the proud smirk on his face remains. “We fucked last night,” he chuckles, standing to put his boxers on. I press my top and bottom lips together. “Don’t look too impressed with yourself,” using the hairband around my wrist, I quickly whip my hair up into a ponytail. My legs make their way to stand next to the boy. “It was better than I’d imagined it,” he adds. I backhand him on the arm. “Hey!” His eyes are warming. This is when I realise that I don’t regret it. At least, not half as much as I thought I would. It’s not even awkward. Part of me automatically assumed it would be. “Right,” I clap my hands together. “Are you ready to clean a house?” I ask. His rolling eyes scream loudly. Before he can even protest, I butt in. “This is your party, your mess. You’re lucky I’m gonna help you!”

With each step down the stairs, more of my messy house is revealed to me. “If anything’s broken, you’re replacing it,” I warn him. Red cups, empty beer bottles, even clothing was scattered across the floor. I start imagining the way people probably started behaving when JJ and I went upstairs. What if people fucked on... well... anywhere?! “I think we should just go back upstairs,” JJ suggests. This is going to take so long to clean. I feel JJ’s hand slap against my ass. “It’s never happening again,” I say simply. Yes, it was pretty amazing. No, I do not regret it. No, it should never happen again because our friends will kill us. “Whatever you say babe.”

Click here if you’re interested in reading PART TWO

[aces-to-apples]

Your Reputation Precedes You

A response to “On Fandom Racism (and That Conlang People Are Talking About)” because lmao that cowardly bitch just hates getting feedback from people that she can’t then harass into oblivion

i.e. God I Wish I Could Use The Tag Fandom Wank Without The Titty Police Nerfing My Post

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To be frank, I'm not here because I think you or any of your little cronies are going to change your minds. If the 'name' wasn't a giveaway, your group of ~likeminded individuals~ have quite the reputation for espousing ableist, antisemitic, and, yes, racist views under wafer-thin the veneer of "calling out racism." I think we both know that what you're actually doing is using the relative anonymity of the internet and progressive language to abuse, harass, and bully fans that you personally disagree with. You and your group are toxic, hateful, and utterly pathetic, using many peoples' genuine desire to avoid accidentally causing harm and twisting it into this horrid parade of submissiveness to You, The One And Only Arbiter Of Truth And Justice In Fandom. Never mind that you have derided autistic people as lacking compassion and empathy, that you've used racist colonizer dogwhistles to describe a fictional culture based heavily on real live Maori culture, that you've mocked the idea of characters having PTSD, or that vital mental health services are anything more than "talking about your feelings with friends uwu." Let's just ignore that you have ridiculed the idea of adults in positions of power exerting that power over children in harmful and abusive ways, that creating transformative fan-content that doesn't adhere to the spirit of canon or wishes of the original author garners derision and hatefulness from you, and that you've used classic abuser tactics in order to gaslight people in your orbit into behaving more submissively towards you in order to avoid more verbal abuse.

Let's toss all of that crucial context aside in favor of only what you've written here.

What you've written here is nearly 3,000 entire words based on, at best—though, admittedly, based on your previous behavior, I am actually not willing to extend to you an iota of good faith—fallacious reasoning. You posit that a constructed language, to be used by a fictional religious group located in an entirely different galaxy than our own, is othering, racist in general, and anti-Asian specifically. This appears based in several suppositions, the first being that a language unknown by the reader will, by nature, cause the reader to feel alienated from the characters and therefore less sympathetic, empathetic, and caring towards the characters. That idea is patently ridiculous and, I believe, says far more about your ability to connect to a character speaking an unfamiliar language than any kind of overarching truth about media and the human condition. New things are interesting; new things are fun; the human brain is wired from birth to be fascinated with new things, to want to take them apart, find out how they work, and enjoy both the process and the results.

The second supposition this fallacy is based upon appears to be that to move away from the blatant Orientalism of Star Wars is inherently anti-Asian. While I find it... frankly, a little bit sad that you cling so viciously to the Orientalist, appropriative roots of Star Wars as some form of genuine representation, that's really none of my business. If you feel that a Muslim-coded character bombing a temple and becoming a terrorist and a Sith, a white woman wearing Mongolian wedding garb, a species of decadent slug-like gangsters smoking out of hookahs and keeping attractive young women chained at their feet (as it were), a species of greedy money-grubbers with exaggerated features and offensively stereotypical "Asian" accents, and an indigenous people wearing modesty garb based on the Bedu people and treated by most characters as well as the narrative as mindless animals deserving of murder and genocide are appropriate representation of the many, varied, and beautiful cultures around the world upon which they were "based," then that is very much your business. Until you pull shit like this. Until you accuse other fans, who wish to move away from such offensive coding and stereotypes, of erasing Asian culture from Star Wars. Then it becomes everyone's business, especially when you are targeting a loving and enthusiastic group of fans who are pouring their hearts and souls into creating an inventive and non-appropriative alternative to canon.

Which leads into the third supposition, that a patently racist, misogynistic white man in the 1970s, and then again in the 1990s, intended his universe to be an accurate and respectful portrayal of the various cultures he stole from. I understand that for your group of toxic bullies, the term "Death of the Author" holds no real meaning, but the simple fact of the matter is that George Lucas based his white-centered space adventure on Samurai movies while removing the cultural context that gave them any meaning, because he liked the idea of swords and noble warriors in space. He based the Force and the Jedi Order on belief systems such as Taoism and Buddhism, but only on the surface, without putting any real effort into into portraying them earnestly or accurately. He consistently disrespected both characters of color and characters coded to be a certain race, ethnicity, culture, or religion, and likewise disrespected and stole from the cultures upon which he based them. He was, and continues to be, a racist white man who wrote a racist story. His universe has Orientalism baked into its every facet, and the idea that fans who wish to move away from this and interrogate and transform the text into something better than what it is are racist is not only laughable, but incredibly disingenuous and insidious.

As I said, I am not writing this to change your mind, because I truly believe that you already know that "cOnLaNgS aRe RaCiSt" is a ridiculous statement. The way you've comported yourself in fandom spaces thus far has shown to me that you are nothing more than a bully who knows that the anti-racist movement in fandom can be co-opted for your benefit. If you tout your Asian heritage and use the right language, make the "right" accusations and take advantage of white guilt and white ignorance, you can have dozens of people falling at your feet, begging for forgiveness, for absolution. And I think that gives you a thrill. So, no, none of this will change your mind because none of this is genuinely about racism—it's about power, it's about control, it's about fandom being the only space where you have some.

So I'm writing this for the creators of this wonderful conlang, which has been crafted by multiple people including people of color, who don't deserve this nonsensical vitriol, and for the fans reading this manipulative hate-fest, wondering if they really are Evil Racists because they don't participate in fandom the way you think they should.

Here it is: fandom has a lot of racism, antisemitism, misogyny, queerphobia, ableism, etc. baked into it. Unfortunately, such is the nature of living and growing up in societies and cultures that have the same. The important thing is to independently educate yourself on those issues and think critically about them—not "think critically" as in "to criticize" them, but to analyze, evaluate, pick apart, examine, and reconstruct them again in order to come to a well thought-out conclusion. Read this well-articulated attack on a group of fans who have always welcomed feedback and participation, are open about their backgrounds, their strengths and weaknesses, and wonder who is actually being genuine.

Is it the open and enthusiastic group who ask for the participation of others in this labor of love? Or is it the ringleader of a group of well-known bullies who have manipulated, gaslit, and then subsequently love-bomb people who did not simply roll over at the slightest hint of dominance? The ones who spent hours upon hours tearing apart, mocking, deriding, and falsely accusing authors of fanworks and metatextual works of various bigotries and -isms, knowing that those evaluations were spurious and meant only to cause harm, not genuine examinations of the works themselves or even presumed authorial intent. The ones who made their own, quote-unquote, community so negative and toxic that even after the departure of a large portion of them, including this author in particular, that community still has a reputation for being hateful, toxic, and full of mean-spirited harassers who will never look critically about their own behavior but only ever point fingers at others. The ones who are so very determined to cause misery wherever they go that as soon as their usual victims are no longer immediately available, they will turn on each other at the slightest hint of weakness.

This entire piece of (fan)work is misinformed at the most generous, disingenuous at the most objective, and downright spiteful when we get right into it. The creators of Dai Bendu, along with various other works, series, and fan events that these people personally dislike, have been targeted because it is so much easier to harass, bully, and use progressive language as a weapon against them, than it is to put any effort into making fandom spaces more informed, more positive, more respectful.

As someone rather eloquently put it, community is not a fucking spectator sport. You want a better community, you gotta work at it. And conversely, what you put into your community is what you'll get out of it. This author and their friends have put a lot of hate into their communities, and now they're toxic cesspools that people stay well away from, for fear of contracting some terrible form of harassment poisoning.

Congrats, Ri, you've gotten just what you wanted: adoring crowds listening to you spout your absolutely heinous personal views purely to live out some kind of power fantasy, and the rest of us staying well away, because fuck knows nothing kind, helpful, or in good faith has ever come from Virdant or her echo-chamber of petty, spiteful assholes.

No love, bad night.

P.S. Everyone actually in the Dai Bendu server knows your ass got kicked because you didn’t say shit for a full thirty days and ignored the announcement that inactive members would be culled. You ain’t cute pretending like it’s because you were ~*~Silenced~*~ after ~*~Valiantly~*~ attempting to call out racism. We see you.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

a sickly satisfaction (ch.4)

pairing: jason dean/reader

summary: a death sentence isn’t the weirdest thing anyone’s ever gotten in high school (by fall out boy)

warnings: bullying, the heathers are Mean as usual.

notes: we are getting close to the end kind of so i actually will not be posting two chapters today. i am evil and fucked up. also friendly reminder that if you know me irl uh. no you don’t. and dont read this

taglist: @stuckysdaughter

            ** 3RD PERSON POV **

            Eyes down. Walk fast. Stay close. Well, actually, their eyes aren’t down. No, they’re constantly flicking upwards to gaze into their companion’s eyes, the fleeting glances sending waves of comfort through their bodies. They’re walking fast, their footsteps in sync as they walk down the hallway to their fourth period class. He doesn’t have class with her, but he didn’t care. It’s not like he had never been late before. The two are certainly close; their fingers are laced together, the soft contact helping each other stay grounded. If it weren’t for this, they probably would’ve floated off by now.

            Jason Dean felt like everything had fallen into place. He found someone perfect-- someone smart and funny and so damn beautiful that it almost hurt to look at her. Her voice is more beautiful than any bullshit Mozart could even hope to write. He would kill for her. He would give his life for her. If she asked him to pull a star out of the sky and hand it to her, he’d enroll in a space program and get the largest rope he could find. Jason’s eyes darted around the hallway, shooting daggers at anyone who dared look at her in a way that displeased him. His stream of thoughts was a constant flow of her, her, her. It was almost overwhelming. 

            Y/n’s entire body was on fire, bright orange flames sprouting from her feet and weaving around her fingers. She feels no pain. The only thing she feels is him, the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. Her brain doesn’t really… work when she’s around him. It’s a whirlpool of adoration and enamorment and a vague feeling of wonder. She’s almost embarrassed that she’s come so smitten with someone-- she used to scoff at the pairs in the hallway that we’re practically eating each other alive. Now? She was counting down the seconds until she could be behind closed doors with Jason. 

            “Alright, I have to go to class,” She sighs. Neither of them want to be apart, but neither of them had a real choice. 

            “Or we could skip and get a slushie…” Jason suggested, his eyes pleading that she’d go with him.

            “Jason, we can’t keep skipping. We’re gonna end up repeating senior year.” Her hand raises up to brush hair out of his eyes. 

            “My dear, I’d repeat senior year a hundred times if it meant I could be with you,” He purred. Y/n smiled.

            “You’re cute.” she pecked him on the cheek. “But I can’t. I’ll meet up with you afterwards-- there are only two periods left in the day,”

            “two periods, seven hundred years-- it’s all the same for me,” He whined. With a final peck on the corner of his mouth, she pulled away from him. 

            “I swear, once school is over, you’ll have me all to yourself. No interruptions.” The shrill ring of the bell shrieks through the hallway, and Y/n hurries away from the beautiful boy she has wrapped around her finger. He watches as she walks away, his heart swelling as he dreamily leans against the lockers behind him. Jason Dean had never been in love before-- he wasn’t sure he would ever be in love. Yet, here he is, calculating how much time there was in between now and the end of the day; calculating exactly how long he had to be apart from her. 

            Y/n’s seventh period class was chock-full of assholes and jocks and the most infamous teenage girls in the school. She sat in the back corner, carefully hidden away from the rest of the class. However, no matter how hidden she thought she was, the Heathers always seemed to find their way into her corner. 

            “Oh, Y/n, how lovely to see you,” Heather Chandler said with faux-happiness. “Looks like they never fixed the electricity in your house, since you obviously got dressed in the dark,” Her clique of brainless followers giggled, their laughter so high in pitch that it was as if only dogs could hear it.

           “I guess she doesn’t care if she looks like she fell out of a plane,” Heather McNamara chimed in.

            “And I guess you three don’t care that you look like clowns. Heather, you’re wearing so much foundation that your face is a solid three shades lighter than the rest of your body,” She wasn’t speaking to any Heather in particular, just the general unit that is The Heathers. Scoffs echoed from the three of them. It was almost funny, their in-sync attitudes and in unison reactions. Y/n wondered if they all get their period at the same time, too. The thought grosses her out. 

            “Listen here, skank, you better watch your mouth or this whole school will throw you out onto the street,” Heather C. growled. I rolled my eyes. The other two Heathers walked to their seats as the teacher strode in, but Heather Chandler stood her ground.

            “Heather, one day you’re going to wake up and realize that you’re never going to have this kind of power again. I think you’re afraid of leaving Westerburg, because then you’ll be nothing more than a sour memory,” Y/n hissed. 

            “Alright, that's it, freak. Savor your last day on this Earth, because come tomorrow morning, you’re done. Might as well kiss you boy-toy goodbye and start packing now, because you’re a dead whore walking,” With that, Heather spun on her heel and walked to her desk. The teacher at the front of the classroom looked uninterested in the interaction, and began droning on about something or other. 

            The cocky attitude Y/n had built up faded, burning within her into a pathetic pile of ash. Heather had the school in her palm, she could absolutely get Y/n exiled from Westerburg like a priest can excommunicate any skeptics. Veronica gleaned at Y/n from across the room, shooting her a smile that was both sympathetic and apologetic. She sighed.

            For the rest of the day, a cloud of dread hung over Y/n head, and Jason noticed it immediately. He appeared at her side within seconds, concern consuming his body like it was fire and he was dry grass. 

            “Hey, doll, why the long face?” His voice soothed the gashes that the Heathers’ pitchy giggles left. 

            “I’m fine, Jason--”

            “No, you very much are not. Last time I saw you, you looked like you were walking on clouds, and now you look like you’re trapped under a cumulonimbus. Just tell me what’s goin’ on and we’ll take care of it,” His hands found hers with ease, his slender fingers gripping her hand tightly. 

            “It’s just... Heather and I got into an argument and now she’s pledged to ruin my life by tomorrow morning. Tonight, she gets to party away at some frat house while I finalize my will and draft my last words,” Y/n sighs, exasperatedly. 

            “Well… I guess that means we’ll have to make the next--” he checks his watch, “-- sixteen hours worth your while,” Jason’s eyes flash with something unfamiliar but certainly welcome. 

            “School is over, after all. I did promise that you’d have me all to yourself, didn’t I?” Y/n smirks, and Jason's face flushes bright red. As the two of them walk out of the crowded building, Y/n forgets about the Heathers and her impending doom. Instead, she thinks about Jason, and how he seems to be the only good thing in this godforsaken world.

[therollingstonys]

For Stella: maybe a soft college stevetony fic? Tomorrow is my last final and I need some fluff to celebrate! 💕

Hooray!!! I’ve got my fingers crossed for you that your final goes well!!

This is fluffy and feely, and probably different than you were expecting for soft college stevetony, but I hope you still enjoy it!! Thank you for the prompt!!

Tony groans, long and loud as Steve presses into him strong and true, his muscles shivering and then collapsing into blissful surrender. 

 “Feels good, huh?” 

 Tony opens his mouth to make a snarky remark but all that comes out is another low moan when Steve does it again. 

 Skinny bastard Tony thinks fondly, arching up into Steve’s touch with a weak moan. 

 “Y’know it feels good,” Tony pants, exhaling harshly when Steve pushes down just right. Steve chuckles in response, his deep voice reverberating from behind Tony, rumbling into his skin with how close they’re pressed. 

 “You can thank my ma at Christmas,” Steve teases, “she’s the one who taught me how to do this.”

 Tiny groans as Steve’s thin artist’s fingers dig into his scapula, the sharp pleasure pain of it making him shudder as the knot there unwinds slowly. 

 “I’ll buy her anythin’ she wants,” Tony slurs, dizzy with pleasure. 

 Steve’s strong hands caress his shoulder blades and then push in, thumbs digging into the area around the knobs of his spine and Tony’s vision goes white. 

