#and also I hate online classes with a burning passion so that's not happening

[melonpond]

Me: "hmmm I really would like to pursue a career in programming, game programming if possible. But I'm not great at creating habits or structure for myself which makes trying to teach entire subjects to myself or stick with a really long tutorial difficult. So I'll find a college that offers game programming or a game design/development degree that emphasizes programming!"

Every single guide on the internet when someone asks about game related degrees: "actually that's a waste of time and money and you should like. spend five years in front of your computer magically creating games from scratch via only youtube videos and incredible amounts of motivation"

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝boyfriend supporter.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Todoroki Shouto ]

「Scenario of Todoroki with an S/O who goes to another school and studying to become a doctor. She comes to visit UA during the Sports Festival to cheer for him.」

TODOROKI SHOUTO

"You got the tickets to UA's Sports Festival!?" your friend exclaimed. You motioned her to keep her voice down and sipped your miso soup before gently placing it back down onto your tray.

"Aren't those like really hard to get, [First Name]-chan?" one of your other friends asked.

You find yourself laughing lightly at that. Like your friend mentioned, its something that's very difficult to obtain. Before there were quirks, sports fans would obsess over the Olympic Games. When Quirks became apart of the world, the UA Sports Festival became the most-watched sporting event and surpassed the Olympic Games. You had managed to miraculously score a ticket to the UA Sports Festival. This was a popular event where billions of people would stop whatever they're doing to watch or even watch while doing their work. Well, it's one of the biggest events in Japan so its no surprise.

It was really hard to obtain and at this very moment, you were really glad that you decided to buy it the moment it was being sold online. What's more, you promised Todoroki that you'd be there to watch him. You have been dating him for a year or so, being classmates in middle school. It was really surprising to know that aloof and quiet Todoroki actually liked you. The two of you happened to be paired up for countless group projects, were in the same class for 3 years straight and often sat nearby each other. Your relationship with him was quite slow but you really love it.

"I guess having a boyfriend who studies in UA makes it easier." your friend teased you, giving you a nudge. Your face turned a bit pink as you lightly punched her shoulder.

"That doesn't have to do anything with me getting the tickets!" you exclaimed, keeping your tone in a reasonable volume to not disturb the people around you.

When the day actually came, you sent a text to your boyfriend to inform him that you'll be watching at the stands. Your parents told you to be careful when you left the house and you understood why you should be. There were a lot of people, like a huge sea of people! It feels like you're inside the commute during rush hour. As much as you hated cramped spaces, you had to grow used to this because you paid for it and you weren't going to miss your boyfriend's big day. The moment you got to your seat, you let out a sigh of relief and placed your bag on your lap. You never really had the passion to become a hero like your boyfriend and were content admiring them from a distance.

You weren't blessed with a quirk like Todoroki's which was hero-material. Though, you still want to help people like heroes do and you chose to study to be a doctor. You looked at your phone before the event started and saw that Todoroki replied to your message with a simple, 'I'll see you after the match.' Watching the upcoming generation of heroes battle their hearts out and showcasing their quirks had you sitting at the edge of your seat. That was so like him. Most of the students from the Heroes Department had made it to the fighting tournament. You knew that your boyfriend has issues with his quirk and his father. And you can't help but pray that he will be just fine.

Honestly, you almost felt your heart stop at Todoroki and Midoriya's match.

The stage was far too damaged from the battle and it was delayed until they fixed the stage. Poor Midoriya had hurt himself so badly in that frightening battle. As a doctor in training, you were able to tell that he has broke his arm and that definitely needs surgery. You hoped that boy will be just fine. On the other hand, Todoroki looked a bit sad and you wished you can go comfort him. He's not only fighting with these people but also himself.

The finals were probably the second most terrifying this you've witnessed today. The boy your boyfriend was against, Bakugou -- looked like a strong person, you had been watching closely on the other matches and can tell. You watched as Bakugou clawed out of the mass  of ice by using his explosions. They were both strong but you could tell that Bakugou has the slight edge over Todoroki. If he had used his fire, he could've turned the situation around. But, you could see it in his eyes, he was unsure and he looked ready to give up.

You finally found your voice at that moment.

"Don't lose, Shouto!" you were the only person in the stands screaming. Your throat burned and you could feel everyone's gaze on you but you didn't care. Todoroki's eyes met yours for the first time throughout the entire festival. His eyes widened a fraction and he seemed to start igniting his flames. You couldn't see him as you were too busy catching your breath.

By the end of the battle, Bakugou had emerged as the victor. You were sad or disappointed, you were glad that he heard you and hoped that he was okay. When the award ceremony ended, everyone began to leave but you stayed by the entrance, clutching onto your backpack. You looked at your phone again and saw that Todoroki had told you that he will pick you up by the entrance. You put on your backpack and waited patiently. The moment you saw his red-white hair, you jumped onto him which earned a grunt from the male. You held his hands in your own.

"Are you okay? The last fight was amazing! I'm super proud of you, did you get your wounds treated?" you asked, examining his handsome face. You cupped his cheeks and squished them together. Todoroki knows that you're worried about him, you always had been the one patching up his Todoroki gave you a nod.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Oh?"

"You're the girl who was cheering Todoroki at the stands when he was fighting Bakugou!" 

"You're so lucky, man! You already have fans! Guess this is what being handsome and strong is like."

Todoroki had turned around to see his classmates slowly leaving the stadium too. You quickly hid behind your boyfriend, suddenly embarrassed that you had people watching you. A few seconds passed by and before you knew it, you were surrounded by the students of Class 1-A. You had never been this close with such amazing people before -- of course, let's not talk about your lovely boyfriend. It was quite embarrassing how they remembered you from that one little incident during the sports festival. You were about to protest and introduce yourself properly as his girlfriend.

"Hey, Todoroki, who's this girl?" a girl, you recalled her name was Ashido was next to you. Her closeness made you squeak in surprise and cling onto Todoroki even more.

"Hey, Ashido, you're scaring her. You should learn not to step into people's comfort zone so casually." It was Kirishima who told the pink-haired girl to back off and you were grateful that he did.

"Is she your friend, Todoroki?"

"Introduce us!"

"Hey, nice to meet you! What's your name?"

You were overwhelmed. They all seemed to be very nice and friendly but having a number of people around you and asking you questions at the same time made your head spin. At this point, you couldn't even remember what was the question.Todoroki slipped his hand into yours, gently squeezing as if to calm you down.

"This is my girlfriend."

There was a moment of silence before a collective gasp was heard.

"Girlfriend!?" they all had screamed in unison.

"N-Nice to meet you! I'm [Last Name] [First Name] from Sakurazaka Medical Academy." you bowed and stood next to Todoroki. The atmosphere was silent and you were feeling a bit nervous because everyone still had their eyes on you ― something you weren't really used to. You expected them to be a bit quieter this time but they weren't. Everyone seemed to be pretty amazed that you were going to such a prestigious school and aiming to become a doctor.

"Please give me some time with [First Name]. I promised that I will be walking her home." Todoroki intervened. You felt his tug your hand and pull you along with him. His classmates said goodbye, giving the two of you a small wave. Some of them seem to be jealous of how smooth Todoroki was, especially the short student who was muttering to himself.

"Thanks for coming all the way here." Todoroki said, as you both walked hand in hand.

"It's not a big deal. I just thought you needed some encouragement." you smiled gently at him.

There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you. The reason why held back in the finals, why he decided not to use his flames to win the festival. These were the things that he has never told you before. What if you think that he was being ridiculous? It was a sensitive topic to Todoroki. You had accepted him without knowing his past, what happened with his family, and the main reason he has never actually talked about his own family. You glanced over at him only to see that he seemed to be struggling to say something.

"Shouto." your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"You don't have to force yourself."

You always knew what to say. You always knew what's going on with him without him having to voice it out loud. You were such an understanding, kind and loving person. He wonders if he actually deserves you or not. For a moment, his eyes soften and you could see the love in his eyes.

"Thank you." he smiled gently.

When you returned the smile and told him you loved him, he knew. He knew that he was worthy of your love. 

Total: 1668 words Published: 14.09.2020

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ Kinda want to finish all requests before break ends.... Hope you liked it! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! We hope you enjoyed this! ― author Natsuki

Requests areopen! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[deniigi]

hi dr matt! I had a quick academic question if that's ok? any tips for surviving online school bc I barely got thru the term and now I'm taking summer classes and I just really hate online learning and school in general rn which sucks because I've always been the Girl Who Likes School and I'm rlly struggling now

HELLO.

More academic questions, yes come to me.

So, some things to know if you were the kid who was great at school until Something Happened. Something being the pandemic or like, transition to college:

Being good or bad at school is does not determine your self worth.

Being good or bad at school does not mean that you are more or less intelligent than other people around you.

In fact, I would argue that it is important, sometimes, to be bad at school. Because this is a moment where you learn how you learn and you also learn how to advocate for yourself.

I personally, am not doing online school right now, but I talk to students who are every day and I know people who are teaching school online right now, so take what I am going to say with a grain of salt. 

1) Look for resources to help you set up your space and routine so that you can delineate space and time into ‘school’ and ‘not school’ spaces and times.

Folks with disabilities are champions at this, since many of them already have to work remotely or spend a great amount of time at home. Seek those resources and listen to how the pros do it. 

2) You need to be more communicative, not less, with your instructors during these types of situations.

More than less likely, you are attending class with your video off. More than less likely, people are not participating in class. More than less likely, there are fewer opportunities than ever to connect with other people at your school. That makes school shit.

Try turning your camera on and nodding along with your teacher. Try asking questions outloud instead of putting them in the chat. Consider making a study group with your classmates and actually meeting up and talking with cameras on or email your teacher asking for more group activities.

Go to office hours to ask about future careers and potential opportunities for you to get involved with campus faculty or organizations.

Meet with a school advisor or counselor and talk about Burn-Out. What makes you excited about school? What make you passionate?

3) Start something new that you do after school happens.

Novelty is super important for keeping peoples’ brains functioning normally. That means shit like trying a new food, starting a new hobby, listening to a new podcast, exploring new music, etc. etc. is actually really good for your mental health. So if you are in a place at school where everything feels endless and pointless, give yourself a way to start something that makes you feel a little out of your depth or surprised.

4) Leave your house. Like, for real. Go on a picnic in your backyard. Go for a walk to your local park. Reward yourself with this after a day of school so that it feels like you aren’t staying in one place all the time.

5) Know that this isn’t forever. Know that having difficulties with online school is normal and expected. This is one of the first times in HISTORY that the majority of people are being educated through a screen. Can you believe that? That’s fucking WILD to me!! We are part of this history and it is SHIT and it is TOUGH, but you are part of it, too. You are not alone and this too, shall pass.

You will again find parts of education that you love. You will be good at some things and you will find others challenging.

Understand that this does not reflect on your intrinsic self-worth and understand that it is a temporary situation.

And sometimes, man, what you really fuckin’ need is a break. So take a long weekend, take a week if you need to. Give yourself the time to get excited about new things again and you’ll do just fine. And if you are still struggling, ask a teacher for help, ask a counselor for help, ask your friends for help.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #399

“i was raised by the devil’s own kin, taught me that a good time was never a sin”

Do you like wine? NOOOOOOO that shit is gross. Explain the grossest thing that's ever happened to you? Having an infected pilonidal cyst drained. Would you rather go on holiday somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Cold, for sure. What would be your ideal pet? I reeeeaaaally want a very visibly sunset morph ball python one day. The really pretty ones are expensive as fuck, but omg, I want one so badly. What was the last book you were required to read for school? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was fantastic. Would you chew somebody else's gum? EW FUCK NO. What was the last type of meat you ate? Chicken. How old were you when you had your first kiss? 16. At what age would you allow your kids to dye their hair? Whenever they wanted, as long as a professional did it. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? Probably McDonald's. Bats are not spooky or are they? I adore bats. Do you like the song "Womanizer?" Unabashedly, yes, haha. I love the beat and it's really catchy. Do you know how to change a tire? Nope. How big is your backyard? Very small. What is your favorite Nintendo 64 game? I've actually never played a Nintendo 64. If you want children, what are some of your reasons for wanting them? I don't want any. Does a career in finance sound interesting to you? Absolutely not. When you cook a dish that has beans in it, do you prefer to use canned or dry beans? I. HATE. Beans. What’s something that makes absolutely zero sense to you? Those that deny the existence of dinosaurs. Fossils don't lie. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s your favorite dessert? That's so hard, but probably cheesecake. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? Vanilla ice cream. Do you know anybody who is ambidextrous? Sara. Have you ever been 4-wheeling? Yes. Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? No. If you have glasses, have you ever smashed them? No. What was the last thing you got a really good deal on? My APAP mask. Insurance covered it way more than even the women in the office were used to so had to look into it. Insurance has been nice to me lately, from TMS to this. What was the last reason you took medicine? I had a massive headache. Any important birthdays coming up? My older sister's was today, and her eldest daughter's is in two days. Mark's birthday is the 28th, and that's like a holiday in my book lmao. What colour are your headphones? These earplugs are pink. How do you express your creativity? I mostly write RP and rarely poems. I also like to draw sometimes, and I'm big into photography. Gypsies or gnomes? Gypsies. Dragons or fairies? Dragons are my favorite mythological creatures. Elves or pixies? Elves. Where is your favourite place to get breakfast? Maybe Cracker Barrel? Or Waffle House. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer. I hated it. Nickname you’re called the most? "Britt" is the most used. Do you sleep on your stomach? I can't now with my mask. -_- That's how I usually slept. Have you ever been called a bitch? Yes. Would you ever want a super-realistic baby doll? Fuuuuuuuuuck no. I don't like dolls, never mind realistic ones. Ladybugs or bumblebees? Ladybugs. <3 What is the best thing that ever happened to you? My first round of a partial hospitalization program and meeting my psychiatrist. Both that therapy and proper medication is the reason I'm alive. What is something really hurtful someone you love has said to you? That I was an "ungrateful bitch." What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? One for advanced ball python husbandry. There are some SERIOUS elitists in there, but it does have great information. Did your mom ever own a typewriter? I think she did? We used to have one, so. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Maybe orange. I want to wear a black dress and get married in the fall, so, Halloween vibes! :') Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska. Do you wear a watch every day? I never do. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? No, thankfully. Not yet, anyway. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I am much happier with pets. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic ones. Who is/was the best friend you have ever had? Sara. Do you own a trenchcoat? No, but I wish. They're badass. Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? My iPod that I've had since middle school. That bitch STILL works, and I use it heavily. Are you currently in a smoking environment? No; people aren't allowed to smoke in our house. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? My old friend Alex did. I don't know if I can call her my "friend" anymore because I haven't seen or heard from her in well over a year at the bare minimum. Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? STORY OF MY LIFE. Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? No. But I don't really have a "circle" of friends to begin with. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? I don't go on rollercoasters. If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No. Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? No. How many pills do you currently take a day? Ugh... Now keep in mind this number encompasses medications that I just have to take a larger dose of that particular med; I don't take this number of different prescriptions. AS a whole though, I take uhhh. Somewhere around nine or ten in the morning, and six at night. I might be off about my morning pills. What do you take medication for? Bipolarity and depression, anxiety, OCD, severe heartburn, even more intense nightmares, uhhh... maybe I'm forgetting others? Idk, man. I'm on too many. Have you ever had a bag stolen? No. What class from high school did you love the most? Art. What class did you hate the most? Economics. If you don’t have a car, do you wish you did? Not at this very moment, because it'd be useless as I don't currently drive. Have you ever had a job you loved? Nope. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I just eat normal fries when they're offered. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? At least twice. Have you been best friends with someone of a different race? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? I think only my grandmother has done that. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes, while Dad doesn't have one. What do you absolutely have to have to make your birthday feel special? My family. Mice or roaches? I love mice, but roaches creep me out. Have you ever received a gift and truly did not know what it was? Yes. A family friend is good at that. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No. Do you like being in pictures? NO. Do you travel a lot? Not at all. Have you ever eaten a dog treat? No. I've eaten a guinea pig treat though, haha. And it wasn't awful. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but turns out my alcohol tolerance is too high while only liking weak alcohol to begin with. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't do that, I'd get way too dizzy, and besides, I don't want a headache. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I've been wondering if I should (for the most part) abandon human photography. I've lost so much passion for it, and besides, I feel like I'm going nowhere with it. I know I really, really shouldn't, though. Have you ever captured a moth? I put a caterpillar in one of those little plastic habitats once as a kid that grew into a moth. I then released it, of course. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? It's been months. Do you have a really fat cat? No, he's healthy. Do your initials spell a word? No. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yes, that was my favorite! Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multiplication times tables? No. Do your parents allow you to have your privacy? Yes. Have you ever been severely burned? No. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've had many, actually. Guess with who. What was the weirdest thing you've ever seen cross the road? I want to say a turkey? Or maybe it was beside the road.

[underoossss]

Dancing Under the Rain - H.O.

CHAPTER 2  [previous chapter]

pairing: detective!Haz x reader 

warnings: nothing really in this one, its mostly fluff but you’ll hate me soon

AN: Hello everyone! I’m back with a new chapter and I hope you like it! This is the chapter that prompted me to keep writing the story and post it again. Let me know your thoughts! 