 He’s drooling into his pillow he notes distantly, slack jawed and groaning like he does when Steve fucks him, and this isn’t far from that—the physics of it aren’t so different, the way Steve moves with purpose, slow and deep pressure applied to his body. 

 “You don’t gotta buy her anything Tones, she loves you for you,” Steve reminds him as his hands slide down the expanse of Tony’s back, rubbing and massaging the muscles as he goes. 

 Tony knows that; he’s been bashfully receiving Sarah Rogers’s affections since freshman year of high school when he and Steve first met and became friends. Now that they’ve been dating for three and a half years, you’d think he’d be used to hearing that she likes him for the person he is, flaws and all, but the lessons learned at his father’s side are hard to shake. 

 He nods loosely and swallows hard, heart in his throat suddenly. “I know,” he whispers, shifting to press his face into his pillow as a few tears leak out. 

 Steve’s bare torso suddenly presses into Tony’s back, warm and thin and strong. Lips press to the sweaty nape of his neck, just behind his ear and he shudders, warring sensations of arousal and a deep yearning for sleep battling inside him. 

 He needs sleep, he knows that—he knew it when he hunkered down in the lab for 37 hours straight because he was desperate to perfect his senior thesis project so that maybe, just maybe his father might look at him with pride. 

 “It’s stupid,” he huffs, sniffling as Steve nuzzles into his damp hair. “He’s not gonna even come,” he murmurs pathetically, heart aching in his chest. 

 Steve hums softly, “You don’t know that,” he murmurs, “I think he’s gonna be there.”

 Tony sighs heavily and shakes his head minutely, “He hasn’t responded to any of my emails about it and Pepper hasn’t confirmed it on his schedule. He’s not coming.”

 Steve presses another kiss to his neck and then another, slowly working his way down, and Tony can’t help the shiver that passes over his skin. 

 “I’m sorry baby,” Steve murmurs, “I wish I could make it better for you.”

 And that? That’s the thing Tony loves the most about Steve—his giant, arrhythmic heart. 

 The number of times he’s sat and listened with a sympathetic ear to Tony’s long winded and emotional speeches about his shitty father are in the hundreds by now, for sure. 

 Steve listens and when asked, offers advice, but mostly, he just nods and smiles sadly and then pulls Tony into his arms for warm and loving kisses. 

 Tears prick at Tony’s eyes and he shifts under Steve, suddenly desperate to see those beautiful blue eyes of his. Steve sits up so Tony can roll over and then laughs brightly when Tony grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down for a searing kiss. 

 “I love you,” he murmurs against Steve’s lips, heart thrumming with delight that he can say that now—that he can declare openly that Steve is someone he loves, someone he adores and wants to spend every day of the rest of his life with. 

 Steve pulls away slightly to press delicate butterfly kisses to Tony’s eyelids, mouth whispering over the arch of his nose and across his cheekbones, over his brow and down his jaw. 

 With each kiss he breathes out, I love you, as though with his words he can heal every broken part of Tony’s heart. 

 Maybe he can. 

 -----------

 Steve watches with pride as Tony presents his final project to the head of the department, the dean of the school, a dozen heads of industry and more than fifty reporters. 

 They murmur excitedly to themselves as Tony explains his arc reactor technology, how it’s self sustaining and can produce enough clean energy in one day to power half of Manhattan. 

 Someone shifts behind him and then there’s a ripple of sound and when he looks up, he finds Howard Stark at his side. 

 He’s looking older, Steve thinks, worn around the edges and weary. 

 He’d feel more sympathy if he hadn’t been the one to see Tony’s bruises as a kid, the one who Tony ran to when his father was in a blind drunk rage, the one he sought out for safety and love. 

 Steve seethes silently for a moment before exhaling slowly and looking away from Howard, turning his attention back to Tony. 

 “He really did it,” Howard murmurs, soft enough that Steve knows it’s not directed at anyone but him. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

 Steve snorts and looks sideways at the man for a moment, meeting his eyes before shaking his head and looking away. 

 “You disagree?” Howard asks, hands shoving into his trouser pockets, the edge of annoyance in his voice cold and clipped. 

 Steve nods, “Of course. I always knew he could do this—he can do anything he sets his mind to. Except be loved by you, apparently,” he mutters. 

 Howard makes a soft noise and shifts, “You may not believe it Mr. Rogers, but I care for my son. He is my greatest creation.”

 Rage flares in Steve’s belly and he turns to glare up at Howard, hands balled into fists at his sides. “How dare you,” he hisses, “your son is not a creation, he is your child and he deserves more than you just caring about him.” 

 Howard opens his mouth and Steve steps closer, crowding into the man’s space—watching as his eyes go wide with surprise at Steve’s aggressive move. 

 Tony likes to tease that when Steve is angry he’s like a chihuahua—mean and feisty and sharp toothed. 

 “No, shut up,” he snarls, “Tony has sought your approval since he was four years old, desperate for a kind word and a loving embrace, but you couldn’t even spare that much kindness could you?” he snaps. “I doubt you have any goodness in your spirit at all.” 

 Howard’s brows furrow but Steve pushes on, voice low and deadly serious, “He’s going to walk out of here today with twenty different job offers and requests to buy his technology, but you know what’s going to matter to him the most?” he demands. 

 Howard shakes his head tentatively and Steve scoffs, looking him over pointedly. “The fact that you showed up,” he tells him. “So good job, for not letting your son down like you’ve done his entire life.” 

 Howard opens his mouth again and Steve holds up a hand, “Nope I’m still not done,” he says, dark amusement rippling through him at the indignant look on the older man’s face. “When Tony is done, you’re going to tell him he did a good job, tell him you’re proud of him, because even if you don’t care enough to try and actually love him? I do,” he murmurs, “I love him, and you will not ruin this day for him. Do you understand me?” 

 Howard is very still for a moment, dark eyes (Tony’s eyes) searching Steve’s face. 

 And then, he nods. 

 Steve huffs in satisfaction and turns away, focusing his attention back on his beloved. 

 He smiles as Tony talks excitedly about the reactor, nodding and waving his hands as he explains, and when he looks up and sees Howard beside Steve and falters, Steve waves a little and then mouths I love you.

 Tony’s eyes light up and his smile brightens till it outshines even the glow of the reactor, and Steve smiles back, pride and adoration making his heart throb in his chest. 

 The door to the auditorium clangs open and Steve glances over, grinning when he sees his ma hurrying through the crowd towards him in her scrubs. 

 She casts a look at Howard like he’s a beetle under her shoe and then nods politely before turning to Steve for a hug. 

 “Sorry I’m late,” she whispers, “how’s it going?”

 Steve looks back to Tony who has just spotted Sarah if the wide, teary eyed look on his face is any indication, and grins. 

 “It’s going great.”

 ----------- 

 Tony’s hands shake as he reaches for Steve after and he clings to him for just a few more moments than he should, sinking into the embrace as Steve kisses his cheek and then his neck as he whispers praise and rubs his back. 

 Sarah is next, bright blue eyes tired but proud as she hugs him, kisses going to his brow as she too exclaims how proud she is of her boy. 

 He flushes at that, even after all these years. 

 When she steps aside Howard is waiting, a contemplative look on his face as he studies Tony silently. 

 He can feel his shoulders stiffening up and his stomach swoops unpleasantly, body readying itself for yet another rejection. 

 Slowly, Howard extends his hand for Tony to shake, “Good job Anthony,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing when Tony just stares at him in shock. Swallowing hard, Tony nods and takes the hand, mouth dry and tongue heavy. 

 “I’m proud of the work you’ve done,” Howard says, I look forward to seeing what else you can do when you join me at Stark Industries.”

 Shock ripples through Tony and he nods numbly, mumbling out yes sir before Howard nods sharply and turns toward the press, a broad showman’s grin on his face. 

 He’s rooted to the spot, hands numb and chest frozen, till suddenly he’s wrapped in a tight embrace, and his body registers the Steveness of it. 

 His hands clutch at the blue button down shirt Steve’s wearing and he buries his face in Steve’s neck, chest shuddering with a repressed sob. Steve holds him tightly, rubbing his back in large soothing motions till Tony stops shaking and can stand on his own.

 Steve grins at him and cups his cheek, “C’mon super star, more people want to talk to you and then ma and I are taking you to dinner.”

 Tony sniffles and nods, lips quivering as he grins, heart aching happily. 

 He takes Steve’s hand in his and casts his father one last look, wishing that he believed in his declaration of pride but knowing it’s likely nothing more than empty platitudes. 

 Maybe it’s the best Howard will ever be able to do. 

 He doesn’t care anymore, not when he’s got his Brooklyn boy at his side and his ma at his back. 

 He glances at Steve as a group of CEO’s descend on him, eager to try and win him to their companies and loses himself in those gorgeous blue eyes for a moment. 

 Steve grins at him and squeezes his hand, lifting a brow at Tony’s prolonged silent stare. He blushes a little and then turns his attention back to the men and women surrounding him, politely shaking hands and taking business cards as Steve stands like a sentry at his side. 

 He toys with the ring in his pocket as they chatter at him, nodding along and smiling, thinking about how he can’t wait to see Steve’s face when he asks him to marry him. 

 Over the shoulder of one man he sees his father stare at him before he slips out of the room, and Tony lets all his disappointment and lifelong yearning for approval go with him, the burden gone from his shoulders. 

 He glances back at Steve and smiles. 

 He’s got a whole future ahead of him he can’t wait to live. 

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: Baby, Please

Previous: Beacon in the Night

          Jungkook stares out the window of his bedroom, snow falling lightly, the only sound, his breath, slowly in and out. His phone, volume on, twirling absently between his fingers. In the distance, he can hear the other members laughing and yelling, their conversation and dinner prep echoing. The Yoongi’s space is attempting to be filled with their joy, as if laughing twice as hard would make up for his absence. Jungkook knows soon he’ll have to go out, pretend to be fine with the situation, and eat dinner. He’ll play make believe for as long as he can, but somewhere between dinner and the first movie or round of whatever game his hyungs force him to pick, Jungkook’s mind will slip.

           As he slips, his five hyungs will turn to the only thing that loosens him up, making his sadness bite a little bit less… Christmas Karaoke. They’ll queue the tracks, mixing in group songs with power ballads, a few hip hop and R&B tunes to balance the candy-coated sugar coma of the season, and for an hour or two, Jungkook won’t be swallowed in despair. But then, your favorite song will play, an accident, they didn’t know, and you will be the only thing on his mind. The tears will flow, mixing with whatever alcoholic beverage he’s consuming, and Jungkook will disappear into his bedroom, try not to call you, and force himself into an empty slumber.

           Instead, he’s staying on his bed, watching the snow fall in increasingly larger flakes, flurries swirling and sticking softly to the ground, building upon one another to form snowbanks.

           It’s in the middle of his reverie that his phone rings, your photo popping up.

           “Honey,” He says softly, doe eyes staring into yours.

           “Hi,” You sigh, his voice always feels like a warm embrace. It’s familiar and kind, steadfast in its ability to sooth you.

           “You look beautiful,” He smiles, eyes not crinkling at the edges.

           “Thanks, you look ethereal as always,” You smile, faltering as yours refuses to reach past your cheek bones.

           “Ethereal?” His expression is quizzical.

           “Yeah, I feel like it typically describes Jimin, but that hazy snow filter you’ve got going is just making you look so… heavenly,” You shrug.

           “You’re making me blush,” Jungkook’s smile moves closer to his wide eyes, nearly reaching as his cheeks turn a soft shade of crimson.

           “What are you up to?” You ask.

           “Sitting, feeling pathetic,” He says, the hint of a smile disappearing completely. You watch as his expression completely falls.

           “Kook,” You say, sympathetic to his pain.

           “I’m trying not to be so, sad, but it’s too hard,” He runs a hand through his hair, tussling the locks to one side, his undercut on full display.

           “I’m trying too, it just fucking sucks,” You say, instinctively adjusting your ponytail.

           “We had a plan, you know? We had a plan, we had arrangements, we had so much fun last year, and I was just so excited to share this Christmas with you, here,” His words are tumbling out of him, succinctly and organized.

           “I was looking forward to it... I bought a new hat,” You offer.

           “Oh?” He asks, happy for any sliver of joy.

           “Yeah, let me get it,” You stood up quickly, showing Jungkook your mid drift and legging clad legs as you moved through your bedroom to find your new beanie.

           “Aye, what are you wearing?” He asks, staring at the space your face was just in.

           “What? It’s a long sleeve cropped athletic shirt thing,” You answer, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

           “You look so sexy,” He says, a smirk on his lips, lust flickering in his eyes.

           “Jungkook,” You gasp.

           “Y/N,” He says eyebrow cocking.

           “Isn’t my new beanie cute?” You deflect the rising tension by placing your new cashmere beanie on your head. You bobble, showing the plush toggle on top.

           “It’s very cute,” Jungkook laughs.

           “I sent a few things to you,” You say, taking your hat off and sitting back down. “And by a few, I mean two boxes…”

           “Two boxes? How big are these boxes?” Laughter was in his voice as he waits for your response.

           “They’re standard, Jungkook,” You’re a little embarrassed by the amount of humor he’s finding in this admission of your Christmas splurge.

           “Standard? Oh my god, they’re huge!” Jungkook can’t stop laughing.

           “I got carried away, okay?” Your tone is defensive and chaste, a blush in your cheeks.

           “What’s in them?” He asks, the crinkles in his eyes present as his bunny teeth part to laugh again.

           “Goodies,” You say, trying to hide your smile by glaring at him.

           “Mm, what kind of goodies?” Jungkook settles down, taking a deep breath to tuck his laughs away.  

           “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jungkook,” You respond, faux shock laced in your words.

           Jungkook rolls his eyes at your gentle scolding.

           “What’s in the boxes?” He asks again.

           “Well, something for your hyungs,” You tell him.

           “You didn’t have to,” He’s always amazed by your generosity.

           “I know, I wanted to. It’s nothing big... I don’t know if they’ll even like it. They’re all wrapped, with their names on them. And I sent a few gifts for you, one from my aunts, one from my mom, and a few from me,” You rattle off the list, which seems far longer than Jungkook thought it would be.

           “You didn’t have to get me anything,” He says, a soft smile on his lips.

           “Jungkook, it’s Christmas,” You remind him.

           “I know, but they’re just items,” His words are delicate, he knows how you feel about the holiday.

           “I put a lot of thought into them okay?” Your annoyance is clear in the way your lips punctuate okay.

           “Hey, you know I’ll love them,” His eyes are trained on you, watching as you soften.

           “And you know, some cookies that will probably be smashed or stale… and a few, other items,” You shrug, a flirtatious look in your eyes.

           “Other items?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows, smirk on his lips. Had you sent him what he hoped for?

           “Mm, oh and something for your parents and Jung-Hyun.” You nod, signally the end of your list.

           “Jagi, you’re too sweet.”        

           “I know, my thoughtfulness is unparalleled,” You shrug at the compliment.

           “As is your humility,” He chuckles.

           “You love it,” You smirk.

           “I sent you something too,” Jungkook says, leaning back against his headboard.

           “Oh?” You’re not entirely surprised, but Jungkook has a way of getting you the perfect thing that you’d never in a million years pick for yourself. Your favorite cashmere sweater, the Chanel purse you vowed to yourself you’d buy when you made any money (which frankly, you never did), your favorite winter coat, a ring with gems from your birth months, a 14k white gold necklace with his initials, a tribute you were sure was tacky, but always made you feel closer to him… a photo album filled with your most precious memories… The year he created an entire journal full of art, poems, lyrics, that reminded him of you… You wanted for nothing, and Jungkook gave you everything.

           “Yes, it should be there soon,” Jungkook’s smile begins to falter.

           “Mine will be too,” You look down, picking at the piece of paper sat on your desk.

           “You’re not going to surprise me and send you know, yourself?” He whispers, knowing the answer.

           “No, I’m not shipping myself to you,” Your voice is hollow, eyes still downcast.

           “But can you?” His voice is small, fragile, weak.

           “Honey,” You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t keep having this conversation, it hurts too much. It’s just one holiday. We spent decades without each other, can’t we make it through this?”

           “It’s been months, Y/N. I’ve tried holding back the tears, I’ve tried to sing and deck the halls with everyone, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I miss you in my bones,” Jungkook’s free hand clutches his chest, his eyelids becoming heavy as the tears start to form.

           “I feel it too… We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other,” You admit.

          The isolation of being apart from your lover for nearly a year… a year of fear, of anxiety, of sleepless nights and terrors as the world became overwhelmed by a pandemic, and the states were thrust into another round of Black Lives Matter protests coupled with an election that could be deemed as one of, if not the most, important election on American soil. All you wanted was Jungkook. His presence, ever calming, his joy, always contagious, was what your soul craved. You spent hours on video calls and phone calls, which often devolved into video sex, any form of intimacy you could muster to tie you to one another. The promotional work of BE, paired with the success of Dynamite and their Bang Bang Con and ONE concerts, Jungkook had zero ability to even try and find his way to you, or to chart a course for you to find him.

          It wasn’t fucking possible. He knew it, you knew it, and few things had been as devastating as realizing you were going an indefinite amount of time without each other.