---- 

--- August 15th  ----

When Harrison wakes up, there’s sunshine peeking through the window blinds and the air smells like coffee. He yawns and scoots closer to the left side of the bed, already knowing that you aren’t lying there anymore. Right, online lecture for the summer Intro to Psychology class. A smile takes over Harrison’s face –depending on the time he is either going to find you teaching at your home office or sitting on the kitchen counter looking at the sea with a cup of coffee in your hand. Both sights warm his body from his chest all the way down to his toes, giving him a sense of calm and happiness, he had long forgotten how to feel. He had been so used to being alone, that loneliness had made him numb to all other feelings. Until the first moment the two of you met and flipped the feelings switch to full force and given your late-night conversations in bed, the same happened to you.

A bright 9:15 greets him when he glances towards the digital clock on the nightstand, he’s not used to sleeping past 8 am but it was his day off. You’ll be done teaching your intro to psychology lecture soon, so Harrison decides to get up. He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches his arms upwards before standing and starting to make the bed. Fixing the pillows and sheet goes first, then the comforter on top and finally the many navy-blue decorative pillows you move to the armchair sitting in the corner of the bedroom every night. It’s become a routine of sorts for Harrison –at least on the days he gets to sleep in and doesn’t have to rush to the office before you’re completely awake. Harrison smiles as his mind pictures your half-asleep pouts as you pull him back to bed, trying to argue a case for five more minutes. There’s a 40-60 chance he’ll be convinced and hold you for a little bit longer. He really had it bad.

Shaking his head, Harrison goes to the bathroom where he pees, washes his hands and face and brushes his teeth before making his way to the kitchen. There’s a tray of croissants on the countertop with a post-it note next to it: 12 minutes @ 350F, its signed with a heart to which Harrison smiles. He starts preheating the oven and putting water to boil, and while he waits for that, he puts ground coffee in the French press. A couple of minutes later the water is ready so he pours it into the press and gets the croissants inside the oven, setting a timer so they don’t burn. Harrison decides to play some music, not too loud as you were still teaching, while he got the rest of breakfast ready. Strawberries, blueberries and watermelon are placed on the counter as well as 4 eggs, apricot jam and cheese for the croissants. He hums to himself as he gets a mixing bowl and a pan ready for the scrambled eggs and plates for the rest of the food. Even though you’ve lived together for only two months, he’s never felt more at home anywhere else ­–not even in his own house– and your first kiss, which happened 5 months ago, feels like it was just yesterday.

---- 5 months before -----

The sun has already set by the time you two leave Mrs. Pacelli’s restaurant after what was probably one of the best days in Harrison’s life. The two of you had talked all through supper, shifting from ridiculous conversations to more serious and personal ones with ease in between mouthfuls of pasta for him and lasagna for you. He’d enjoyed the way you had held hands on top of the table, his thumb absently caressing your knuckles as your eyes lighted up when you talked about the classes you taught in the winter semester. You were so passionate about helping and teaching your students and it was beautiful to see – if Harrison’s professors while in university had a third of your passion, he’s sure he would have enjoyed his classes more. He had listened to you talk about your family – and noticed the way you were a bit more relaxed when talking about your past now that he knew about your brother, Bryan.

That had really thrown him off at the beach, the coincidence of what had happed to your family and the family his department hadn’t been able to help. It was like his mind shut down right then and his guilt, the one that he carries with him like a heavy backpack, had doubled. That case was one of his biggest regrets, he should have pushed harder and tried to help more but he wasn’t in the same position he was at the moment. The shitty detective was born then, the self-deprecating way of referring to himself as a reminder of his failure to avoid doing the same once again. Knowing that you also had no answers about your brother’s death and that his killer was never caught had crushed his heart, he couldn’t imagine the pain you still have with you but he’s sure it’s no less than the one the family he let down showed the day he gave them the news. All his hopes had been crushed, but you had built them back up once you literally shook some sense into him. “I think we’re both done facing them alone,” you had said, and his demeanor had crumbled. There you were, the kindest soul he had met, pressing your forehead against his, crying with him as you offered your broken heart and waiting for him to give you his own broken one. It was you, how could he not? He was sure you’re who he’s been looking for all his life.  

The air is chilly but not enough to make you shiver as April is just a week away, Harrison holds you close to his side anyways. “I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth.” You chuckled, leaning your head against his shoulder. Harrison had ordered the tiramisu with chocolate ice cream on the side for dessert, claiming it was the best combo, which was the case. “Actually, I did know. You’re always getting double chocolate cookies when you visit the café.”

“I do have a sweet tooth, but only with my favorite desserts.” Harrison smiles.

“Hmm… well I’m honored.” You look up at him with a teasing smile and bright eyes, and he really wants to kiss you. “Thank you, Harrison.”

 Harrison, he’s just Harrison now, not the detective but something else, something better.

His heart melts at the look in your eyes and he can’t keep the fondness he’s feeling from showing in his. “No need to thank me, love.”

The two of you walk by your café in silence as well as the next block over and up the hill towards your house. Harrison takes in the happy look on your face, your relaxed shoulders and how you’re not fidgeting around him. You’re both past nerves –baring your most painful secrets by the beach can do that sometimes. He catches two women walking their babies on the other side of the street give both of you odd looks, and it reminds him of the many eyes that were on you during dinner. Small town, big gossip. His back muscles tense.

“I’m sorry about all the staring during dinner.” Harrison says quietly into the night and you laugh softly.

“You’re apologizing for staring at me during our date?” You shake your head. “Harrison, you can stare at me, it’s actually nice to know you like what you see.”

Harrison presses a kiss on your temple and shakes his head. “No, not my staring, the other people at the restaurant and their whispering. They’re probably wondering how I managed to date you on their group chats.”

“I love this town, but they do little else than talk about whatever or whomever they see.” You shake you head as you both reach your front yard and make your way to your front door. “I told you Harrison, I want this, you. Over at the beach you said that’s what you wanted too, unless that changed over dinner?” You smile at Harrison and his heart skips a beat, it’s a teasing smile but he can see some worry in your eyes, so he is quick to answer.

“No, it hasn’t, at all. I just worry that it will make you uncomfortable.” He lets go of your left hand, which he was holding, to bring you closer to him by the waist.

“Then screw what people think.” You shake your head again and smile when Harrison’s eyebrows move up in surprise before leaning up and kissing him.

Your arms go around his neck at the same time Harrison holds you closer with his other arm and leans down. Your lips move against his in a soft caress. Considering hold long you’ve both admittedly wanted to do this, the kiss is gentle and steady, and Harrison wants to draw out every possible second of this first of many kisses. Your fingers wander from his neck to the short curls on the back of his head, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t make him weak in the knees for a second. Both your chests are pressed together, so he can hear that his heart isn’t the only one beating like crazy and the sigh that leaves your lips when he holds you tighter to his chest makes him smile, causing both of you to break apart. Your lips have been reddened by the kiss and frame a small smile on your face so Harrison, not helping himself, leans in again and presses three soft kisses on them before looking into your eyes.

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners and heart so full it could burst at any moment. “Wow.” Is all he can say. “That was…”

“So worth the wait.” You shake your head and bite your lip. “I think I speak for both of us when I say that, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

“Definitely.” Harrison chuckles, his right hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Thank you, for today.” He whispers and you lean into his touch.

You shrug your shoulders, always shying away from compliments. “Well thank you, I haven’t had such a good time in a while.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harrison says, letting you go and taking a step back, his hand lingers on your cheek just a little bit longer before falling back to his side. “Good night, Y/N.”

You nod your head, “Good night, Harrison. You know where I’ll be.”

Harrison chuckles and nods his head as well, waiting for you to walk to your front door before starting to walk away. He can’t contain the smile that’s on his face, it’s definitely making his cheeks hurt, as he’s not used to smiling so often. Not since a while ago. It’s only become a recurring thing since he met you. His ray of sunshine in a previously grey life, with the warmest smile that always reminds him of the first sip of good coffee in the morning. He’s gone, one hundred percent gone on you and he can’t even begin to believe his luck. Not 10 seconds pass after he starts walking when he turns around and runs back to you. He’s surprised to also see you walking back to him before you share another kiss.

This one is different than the one before, not drawing out the moment anymore but enjoying that this can happen now. I can kiss you, it seemed to say, I can kiss you any time I want, I like you so much. Harrison feels like his floating but his hands on your cheeks keep him grounded and so does your tongue grazing his bottom lip, letting him know it’s all amazingly real.

“I can’t believe I almost left without a goodnight kiss.” You whisper. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

Harrison laughs and nods, “Neither could I.” When you laugh at his reply and kiss him again, he knows this is one of the best decisions he’s made in his life.

----Present Day-----

The croissants are cooling on the counter when Harrison feels you wrap your arms around his waist while he finishes up the scrambled eggs. They’re firm and cooked through – the two of you hated runny and soft eggs, something about the texture was just not appetizing at all.

“Good morning.” You mumble against the soft cotton of his t-shirt and rest your cheek against his back. Harrison feels you lean into him, and he smiles.

“Good morning, love. How was your lecture?” Harrison turns off the stove and sets the pan on the counter so he can turn around to face you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and he leans down to kiss your lips. You walk backwards until you’re leaning against the kitchen island and let yourself melt in Harrison’s arms as his lips caress yours, humming when they move to kiss your jaw and stop with one on your cheek.

Your eyes are glazed over and your smile is relaxed as you look up at him and it’s Harrison that tries not to melt. “The lecture was as good, well… as good as it can be when it starts at 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday. The summer schedule is brutal.”

“Yeah, whoever planned that is messed up.” Harrison scrunches up his nose. “I’m sure you make up for the ungodly hour of the lecture with your teaching though, I wouldn’t mind them if you were my professor.”

“I think you’re biased.” You wink at him before running a hand through his hair, Harrison can’t help closing his eyes. “Thank you for making breakfast, love. Is there something I can help with?”

Your question makes him open his eyes, you’re looking at the plates on the kitchen island and the food ready to be plated. “You can get the coffee to the balcony, it’s nice out so I thought we could have an outdoor breakfast.”

“You got it, handsome.” You stand on the tip of your toes to peck his lips and get two mugs before walking towards the French press. Harrison finally has a chance to really look at you that morning. White t-shirt tucked into a long sky-blue skirt with tiny white flowers printed on it and simple black sandals. You were stunning and he was damn lucky.

Smiling, Harrison puts a croissant on each plate next to the fruit he washed and sliced and finishes it off with the scrambled eggs on the side. The jam and butter, as well as the cutlery are already out on the balcony, so he gets both plates and joins you outside. “You look gorgeous.” Harrison says before he places a kiss on your cheek when he sets your plate in front of you.

“Thank you honey. This looks delicious, specially the croissants.” You duck your face and smile. “And so do you by the way, your morning hair is sexy.”

Harrison laughs and shrugs before taking the seat opposite yours. “I think watching Bake Off helped me avoid burning them.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Bake Off is basically what prompted me to bake so I have no doubt they helped you.” With that the two of you dig in, spreading apricot jam on the croissant and eating the fruit on the plate while you talked.

“I have 3 scheduled meetings with my students this weekend, everyone is panicking about the midterm on Tuesday.” You bring a piece of strawberry to your mouth and chew on it, “I’ve told them a million times I’m not a monster.”

Harrison takes a sip of his coffee and shakes his head. “Every test is scary though, I used to hate them.” He bites onto his almost finished croissant again, the flaky pastry falling onto the plate underneath. “Do you want me to drive with you to Cambridge on Tuesday? I don’t mind.”

He knows how hard it is for you to drive back to a place where so many good and bad memories come from, not to mention all the stares and the whispers. He’d been there with you a couple months back for your brother’s death anniversary and he’d felt so protective when he saw just how bad all the stares were. Look away, don’t you have anything else to do? Harrison had wanted to yell, but he settled for holding your hand and letting you take your time when you visited the graveyard. There have been good days and bad days when it comes to your mood, and he’s always made sure to give you all the space that you need during the bad ones. You stay in bed during those ones, or out in the balcony, and Harrison is always there waiting when you come up to him and say I think I’m ready for a hug now.

You shake your head no and sip your coffee, breakfast finished in front of you. “No, it’s alright. I’m just going to the campus and back, I don’t want to keep you from work just for that, someone might need help.”

Harrison smiles at you and the adorable way you squint your eyes at the sun, always so caring and so brave. His heart swells with love for you. It’s unlikely that anyone would need help, considering how uneventful the last 4 months have been –which was great, specially taking into account what the town went through during the last case. There’s only been minor cases here and there, land disputes between some families and cattle theft but no murders, no mysteries. Harrison has been helping the neighbor town, Diep, after they heard about him solving the Mensen murder. Sometimes they need an extra pair of eyes for a case and since nothing was going on in Dewitt, he left his assistant DI in charge before lending a hand.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” He nods his head, “Are things crazy with the semester being halfway done?”

You nod and take another sip of coffee, leaning back on your chair. “I have so many papers to mark, that’s why I prefer smaller groups.” Running a hand through your hair you chuckle to yourself, “And yes, I also have been procrastinating.”

Harrison laughs and holds his hands up, “I didn’t say anything!”

“I know you were going to.” You wink at him and glance at your watch. “I’m going to procrastinate a little more though and do the dishes while you change, then we can head down to the café.”

“Sounds good, beautiful.” Harrison nods, getting up and placing a kiss on your lips. He ignores your protests when he starts to pick up some plates and helps you carry everything back to the kitchen before heading to the en-suite in your bedroom.

After a shower and shaving, he moves to the closet where he picks a white shirt and brown pants which he promptly puts on before grabbing ankle socks and his white sneakers. Harrison feels his chest swell as he sits down on the bed and looks at your clothes next to his, it seems surreal that you live together now. It sure had prompted many looks and gossip in Dewitt but with happiness like the both of you were experiencing, it didn’t bother him. Shaking his head but keeping the smile on his face, Harrison puts on his socks and shoes before heading back to the bathroom where he fixes his hair and puts on deodorant and cologne. Once he is all ready to go, he makes sure to grab his phone, car keys, home keys and wallet before joining you out on the balcony again.

He leans on the doorframe for a second before actually going outside though, taking in how lovely you look lounging in the sun. You’ve got your laptop in front of you, where you’re probably scanning something lecture related, your skirt is moving with the wind and so is your hair. You’re absolutely breathtaking, and Harrison realizes that it’s become a thing for him to stand in the doorway completely in awe of you before you catch him staring. It’s happened at the café before you started dating and it just happened again when you look up from your laptop screen and smile. Harrison can feel his ears burn as he smiles back and walks towards you.

“Ready to go?”

You nod your head, “Give me a second, honey.” You shut your laptop closed and place it inside your tote bag, then grab a binder and try to stuff it in there too. Try being the key word here, as it is too big for the purse and you end up carrying it on your arms. “All ready!”

Harrison takes your outstretched hand in his, places a quick kiss on your knuckles before the two of you walk back to the house and out to Harrison’s car. He opens the door for you before going to the driver’s seat and starting the car once you’re both settled. It’s not a long drive but Harrison wants to enjoy his day off, he might offer you to go for a drive when you’re on your break. It’d be nice to get away for a bit, maybe park the car somewhere overlooking the water to relax to the sound of the waves.

You open the door and flip the Closed sign to the Open side at 10:25 and set your purse on your usual table once you step inside. The two of you greet the two summer employees —both students who love to bake and were looking for a summer job— before you go to the back of the front counter to start grinding some coffee beans and Harrison sits down on an empty chair at your table. He takes a deep breath, welcoming the beautiful smell of fresh coffee you’re making and fresh pastries coming from the kitchen. He smiles to himself as he sees you move around the espresso machine and the bookshop on the right side of the café, getting everything ready for your customers. He remembers coming here every day while he worked the Mensen murder, your smile when you greeted him was the highlight of his day, as was your kindness and easy conversation. You look at peace, focused but relaxed as you do what you love —besides teaching of course. He hopes your trip to Cambridge on Tuesday goes well; he’s always admired how strong you are for going back to a place that gives you so many painful memories. Harrison can’t blame you for your gloomy mood whenever you come back from those trips, he just wishes there was something he could do to make it better.

After a couple minutes you approach the table, set an earl grey tea in front him, give him a short kiss and sit on the chair in front of him with a cup of coffee on your hands. Harrison thanks you as you take your computer out of your bag, power it up and open the binder holding all the class’ assignments. He’s about to ask you about the drive during lunch time when his phone rings.

Harrison glances down at the caller and sees it’s DI Mullins, from Diep. “DI Osterfield speaking.”

“Detective, sorry to call you today. The station informed me it was your day off but there has been an incident over here in Diep and some information has resurfaced. We might have a lead that will open a Pandora box of a case, but we need another set of eyes to look at it before we can confirm this lead.” Mullins sounds exhausted but there is urgency and anxiousness in his voice.

Harrison frowns, whatever happened has shaken him up pretty badly. “What happened?”

“I think it’s better if I tell you in person. Can you and your team come over as soon as you can?” The nervous undertone places a feeling of dread in Harrison’s stomach.

“I’ll be right over.” He nods, even though Mullins can’t see him. “Let me gather my team and we’ll head there.”