           “Who am I going to kiss at midnight? Jimin?” Jungkook scoffs.

           “You’re performing, there’ll be so-

           “No, it won’t be you. I’m not kissing anyone except for you and our children,” Jungkook’s remark is flippant, a call back to a conversation you’d had months ago, wherein he asked where you thought your lives were headed.

           “Jungkook!” You say, eyes wide. You’d vowed to put talk of babies or marriage on the back burner until he had an idea of when he would do military service, before 30 or after. You hadn’t caught baby fever, but with Jungkook you knew it would hit and hit hard.

           “I didn’t know I would hurt this much, if I did, fuck, I would’ve flown you out sooner or come to you-

           “Jungkook you couldn’t have come to me, and there’s no way the government would’ve let me in.” Your tone is stern, moving quickly towards your limit of heartache.

           “I don’t fucking care!” Jungkook’s tears are flowing freely. You wonder if it was possible for anyone to cry us much as the two of you have in the past ten months.

           “I miss you every second of everyday,” Jungkook’s heartache punctuates every word.

           “Write me a song,” You suggest.

           “What?”

           “Write me a song, or five, fuck an entire album. Put your anguish into music, sing for me,” Your eyes are bright with possibilities.

           “I can do that,” He says, the idea sweeping over him like a wave in the pacific.

           “I’ll be here, embroidering and puzzling my sadness away,” You offer a smile. “Might as well put it into something productive.”

           “What if it doesn’t work?” He asks.

           “It won’t, I know it won’t, but can’t we just pretend it will?” You assured.

          “It’s hard to pretend my heart isn’t breaking over and over and over again.” Jungkook wipes his eyes, slightly alarmed at the number of tears he’d produced.

           “Mine is too,” Your words were soft, almost an echo of his hurt.

           “So, just, find a way to come home. Baby, please, just, come home for Christmas.”

Next: Pretend That We’re There

[perlukafarinn]

prompt for you: coffee shop + robots + hurt/comfort?

deancas / 5k(ao3)

Dean hasn’t showered in five days. He’s got twenty-three unread messages onhis phone and eight missed calls. He hasn’t bothered to check his email sincelast week.

Being around other humans is out of the question right now but fortunately,Dean works from home and the coffee shop closest to his apartment isandroid-run.

Chuck’s isn’t a great place. The coffee is only okay and theidentical android baristas creep Dean out but right now, he doesn’t care aboutany of that. He just needs to get his caffeine fix without feeling like he’sbeing judged by strangers.

The barista manning the till today is ‘Steve’, according to his name tag. Hegreets Dean and takes his order with polite indifference, eyes not lingering onDean’s greasy hair or the ratty grey hoodie he’s been wearing for two weeksstraight now.

Dean pays for his coffee then goes to wait by the counter to pick up hisorder. He’s currently the only customer, not surprising considering it’s fiveAM. For once, Dean’s fucked up sleeping schedule is working in his favor.

“Large black coffee to go?”

The voice is right next to Dean’s ear and he flinches back, turning aroundto find the barista standing not two feet away, holding Dean’s coffee. He’sidentical to Steve but according to the name tag, this one is called ‘Castiel’.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles, holding out his hand.

Castiel doesn’t give him the coffee. He tilts his head, observing Dean. “Areyou alright?”

Dean blinks. This is not how it’s supposed to go – the androids follow avery set script and they don’t deviate from it, ever.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re alright,” Castiel repeats. Those android-blue eyes arewide and sympathetic.

“What’s it to you?” Dean snaps, off-kilter and embarrassed. Apparently, helooks so pathetic now that even unfeeling robots are taking notice. “Just gimmemy coffee.”

Castiel purses his lips and for one wild moment, Dean’s sure he’s about tobe sassed by a robot.

“As you wish, sir,” Castiel says instead, finally handing over the coffee.

Dean snatches it without a word. He feels off-balance and embarrassed, andhe just wants to be back in his apartment where no one can see or judge him.

He sips his coffee as soon as he’s outside, too much and too fast, burninghis tongue. It kind of feels like karma.

*

It’s another three days before Dean finds himself back at Chuck’s.He’s showered in the meantime but the messages still sit unread on his phone –up to thirty-six now – and the phone calls still go unanswered.

It being early morning – still night, really – means that Dean is once againthe only customer in the shop. There’s also just one android behind the counterthis time and unfortunately, it’s just the one Dean didn’t want to see.

Castiel gives Dean an unimpressed look as he approaches, clearly rememberinghim as well. “How may I help you?”

“I – uh – large black coffee,” Dean says. When Castiel just looks moreunimpressed, he quickly adds, “To go. Please.”

“Anything else?”

Dean shakes his head.

As Castiel prepares the coffee, Dean watches quietly. The way he looks, theway he moves seems completely human. Dean at least couldn’t tell thedifference. It’s impressive and more than a little disconcerting.

Castiel shoves the coffee in the go-to cup onto the counter, snapping Deanfrom his thoughts.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Dean takes it, hesitating as the guilt squirms in his gut. He’s come to theuncomfortable realization that if Castiel were human, he wouldn’t havehesitated to apologize for his rudeness. It doesn’t seem right not to, justbecause of that.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Castiel regards him coolly.

“About last time,” Dean elaborates. “That was… I’m not usually rude toservice workers.”

“I suppose I am the exception,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean shakes his head. “It wasn’t anything personal. I was just having a reallybad day. You didn’t deserve to have your head bitten off for asking aquestion.”

Castiel looks surprised at that. He tilts his head and Dean squirms underthe intensity of his gaze, all too aware of how filthy his hoodie has gottenand the fact that he hasn’t bothered to shave since he last showered.

“Is today better?” Castiel finally asks.

“Not really,” Dean admits.

Castiel’s expression softens. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder. His palm is getting uncomfortably warm fromholding the coffee. “Listen, I gotta-” he gestures at the exit.

Castiel nods. “Enjoy your coffee.”

He says it with a smile. Not that service-industry,my-bosses-tell-me-I-have-to kind of smile but small and genuine. It makessomething in Dean’s chest constrict.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

The bell chimes as he exits, much too loud in the otherwise quiet space.

*

Dean stops by Chuck’s during the afternoon a couple of days laterand Castiel isn’t working. There’s Jimmy, Emmanuel, and Lucifer (what thehell), and they’re all identical to Castiel but none of them are him. Theydon’t ask uncomfortably personal questions or give any indication that Dean isdifferent from any other customer.

Dean gets his coffee to go and ignores the pang of disappointment.

The next morning, a couple of hours before sunrise, Dean drops by again andthere Castiel is, working the graveyard shift by himself.

“So, you only work the night shifts?”

It occurs to Dean only after he’s said it just how stalker-y he sounds. Likehe’s been paying attention to Castiel’s schedule.

But if Castiel is at all put off by or creeped out, he doesn’t show it.“Yes. I’ve been told I’m better suited for it.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel rubs the back of his neck. It’s an oddly human gesture. “I’m notvery good with people.”

“But you’re an android,” Dean says, confused. “What are people reallyexpecting?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He looks uncomfortable and it occurs to Deanthat him being an android isn’t the problem; it’s the fact that he doesn’treally behave like one. He’s personable in the way the rest of them aren’t, alittle too intense for comfort.

Dean clears his throat, feeling distinctly like he just put his foot in hismouth. “Well, I think you’re doing fine.”

Castiel’s lips quirk in a faint smile. “Thank you, Dean. Did you wantanything?”

“Oh.” Dean shifts, warmth rising to his cheeks. “Um, yeah, large blackcoffee to go?”

“You’ve got it.”

*

Dean’s not sure how many unread messages there are on his phone now but itwas up to forty-two the last time he checked. Most of them are from Charlie,because she is the only person Dean knows who is more stubborn than he is. Hehasn’t opened any of her messages but he sends her a quick update to let herknow he’s alive, just to make sure she doesn’t show up unannounced at his apartmentto check.

Most of the rest of the texts are from Benny but there’s also a couple fromBobby and two from Tessa, Dean’s editor. He hasn’t opened those because he hasnothing new to show her, so why bother?

He doesn’t need to check to know that there are no messages from Sam.

Given that he’s ignoring every other person in his life, it’s strange howquickly it’s become routine to go down to Chuck’s at unholy hours inthe morning and chat it up with Cas.

Not that Dean would call them friends or anything but maybe that’s whatmakes it easier. There are no expectations when he’s talking to Cas. He doesn’thave to be fine.

Sometimes Steve is working too and those nights, Dean takes his coffee andgoes. Other nights, it’s just him and Cas.

The bell chimes as Dean enters and Cas calls without looking up from thetill, “Large black coffee to go?”

It’s probably an android thing. Then again, Dean could be getting just thatpredictable.

“Got it in one.”

Cas gets to work and Dean leans against the counter while he waits,watching. It still freaks him out a little, seeing the way Cas moves. There’snothing off about it that Dean can put his finger on; maybe it’s that thosemovements are just a bit too smooth, not so much practiced as predetermined bysome program.

“What is it that you do?” Cas asks, cutting off Dean’s train of thought.

“Do?”

“For work,” Cas clarifies. “Or school, most of our late-night customers arestudents.”

Dean snorts. “Go figure. I’m, uh, I’m a writer.”

The word feels awkward coming out of his mouth. No matter how many times hesays it, it always feels like a pose.

“Do you not enjoy it?” Cas asks.

“Sometimes,” Dean says. “Why?”

“You were making a face.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “I was not making a face. And how would you know,you weren’t even looking!“

Cas gives him a deadpan look and Dean blushes because, oh right, android.For all he knows, Cas has a second set of eyes hidden underneath thatsurprisingly realistic head of hair.

“I’m just- nevermind,” Dean says. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

Cas approaches, handing Dean his cup. Their fingers brush as Dean takes it,causing a small shock of static electricity.

“It’s what I’m programmed to do,” Cas says.

Dean takes a sip. The coffee is a little too hot still and it tastes asmediocre as it always does. It wouldn’t surprise him if every cup Cas makes wasidentical to the last. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Sometimes, then. It depends on the customer.”

“What about right now?”

Cas smiles but doesn’t respond. “What do you write?”

Not much lately, Dean thinks with a grimace. It’s been days since he evengot one word down.

“Mostly short stories,” he says. He’s not sure what possesses him to add,“And it hasn’t been published but, uh, some poetry, too.”

“Poetry?” Cas repeats.

“Yeah. You read it?”

Cas ducks his head, looking bashful, and Dean finds himself thinking that’sa good look on him. If he were human, he might even be blushing.

“I do,” he admits. “I enjoy it very much. I’ve even tried to write somemyself.”

His voice goes quieter as he says that last part, embarrassed almost, andDean feels a sudden swell of affection that catches him off guard.

“Maybe you could show it to me sometime?” he asks before he can stophimself. At Cas’ obvious reluctance, he adds, “I’ll show you mine if you showme yours?”

Cas huffs out a quiet laughter. “I’ll think about it.”

“All I ask,” Dean says, grinning over the rim of his cup as he takes anothersip.

*

Despite Dean’s precautions, Charlie drops by his apartment unannounced acouple of days later. Apparently, ‘still alive, stop texting’ counts as a cryfor help, go figure.

Her visit is short because Dean’s apartment is a mess and he’s not gonna lether in but she still manages to pester him on a long list of topics from thedoorway: to call Bobby (fine), to take a shower (it’s only beenthree days), to go outside (does going to Chuck’s count?),to see his therapist (hell no).

The moment she brings up Sam, he slams the door in her face.

He doesn’t go to Chuck’s that night, his mood too foul and hisenergy sapped.  He sleeps through the night and most of the day, findinghimself wide-awake the following evening as his sleeping schedule has beenthrown for yet another curve.

It’s a little past midnight, so not the hour he usually visits, but Deanneeds to go outside and feel like something resembling human for at least a fewminutes.

Chuck’s is unusually busy – there’s two people sitting by thewindows, chatting over their coffee, and for once there’s a line, albeitconsisting of just one person. Dean waits, nodding at Cas when he waves at himfrom behind the counter. Steve is working tonight as well and he’s the one totake Dean’s order while Cas makes the coffees.

As Dean waits, his phone starts ringing. It’s on silent but the vibrationsare obnoxiously loud, almost worse than the ringtone. Dean doesn’t need tocheck to know that it’s Charlie so he ignores his phone, letting it ring out.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” Cas asks as he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you mind your business?” Dean snipes, reaching out and snatchingthe coffee from Cas’ grasp before he can hand it to him.

He knows he’s being a dick but he can’t help it. He feels tired andfrustrated with himself and with Charlie, and allowing it to transform intoanger is all too easy.

Going out tonight was probably a mistake.

“I was just asking a question,” Cas says, annoyed. “There’s no need to bitemy head off.”

The words ping something in Dean’s head and he knows, he knows heshould just apologize and go home but it’s like he’s watching himself from theoutside, unable to control what he’s saying.

“Then stop asking questions. Just do your damn job and stop acting like youcare when we both know you’re incapable of it!”

He’s not being loud but the words echo around the shop anyway, causingeveryone to fall silent. Dean is all too aware that the other customers are nowlooking at him and even Steve has stopped to stare but he doesn’t care aboutany of them. Doesn’t care about anything but Cas and the visible hurt he’sradiating.

“That’s not true,” he says weakly. “You know it’s not true.”

Dean swallows. Might as well finish this, push Cas completely away. “No, Idon’t.”

He leaves before Cas can respond, throwing his coffee in the trash on hisway out.

*

Dean knows he’s fucked up. He’s let this escalate too far, let himself sinktoo low, and now he’s hurting not just himself but the people around him.

At a loss for anything else to do, he picks up the phone and finally callsCharlie back.

She picks up on the second ring. “Dean? Is that really you or did someonesteal your phone?”

“Very funny,” Dean says dryly. He rubs his eyes, already feeling dreadpooling in his gut. This shouldn’t be this hard. “I, uh. I think I need somehelp.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end. “Yeah, of course. What can I do?”

*

It’s been two weeks since Dean last visited Chuck’s.

He’s been to see his therapist four times in that period, at first escortedby Charlie and then managing the last visit by himself. He’s been out to meetup with friends, all of them politely ignoring the weeks of radio silence andpicking up where they left off. Even Bobby’s been by, mostly to bitch at Deanfor never calling and to complain that the elevator in his apartment buildingsmells like weed.

He’s been in contact with Tessa, getting an extension on the deadline forthe first draft of his novel and a gentle kick in the pants to just finishpolishing his short story collection so it can be sent to print. His sleepingschedule is finally approaching something regular again, though it’s still notexactly normal.

He still hasn’t contacted Sam but, y’know, baby steps.

The one other thing hanging over Dean’s head is his last conversation withCas. He’s not sure their friendship can be salvaged but he at least owes Cas anapology and an explanation. Android or no, it’s obvious that Dean hurt hisfeelings.

On the short walk to Chuck’s, Dean practices over and over in hishead just what he’s gonna say to Cas. He briefly wonders if he’ll be able tosay anything if there are other people around but that turns out to be a mootpoint; when he enters the shop, the only person there is Cas.

He looks up as Dean enters, and he’s clearly shocked to see him but schoolshis expression quickly enough into a blank stare.

“Welcome to Chuck’s, how may I help you?”

Dean winces. Okay, so he deserves the cold shoulder but it still doesn’tfeel good.

He opens his mouth, panics as he realizes he has no idea what to start with,and ends up blurting out, “My dad died.”

Cas blinks. “I’m… sorry?”

“That’s not-” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I meantto say.”

“Your father didn’t die?”

Dean clears his throat. “No, he did. I just – I’m not expecting you toforgive me or feel sorry for me or whatever, just because my dad died. I justneeded you to know that what I said the other day had nothing to do with you.”

At the mention of their last meeting, Cas stiffens. He doesn’t say anythingand Dean’s not sure if that’s a good sign. It at least means that he can keepmaking an idiot of himself until Cas sees it fit to stop him.

“I’ve got a lot of issues,” hah, understatement, “that I haven’t really beendealing with. And I just… I get angry sometimes, ‘cause it’s easier. But I’mstarting to work through it now and I hope you do forgive me ‘cause I want usto stay friends.”

Cas is still staring wordlessly at him. The urge to look away or to turntail and flee is strong but Dean resists it. He got to say his piece, now it’sCas’ turn.

“So, yeah,” Dean finishes lamely. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

Cas finally looks away. His expression is impossible to read.

“We’re friends?”

The question catches Dean off guard. That is not what he expectedCas’ takeaway to be.

“I mean,” he shrugs, “if you want?”

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Cas confesses quietly. His expressionshifts, becoming determined. “Yes, we are friends.”

The tension leaves Dean’s body and he laughs at the relief of it. “Okay.Awesome.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees. He smiles and Dean didn’t even realize how much he missedthe sight of it until just now. “I forgive you but you have to stop getting madat me for trying to be nice.”

“I will, I promise.”

Cas nods. “Good. And don’t think I’m giving you a discount on your coffee.”

“Buddy, it’s a buck fifty a cup. I think I can handle it.”

*

Dean is relieved to fall back into the same routine with Cas. Things are alittle awkward his first couple of visits to Chuck’s but they smoothover soon enough. Cas is easy to talk to and being around him makes Dean feelcomfortable in a way he can’t quite define.