You look up and Harrison knows you can see the concern on his face; you reach out a hand across the table. “Harrison, is everything alright?”

He takes your hand and sets his phone down. “I’m not sure, only that DI Mullins needs help with a case it Diep. It sounds serious.” Harrison frowns again, remembering his plans for lunch. “I’m sorry love, I know it was my day off and we-”

“Honey, it’s fine, go help them.” You squeeze his hand and give him a reassuring smile and a nod.

Harrison takes a deep breath and lets it out before standing up. He moves towards you and gently cups your cheeks on his hands, he leans down and places a lingering kiss on your lips. He keeps your foreheads touching for a brief moment before whispering, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your breath mingles with his. “Be careful okay?”

Harrison nods. “I promise.”

Then, with a kiss to your forehead he steps back, takes his phone from the table and heads out of the café. Dread is bubbling in the pit of his stomach for some reason, something about Mullins tone and his reluctance to say anything else on the phone has left him uneasy. As he gets in the car and speed dials his office, he can’t help feeling like something was about to begin after 4 months of quiet.

---

tagging some beautiful beans who I think would like this: @once-upon-a-storyy @peeterparkr @angelhaz11 @hollandharrison

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 8/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings:  Please be aware that this chapter discusses professor/student relations in the past, non-consensual pictures in the past, and some present, consensual, loving, and happy sexual relations. Gotta find a balance somehow. (This chapter also nicknamed "The One where Sarah calls out a shitty storyline from FRIENDS.)

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 8: Unearthed

It takes time, but they both manage to get out some of the difficult parts of their pasts. Emma tells Killian snippets of her former relationships, including why she ran from Henry the first time she saw him. Graham’s story is kept brief, Walsh is brushed off as a bad experience. Killian is patient about it, holding her hand and listening closely. She can see the questions forming behind his eyes, but he never pushes for more info than she’s willing to share. 

He’s hiding bits of his own past, too. He’s very open about the accident that took his hand, how he grew up in Liam’s shadow but preferred it that way, and his strong passions for fiction and poetry. But when it comes to information about his time in university, she sees the way his shoulders tense. There’s a lack of enthusiasm when he speaks of his master’s studies. She’s seen the picture of him at graduation that sits in his office. She knows there’s more to the story. 

They’re watching television one night, background noise as he works on some edits. With the money they got for upgrades, Emma purchased a shiny new laptop, one specifically loaded with the software to digitize the town’s records, and so they work on their own stuff together. 

Something on the screen that neither of them are glued to must catch his attention, however. It’s a rerun, something that used to be popular but has now reached syndication and thus plays on every channel when there’s downtime. It’s something Emma’s seen enough times that she knows the general storyline without really even paying attention. It’s the one where a professor starts a relationship with a student. 

While she’s mostly tuning it out, it seems Killian is finally tuning in, and she looks up as he lurches for her television remote and hits the power button. His breathing is visibly quicker than it should be. Even when the screen goes dark, there’s a tension around his eyes she has never seen before. 

“You okay?” she asks, mostly because she’s not sure he remembers she’s there right now.

He shakes himself a little bit, brushing off the moment for all she can tell, before he turns to her. “Hate this show,” he responds. 

“It’s been on for the last hour.”

As he focuses on her face, she can see the moment he sheds whatever was trying to creep up on him. “I was pretty deep in my work. I do apologize, love.” He’s lying, but she’s willing to let it go if it’s something from his past that he doesn’t want to talk about. 

“Hey, no worries.” She reaches out, squeezing his bicep once for comfort. “You want coffee? Tea?”

“I’ll get it. What would you like?”

“Surprise me,” she says, knowing that he’ll bring back the hot chocolate he knows she loves. 

By the time he returns, the tightness on his face has eased up a bit, but it’s replaced with something she would call contemplation. “Swan, I want to tell you a little piece of my past, but I hope you won’t judge me too hard or let it change the way you feel about me.”

“A little ominous, but okay. Go for it.”

“Back in university, I was involved with one of my professors.”

Emma takes a moment to let it absorb, trying not to flinch or let her facial expressions change at all. It’s his past, and she knows just as well that those moments shouldn’t define the current moment. 

“Tell me about it?”

“As you know, Liam convinced me to enroll in university as a way to pull me out of my slump after I lost my hand. He helped find out if I could take my classes online since I wasn’t ready to go out into the world.”

Emma reaches over, closing her fingers over the hook attachment he has on today. It’s become second nature, but sometimes she wants to tell him without words that she accepts him for who he is and this is one of those moments.

“Eventually, I was comfortable going to classes on campus. I was engrossed in all things to do with writing and literature and editing, and knew that’s the direction I wanted to take. And then I met Milah, one of the professors for a professional writing class. And she was just that for a while, and then when I entered into my master’s studies, we sort of…crossed the boundaries when she was helping me with a project.”

“Milah was married, is married, though they are separated. Her husband, some wealthy bastard, agreed that if she was discreet that they could see other people. He wasn’t anticipating that she would take up with a student, former or otherwise.

“What did he do?”

“Threatened to expose the affair to the university. Milah would’ve been fired. I would’ve likely been expelled. He said he would divorce her and cut her off from his wealth. He only agreed to back off when Milah and I split and I filed to finish my master’s online, much as I began the whole journey.”

“Was the money that important to her?” It’s the question that hits; she can tell immediately.

He grimaces before answering. “She liked to pretend it wasn’t. Painted herself as a free spirit that didn’t need wealth. But it didn’t stop her from walking away from me like it meant nothing.”

Without even prodding, Emma can see that the story isn’t done. She adjusts her grip on him and waits for him to continue.

“I almost didn’t finish my degree after that. I started drinking heavily every chance I got. Took Liam a couple weeks to figure out what was going on, pried out what had happened, and then intervened. He’s the only reason I still completed my coursework.”

“He sounds like a good brother.”

“Right pain in the arse, but yes, he is.” 

“You really loved her?”

“Aye. She’s the only person outside my own family that I ever professed my love for.” He’s quiet for a moment before meeting her eyes once more. “Have you ever been in love, Swan?”

“Maybe I thought I was, once,” she admits. Mostly, she realizes that the feelings she thought she had for Neal and the ones she told Walsh she had were nothing compared to the way Killian makes her feel. “Thanks for sharing all of this with me.”

“I figured you should know,” he tells her, simple as that. 

When Friday rolls around, she’s all set to join her boyfriend and friends in public. Normally, Emma would be one of the first to ditch out on work and get to their usual spot in the bar, but tonight she’s working with Belle to relabel and organize their filing system. Previously, their idea of “orderly” bordered on chaos, and they had trouble keeping track of just about everything. Along with the digital system, they decided to reconfigure the physical records as well. 

They’re in the process of fixing the system when Emma’s email account dings, and she glances at it briefly to make sure it’s nothing important before they get back to work.

What she finds, instead, is a message with a link to a website. Normally, she would write this off as a spam account, but there’s no fill-in-the-blank recipient. There’s no lead-up to the message at all. Just the words written below a link: You’ll have to trust me. Type in code 92574. Check Maine.

With a heavy amount of trepidation, Emma clicks the link and follows the instructions. Her brows furrow as she tries to process what she’s looking at, but it appears to be some kind of personal page, with links to the fifty states. Finding Maine in the list, she clicks it, and almost immediately drops her phone as if burned.

“Oh my fucking god,” she mutters, her vision blurring around the edges.

“Emma is - oh! Oh my goodness!” Belle immediately backs away from the glance she’s just stolen at Emma’s unlocked phone on her desk, looking back at Emma with horror and surprise in her eyes. “What…. What is all that?”

“Something I was told was destroyed a long time ago,” Emma says, her voice shaking and her body feeling heavy and weak all at once. “Can you drive stick?” Her phone finally goes dark and auto-locks, and she’s honestly not sure if she can feel her face right now.

“I’ll text Will and let him know we’re on our way.”

-x- December 13: Friday

The last few weeks since Thanksgiving have been some of the best in Killian’s life. While the project of Henry’s novella is speeding up in momentum and racing towards the end, he and Emma have been taking things at their own pace and enjoying every moment together that they can.

It’s getting easier for them to talk about their pasts. From their shared lack of parentage to finally breaking the barrier of previous relationships, he knows they’ve both made great strides. Being able to tell her about Milah and not have her go running for the hills was admittedly a huge relief, and he only hopes that she’ll trust him to open up about anything she’s still holding out.

Normally, when they go out on Fridays, Emma is right by his side when he enters the bar. While Emma is working with Belle, he and Will have gone to the bar early to have their own catch-up until everyone else arrives. 

They each spend a fair amount of time grousing about work, about late nights and tired eyes and how much they love their jobs despite their words. And they also spend just as much time talking about the women in their lives. He’s happy to see Will as content as he is. He also knows that, despite the strange and often passive-aggressive friendship between the two of them, Will is happy to see Killian with Emma.

About an hour after they sit down, Will gets a text from Belle saying that the two women are on their way. They each share a look, automatically noticing that something feels off, but unable to tell what. That sensation is amplified by the look on Belle’s face when she arrives with Emma not far behind.

There’s a tightness around her eyes that Killian has never seen the soft-spoken woman have before. Emma is just behind her, with her arms crossed over her chest and a look that he would best describe as being a cross between solemn and murderous. Only his girlfriend could manage that combination of expressions. 

“All right, Swan?”

“No. Not all right. Can uh, can we go back to my place?”

“Sure. Let me just -”

“I’ve got the tab. Go on,” Will says, his thick eyebrows drawn together. 

The Bug is waiting for them when they get out, still running. Clearly, she hadn’t intended on spending long inside whether he was coming with her or not.

They’re silent on the drive back to her place, and even while they make the trek up to her loft. She’s quiet as she unwraps her scarf and kicks off her boots, all with deliberate and jerky movements. 

“I have to kind of process through something,” she says, her voice thick with a myriad of emotions. “I don’t wanna talk. I don’t really want to do anything at all. But will you stay with me?”

“I’m here as long as you’ll have me. Whatever you need,” he tells her, making sure to catch her eyes so she knows he’s being honest. 

Wordlessly, she locks the door before she leads him upstairs. 

While Killian is normally the one with the carefully crafted routines - which, admittedly, have taken a backseat to finally relaxing and enjoying his time here in Storybrooke - there are certain things that Emma does every morning and every night as far as her own rituals command. He has never seen her go straight to her room without carefully scrubbing her face and teeth and removing her contacts. 

Usually, she also takes that time to braid her hair to keep it from tangling too much while she sleeps, but tonight she leaves it hanging free, and he’s surprised when she only shucks off her clothes and pulls on a t-shirt before climbing into her bed. 

Following suit, Killian removes his clothes and quickly folds them, leaving them on the cedar chest by the bottom of her bed as he usually does when he stays over before he climbs under the covers. Immediately, Emma is shifting until she’s pressed against him, her ear over his heart and her arm wrapped tightly around his midsection. 

“You won’t leave?”

“Only if you tell me to,” he admits, hoping that it’s what she needs to hear. Her grip only tightens, and he decides to stay awake as long as he can to make sure she’s all right. 

He must doze off because he wakes again to Emma’s lips pressed against his, her hand sliding into his boxers to stroke him awake. As soon as he’s aware of it, he’s kissing her back, helping her push down his boxers before she hastily rips off her own underwear and finds a condom. This is not how they usually have sex - he recognizes it immediately - but even as he hesitates, he hears her whispers.

“Please - I know, please, I just need…”

He responds by pulling her closer, kissing her as hard as she was kissing him to let her know he’s on board. She slides on top of him, gripping his hand like a lifeline and rocking against him as if it’s her one salvation. He can feel the panic and anger with each move of her hips above him and he just holds on, hopes she can feel the reassurance radiating from him, hopes she feels that he’s an anchor she can trust - that he’ll be with her no matter what this all means.

When they’re both sated, she collapses onto his chest, and to his surprise he feels the quiet sobs wracking through her body a few heartbeats later. She only really cries when she’s angry - she admitted as much to him some time ago when they were trying to decipher the use of pathos in commercials. He wraps his arms around her, running his hand soothingly over the small of her back and whispering anything he thinks may bring her back to him.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry that wasn’t… I basically just used you to fuck away my anger and that’s not…”

“Swan,” he says quietly, releasing his hold on her so he can coax her to look at him. “No apologies necessary, love.” 

With hasty swipes, she dries her face. “I’m just so mad right now.”

“Will you tell me what about?”

“Just… give me a couple more minutes,” she says, sliding off of him and climbing off the bed. He hears her footsteps retreating down the stairs and the door to the lavatory close. 

He takes a deep breath, pushing himself to sit up, turning on the light beside her bed and grabbing a couple tissues to clean himself up. He slips his boxers back up while he’s at it before sliding between the sheets again. 

When she returns to her bedroom, her hair is tied up and her robe is wrapped around her like body armor. She must’ve used the time to scrub the last of her makeup off, as well, and his heart stutters a beat to see her looking so down but still so beautiful. She climbs up, sitting next to him at the head of the bed with her legs crossed at the ankles. 

He’s watching her carefully, trying to not pressure her to talk but wishing she would say anything at this point, as the silence is slowly pressing in around them. 

“My last ex was the absolute worst,” she finally starts, fingers fiddling with the ties on her robe. “Worse than Neal, obviously. And worse than I ever thought he was when I found him cheating on me the day that Ruth died.”

He’s quiet, understanding that now is not the time for empty condolences for either incident. Instead, he reaches out and places his hand on her knee.

“He was a shitty antiques dealer down in Boston, never wanted to come up here to visit, never wanted to be seen with me, it seemed like. And unfortunately, he kept a lot of mementos from our time together.”

“How so?”

“You know how I told you I burned my uniform a couple years ago?”

He nods in response, tilting his head and wondering just where this could be going. She’d told him the beige monster was uncomfortable and unflattering, saying that any photographic evidence of the uniform in question was destroyed along with it.

“Well, I left a tiny part out,” she admits, looking over at him briefly.

“Nothing you tell me is going to run me off, Swan. I promise.”

With a bracing breath, she nods, focusing back on her hands in her lap. “I used to wear a uniform. Took it down to Boston with me because I was supposed to go straight to work the day I left his place. And he wanted to see it on. We were joking around and having fun.” She stops, grimacing and visibly willing her face to relax a moment later. “I let him take pictures. He had this fancy photo printer so he had physical copies and deleted them after they were done. At least, that’s what he swore he did. Just like everything else, it turns out that was a lie. 

“Emma?”

“He has a website. A fucking website with all of us.”

“All of who?”

“Every girl he fucked in the year that he and I were together, according to the site description. He proposed to me, you know, right before we ended things. I was going to say yes but told him to give me some time. Ruth passed away about a week after he asked me and I drove all the way to Boston because I wanted… needed the person that claimed to love me. And he was in the middle of fucking another woman when I walked in the door. I told him to give me the photos before I left while this redhead sat naked on his bed and watched me gather my stuff.”

“And you got the physical ones from him?”

“Yeah, no surprise he lied about those being the only copies. He kept them in the top drawer of his dresser, so now I have to wonder where the rest are kept. The day after Ruth’s funeral, I burned the uniform - with David’s permission and minimal questions asked - and the photos.”

She goes quiet after saying that, not really keen on making eye contact for the moment. Killian takes the opportunity to gather the words he wants to say, trying to find the best order of questions and statements. 

“You know that none of this is your fault, right? Nor do I blame you or feel any differently towards you because of your past.”

Emma sniffs at that, a half-hearted attempt at acknowledgement, so Killian leans closer and turns her face to his so he can plant a kiss on her lips. 

“I mean it, Emma. This is on that wanker, not you at all.” 

Her lips thin out for a second, but ultimately she nods and leans forward to give him another kiss. 

“Now, will you tell me about how you found this all out?”

“I got an email while Belle and I were working on our little project. I figured it was spam at first but it just had this link to a website called ‘Banging U.S.A.’ and some instructions for a passcode and a state. When I clicked, there was a whole lot more of me than I expected to see. He must’ve been taking pictures through the whole thing, since not all of them were ones he printed and showed me later.”

“So some taken without your knowledge or consent? How much worse can this guy get?”

“Oh, it still gets worse. I tried not to click on anything else, but I ended up on the newly launched world edition,” she says with quotes around the words. “Without really thinking, I clicked on this little British flag and there was the woman I found him with. She was clearly far more into the photography thing than I was.”

“Bad, but how is that worse?”

“In the first three pictures, you can see one of my t-shirts on the dresser. In the others, it’s gone. Which means he went right back to fucking her as soon as I left his place with my stuff.”

“Definitely worse,” Killain mutters, drawing his hand over his face in disbelief. 

“And we all had subtitles. Hers was the Wicked Witch of the West… and my South Pole.”

“Ouch.”

“Mine was Officer Tie-Me-Down and Fuck-Me-Up.”

“Bloody hell, Swan, how much villainy can one man possess?”

“Apparently, his cup runneth over.”

“Clearly.” They fall silent for a moment, until Emma’s head tilts over to rest on his shoulder. “Any idea what you’ll do about it?” he asks after letting her mull for a moment.

“No fucking clue.”

He shifts in order to kiss the top of her head, pulling her closer when she pushes her way under his arm. It’s still hours more before either of them fall asleep again.