Charlie would love him, Dean thinks, but he hesitates at the thought ofactually introducing them. He kind of likes having Cas to himself.

One early morning, Dean comes running into the shop to escape the torrentialrain. He shakes himself off as he enters, running his fingers through his hairto keep it from sticking to his head.

“Dean,” Cas greets him warmly, cup of coffee already ready on the counter.“I have something to show you.”

Dean approaches the counter, wincing at the way his shoes squelch as hewalks. He should’ve just sucked it up and put on some rainboots. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember when we talked about poetry?”

Vaguely, but there’s one part of it Dean definitely recalls. “Are you gonnashow me something you wrote?”

Cas nods, a hint of shyness in the way he holds out his touchpad to Dean.“It’s not very good but-”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Dean teases, grabbing the pad.

He picks up the coffee with his other hand, sipping as he reads:

“Green is the color of grass

Or so I am told although I have yet

To discover that for myself.

But is it green like the dollar bills

I am handed in exchange for warm cups of coffee

Or green like your eyes?

I hope it is the latter.”

Warmth rises to Dean’s cheeks. He can guess the subject of Cas’ poem easilyenough – just how many green-eyed customers is he likely to have developed apersonal relationship with? – but he can’t work out what it means. Is Cas awareof the fact that humans consider poetry to be romantic? Did he mean it to comeoff that way?

Would Dean mind it if he did?

“What do you think?”

Dean looks up. Cas is watching him anxiously, clutching one hand in theother and clearly preparing himself for the worst.

Dean hands him the pad. “I like it.”

“You do?” Cas glances down at it, then back at Dean. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s very,” don’t say romantic, “evocative.”

Christ, way to sound pretentious.

Cas smiles, hugging the pad to his chest. “Thank you. It isn’t easy, writingfrom personal experience when you have so little of it.”

Dean nods absentmindedly. Then he pauses as he realizes the full meaning ofCas’ words. “Wait, so have you never really seen grass?”

“Do you see any in here?”

Stupidly enough, Dean looks around. “No, but- you must have seen itsomeplace else?”

“I’ve never left this building.”

Dean’s brain grinds to a halt. “What?”

“I haven’t had reason to,” Cas says. “I work on the first floor and rest inthe facilities upstairs.”

“Yeah, but – never?”

“Well, I am only six months old.”

“What.”

Six. Months. Old.

Dean just had romantic notions about the android equivalent of a toddler.He’s taken his anger issues out on that toddler twice now. Jesus fuckingChrist, Cas has had to deal with Dean’s crap for almost half his life.

“That doesn’t mean I am the same as a six-month-old human,” Cas says, as ifhe can tell what Dean is thinking. “My programming holds extensive knowledge ona number of topics, including human behavior. I probably know more about itthan you do.”

Well, Dean brought that one on himself.

“Okay, so, brushing past the whole ‘six-months-old’ thing,” Dean grimaces,“how have you still never left this building? Are you not allowed to?”

Cas shifts, looking nervous. “It’s not what I’m programmed for.”

“Is that a no? What would happen if you were to leave right now?”

“Nothing,” Cas admits. “It doesn’t happen often but my supervisors do haveother androids on hold in case someone abandons their post.”

“So, you could leave?” When Cas just looks increasingly uncomfortable, Deansighs. “Do you not want to leave? Is that it?”

Cas shrugs. “Where would I go?”

“Somewhere with grass?” Dean suggests. “The park? The beach? I don’t know,fucking Las Vegas?”

Actually, Dean would pay good money to see Cas deal with Vegas.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to see other places,” Cas says. “But I’ve neverstepped a foot outside this building. I wouldn’t know how to do it.”

He doesn’t say it but he’s broadcasting it so loudly he might as well have: Casis scared. And Dean can’t exactly blame him.

He takes another sip of the coffee. It’s already lukewarm.

“Dunno what to tell you, Cas. Can’t have those personal experiences if youdon’t risk something.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Judging by the look on his face, he’s deep in thought.

*

It’s May 3.

Dean was planning on calling Sam yesterday. He dialed his number multipletimes part way through before hanging up. Even got up to five digits a coupleof times.

He just can’t figure out what to say. The last time he talked to Sam, it wasto tell him their father had died and all Sam had to say in response was thathe wouldn’t be able to make it to the funeral.

And that was their first conversation in almost two years.

Dean doesn’t wanna dwell on Sam or his stupid birthday but his mind keepscircling back to it time and time again. It’s been too many birthdays since hesaw his little brother last. Dean doesn’t even know if he ever stopped growing.

He’s in a lousy mood by the time he heads down to Chuck’s and Cascan obviously spot it from a mile away. He doesn’t say anything, though, andDean manages not to be a rude piece of shit this time as he orders his coffee.

After they’ve sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Dean puts them bothout of their misery.

“It was my brother’s birthday yesterday.”

Cas stills. When he talks, it’s clear he’s picking his words carefully. “Ididn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t like talking about it.” Dean leans on his elbow. If he’s beingmopey, he’s got reason to be. “I haven’t seen Sam since he went off tocollege.”

“Why not?”

Dean hates telling this story. He’s really only done it twice, once to histherapist and once to Charlie, but he was wasted that time so he’s not evensure that counts.

But then, he knows Cas isn’t gonna judge him. It makes it a little easier.“Dad didn’t want him to go. They got into a huge fight and when it got down toit, I basically had to pick a side. I guess I picked wrong.”

“But your father is dead,” Cas says, as if Dean needs the reminder. “Surelythat must change things.”

Dean shrugs. “You’d think so.”

“Have you told him that you want to make up?”

“He knows I do. I called him after Dad died, told him he should come downfor the funeral.”

“Was that all you told him?” At Dean’s incredulous look, Cas gives him apatient smile. “I’ve found that humans sometimes need these kinds of thingsspelled out for them. They tend to assume the worst, otherwise.”

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again. He doesn’t have an argument here.

“Well, he should know,” he settles on, just to be petulant.

Cas takes the cup from Dean’s hand and Dean startles, realizing that heemptied it without paying attention.

“You should call your brother,” Cas says.

Dean stares at him, something stirring in his chest he doesn’t have a wordfor.

“You sure they didn’t program you to be a bartender?”

“I do make a mean Tom Collins,” Cas deadpans.

*

Dean doesn’t call Sam. Whatever conversation they need to have feels tooimportant to have over the phone.

He has Sam’s address. He also has a nice car that’s been cooped up in thecity for too long and a job he can do from anywhere. There is literally noreason he can’t take off for a few days on a cross-country road trip.

There’s just one thing he needs to do first.

The sun has just begun to rise when Dean parks outside of Chuck’s.It’s far later in the morning than he’s usually there and there are a couple ofcustomers inside, the very beginnings of the morning rush, but Cas is stillbehind the counter, along with another android, probably just about to finishup his shift.

Dean gets inside, walking past the line by the counter and getting someangry grumbles from the lady up front.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas looks up from where he’s working the espresso machine and smiles atDean. “Hello, Dean. You’re later than usual.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifts on his feet. This feels like a bad idea but it’s toolate to turn back now. “I’m going to California. To see Sam.”

Cas falters for just a moment before continuing his work, motions smooth andpracticed. “Oh.”

Dean waits as he finishes up. Once the order is ready and Cas has a momentto talk, he continues:

“Come with me.”

It comes out as barely more than a whisper but he knows that Cas heard it,because he goes completely still.

“What?”

“Come with me,” Dean repeats.

“Dean,” Cas says, and it already sounds like a rejection.

“You said you could leave, so leave. You’ve got somewhere to go and you’vegot someone to go with.”

Cas looks at him, eyes wide and begging him to understand. “Dean, I – youdon’t want me to go with you.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” Dean counters. Whatever Cas is feeling,this much he knows. He’s never been so sure of anything. “Come with me toCalifornia, Cas.”

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Dean is vaguely aware thathe’s causing a scene right now but it doesn’t matter.

“Steve,” Cas finally says.

“Yes, Castiel?” Steve answers pleasantly.

Without breaking eye-contact with Dean, Cas reaches behind him and loosenshis apron strings. “I quit.”

“You what?”

Cas doesn’t respond, shucking the apron off and leaving it in a heap on thecounter. Dean watches, heart hammering in his chest, as Cas opens the gatebetween them and steps through. It’s strange, having his view of Cas becompletely unobstructed.

“Are you coming?”

Dean shakes himself. He grins at Cas, feeling giddy as their steps fall intoan easy rhythm. It’s not until they’re by the exit that Cas hesitates, that helooks unsure.

“It’s okay,” Dean tells him.

He swings the door open with one hand, holding the other out for Cas. Aftera moment, Cas takes it, intertwining his fingers with Dean’s and squeezingtightly. It doesn’t feel quite like holding a human hand, the skin of aslightly different texture, but that’s okay. It’s Cas.

“C’mon,” Dean says. “California’s waiting.”

Cas takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, and nods.

They step outside.

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Please now I am desperate for a Baba breakdown from you. Favorite part of him? Least favorite? What would you change? What do you think is unchangeable? *pleading face*

Oh, I see I’ve sparked an interest ^^; Of course I’ll talk about the best little whore in all of Japan, Baba Shigeki xp 

I joke, but like... have you seen Y5? He’s not leaving much up to interpretation, tbh : | And I love that! Baba is a really fantastic and well-executed RGG character and it’s a shame so much of fandom is sleeping on him. (I know mostly it’s that it takes people awhile to get to Y5 ^^; )

Baba occupies a really important space in the Yakuza universe, the assassin. He’s an important reminder that not Everyone in this universe is a moralistic do-gooder. People like Majima and Kiryu are in fact in the minority. Most of the yakuza are thugs, people ready and willing to hurt others and even kill. And we’ve had assassins before in Kazama and Sera, but they’re mostly out of our hand. We don’t know them too well personally. and that makes sense, they’re the previous generation, their values and choices are reflective of a different time. Our time is largely shaped by Kiryu, he is the yakuza messiah. But just because he’s king god of the criminal underworld doesn’t mean that the underworld isn’t still... y’know, dark and harsh. Especially since Kiryu renounced his throne. 

And Baba is the stark reminder of that. I had been waiting for a long time for us to come into contact with a yakuza member who didn’t fall in line when we finally got to Baba. Because, as we all like to point out, Kiryu’s version of this job is pretty rose-colored and naive. HE might be able to only fight bad people and to use his power to help others, but so few of us are in that position. Kiryu is king god, there are no challenges for him, there’s nothing stopping him, literally. So he CAN just do whatever he wants, up to and including being a good person. Most of us aren’t that lucky, just look at Majima. But even Majima, after a time, gets to be a good person and amasses enough power that he can be nice without it being a death threat. But they’re gods, legends. Your average yakuza member is some punk kid who grew up to being a punk adult who has a shitty boss to answer to and dues to pay. Sometimes there isn’t a convenient bad person to pick on. Sometimes, to save your own neck, you gotta take money from people smaller than you. Sometimes you gotta intimidate and scare people. Sometimes you gotta do unpleasant things to please the boss, to make ends meet, to hold up your end. Not all of us have the luxury of making moral choices. 

And Baba is in a worse position than most. Baba isn’t big and tough. He doesn’t have the physical might to be a brawler, so he can’t be some street thug. His options in life likely weren’t great. Probably an orphan, probably had no one to look after him. So he grew teeth fast and figured out quick that ain’t nobody gonna take care of him, he was gonna have to take care of himself. With a body and face like his, he could easily enter sex work of some kind but that job is punishing for a whole other list of reasons. And Baba’s no dummy, he’s canny, he’s strategic. No, he’s smart enough to use his body to dupe others. He knows people trust his angel face. And there’s more money and more security to be had in a job of violence than selling himself to the highest bidder and forever being at someone else’s beck and call. My bet is Baba’s plan was to make enough money as an assassin that he could retire and live out his life in peace where no one would bother him. And his training as n assassin would keep people off his back. Baba decided a long time ago it is MUCH better to be feared than loved. Can’t rely on love, can’t trust it. But fear, people listen to fear. 

So I LOVE that we finally get the perspective of someone who didn’t get any breaks in life, who wasn’t blessed with divine strength, or lucked into a special position. Baba had to struggle for everything and it made him sharp and it made him paranoid. He doesn’t like killing people, it’s not fun, but he’s so scared of what will become of himself, he can’t bear to stop. He can’t afford to make moral choices. He has to survive, above all things, he has to survive. So another assignment in a prison? Sure, why not. Get close to a guy he has to take out later? Sure, he’s done it before. He’s a great spy, a great flirt. And it makes him feel better to sneer over people too stupid to see through him. They get what they deserve if they believe his honeyed lies. He doesn’t have to mourn his actions if they deserved it. Wash his hands, move on to the next mark. 

Saejima should have been no different. And for awhile, it’s easy. Saejima’s a big dumb hunk of meat. All Baba has to do is bat his pretty eyes and look like he needs help. Piece of cake. But Saejima... is different. Oh, he’s duped, sure enough, he’s gentle and sympathetic and protective, all the things Baba needs, but... One of the reasons Baba hated his past marks so much and felt no remorse killing them, is they all wanted something from him. Every last one of them thought they could get something from him, usually his body, but sometimes not. Every one of them was a selfish piece of shit who would have used him just as surely as Baba is using them right back. But Saejima... Saejima doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t try anything. Even when Baba flirts, even when Baba offers, Saejima acts like he doesn’t understand. The fuck??? It starts to anger Baba, the way Saejima just looks at him blankly and shrugs off invitations. Who does this guy think he is, think he’s better than him? Baba will make him understand, make him want him. Still Saejima is stunned and still he seems to only respond because Baba is asking him to, not because deep down Saejima was trying to use him to. 

Baba can’t... he can’t accept that. That can’t be real. If Saejima really was just helping him because... because he likes him or something, because he’s nice... no, that’s wrong. No one’s good and no one’s nice. Everyone’s out for themselves. No one goes out of their way for each other. Because if they did... then why did no one ever help Baba before? He wraps himself in sureness that Saejima’s just stupid and his selfish instincts are really in there, they’re just slow to appear. He’s just like all the others, he’d kick Baba to the curb the same as anyone else and then... Baba doesn’t have to feel bad about killing him. Then Baba can pull the trigger and all of this will be done. 

He’s sure, without a doubt in his mind, when he feels his hands slip off Saejima on that snowmobile and he’s sent flying, his last conscious thought is that he’ll die here. He’s almost happy. Because then he’d be right. Saejima will have left him and he’d be right. And, maybe just a little, he’s happy that he won’t have to kill Saejima either. Maybe this is best. 

It is the shock of his life when Baba wakes up. He wakes up and he’s warm and indoors and there’s a fire going and weak broth and Saejima hovering over him with a spoon going “You’re awake!" Baba starts crying and Saejima assumes it’s the shock and holds him, actually fucking holds him and... Baba doesn’t think he can do this anymore. How is he supposed to kill the one person who’s ever been nice to him? How is he supposed to look Saejima in the eye and shoot him? Oh god, Saejima should have left him there to die, he should have, he should have... why is Saejima so fucking stupid, why doesn’t Saejima suspect? 

The next couple of weeks are some of the worst Baba’s ever spent. Saejima’s nicer than ever, cuddly and affectionate and warm, and Baba feels sick with guilt. See, this is why he only kills stupid people. This is why he only killed people who deserved it. He can’t... bear this. Pointing the gun at Saejima is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. But he has to, his whole life has been about this, his life above anyone else’s. If he can’t kill Saejima then... what was it all for? What had it all been about? He’s crying. He’s actually fucking crying like a little bitch and he can’t stop. It’s weak, it’s pathetic, but he just wants Saejima to take the gun out of his hand, to tell him it’s going to be okay, to take him home. Saejima screams at him and Baba falls apart. Saejima swoops in on him, holds him close, takes the gun and tells him it’s all going to be okay. It won’t... in the back of his mind, Baba knows even if he fails here, he still has half a job to do. But the fact that... everything out in the open, true colors showing, Saejima is still hugging him and refusing to let go... Baba sinks into that for a minute and believes that maybe there is something else he could do with his life. 

Oh... I have feelings about Baba Shigeki ^^; I love him to death I wouldn’t change a thing. The only thing I want is for Saejima to take Baba home and bring him into the Tojo and then we’re all a weird dysfunctional family together ^^; That’s my dream. Friends and family for Baba X3

[jalapeno-princess]

Wherever You Will Go

Ghost Mark X Reader

Genre: Angsty angst (this is some sad shit y’all don’t say I didn’t warn you) (there is a happy ending though I could never make a story with a sad ending I’m such a softie).

Warning: Mentions of death, suicide, depression, (ghost boyfriend Mark)

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: You lose your boyfriend in a plane crash and it obviously ruins your entire life. A month after Mark’s passing, you come to the conclusion that you cannot live without him. Little did you know, he’s been with you this entire time and one day, he’s given the chance to make his presence known. The two of you can’t go back to what you used to have for many different reasons, but Mark mades it known that he isn’t going anywhere. He might not be there physically, but he is always with you.