-x- December 14: Saturday

When Killian wakes up again, it’s to the sound of Emma’s voice floating up from down below.

“I know, and I’m sorry for bailing without letting you know,” she says. “I had something come up.”

With much effort, Killian hauls himself out of the bed, pulling on his undershirt before making his way downstairs. 

“No, it’s kind of why I was calling, though. Do you still have that phone number for James?”

Whatever response David must have for that is lengthy and aggravating, judging by the look on Emma’s face when Killian makes it to the main floor. She looks up and gives him a wan smile, pulling the phone away from her ear long enough to lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek. Dave’s voice is, indeed, squawking out quite the storm from the earpiece, and Killian does nothing more than raise an eyebrow in question before giving her a kiss of his own and moving towards the coffee pot. 

“Well, when you calm down about that, give me a call back. I need his number and you’ll agree with me when I tell you why.”

Her phone clatters to the table but she’s already moving towards where Killian is standing against the kitchen counter. 

“Good morning,” she says, leaning up and pulling him down to give him a much warmer, much more thorough kiss. 

“Same to you. Feeling a little better?”

“More like a fire’s been lit under my ass and I have a plan. I have to swing by my brother’s place to harass him about our other asshole brother. Want me to drop you at home?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I need to head to the office to finish up the last of the preparations and my notes for the party on Friday.”

“No trouble at all. Wanna get breakfast along the way?”

“Food and time with my girlfriend? Only a fool would refuse such blessings.” 

When they part ways, he’s amazed at the clear change in mindset she’s gone through in less than twelve hours. Even as she kisses him goodbye, there’s determination burning in her eyes. 

-x-

It takes roughly forty minutes of needling David before he finally caves and gives her the phone number James had called from once, on accident, a couple years ago. She’s plugging it into her phone and hitting ‘call’ before she’s even halfway out of David’s workshop, taking the steps two at a time to get to the first floor. 

“Don’t hang up,” Emma says as soon as James answers.

“Emma?”

“You mean you actually have my number saved in your phone?”

“I’m sure that’s surprising but yeah, makes it easier to call you if I need to ask for money.”

“Ah, you haven’t changed a bit,” Emma responds, rolling her eyes at his words. 

David reaches for the phone when he gets to the kitchen but Emma bats his hand away. 

“I’m guessing you’re the one that needs something if you’re calling me.”

“You’re still in Boston, right?”

“And what if I am?”

“You still have that fancy talent at hacking computers and websites?”

“Listen, I haven’t done anything wrong. I stopped doing all that ages ago.”

“I don’t care if you’re a law-abiding citizen,” Emma snaps. “I need someone who doesn’t care about the law.”

“So the wonder twins need my help because I don’t follow the rules?”

“Pretty much. I have an ex that needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Fine. Come down here next Friday and I’ll see what I can do. If you’ll do something for me,” he adds at the very end.

“Like what?”

“We’ll discuss my terms on Friday.”

“I have a party…”

“Oh? You have a party?” His tone is mocking, and Emma swallows back the retort she wants to spit at him.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll be there. David is coming with me. You do the job, I’ll repay you however you want me to, and then I never have to see you again.”

“Sounds good to me,” James singsongs. “I’ll text you the address. See you Friday, little sis.”

“That guy’s the worst,” Emma snaps when the call ends. “How is he your fucking twin?”

David just shrugs. “And this is why I didn’t want you to call him. Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“You have to promise you aren’t going to have a coronary or something, okay?”

“Go for it. I will… do my best.”

She takes a deep breath before she urges him to sit down while she starts to tell him what she’s just found out.

To give him some credit, he doesn’t completely lose it. But he does turn an interesting shade of purple at the news that there’s a website that has pornographic photographs of his sister. Trying to get around those words is possibly the most mortifying thing she’s ever been through, until David opens his mouth when she’s done speaking.

“Has Killian seen this site?”

“God, David. No. And he won’t if I have anything to do with it. I’m not going to show my boyfriend pictures of me fucking another guy,” she screeches, standing and stomping over to their coffeemaker to indulge in more caffeine. 

She doesn’t really want to tell James the same news. She doesn’t want to tell him more than she absolutely has to, but she also needs the skillset he picked up from being a generally bad person in order to get this chapter of her life wiped from existence. 

Unfortunately, it’s going to mean missing the one thing she was looking forward to since Killian first told her about it. 

She stops by his office to see him next, admiring the way he looks when he’s deeply concentrating. She can also see just how much he’s put into decorating his office in the time they’ve been together. She remembers stark walls and an empty desk. Now, his degrees are hanging, along with a few artistic prints of book covers. His desk is similarly fuller, with picture frames and small knick knacks beyond the single one that used to be there.

With one more bracing breath, she prepares to go in. He’s going to understand, because he already knows what’s going on, but she hates to disappoint him.

“Swan?”

She’s knocked from her idle watching by him softly saying her name.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she says, walking in and shutting the door. She moves around to lean on the edge of his desk right in front of him. “But I have some bad news. I can’t come to the debut on Friday. That’s when my creep-o brother can help me out. I’ll have to be in Boston.”

His face falls, the disappointment clear, but his hand reaches out and brushes along hers. “As much as I’m sad you won’t be with me, I know it’s for a bigger purpose. Is this evil twin in law? Law enforcement?”

Emma’s face freezes, realizing that she never shared with him how she planned on having James help her. 

“Okay, long story short? James is really good at being a bad guy.”

To his credit, Killian listens with full attention as she launches into her plan and doesn’t even call her crazy.

“Barring any legal repercussions from this Walsh, I find no fault in this plan.”

“I’m pretty sure with James’ help, I won’t have to worry about him trying to come back at us.” At her reassurances, Killian nods in what she hopes is approval. “Should I let you get back to work?”

Slowly, he eases her off the desk and into his lap. “Maybe in a moment or two?”

It’s a question, leaving the answer in her court. 

“I’d be happy if it goes a little longer than a moment,” Emma responds, settling herself fully into his lap and chuckling at the look in his eyes. She pulls her shirt over her head, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. 

“I like to think we’re making up for all those times we’ve been interrupted,” Killian says before sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Straight to the point. She’s glad she locked the door when she closed it.

-x-

Chapter 8

[jacscorner]

The Shiitake Hills and Drake Lands - D&D Super Mario: Races and Setting Notes

So after the Mario and Luigi posts I did before, I wanted to sort of expand on this loose concept of ‘Super Mario as a D&D Setting’ that I’ve had kicking around while I was suffering from chronic online college. :P

Now, this isn’t a coherent post, this is just a bunch of notes of how I’d convert the general concept of Super Mario games and some races. This would probably need full on World Anvil in order to turn these loose ideas and concepts into a proper campaign setting. And this is under the premise that my would-be players would be outsiders coming into this setting either by plane walking or by travel.

But, hey, if this can be used as a springboard for others to use for their own campaign, then be my guest! I wouldn’t put it here if I so badly wanted to keep this private! But this’ll be a long post, so continue at your own risk.

The Shiitake Hills are the stand in for the mushroom kingdom. These long rows of Hills are home to various farm lands and small villages. There’s very few cities. Mushrooms are mostly cultivated for the consumption and export-you’d be surprised how many recipes there are for cooked toadstools. But rest assured, mushrooms aren’t the only foodstuff you’ll find, but their cultivation for food and magical components is so common that even the most ignorant of school child or even someone who’s never even seen a mushroom would know how to cultivate enough edible fungus to never miss lunch.

The capital of this kingdom is Toadstool City, a glorious city. It’s not perfect, but magic is practiced in the open-it’s regulated, but not too restrictive and controlling. So long as your not raising the dead or raising a stink, you can practice most forms of magic in relative peace.

The Shiitake Hills were founded originally by Elven Druids, who had left their original home in order to escape prosecution from another clan of Druids. On their sailing across oceans, they’d come across a community of Halflings, whom were under the rule of a tyrannical wizard. The Head of these Elven Druids would take on these Halflings as fellow refugees.

This trip lasted 1000 years, with 800 of them spent with the Halfling survivors. Their culture would meld together, to the point where there was no way of knowing what custom originated from which group, but it mattered not. Both sides had developed a mutual relationship.

When The Shiitake Hills were founded the family of the Head Druid would lead colonization of the land. They would also introduce the various Elven Gods that the Druids worshiped.

Avus, God of Fatherhood, Life, and Light. A father should be a guiding light for the family. To be strong and nurturing. A father who is not in their child’s life is often struck by Avus.

Mater Goddess of Fertility, Birth, and Motherhood. Avus’s wife and the reason he gained the ‘Fatherhood’ title. Preying to her is often done when an Elf is about to give birth.