A/N: I really don’t know where this came from honestly but I couldn’t stop writing. I have a few cute ones that I’ve been working on so hopefully it will lift your spirits after reading this one. Please enjoy!

“I don’t see why I have to go Mark. Why can’t I just send them a congratulatory gift or something? There’s going to be hundreds of people at the wedding, it’s not like they’re going to notice my absence—“

“Babe—“

“And I haven’t seen my family in so long, for all we know, they probably just sent the invitation to get more people to come. My cousin was always the type to love presents—“

“Babe—“

“Actually, if I think about it, the last time she and I spoke, she made me feel pathetic for something I had no control over. I hope it rains on her damn wedding day and every ends up leaving—“

“Y/n. Babe. Look at me.” You didn’t want to look at him; one look at Mark and you were putty in his hands. From past experiences, Mark knew exactly what to do to grab your attention and to stop you from doing or saying things you wouldn’t mean. He was the only one who knew what to do to calm you down; to get you to relax.

Mark was in more or less words, your own personal guardian angel. He was the only person in your life for the last few years after you decided to cut off your family and even some of your friends completely from your life. If you were being honest, he was the only person you needed. As much as you loved your parents, your siblings and your many other relatives, you were doing just fine without them. The only person who’s presence you craved was sitting down on your bed; watching you pace back and forth around your room, trying to come up with an excuse as to why you couldn’t make it to your cousin’s wedding.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to attend—well, you really couldn’t care less about going. This would be the first time you would be seeing any one of your family members since the day you no longer wanted anything to do with human interaction.

After that terrible night, the night that changed your life forever and made you question your entire existence, they tried their best; your parents especially to reach out to you. To send their condolences, to be there for you during such a heartbreaking and traumatic time, to prevent you from harming yourself in any way that could cause them to lose you forever; but all their attempts failed.

You didn’t want to hear it; you didn’t want anybody feeling sorry for you. The accident wasn’t anybody’s fault—or that’s what Mark kept trying to tell you. However, you’ve been living with both a grudge and a heavy heart the last four years and you didn’t think it would let up anytime soon. When your boyfriend realized you weren’t going to acknowledge his command, he got up from where he was sitting and made his way to you.

“My silly girl, you were always so stubborn—but if I’m being honest, it’s something I’ve grown to love about you. You know—when it’s not being used towards me. Your family misses you y/n, and I know why you’re so upset over this and why you’re so adamant on missing out on this event. But babe, take some time to think about it please? For me? I know you’re still so traumatized and you don’t want to be around people, but this is the only way you can move on or at least get some closure. Maybe you need to be around people—“

“I am around people. I’m around you. That’s all I need. You’re all I need and could ever need Mark. You will always be everything that I want and need. You’re the only person that matters to me. Damnit Mark—if I go, everyone is going to ask me so many questions and I’m sure I’m going to get so much pity and sympathetic looks—my grandmother thinks I’m crazy for acting this way even after four years, but she doesn’t understand—nobody will ever understand the pain that I’ve been suffering since you left me. I don’t even know why I’m still here Mark. When you died, you took every ounce of me with you. My heart, my soul—it’s there in my chest. It beats, but only because it has to. It’s empty—numb—I will never get closure—I will never move on—I never even got to say a proper goodbye. Mark Tuan—you are the only person that I’ve ever loved. You’re my soulmate, my best friend, my solace, my home—I will never accept your death. Fuck—“ the tears were hot on your cheeks as you continued to confess the many thoughts that have been clouding your mind.

You had no idea how ghosts worked; you didn’t know if Mark could read your mind or hear your thoughts, so you weren’t sure if he was completely aware of how heavy the impact of his untimely and accidental death was on your entire being. Nobody thinks that they’re going to die nor does anybody really know when. On the days that you and Mark would actually get around to watching the news and you would hear about people dying; whether it was from old age, an incurable disease, murder or a car crash, you would never think something as tragic and unthinkable would happen to you or to anyone you knew.

Mark was on his way back home from a conference in Japan. Being the successful businessman, it was expected of him to attend different kinds of conventions and business meetings all around the word. If you knew then what you knew now, you would’ve said more than just “Let me know as soon as you land, I love you.”

It was raining heavily that night and the sky was foggy; full of mist and clouds. Unfortunately, you never got the text message because his plane did not land. Around the time that you were expecting his arrival, you grew curious as to why you weren’t hearing any updates from him. Mark was an extremely clingy and interactive boyfriend. He always needed to be contacting you and texting you while he was away. He never failed to make it known just how much he missed you and how he wished he could take you with him whenever he had to go on a trip. You began to come up with different scenarios in your mind; maybe he fell asleep while on the plane or maybe the flight was delayed and they were still in the air.

Something in your gut told you otherwise and soon you found yourself turning on the tv. In bold letters read “devastating plane crash: flight 263 Japan to California. Fifteen passengers, three flight attendants and two captains found dead” every word you read felt like a slap in the fact. There’s no way. It couldn’t be. You were frantically looking around the room for your phone to see what flight number he was on, but even if you had yet to confirm it, your heart knew the truth. You just didn’t want to accept the idea that Mark died in a freak accident.

After finding your phone, that’s when all the messages came storming in. Countless apologies, empty words that held no meaning to you—multiple “I can’t believe this happened” and “he didn’t deserve this”. You wanted nothing more than to throw your phone at the wall. Sure, they were right. Mark definitely did not deserve this. Nobody deserves to die—but Mark was one of the most kindest, generous, hardworking and caring people you knew.

He sacrificed so much for everyone around him. All he ever cared about was the well-being of the people he loved; you being his number one priority. But you hated their messages; you wanted them to all stop. Stop trying to call you; stop trying to text you that this shouldn’t have happened; it was a reminder that this was all real. That it happened. It felt like a nightmare. You had to be sleeping; there was no way your mind could fathom or process the thought of Mark’s death and you sure as hell knew you would never accept it. You couldn’t find it in yourself to sleep that night. You were in between disbelief and grief.

It was like that for the course of an entire month. Your parents, Mark’s parents, even his siblings and yours tried to come over to your apartment and see how you were doing but you didn’t have the energy or the strength to talk with anybody. Mark’s absence was taking a toll on your mind, your body and your spirit. His death was taunting you; you were constantly reminded that he was no longer there anymore just by having to go to bed alone.

Not hearing his comforting voice, not getting to feel his warm embrace, not being able to hear his contagious laughter was killing you more and more every single day to a point where you wanted to give it all up. You no longer wanted to live anymore. How could you continue living knowing that the only reason; the only person behind your existence was no longer alive? Waking up to an empty bed and an even emptier apartment felt like a chore. You didn’t want to put up with it anymore. There was no point. Mark was your entire lifeline and you refused to continue having to go through the painful reality of his death anymore.

The day you attempted to take your life was the same day he made his presence known. You finally came down to the decision that you didn’t want to live anymore; a life without Mark was one not worth living. Exactly one month after the plane crash, with the tiniest amount of energy you had left in your body, you found yourself driving to the beach and not just any beach. The beach where it all started. The beach where Mark confessed his feelings for you over six years ago. The same beach where he would take you every time you had a rough day or if you needed a breather from how hectic life could be.

When you lost Mark, all your sanity went out the window. You no longer felt safe. You were in constant fear of anything and everything negative happening to you now that he could no longer protect you in the ways that he used to. Once you parked your car, you took no time in walking down toward the water. A small tear fell down from your cheek and you were surprised to feel wetness—you were sure you cried out every single tear possible. Right as you began walking in to the water, there was a tiny voice in your head begging you to stop.

However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to refrain from what your plans were. When the water reached up to your chin, you felt something roughly pull at your wrist and when you turned around, your heart sank to your chest. There he was, in all his handsome glory; staring at you with the most saddest look in his eyes. Your boyfriend of six years; your best friend of eight. The person you’ve been crying over every single day. The person whose been clouding your thoughts for the last month. The person you loved more  than life itself. You had to be hallucinating; there was no way he could be there in the water with you, pulling you back to shore. Yet as soon as you felt sand against your feet, you were well aware that it was him. But how?

“Okay, I must be going crazy.”

His cute little laugh that you adored so much rang through your ears and filled your heart with warmth. It was obvious he wasn’t completely himself. Or not his physical body at least. He was more prominent than mist, yet not completely human. You could see right through him and out of natural instinct, you reached out to touch him, but you were left disappointed. He must’ve known that there were many questions on your mind and that you probably didn’t know what was going on because he was quick to speak up.

“So you can see me? Finally. You are crazy my silly girl. Fuck y/n I’ve missed you so much baby. Before I go in to depth about everything, let me just start off by saying that I’m upset that you would want to do something so stupid like drown yourself. But I can’t blame you. If I were in your shoes, I would’ve done the exact same thing. Look at you, you look so sickly; you haven’t been eating have you? What’s the matter babe? You look as if you saw a ghost—oh wait. Sorry. I’m still not used to it myself so I apologize now if I say or do something out of the ordinary—“

“What the fuck is going on? I really am seeing things.”

Although you couldn’t feel him cover up your mouth, you had to stifle back a laugh when you saw him move forward as he placed his hand on your lips. “Before I allow you to swear any more, follow me. I’ll explain what’s going on okay?” You did as you were told; you were feeling so many emotions all at once. Seeing him again in the flesh, after the countless nights you prayed and begged for him to come back; that you would do anything to see him one last time was a lot for you to take in.

He attempted to reach for your hand, but he couldn’t physically lift it or intertwine your fingers together and it upset your boyfriend; but he had to remember he was no longer able to do a lot of what he could do when he was alive. He brought you towards a log and had you sit down on it as he sat right in front of you and began telling you everything. He told you how what started off as turbulence turned in to something pilot couldn’t get any control over. He also told you that you were the first person that popped in to his mind as soon as they were all told what was going to happen.

Mark really did not want to die. He was still so young; he had so much going for him. The two of you planned your future together on many occasions and he couldn’t wait to see what life had in store for you both. The thought of death didn’t scare him; everyone dies. What scared him the most was what would happen to him after death, and what would happen to you. Honestly, Mark was more afraid of what the aftermath of his death would do to you than what happened to him.

Anyone who knew you and Mark would consider you two peas in a pod. Wherever you’d go, Mark would follow and you did the same with him. You weren’t much of a gamer, but you’d go with Mark every time he’d want to go to an arcade or a pc room. He was never a fan of books, but he encouraged and supported your passion for reading. A lot of the books you owned were actually purchased by him against your many pleas that he wouldn’t spend money on you. He just loved seeing the huge smile on your face every time he would surprise you with a new novel he’d think you’d enjoy.

Out of all the billions of people in the world, Mark knew you were meant for him and he was meant for you. You were his person and he reminded you every single day that he was wholly and completely yours. When he realized that he was dead, and that he could still see people, he immediately went on the search to find you. His heart broke as he watched you scream and cry every single second, minute and hour of the day.

He’d watch as you’d throw things around; punch the wall, try to harm yourself with sharp objects and it killed him. It killed him because he couldn’t do anything about it. There was nothing he could do about it, no matter how badly he wanted to pull you in to his chest and tell you everything was going to be okay. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to feel your skin against his, to tell you how much he misses you and how he’s sorry you’re suffering all alone; but he wasn’t able to do it. He’d sit there watching you; praying over you and hoping that one day soon, you’d be able to at least start talking to people again. Mark was sure that if you allowed one person in your life, then maybe you’d be able to get out of the funk; the depression you were living in.

Boy was he wrong. That one morning you got up from out of bed and started changing as if you had plans to go somewhere, he was excited. He felt like this was progress; Mark believed this was a sign that you were slowly accepting his death. When you reached the beach and he caught on to what you were planning on doing, he felt as if he was going to throw up. Theoretically. Since he wasn’t able to physically grab you, he tried his best to make his presence known, or to at least do something to stop you.

Knowing that you wanted to kill yourself struck a nerve with him. You were such a happy-go-lucky, free spirit. You had one of those bright and bubbly personalities that were so contagious to the point where you’d light up any room you were to walk in. Therefore, to see you so broken and thinking that death was your only option to rid yourself of your heartbreak, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was to blame. He knew there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t like he could turn back time and stop himself from boarding the plane. He couldn’t stop himself from dying.

Mark was a very religious guy; he knew that if you were to take your own life, that there was a chance you wouldn’t get the same fate as him. He was still getting used to being a spirit, so he wasn’t too sure what everyone experienced once they died. Coming back to life was the last thing he’d think he would do after death and he wasn’t exactly alive, but being able to walk around earth and getting to be around the love of his life was extremely unexpected.

Once you walked in to the water and continued making your way further and further out, he absentmindedly reached out for you and shocked both you and himself when he realized you actually felt the pull. Mark was even more in shock when you acknowledged his presence. For the last month, he was always there. He suffered watching you suffer. He cried as you cried. He was over the moon when you tried reaching out for his face, but he was also just as upset as you were when you came to the conclusion that you couldn’t touch him. As soon as he finished explaining the details, he allowed you to ask him any unanswered questions that you had.

The only question you could really think of, which you weren’t too sure he had the answer to, was why he was still there on earth. You were curious; from what you were told about people who passed away, they would have to “go in to the light” and pass on to the afterlife. It wasn’t that you weren’t excited to see Mark again; your heart, or whatever was left of it; whatever he didn’t take with him after he died—felt whole again. You felt as if you could breathe again. You weren’t sure how long you had him for and you didn’t know what the rules or limitations were, but you were going to make the most of any time you did have to spend with him.

“I guess my time here on earth isn’t finished yet. I made a promise to you all those years ago; I’m going to take good care of you baby, no matter what happens. God knows it’s not my time to leave yet. I need you just as much as you need me. I’m not going anywhere y/n. I’m here to stay until it’s time for us to meet again beyond the clouds about. You need to promise me that you won’t do that again. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself—okay, you have to admit that was pretty funny babe—don’t look at me like that you should know after all these years of being together that I make jokes out of my misfortune. I may not be able to kiss you, I can’t hold your hand or cuddle with you, but I’m always going to be with you. Damnit, I want nothing more than to kiss you right now and fuck—I miss making love to you—maybe if I’m a good ghost, I’ll be granted the pleasure of being able to touch you again. I love you y/n, more than I got the chance to say while I still had the chance to. So I will remind you every single day, to the point where you’ll probably get tired of me but you’re stuck with me y/n. They weren’t joking when they said till death do us part—I’m so glad I can’t feel pain. That’s one of the only things I like about being dead. Hey, I’m funny even in the afterlife—you gotta give me credit for that y/n.”

Mark’s wishes were fulfilled just a couple of months ago—well, to an extent. He could now kiss you and hold you, but it wasn’t like he could do anything beyond that and it made you laugh when he came to the realization that ghosts can’t participate in sexual intercourse. A lot of jokes were made when he found out that he couldn’t love on your body the way he’s been craving to for the last three years, but kissing you was just as amazing and he took what he could get. With that being said, as soon as the first tear fell, you were abruptly pulled in to his embrace while he began rubbing your back in attempts to calm you down.

You haven’t cried once since he came back to you; there were days when you’d find yourself sad because you knew that things would never be the same. You were extremely grateful that he was in your life again, but your heart desired more. As a human, it was only natural for you to miss your life with Mark before his life was cut short and he didn’t have to say anything; you knew he wanted the same exact thing. He felt like he was holding you back from so much by sticking around, but he couldn’t leave you.

Even if he wanted to for your sake, so you could live a normal life; the life you dreamed of having together. It may not have been possible for him anymore, but you could still make those dreams a reality. Deep down though, Mark knew if he were to leave, things would get really bad. He knew you had no intentions on following through with any of your life plans if it wasn’t going to be with him. This was the first time you genuinely cried in front of him.

Each one of your sobs was a pain he couldn’t physically feel, but mentally and spiritually, it was tearing him apart. He was angry; he wanted to blame everybody; he wanted to blame the weatherman for not being accurate with the weather on that specific evening, he wanted to blame it on the pilots for even allowing the plane to take off, he wanted to blame the flight attendants for not speaking out about how it wasn’t a good time to fly.

Mark could’ve waited. He would’ve waited if it meant he’d still be alive. If it meant the two of you could actually be together. If he was still alive, he was sure he would’ve asked you to marry him and the two of you would’ve started having a family by now. It was too late for the “what if’s” but he couldn’t help himself. He allowed you to cry, no matter how much it was hurting him as the tears continued to fall, but from what he learned during your relationship, crying was one of the only ways you could completely move on from what was bothering you. A few moments later, he lifted your chin up and kissed both of your cheeks before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“I—I don’t know what to say baby. Fuck—I’m so fucking sorry y/n—“

“Why are you sorry Mark? It wasn’t something you could control. I’m sure it’s harder for you. I’m probably making you feel terrible by acting this way. I should be the one apologizing. You’re only trying to help me I just—I don’t know. I really don’t know. I feel so defeated. I’m still trying to understand why such a terrible thing happened to such a wonderful person and why you were taken away from me so early. There was so much he had yet to do Mark—I know things happen for a reason but what was the reason? I’m sorry baby. I’ll stop.” He shook his head in disagreement as he led you back to the bed and pulled you on to his lap.

“I know, I think things like that too—I try so hard to come up with reasons myself but nobody ever really knows. I shouldn’t say this, but once I saw the invitation on the counter, I couldn’t help but picture us being the ones getting married. I dreamt about marrying you the day I asked you out. Even before we started dating, I knew you were the one I planned on spending the rest of my life with. That should’ve been you walking down the aisle—I know you would’ve looked so breathtakingly beautiful and knowing my sensitive ass, I would’ve cried because I still can’t process the fact that I’m the lucky man who gets to love you. I would’ve showed you in bed right after the wedding finished and throughout the entire duration of the honeymoon just how happy you make me and how excited I was to be able to call you my wife. I’m sorry I can’t give you the life you’ve always dreamt of baby—the life you deserve—I’m so fucking sorry—“ hearing his voice crack over something that he had no control over was heartbreaking.

You felt selfish for feeling the way you did. For still being so angry over his death not knowing how he must’ve felt and hearing him confirm that it caused him so much agony himself really tugged at your heartstrings. He was still so patient, so caring and so understanding when it came to your hostility. But he out of all people should be the one who was angry; it was his life that was taken away. Sure, you lost the love of your life—but he lost the ability to live his and you couldn’t hate yourself more than you did in that moment.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to y/n. I know you’re still hurting and I wouldn’t want to be around people knowing that they pity me and you know how much I hate when people console me knowing they don’t genuinely care about me of how I’m doing. I just—I want you to try and get used to living or attempting to live a normal life. You’re probably not going to be able to be who you once were—trauma really does change a person. I just wanted you to get used to being around people again. But don’t feel like you have to okay? I know I said to do it for my sake, however, if it makes you uncomfortable and you’re not ready, then you can just decline and you and I can just stay here and watch Netflix all day while cuddling. We can also make out a little if that’s what you want—I’m really glad I don’t feel pain; don’t lie, I know you love these luscious lips of mine.”

You took a look out the beautiful man in front of you and began leaving fleeting kisses all around his face before connecting your lips together in a passionate kiss. Mark was right; things wouldn’t be the same as they used to be, but you were one of the very few lucky people who got the chance to continue having their loved one in their life even after they’ve passed on. You had to be grateful for what you were given to to show your gratitude, you had to live for yourself; or in your case, you wanted to live for Mark. It was unfair of to to even try to take away your own life knowing his was unfairly taken away from him.

In order to show him how happy you were to have him continually by your side, you had to stop with the grudges; stop being so deceitful and so angry and accept what happened for what it was. Being hateful and depressed wasn’t going to bring Mark back to life, but you had him around; you felt safe again. You felt alive again and you were genuinely happy again. That was all that mattered. After a steamy make out session and a joke thrown in there about how you weren’t able to get him hard with you retaliating that if wasn’t physically possibly, you leaned your head against his chest and smiled softly.

“There might not be a heartbeat anymore, but if there was, it would probably be going crazy right now.” You let out a soft chuckle and gently squeezed his bicep.

“I’ll go. But only if you’re going to come with me.” He beamed down at you and playfully pinched your butt cheek as a force of habit.

“Of course I’m coming with you—ugh if only I was still alive. I miss the many compliments your aunts and cousins would make about how handsome I am and how lucky you are to have me—no matter how many times you hit me baby o can’t feel a thing.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, but brought back some of his hair and placed it behind his ear.

“I love you Mark Tuan. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you more. I’ll always come back to you y/n. I’m yours forever baby.”

[trensu]

Episode 49: The One with Too Much JGY and Not Enough Wangxian

Very little wangxiantics in this episode, guys, there’s like, VERY LITTLE wangxiantics

The fact that the show is bringing us down to breadcrumbs again is Homophobic 

But let’s get through this!

blah blah blah jgy acts all pathetic blah blah blah lxc engages jgy in a convo blah blah

lwj has to go in and be like, bro, please, don't talk to him

and wwx is like, yeah, you literally just told jc not to talk to him, follow your own advice dude 

lxc is like, hm, you make a good point...i shall continue talking to jgy regardless

jgy continues with his pity party speech and i continue not to care

BUT THEN LXC KNEELS DOWN TO SPEAK WITH JGY MORE INTIMATELY????

WTF LXC STOP THAT RIGHT NOW

lwj is like BRO

lxc is like I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING BRO

and i'm like DO YOU THO?

now he's going to question jgy and counting on him answering truthfully??

WHAT HAS HE DONE TO MAKE YOU THINK HE'LL DO ANYTHING BUT LIE, ZEWU JUN??

so we get a much less entertaining Q&A session accompanied by jgy's flashbacks 

(can we go back to lwj's drunken Q&A sesh? I’d much rather question drunk!lwj than sober!jgy)

the only point i had any actual sympathy was when jgy brings up qin su and her mom bc qin su and her mother deserved better

Ooh, lxc is getting super judgy about jgy killing jgs

This is where you draw the line, lxc?? c’mon.

i mean, judge him for how he did it, sure

there was no need to involve all those innocent women in the murder

but really, killing jgs was the only good act of public service jgy did

give credit where it's due, pal.

HELL YEAH IT'S BITCH-SLAP JGY TIME AGAIN

LOL EVEN WWX AND LWJ LOOK SURPRISED THAT LXC DID THAT

oh noooo lxc is asking about jzx and oh, wwx is PISSED

Wwx grabs the front of jgy's robes and hauls him up and yells in his face “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO? SAY IT!”

cue flashback scene to jgy tricking jzx 

AND NOW MY BRATTY SON IS YANKING THE FRONT OF JGY'S ROBES SCREAMING WHY? WHY? TELL ME WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO IT??

HIS VOICE IS ALL CRACKED AND HOARSE AND HE'S CRYING 

I WANT TO WRAP HIM UP IN BLANKETS AND COZY THINGS AND PROTECT HIM FROM ALL THE BAD THINGS IN THE WORLD

jl collapses to his knees and my beautiful sunshine boy falls to his side and scoops him into his arms 

BC WWX LOVES HIS BRATTY NEPHEW AND GOD DAMN IT, JL DESERVES HUGS AND AFFECTION

oh jgy was about to touch jl's face and i was like DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE I WILL CUT THAT HAND OFF YOU

but then he pulled away bc i am very fearsome actually wwx was glaring at him 

and ofc jgy can't have people being sympathetic to anyone NOT him so he's like, what about me, huh? you never ask why I personally had to suffer!

Cue another flashback in which JGS IS A FUCKING DOUCHEBAG 

I HOPE HE ROTS IN ANCIENT FANTASY CHINA HELL

HALF OF THE PROBLEMS WERE A RESULT OF HIM NOT BEING ABLE TO KEEP IT IN HIS FUCKING PANTS

ROBES

WHATEVER

ugh i hate jgy too

he's essentially telling jin ling that oh, i killed your father bc your grandfather was scum of the earth

AS IF JZX AND JL DESERVED TO SUFFER FOR JGS'S SINS

FUCK YOU JGY

suddenly jgy takes my bratty son hostage!!

wwx shouts "JIN LING" as he jerks towards his only nephew

BUT IT'S TOO LATE, jgy already has that garrote AROUND JL'S NECK

WIPE THAT SMUG SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE SU SHE

I WILL END YOU

god i need to stop threatening people, i have no ability to back it up

lol jc is like WWX YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TAKE ALL HIS WEAPONS AWAY!!

and wwx is like I DID! 

siblings always find time to bicker, even in dire situations

lwj tells them that jgy hid the garrote inside his body 

bc lwj is smart and observant

but ewwww, the idea of yanking that gold string out of a vein squicks the hell out of me

yuckyuckyuck it makes my skin crawl

jgy tightens the string around my bratty son's neck and everyone freaks out, obvs 

oh jc loves his nephew so much! he's all like, if you need a hostage take me instead and leave jin ling alone!!

JC IS A GREAT UNCLE, JC LOVES HIS FAMILY SO MUCH, JC DESERVES TO RECONCILE WITH HIS BROTHER AND HAVE A LOVING HAPPY FAMILY

jgy is like, nah bc of Reasons

then my sunshine boy is like, hey aren't you forgetting smth jgy? what about your loyal lackey here?

but ss is an idiot and is like, don't worry about me boss!

and jgy is all, cool thx lackey

now lxc and jgy do some more chitchat i don't care about

suddenly there is ominous knocking on the doors AND A WILD LAN SIZHUI APPEARS!!!

He got chucked into the temple like the football lol

NOW WEN NING IS HERE! HE’S COVERED WITH RESENTFUL ENERGY, CARRYING BAXIA LIKE A BADASS

Dude, for real, wn looks so cool here

letting the tip of the saber scrape ominously against the stone ground and walking with slow measured steps

and baxia is freaking glowing

nhs calls him "brother" but i'm pretty sure he knows it's not nmj and just said it to freak jgy out

wwx ofc recognizes wen ning

AHHHHHH WWX IS DOING HIS EERIE WHISTLE AGAIN, I LOVE IT WHEN HE DOES THAT

SO COOL, WWX, SO COOL!!

his brow is all furrowed when he sees wn is not reacting and he starts to whistle more earnestly

wwx: what's happening? why is wn not listening to me? could it be...?

cut to lwj, looking all serious bc hey, this is actually a serious situation 

lwj: he is possessed by the blade spirit

wn roars and vaults over the distance between him and jgy with baxia raised high and it looks freaking AWESOME

lol we get a quick shot here of nhs panicking and ducking behind su she

jgy lets go of the gold string around jl's neck to flee from wn which gives wwx an opening

Wwx dives forward and wraps himself around jin ling

Then he twirls them to the side away from incoming baxia and crashes them both to the ground where they're safe

as this is happening, lwj sees his opening and draws bichen

we get a quick moment where wwx and jc are both fussing over jl, it’s super sweet!

AND THEN WE GET A SHOT OF JGY'S DISEMBODIED ARM 

THE CAMERA STARTS TO TILT UPWARDS 

WE SEE THE HEM OF LWJ'S PRISTINE WHITE ROBES FRAMED BY BICHEN 

BICHEN HAS RIVULETS OF BLOOD STREAMING DOWN THE BLADE

THE CAMERA CONTINUES TO TILT UPWARD UNTIL WE SEE LWJ STANDING TALL, FACE GRIM AND SERIOUS AND JUST OVERALL HOLDING HIMSELF IN AN IMPOSING BADASS WAY

wwx is looking at him like HOLY SHIT LWJ

Which is a totally reasonable reaction bc holy shit lwj

HA, now jgy only has one arm

I may not be able to follow up on my threats but it is gratifying to see lwj follow through for me lololol

gross, ss is all begging for medicine to help jgy

stfu ss, nobody likes either of you two

wn's blow struck the ground and cracked it before so now he's back up doing his steady creepy walk to finish what he was going to do

lwj's brow furrows and he sits himself down, cross-legged and summons his guqin

lol i love how he summons his instrument tbh

he just wooshes his flowy sleeves and his guqin glitters into existence

it looks very Magical Girl and i appreciate that

someone needs to draw lwj in a Magical Girl outfit IMMEDIATELY

lxc gets his flute out and our lan bros do a duet to chill out the angry sword spirit

LOL WEN NING JUST STEPS ON JGY'S CHOPPED OFF ARM

DO IT AGAIN WN 😆😆😆

let me just say, i'm really enjoying watching jgy and ss cower away from the oncoming wen ning

but oh noo! jl calls out for his evil uncle and draws wn's attention and wn tries to attack him

i guess baxia senses jgy's blood on jl's robes or smth? Idk, doesn’t matter

wwx tries to do some sort of spell to stop wn but it doesn't work and in a fit of panic he yells out “WEN QIONGLIN!”

thankfully this snaps wn out of it enough that he stops baxia like, one inch from my bratty son's face

the lan bros are still doing their Magic Music thing and wn is trying to reign in baxia but baxia's pissed off so everyone’s struggling 

wwx starts his whistling again and it's rattling Plot Device 3

lxc tries to stop wwx but lwj shakes his head at his brother like no, back off

wwx turns to look at lwj, lwj meets his eyes and gives him a single solemn nod

AND WWX SMILES AT HIM BC HIS SOULMATE BELIEVES IN HIS ABILITIES AND TRUSTS HIM!!!

this is the first legit proper wangxiantic moment in the whole episode, what the heck

GIVE ME MORE WANGXIAN AND LESS JGY, PLZ & THX

jc: wei wuxian!!

wwx turns to see his brother and jc FLINGS THE DEMON FLUTE AT WWX bc apparently he's been carrying chenqing around THIS WHOLE TIME??

wwx nods to him (and omg jc is helping him, this is good, this is a step in the right direction!!) and brings chenqing to his lips

we get a shot of lwj staring at wwx as wwx starts to play 

and the background music starts to get SUPER INTENSE and EXCITING as wwx plays

CHENQING STARTS TO OOZE THAT SMOKY RESENTFUL MAGIC STUFF

we get a shot of JC watching wwx play and this is the softest we've seen him look at his brother since he came back from the dead

he's looking at him like it's finally hitting him that wwx is back, his big brother is alive and here and protecting him and jin ling bc that's what family is supposed to do

AND IF I CAN’T HAVE WANGXIANTICS, I WILL ACCEPT YUNMENG BROS TIME AS RECOMPENSE

oooh, Plot Device 3 starts to zoom around and we get a fun bit of camera work so it seems like we're seeing everything from Plot Device 3's perspective

which is kind of adorable for some reason???

it's just zipping along and it sees wwx and wwx guides its attention to where wn is struggling to control baxia

wwx starts to walk, getting both baxia and Plot Device 3 to follow him further into the temple

lwj sees this happening and whooshes away his guqin and follows bc he's always going to follow wwx obvs

WWX IS SO AWESOME, I LOVE WATCHING HIM WORK

EVERYBODY IS STARING AT HIM IN AWE AS THEY SHOULD BE BC MY SUNSHINE BOY IS SKILLED AS HECK

he manages to get baxia into the coffin with nmj before he starts coughing up blood 

But before we can freak out about that, nhs scream in the background 

so everyone runs to check out what's happening there

nhs is all SS WHY'D YOU TRY TO KILL ME OMG MY LEG IS ALL CUT UP NOW, EVERYTHING IS AWFUL, HELP HELP

and ss is like BUT I DIDN'T, HE'S LYING!!!

lol baxia just leaps out of the coffin buries itself in ss's chest

AND THAT’S IT FOR SU SHE

good fucking riddance

But also baxia is nmj's saber

DID IT HEAR NHS AND BE LIKE, NO I CAN'T LET MY MASTER'S BELOVED LITTLE BROTHER GET HURT BY THIS USELESS NOBODY???

BAXIAAAAAA

WHAT A GOOD SABER YOU ARE *CRIES*

wwx starts up his demon flute again even tho baxia seems much more chill now that it has finally killed someone 

But let's watch wwx be a badass on the flute anyway

look at my sunshine boy go! 

look at him corral all that resentful energy!

love my sunshine boy

baxia is finally subdued and wwx lays it and Plot Device 3 in the coffin with nmj

he covers the coffin using some of his wicked awesome red magic stuff

but it's taking a lot out of him i guess bc he stumbles back and lwj is right there to catch him 

bc they're soulmates and they love each other 

aND GOD THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER HERE

JUST, UGH

EVERY TIME THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER MY HEART GETS PALPITATIONS

And this is the only other wangxiantic moment in this episode, wtf show

cut to the next scene, everyone's patching up wounds and whatever

lol we can hear nhs whining like a baby bc omg it hurts it hurts, lxc be more gentle

and lxc is like, chill bro it's just a stab wound

nhs is like JUST a stab wound?? r u kidding me, i'm DYING!!

Which is exactly how i would react to a stab wound lol

now lxc is with jgy and he's like jgy if you do ONE more bad thing, i will definitely finally punish you mercilessly

then he starts checking out his armless shoulder bc lxc really is too good and not all that bright apparently

lol when wwx sees lxc tending to jgy's wounds and his face is like ugh i can't believe this guy

AND THIS IS WHEN WE GET THAT AMAZING AWESOME SHOT OF NHS'S FACE GOING ALL SERIOUS AND, LIKE, VENOMOUS

WE ONLY SEE PART OF HIS FACE, THE OTHER PART COVERED BY LXC'S OUT OF FOCUS FACE

AND NHS GLOWERS AT JGY

oh, my poor sunshine boy is wincing and holding a cloth to his STILL SLUGGISHLY BLEEDING NECK WOUND

SOMEBODY GIVE MY SUNSHINE BOY MEDICINE 

TAKE WHATEVER LXC GAVE TO JGY AND GIVE IT TO MY SUNSHINE BOY STAT

lsz is watching him very intently bc he's figuring out some things about himself and wwx that LWJ DIDN'T HAVE THE GOOD GRACE TO EXPLAIN TO EITHER OF THEM YET

lwj ofc has got his eyes glued on wwx bc, i mean, what else is there worth looking at in the Temple of Doom?

And i guess this counts as a wangxiantic too bc lsz is basically wangxian’s love child anyway!

lxc has the gall to ask nhs to hand him the medicine bottle to tend to FUCKING JGY'S (AKA HIS BIG BROTHER’S MURDERER) WOUNDS

GOD JUST LET JGY BLEED OUT AND DIE ALREADY

nhs is like sure! grabs the medicine bottle and hides it in his robes 

he makes a whole show out of rooting around in his robes to ‘find’ it and lxc goes to him to grab it or whatever so his back is turned to jgy

AND NHS, THAT CLEVER CLEVER BOY, USES THIS CHANCE

he makes a show of looking over lxc's shoulder and shouts LXC LOOK OUT!!

lxc grabs his sword and whirls around and stabs it right into jgy

and nhs is all stuttery and nervously saying how omg he saw jgy reach behind him and he thought he was gonna do something awful so he panicked

Then jgy finally sees nhs AND THAT'S WHERE THE EPISODE ENDS

So another episode with way too much plot stuff, yuck

I mean, we only got 3 actual wangxian moments?? 

What is that about, huh? THAT’S NOT EVERY GAY RIGHTS OF YOU, SHOW!

The next episode is THE LAST and we’re definitely getting wangxiantics there and i will definitely cry about it

Return to Masterpost

[firelord-frowny]

honestly like!

i HATE!!!! the very CONCEPT of guns. and i’m theoretically SO fundamentally opposed to violence. 

but that opposition is based on an idealist assumption that no one is doing anything that they need to be stopped from doing. 

and there are obviously a fucking hell of a lot of people doing a fucking hell of a lot of vile shit, and no amount of ~peaceful protesting~ or litigating or campaigning or Reaching Across The Aisle is going to stop them, and it’s fucking RIDICULOUS that anyone at all thinks people should just wait patiently for The Powers That Be to spontaneously manifest a conscience and finally quit trying to maim and murder people For Funsies. 

i would LOVE it we could just hug them into submission and invite them over for tea and chit chat and take their ugly ass hand and smile at them and show them that I’m Just A Normal Person Like You and have them finally decide to stop wanting me to die. and honestly, some people REALLY CAN be reached through those kinds of methods. and i don’t think people should stop trying to do that. and if anything, i think MORE people need to be trying to do that.

but i ALSO think that more people need to start punching some bigots in the fucking face. 

if self proclaimed conservatives and right wingers and proud wimpy boys get to go around committing terroristic acts against other peoples, and if the politicians and ceos they stan for refuse to take any actions to stop them at best, and at worst go out of their way to FACILITATE the suffering of all but bigoted, well-off white people....

then we should get to punch them in the fucking face and not have anyone say WORD ONE about it. 

they wanna be all big and bad and parade around threatening and committing violence against teachers and health care workers and black people and asian people and jewish people and indigenous people and women of all backgrounds, then they should be fucking tough enough to cope with a goddamn punch in the face every now and then. they should WELCOME every fist that ever collides with their flesh. 

if they want a fucking fight, we should GIVE THEM A FIGHT! and make sure they fucking lose.  make sure the pathetic little ~civil war~ they’re begging for is HUMILIATINGLY short. chase their fucking asses into the most barren, useless parts of the world where they can be vile all by themselves. 

bc i SWEAR TO GOD, the only reason why these people have any power at all to impact anything or anyone is because people LET THEM. not because they’re soooo smart, or they’re soooo dangerous, or there are sooooo many of them. it’s STRICTLY because an enormous majority of bare-minimum-decent people care more about Taking The Moral High Ground than about actually doing what’s necessary to disable evil people from doing evil things.

This is a hella problematic way to put it, buuuut

black people know not to do or say certain things to a cop because we’ve been conditioned to fear the consequences of even the most benign ~infractions.~ We swallow our fucking pride and whip out those “yes sirs” and “no sirs” and we move slowly and we try to keep our hands visible at all costs because we’ve seen, over and over again, for DECADES (centuries, really) what those people might do to us if our hand isn’t totally visible for a fraction of a second. And sometimes it doesn’t even work. Sometimes we do everything in our power to demonstrate that there’s no need to hurt us, and we get murdered anyway. 

WOULDN’T IT BE NICE if those wack ass bigots could learn to fear the consequences of being disgusting out loud and in public? 

Imagine if, over the last several decades, malicious bigots were met with SWIFT physical consequences every time they did some fucked up shit. 

do you think they’d be so bold now? 

i don’t. 

i think if they thought for one second that whoever they pull a gun on might pull one out back at them, then they would keep their fucking mouths shut and behave. i think if they LEGITIMATELY thought that they’re actual lives and their actual freedom were at stake, they wouldn’t say SHIT. Because they know that whether or not they have to wear a mask or get vaccinated or whateverthefuck has absolutely NO real impact on their place in the world. there is NO. WAY. that they would be all up in arms over something so fucking absurd if they thought anyone would actually try to hurt them in response. 

they don’t think anyone is going to show up at their dumb lil protests with tear gas. they don’t think an angry BLM activist is going to shoot up their country club in retaliation against the oppressive policies they support. they don’t think anyone is going to stop them on the street and start screaming in their face and threaten to kill them. they don’t think they’re going to lose a damn fucking thing. they think they’re literally going to just waltz into some of the most secure buildings in the world and wreak havoc, and that NO ONE is going to do shit about it. 

that’s the problem :) :) :) :) :) :) 

the problem isn’t that these people exist. i mean, it fucking sucks that they exist and if they could somehow cease to exist, whether by alien abduction or some sort of freak simultaneous lightning strike or WHATEVER, i would be THRILLED. but just existing doesn’t hurt anyone. Having a stupid belief doesn’t automatically make someone dangerous. It just makes them a shitty person.

But to have a stupid belief and to feel SO ENTITLED to acting upon those beliefs???

those motherfuckers need to fear for their safety. those motherfuckers need to be SO PETRIFIED that they dig themselves underground and bury themselves alive and NEVER resurface. 

i don’t understand how, at this point, with over half a million people DEAD because of the actions of these assholes, and with thousands of people CONTINUING to drop dead over it every day, the so-called “good guys” still don’t see fit to resort to drastic measures to render these people INCAPABLE of causing further harm. 

so many people have died. not just in the time of covid, but decades before that. so many people are murdered in the name of carrying out the pettiest whims of the most wretched people on earth. People get injured. People get poisoned by their own water supply or the very air they breathe. People get sick because they’re forced to live under unhealthy circumstances, and then they DIE because they can’t afford treatment for the illnesses they developed because of the unhealthy circumstances that made them sick in the first place! Children starve. Global warming sets people on fire and drowns them and destroys homes and lives and landscapes. 

literally, at WHAT point does it become acceptable to finally just declare war on these fucking demons? WHEN do we meet them where they’re at and start punching back instead of just curling up and trying to survive the attack?

i KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW that there are groups out there who are taking direct action in some form or another. but CLEARLY it’s not enough.

and i ALSO know that there are MANY PEOPLE who have the actual skills and resources to stage a legitimate countereffort, and they’re just. not. doing it. 

we’ve got all these vile-ass ~ex military~ types boasting about their arsenal and how they intend to use it to reign terror upon innocent people. these fuckfaces who are LITERALLY HOLDING PUBLIC OFFICE and saying Out Loud that they want to attack us. and their peers exalt them for it. 

you CANNOT tell me that there are 0 ~ex military~ people who are sympathetic to the cause of resisting these malicious bigots. you CANNOT tell me that there aren’t people in public office who know that something MUST be done, and who have the POWER and ACCESS to do something - even if it’s “unlawful.” 

but they’re not doing it. :) because they’re weak. :) and they fear for their lives in a way that ~the right~ has NEVER had to contend with. A democratic state senator knows someone might hunt them down and try to kill them if they say anything ~too radical~. a republican state senator is confident that he could literally call for the public execution of someone and be met only with a pathetic verbal reprimand from some spineless liberal congressman who bends over backward to be Respectful And Fair as they gently try to explain why it’s not okay to facilitate mass death in every demographic but their own.

can somebody with the actual power and means to do so PLEASE start doing ANYTHING to terrorize these people back to the bland, tasteless, spiritually bankrupt cesspit they congealed in? When one of these american terrorists brandishes a gun in someone’s face, can someone PLEASE brandish their own gun right back at them? THEY should be the ones who are too terrified to speak up. Not us. THEY should be the ones compelled to look over their shoulder. 

im so sick of a world where mass suffering and exploitation are accepted as Just The Natural Order Of Things. instead of a harrowing dystopia that should be burned to the ground quick, fast, and in a motherfucking hurry.

[splendidlyimperfect]

When Gray wakes up one night with a voice in his head, the last thing he expects is to suddenly be sharing a body with a demon. Natsu is nothing like Gray expected, though. He's surprisingly charming, and more concerned about getting Gray to eat vegetables than he is with taking over the world. Since Gray can't push him away like he does with everyone else, he begrudgingly accepts Natsu's place in his life - for now. But when Natsu ends up needing Gray's help, what started out as an inconvenience turns into a road trip - and a friendship - that changes Gray's life.

Chapter Summary: Gray and Natsu start their road trip to find Natsu's body.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster Characters: Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel, Lyon Vastia, Mard Geer Tartarus Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Humor, Adventure, Demonic Possession, but the good kind, demon Natsu, References to Depression, Depressed Gray, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, Road Trips, Falling In Love, Natsu's not an evil demon, he really just wants to take care of Gray, Gray sucks at feelings

-----

“I’m bored.”

Gray looked up at the rearview mirror to see Natsu’s reflection in the back seat of the car. He gave Gray a pathetic look as he leaned his head against the window.

“It’s only been an hour,” Gray said, rolling his eyes. “How are you going to manage for three days?”

Natsu groaned, tipping his head back against the seat dramatically. The late afternoon sun reflected off his scales, giving his dark skin a reddish glow.

“Weren’t you the one that said three days wasn’t a long time?” Gray looked back at the road, continuing to sneak peeks in the mirror when he could. Natsu swallowed, and the tattoos on his neck shifted with his skin. Gray traced the lines where they dipped under Natsu’s shirt, and he wondered absently where they ended.

Continue reading on AO3

“My stomach,” Natsu said. Gray frowned, then remembered that Natsu could read his mind. He ducked his head, trying to hide his burning cheeks. “And they’re not tattoos,” Natsu said, seemingly unperturbed by Gray’s embarrassment. “They’re markings.”

“What’s the difference?” Gray asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“They’re magic,” Natsu explained. His image disappeared from the rearview mirror, reappearing in the passenger window as if he were sitting in the seat next to Gray. “It’s how I use my powers.”

“So... you got them in hell?”

“The hells.”

“Why?”

Natsu hesitated. “’cause, uh... I was bored.”

Gray raised an eyebrow. “You got magic tattoos—”

“Markings.”

“—markings because you were bored?”

Gray could feel Natsu’s indignance when he answered, “Yes.” He sighed. “The hells are seriously the worst. Everyone’s mean. All they wanna talk about is torturing people and vengeance and shit, and it’s boring.”

Gray was pretty sure that torture and vengeance didn’t usually fall under the umbrella of ‘boring conversation,’ but he didn’t argue.

“So... what kind of magic can you do?” he asked instead.

“Fire, mostly,” Natsu said. Something flickered in the reflection, and when Gray turned to look, he could see a small flame sitting in Natsu’s palm.

“Please don’t burn my car down.”

Natsu laughed, turning his hand palm-down and running the flame across his knuckles like a magician would with a coin. “Don’t worry,” he reassured Gray, “I can only use my magic up here when I’m inside you.” Gray made a choked sound, and Natsu’s eyes widened as he quickly added, “Shit, not like—not in you like that, I mean like using your body. To magic. Not for... other stuff.”

He quickly looked away, and Gray could swear there was an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “Oh,” was all Gray could manage as he desperately tried to push the sudden mental image of Natsu inside him out of his head. The soft, warm presence of Natsu in the back of his mind sparked and sputtered like a candle near an open window.

“What do you do?” Natsu asked quickly. His voice was tight, and he turned away from Gray, staring out the window at the fields of canola.

“Do?” Gray rubbed his face, trying to compose himself.

“For work? School? Whatever.”

“Ah.” He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and focusing on the highway. “I don’t.” He felt the question in the back of his mind and sighed. “I was working,” he said reluctantly, “before I moved here. And I’m not anymore. Not right now, anyway.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want to—” Gray stopped himself, realizing that the question wasn’t irritating him like he expected it to. Natsu seemed genuinely concerned and curious – there was no pity or judgement coming from him.  

“I’m on stress leave,” Gray explained. “I was working at an office before I moved here, and there was someone...” He hesitated, running his thumbs along the worn weather of the steering wheel. “Someone who made my life hell,” he said eventually.

Natsu’s reflection shifted in the window as he appeared to settle into the seat with his knees tucked up against his chest. “Is that who I saw?” he asked. “In your head?” He looked embarrassed.  

Gray didn’t answer. Instead, he exhaled, and let the memories come to the surface of his mind, drifting there for Natsu to see. “It’s okay,” he said when he felt Natsu’s hesitation. “It’s easier than talking about it.”

There was a soft tug at the back of his mind, but instead of pushing back, Gray relaxed. He watched the trees and fields fly by through the window as Natsu drifted through his memories. The low thrum of anxiety in Gray’s chest was tempered by Natsu’s soft, comforting warmth.

“What a bitch,” Natsu said eventually. Gray snorted, glancing over at the passenger window. Natsu’s reflection looked pissed at first, then slowly relaxed into regret once he realized Gray was watching. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Gray said quietly. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “People didn’t listen to me – she didn’t listen to me. And it just felt like I was saying no over and over, and it didn’t matter.” He rubbed his forearm self-consciously. “She started showing up at my apartment or following me to the grocery store and eventually I kinda… lost it.”

“What the actual fuck?” Natsu’s expression shifted back to angry.

Gray felt himself start to smile at Natsu’s indignance. Nobody had ever listened to him or stood up for him like this before. Lyon had been sympathetic, of course, but had never been as angry as Natsu was. It felt…

“Validating?” Natsu suggested. Gray groaned as he realized Natsu had been listening to his internal monologue again.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I haven’t really talked about it with anyone. Not since I moved.”

“We could scare the shit out of her,” Natsu suggested. “Like with Lyon – glowing eyes, fire, all that.”

Gray laughed and shook his head. “As hilarious as that would be, I never want to see her again.” A soft sense of understanding radiated from Natsu, warm and comforting. Gray let himself lean into the feeling, breathing deeply as he let some of his anger dissolve.

“Are we hungry?” Natsu asked, pulling Gray out of his feelings. “I think I am. Are you?” Natsu pointed straight ahead to a sign on the side of the road. It was faded and peeling, but the washed-out letters read Ice Cream – 99 Flavors!

“Sure,” Gray said, smiling at the excited expression on Natsu’s face. “I could go for ice cream.”

~

They spent the rest of the afternoon driving, and by the time the sun started to sink over the horizon, Gray was exhausted. He pulled into a parking lot with a neon sign flashing cheap rooms and free wifi! and yawned.

“What’s wifi?” Natsu, who had been quiet for the last couple hours of the trip, frowned at the sign.

“Internet.”

“What’s internet?”

Gray rolled his eyes as he got out of the car and stretched. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the only sounds were the low rumble of the highway and a sharp buzz from the fluorescent lights overhead.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing his backpack from the back seat and heading toward the office. “I’ll show you.”

Their room was small and smelled like every motel Gray had ever been in. He tossed his bag on the ground and kicked off his shoes.

“It’s weird that you’re not like… here,” he said as he pulled out his phone and caught Natsu’s reflection in the screen. “Physically, I mean,” Gray added when Natsu raised an eyebrow.

“Move the mirror,” Natsu suggested, gesturing to the cracked plastic mirror that hung on the far wall. It came off its single nail easily, and Gray propped it up against the TV so it was across from the headboard. Then he flopped down on the bed and grumbled at the squeak of the springs. When he looked up at his reflection, Natsu was next to him, legs crossed in front of the pillows.

Even though Natsu wasn’t there physically, Gray could feel heat creeping into his cheeks at the idea of them both being in the same bed. Sure, he was technically alone, but the mirror showed a different story. Gray’s brain drifted back to their awkward conversation in the car, and to the blush he’d seen on Natsu’s cheeks.

“Internet?” Natsu said hopefully, pulling Gray out of his embarrassment.

“Oh,” Gray said, “Yeah, hang on a sec.” He grabbed his laptop from his backpack and opened it, connecting the wifi and opening the internet browser. “Okay, ask me a question.”

Natsu frowned. “Any question?”

“Yep. Well, not a personal question. Something you want to know about the world.”

“Hm. What’s the spiciest food ever?”

Gray quickly typed world’s spiciest food in the search bar. “Phaal curry.” He pointed to the picture. “It’s got, uh… ten of the world’s hottest peppers in it.”

Natsu’s face lit up. “Can we eat that?”

“Absolutely not.” Gray shuddered. “I hate spicy food. Plus, we’re probably not gonna find an Indian restaurant all the way out here.” Natsu pouted and Gray laughed.

“Wait,” Natsu said, frowning at the computer. “Your… machine knows that?”

“Laptop. And no, not the laptop. We’re connected to the internet.”

“And the internet knows about spicy food.”

“The internet knows pretty much everything. Try another question.”

“Uh… what’s the biggest volcano?”

“Ojos de Salado. On the border of Argentina and Chile.”

Natsu stared at the picture, eyes wide. “How does it know? How does it work?”

“That’s… a great question,” Gray said, shrugging. “I actually have no idea.”

“Ask it!”

Gray spent the next five minutes reading about the internet from a technical website, but Natsu quickly grew bored with the explanation.

“Sounds like magic,” he said, waving his hands in a vaguely mystical gesture. “Is that how you found my body?”

Gray nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He opened the map and pointed to the marked location that said Belle River, British Columbia.

Natsu was silent for a minute. Gray looked at his reflection in the mirror. Natsu seemed lost in thought, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the phone.

“What’s up?” Gray asked. “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” Natsu said. He pulled his knees up to his chest and Gray’s attention drifted as he tried to figure out exactly how the reflection worked. Was Natsu really there, in some other dimension? Was he tangible? Was there a way that he could touch Natsu? Or was his physical form just Gray’s imagination?

“No,” Natsu answered, and Gray blinked in surprise, then sighed as Natsu laughed at him. “Sorry. You think really loud. And no, you’re not imagining me. I am.”

“I… what?”

Natsu tipped his head to look at Gray and gestured to his face. “I was like… eight when I lost my body. So I looked a little different.” He closed his eyes and exhaled, and the reflection in the mirror started to shift. The pink in Natsu’s hair faded to a light brown and grew out until it was tied back in a short ponytail. His features softened, the dark marks on his arms receded, and his tight t-shirt and jeans were replaced by a too-large shirt and ripped pants. The now-young Natsu looked at Gray in the mirror and gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“You were so little,” Gray said softly. Natsu’s face looked thin and pale, and there were bright fever-spots on both his cheeks. Before Gray could say anything else, Natsu quickly shifted back to his older self.

“Yeah. So this is kinda… what I think I’d look like if I was around now.” He glanced back at Gray’s phone, then added, “I guess we’ll see when we get there.”

“That’ll be weird, hey?”

“Mm.” Natsu shrugged, but his expression was uncomfortable. “Thinking about it…” He trailed off, but his emotions intensified, leaving Gray with an unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” he asked quickly, trying his best to push the feelings away. They were too close to what he’d felt when he’d first moved away from everything and had spent most of his time curled up in his room, staring blankly at the walls.

“A movie?”

“Yeah.” Gray grabbed the laptop again and opened Netflix. “Moving pictures?” He frowned at Natsu. “You’re weird. You don’t know what the internet is, but you didn’t seem weirded out by my cell phone, or cars, or… lattes.”

“I pay attention to the human world sometimes,” Natsu said, almost defensively. “I know what a phone is! They were around last time I was topside; they were just a lot different. Same with cars. And I know what moving pictures are – the last person I possessed went to one. It was on a big screen, though, not—” He gestured at Gray’s laptop “—this.”

“Well, movies stream through the internet now,” Gray explained as he flipped through his ‘to watch’ list. It was mostly documentaries, which he didn’t think Natsu would find too exciting. He finally settled on ‘Max Max: Fury Road.’

As the screen lit up with the opening credits, Gray leaned back against the pillows. Natsu followed suit, and in their reflection, it almost looked like they were cuddling. The space beside Gray was empty, though, and he tried his best not to think about the disappointing lack of warmth.

“Who’s that?” Natsu asked, pointing to the man on screen. “Is that real? Who’s he talking to?”

“Natsu,” Gray said, rolling his eyes and turning up the volume. “I’ll explain how movies work later. Right now, just shut up and watch.”

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

It’s a Wonderful Life (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

Enjoy this very belated Christmas fluff for those like me who don’t have anywhere to go for the holidays :)

Rating: T

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Reader

Words: 2969

Warnings: alcohol/drinking

Requested: yes/no

Summary: Sid invites you home with him for Christmas break. You’re a little worried what his family is going to think, until you’re not

You’re not entirely sure that you’re comfortable with this, but you’d made the decision and now you’re stuck with it. Not really stuck, because Sid would fly you back to Pittsburgh the second you asked, but just. You can’t exactly back out now, after flying to Nova Scotia and driving almost the entire way to Sid’s parents’ house. Not that you would! It’s just that you’re staying at Sid’s place for a few days and spending Christmas with his family and while you’ve met them before, you don’t know them all that well and Trina is pretty perceptive and you’re hoping she doesn’t bring up the whole “being in love with Sid” thing again and and and you’re maybe freaking out a little bit.

Your own family situation is… complicated, which is why Sid had invited you home with him for the holiday. Allegedly because his family wanted to see you, but more likely because the thought of you sitting at home alone on Christmas was kind of pathetic. You’re grateful, because you’d much rather spend the day with Sid than drinking a bottle of wine by yourself on your couch watching Christmas movies. You’d much rather spend any day with Sid than, well, pretty much anything else.

There’s a pressure on your knee and it makes you startle, forced out of your own head. It’s Sid’s hand, of course, because what else is gonna suddenly going to settle on your previously bouncing leg in a closed car on the highway. You hadn’t even realized you were jiggling your leg, too caught up in anxiety to notice much else, so you’re grateful Sid noticed and stopped you. He shoots you a quick smile when you look over, before returning his eyes to the road, ever the responsible driver.

“You doing alright?” he asks, and you’re not quite sure how to answer. Obviously you’re not going to spill your guts about all your worries, but lying and saying you’re fine would feel disingenuous. It’s just. This is kind of a big deal, right? Like if it were a team party, that would be one thing, but he’s taking you home to spend a major holiday with his entire family. It’s just a friend thing, obviously, but still…

“I’ll be okay,” you settle on, “Just a little nervous.” He nods sympathetically, before giving a wry smile.

“My family can be a bit much, eh?” he says, except that’s not really quite it, because it’s the whole situation that’s a bit much, not just his family-- who are actually quite lovely-- and what really makes you nervous is the aforementioned being-in-love-with-him thing, but you can’t tell him that--

“Do you want to stay at mine instead?” he asks, “I’ll have to go to the party for a couple hours, but I could come home early and we could spend time together there instead.” Because he’s a fucking saint like that.

“No!” you reply entirely too loudly, before clearing your throat and continuing “No, you don’t have to do that.” The fact that he would even offer to do that for you makes your chest tight. “Cared for” is still not a feeling you’re used to. Sid seems intent on giving you plenty of practice with it, though. His hand tightens against your leg momentarily, as though he can tell you want to start bouncing it again. Damn perceptive bastard. He seems to be waiting for you to say something, but you’re not sure how to explain any of this without outing yourself. Even with the noise of the road and the steady hum of the car, the silence is deafening. He lets it stretch too long to be remotely comfortable, used to awkward silences with the media in a way you’re not.

“What if people ask if we’re dating?” you finally blurt out, if only to kill the unbearable quiet. He doesn’t startle or look surprised at all, like you’d expected. Just squeezes your knee again.

“We’ll tell them the truth,” he says with a shrug, like it’s that simple. What is the truth? you think. Because you’re just friends, as far as you know, but “just friends” don’t invite each other to family Christmas. Or regularly sleep in the same bed (or on the same couch) when they don’t feel like going home at night. Or slow dance to love songs like the two of you had this wedding season. Or do most of the things the two of you do. Bachelor hockey players don’t FaceTime their friends before bed every night on roadies, or head home early when they’re out with the boys so that they can hang out with you, or try on the regular to convince you how amazing you are with long, heartfelt rants about your better aspects. But he does.

You’re rounding the bend toward the driveway of his parents’ house when he finally moves his hand in preparation of parking. Taylor’s car is already in the drive, and he blocks her in because despite everything, he’s still an older brother. You’re about to roll your eyes and rib him for it, when he turns as far toward you as he can in his seat. His hand is on yours now, warm and rough and comforting.

“You can still back out,” he says. Looking into his eyes, you know it’s true. You know you can always back out, can always leave if you want to. But as anxious as you are, as scared as you are, you don’t want to.

“Let’s get in there before they come out, huh?” you say with a smile.

-----

Trina and Troy’s house is just this side of opulent, tastefully decorated both for the holiday and in general. They greet you at the door, ushering you in with excitement in their voices and fondness in their eyes. Your anxiety is still there, but it feels farther away now. Between the distraction of Trina immediately trying to feed you and the warm feeling of home, tonight’s festivities feel a bit more manageable.

They’re throwing a Christmas Eve party tonight, which you and Sid will attend. Tomorrow, you’re going to spend the morning with Sid, before having an early dinner with Trina and Troy and Taylor (too many T’s). The next night, you’ll fly home so Sid can rest before his game against the Preds, but you’ll likely spend at least part of that day with his family as well. With the way your family is (and has been for a long time), it’s going to be a bit much. But what is family if not a bit much?

“Y/N, you’ve got to try my scones,” Trina insists, pulling you toward the kitchen as Troy begins trying to ply Sid with alcohol. You’re glad he hasn’t targeted you this time, because being drunk for the party would be embarrassing and probably only make everything worse. Tipsy you can deal with, but starting to drink at 11am for a 7pm party will get anyone a little unsteady.

“So,” Trina starts as you bite into what seems to be a berry scone, “How’s it going with Sid?” Damn. She lured you in with the promise of baked goods and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. At least the scone is good- buttery and sweet. And chewing gives you an excuse to delay your answers.

“It’s good; we’ve been spending more time together this season,” you say, “These are really good, Trina. You’ve outdone yourself.” You’re hoping that she’ll be distracted enough by the flattery to switch topics, but you know it’s futile. Once she latches on to this topic, she keeps it.

“Thank you, dear,” she responds politely, “Has he asked you out yet?” You don’t spit your mouthful across the room, but it’s a close thing. Whatever happened to Canadians being unbearably circuitous? Trina just keeps a mildly devious smile on while you choke down the suddenly too-dry pastry.

“No,” you cough, “No, he hasn’t.” Hopefully she drops it at that. No luck.

“That boy,” she shakes her head, “I swear he’s a wreck with anything off the ice.” And what the hell does that mean? Does she expect him to ask you ask because of her own biases, or does she know something? Holy shit, does she know something? Because she’s his mom and he’s a momma’s boy above all else, and if anyone were to know something about him, it would be her. But if she knew anything, she’d be open with it, because Sid’s her son, yes, but you’re basically her daughter. But you’re only basically her daughter because Sid is her son and you’re his best friend so--

“Have you asked him out?” she asks, which kind of makes your brain short-circuit because, what.

“What?” you ask, without meaning to. You’re supposed to just, what? Ask Sid out? Ask out the greatest current hockey player in the fucking world? As what? You? Who the fuck does she think you are?

“The man doesn’t always have to make the first move, dear,” Trina elaborates, sliding another baking sheet into the oven, “You can ask him out just as well.” How the fuck are you supposed to ask him out? Hey Sid, I know we’ve been friends for years, and this jeopardizes everything we’ve built, but do you want to date? Bullshit. You love Trina, truly, you do, but goddamn. This is getting ridiculous.

“I heard Troy has a new bourbon he wants Sid and I to try,” you say, putting the other half of your scone on the island, “I’m gonna go try it, if that’s alright?” You know she won’t say no, and she knows she won’t say no, so hopefully she doesn’t take it too personally. She simply shoots you a look with that same wry smile Sid got from her and shoos you from the kitchen. You retreat to where Troy is making Sid try his new peanut butter whiskey, more than ready to try that bourbon he’d mentioned last month.

-----

The party is more classy than you’re used to with your upbringing. It’s nice, though, to know that it’s going to be a pleasant evening without anyone getting wasted and ruining everything, even if it means you have to wear pantyhose. Your dress is black and short, but not too short, with long sleeves and lace around the skirt. It bares a fair bit of cleavage, but not so much as to be inappropriate, and over all, you’re a big fan of this one. It almost makes you look like you fit in among the upper class crowd, despite being from the local thrift shop.

Sid looks dashing, as per usual, in black pants and a red button-up that’s open just enough to show the barest bit of his chest. The color complements the bit of a flush that’s overtaken his cheeks with the encouragement of alcohol, and it’s a little distracting when you’re trying to make polite small talk and remember his relatives’ names. You’re not quite sure what you’re drinking, because Troy made it for you and refused to tell, but it’s not helping either. There are just so many people, and you’re trying not to let it make you nervous, but the part of your brain that hasn’t adjusted to well-adjusted people is still waiting for something to go wrong, and anxiety is clawing at the gates of your psyche. You wish you were back at Sid’s, curled up on the couch with him watching shitty Christmas movies instead.

“How you holding up?” Sid asks when his aunt moves on to the next conversation. It’s the third time he’s checked on you in so many hours, always the gentleman. You’re tempted to ask him to let you go home, except the only way to overcome anxiety is to face it, so you just nod before greeting another aunt who’s approached.

Unlike you’d expected, not many people ask if you’re Sid’s girlfriend. It makes sense, because you’re not his type, like, at all, but it kind of stings. You could totally date Sid if you wanted. Who are they to think otherwise? You’re smart, and funny, and kind, and pretty great, overall. Sid would be lucky to have you.

“Sid, would you date me?” you ask an indeterminate amount of time later, once you’ve made your way through family and friends itching to talk to Sid, and a few more drinks made by Troy. Trina made one of them for you, which is probably why you want to sit on the couch and stare at the ceiling for a while. But you kind of need to know, because only like five people have asked if you’re dating and it’s like. What the fuck.

“What?” he asks, looking slightly panicked for reasons you can’t currently discern.

“Would you date me?” you repeat, continuing, “Cause like, no one is asking if we’re dating, and I could totally date you.” His eyebrows shoot up and he starts to smile, so you add “I’m a catch, dude”. That makes him outright laugh, but not in, like, a mean way.

“I think it’s time to get you home,” he says, which is not an answer to your question. You kind of want to cuddle up with him and watch a movie or take a nap or both, though, so you don’t argue. You can ask him again in the car.

Which you do. It takes a while to say good night to all of his family, and you’re feeling a little less flushed by time the two of you load into the car and take off. Definitely still not sober enough to not follow up on your question, however. He looks less panicked and more… wistful, or something, this time, which you take to be a good sign.

“Of course I would,” he finally agrees, resting a hand on your knee in a way reminiscent of the drive from the airport. Victory. Of course he’d date you, you’re wonderful. Not like, “dating one of the most famous hockey players ever” wonderful, but still. You refuse to feel down on yourself on Christmas Eve.

The drive home is mostly a blur, less from the alcohol and more from your racing thoughts. Sid has to squeeze your knee to get your attention when you get to his place, and you startle enough that both of you giggle. You don’t bother slinging your purse over your shoulder for the ten-step walk to the mud room, hanging it in its place as you kick your heels off into their designated area. You can’t help but give a pleased sigh and wiggle your sore toes. Probably should have broken them in more before wearing them to a party for four hours.

Each of you goes to your designated rooms, agreeing to meet back at the couch. You’ve sobered up considerably in the last couple hours, able to put on your pajama shorts while standing, despite being unable to get your stockings off the same way. But then again, can anyone get stockings off while standing? You’d like to see proof. Sid’s house is just warm enough that the soft flannel shorts don’t leave you cold, but you do pair it with an oversized t-shirt rather than a tank top. After massaging your feet for a minute or two, you head downstairs, bare feet barely making a sound against the hardwood and carpet.

Sid is still getting changed, presumably, so you gather his best big fuzzy blanket and the pillow he likes to prop himself up with. After arranging the pillow how he tends to like it, you curl up on the middle cushion and wrap yourself in the blanket to wait. You don’t bother searching for a movie, already knowing that you’re going to stump for It’s A Wonderful Life, and that Sid’s probably going to give in easily. It takes you a moment to realize he’s in the room, because he’s just standing off to the side staring at you, like a weirdo.

“You comin’ or what?” you ask rhetorically, seemingly snapping him out of some daze. He settles into the spot you’d set for him, pulling you down into his chest and smiling the entire time you wiggle around to get comfortable. He must be feeling that Christmas spirit. You tug the blanket up until it covers his lap and up to your shoulders, finally deeming the position comfy enough. He only puts up a token resistance when you suggest your movie, already searching it as he lists off random Christmas movies you could watch instead. None of them are as good as It’s A Wonderful Life, though, because It’s A Wonderful Life is the best Christmas movie by far.

It’s a long movie, and your eyelids begin to droop around the time George has to choose between the new factory and the Building and Loan. Between Sid and the blanket, you’re warm and safe and cared for, and you let yourself drift to sleep with a smile. Just before you get there, however, Sid rouses you. You look up to him with hooded eyes, returning his smile. Slowly, slowly, he leans down, tilting your head toward him with a pair of fingers until he can press your lips together. The kiss is soft and lingering, both your lips slightly chapped from the cold, the angle awkward, and it’s entirely perfect.

“Merry Christmas,” Sid says, and you stare at each other for a short eternity before both breaking out in laughter. What a cheesy move! But what else would you expect from him, honestly?

“Merry Christmas, Sid,” you reply once you’ve managed to calm. You’re still sleepy, but the smile refuses to leave your face, even as Sid leans down to kiss you again. You get the feeling you won’t have to worry about people asking if you’re Sid’s girlfriend anymore, but not for the reason you’d expected.