Natus God of Knowledge, Teaching, and Fire. His legends speak of him being the original cultivator of fire, and gifting his spark of knowledge down to the Elves who worship him and spread it. Knowledge is never to be hoarded, it’s to be spread and shared.

Frater God of Strength, War, and Courage. When thunder booms, it means he’s fighting and he wants his followers to also be prepared for the heat of battle. Never fear death, for only glory waits for those who races into battle! 

Soror Goddess of Sisterhood, Art, and Battle. The sister to Frater, she gives strength to her female followers to follow their dreams and passions, but to always have a knife at the ready to defend what’s yours.

Puer God of Tricksters, Brotherhood, and Nature. He teaches his followers to use nature to their advantage, to use ingenuity and wits to defeat larger foes, but to never use your trickery to back stab your brothers-in-arms.

Avanculus God of Wisdom, Harvest, and Water. Knowledge is knowing the best way to farm with new techniques. Wisdom is understand the old ways still work when they fail.

And the Matriarch of their Pantheon, Astrum, Goddess of the Sun, Moon, and Stars. 

But over the boarder of the hills is The Drake Lands. The land was originally a beautiful Dwarven Kingdom of glorious mountains. But then, two dragons razed the lands, a Red Dragon and a Green Dragon, who used the mountains as a battle field! Fire and Poisonous gas drove out the Dwarves underneath. The mountains burned and the poison killed almost all other life that didn’t escape. Nobody knows quite who won this fight, but whatever the result was, the two dragons eventually mated and had a child that would make the ruined lands their domain.

This Dragon is known as Oghoid, A Lawful Evil God of Conquest, Battle, and Gold. His descendants would be known as the Royal Clan who would turn these barren lands into a somewhat liveable place.

The Dwarves would’ve raced to the Shiitake Lands as refugees. The Elves and Halflings welcomed the Dwarves. They integrated into society, but their culture is still regularly practiced. Dwarves keep many Gods, but they had no trouble also incorporating the Elf’s-what’s 1 or 8 more to the pile? The Dwarves also brought expert stone cutting and construction. Many constructions are built mostly or even entirely by Dwarven hands.

Boy, that was a lot, but time to get into the Races. And please not that I’ll label them as ‘Good, Neutral, and Evil’ races for the sake of convenience. You can take a Good Race and play them evil and vice versa.

Good Races - The typical Good Guys and regular residents of the Shiitake Hills.

The Humans of the Super Mario series are split into 3 Types for the setting: Normal-Types, Mario-Types, and Princess-Types.

Normal-Types are the New Donk City citizens we see in Super Mario Odyssey. These are Humans, no doubt having come from various traders from outside of the kingdom and might’ve stayed and become full citizens.

Mario-Types are Mario, Luigi, Wario, and Waluigi-oddly proportioned humanoids. For this setting, they’re Dwarves-yes, even Waluigi. He’s just an oddly tall Dwarf. It happens. Meanwhile, Mario and Luigi are plumbers and have no trouble going underground and fixing things. 

And finally, Princess-Types. Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, and Pauline-oddly tall, and still have odd proportions, but look less like Mickey Mouse and more like Jessica Rabbit. They’re represented by Elves. Elves are usually in the upper class of Shiitake society.

Yes, they could all just be variant humans of some kind, but shush. :P This is suppose to be a big mass of races living on one continent and want to mix them all together.

Toads, if you couldn’t guess, are represented as Halflings. Why? Well, not only are they short, but what do we usually see Toads doing? We see them mostly in domestic roles, with only a few outliers. Halflings are mostly homely folk who want to be left in their homes and just enjoy their quaint lives.

Neutral Race - Not inherently Good Nor Bad, Just Folk

Yoshis in this setting will be played by Lizardfolk. I know that this is a pretty big stretch-Yoshis are cute and colorful and Lizardfolk are written as cold, calculating ‘survival of the fittest’ types. But I take the official text of WoTC as more like suggestions.

Evil Race - Typical Bad Guys and residents of The Drake Lands

So naturally, this sections will have Koopas, but how do we divide them? Well, I think there are 2 Types of Koopas. Regular Koopas and Koopa Rexes.

I percieve ‘Koopa Rex’ as essentially Bowser, his son, and the Koopalings-and maybe Boom-Boom and Pom-Pom, depending on how you see it. They would be Dragonborn.

Regular Koopas are essentially the rest. Koopa Troopas, Hammer Bros, Magikoopas, so on and so forth. They’re Tortles.

Okay, this is where I start to REALLY stretch the limits of what can be what...

Goombas will be classified as Kobolds. Why Kobolds? Well, honestly, I guess no real reason, but I think it makes sense for Bowser’s army to have the ‘Minion Races’ in the ranks.

Speaking of , Shy Guys are Kenkus in this setting.

And Boos, Goblins. Okay, this one, a bit of a stretch, but what do Boos do? They sneak up on you, right? Well, Goblins can use that tactic too!

Well, yeah, they could just be Ghosts. But, like, I hate using Ghosts in D&D. They’re too much of a pain in the ass to deal with. And, if you can’t tell, this isn’t meant to be a 1-to-1 thing. 

And finally, the Bob-Ombs are Warforged-possibly one that you could give the ability to ‘selfdestruct’ upon defeat or something.

And that’s about the end of my notes. This took, like, two hours to write but I wanted to put this all down somewhere and here it is. Nothing here is final and if you wanna use any of it for any reason, go right ahead~

[franstastic-ideas]

The Citizens of Ebott Town

I thought it was about time I elaborated on my AU Wraithtale beyond just Frisk, Chara, Sans, Gaster and Papyrus, even though they'll be featured here as well. I'll be writing a one-shot featuring Wraithtale sometime in the near future, so consider this a preview of sorts along with finally fleshing out this universe.

Since this is about Ebott Town and its citizens, Chara and Frisk will be detailed in another post. Please feel free to ask me anything about Wraithtale if you're interested in the AU!

Ebott Town - It's a dead end town at the base of the mountain. Even though the town itself stretches all around the mountain's base, the population is small; just about everyone knows each other and news spreads fast among the community. There's plenty of houses, of course, a school, a hospital, some stores, a handful of restaurants spread around, and there's even some public transportation like buses, but there's also a whole lot of nature. The mountain is huge. Residents that have been there all their lives still haven't seen everything to see around there, probably because even without the myths of shadow monsters lurking in the dark forests scattered there, the mountain has plenty of other ways to keep people from wanting to climb it.

Steep cliffs, rivers, bears. You know, usual mountain-y stuff.

But about the myths of shadow monsters: for generations, the people who live at the mountain's base have caught glimpses of human-like figures moving between the thick expanse of trees of the mountain's forests. However, on closer inspection, it becomes apparently obvious that these figures are anything but human. Legends say that if you allow one to get too close, the wraith will steal your body and face. Or eat you from the inside out. Legends also say that many centuries ago, a group of fearful humans carved a series of stone totems  that harnessed the power of the sun and spread them around the mountain's base to keep the wraiths trapped on the mountain.

These totems are still standing at the story's beginning and become important later in the AU - some time after Frisk and Chara's existence is revealed to Sans and Papyrus, one of the totems is destroyed by a construction crew, allowing Frisk and Chara an opening to get off the mountain and into Ebott Town.

 The Citizens of Ebott:

 Toriel: She's a teacher at Ebott's school; Ebott technically has more than one school, but it's a series of buildings all located on one property. She's also a volunteer at Ebott's hospital and has had to bandage up Papyrus on many more than one occasion. Asriel is just in his first year of middle school, but Toriel already calls herself an old lady even though many have told her she still looks good for her age. She and Asgore are still married, and happily so; they're that couple that's still lovey dovey after years of marriage and they embarrass Asriel to no end. Many of Ebott Town's citizens want to leave their lives here for something greater, but Toriel is one of the few entirely happy where they are.

Sans and Papyrus lost their mother at a young and tender age, so she became the maternal figure in their life. She's deeply saddened by the current rift between Sans and Gaster, but she tends to side with the former even though Toriel hates for there to be any conflict at all. She believes that Gaster continuously placing pressure on Sans to succeed, while he meant well in doing so, only succeeded in robbing Sans of a bright future and ultimately lost his oldest son as a result.

Sans: Prior to the main story, Sans was a college student aiming for a major in science while simultaneously aiding his father in his experiments. He and Gaster got along for the most part; arguments were sometimes a thing, but they weren't usually serious or extreme. However, one fateful day, this would change; one of Gaster's experiments went haywire. Gaster's creations going haywire wasn't unordinary, but this one involved a dangerous chemical compound. This compound ate right through Sans's lab coat sleeves and burned his arms, permanently scarring them. When Gaster still wanted to continue his research with the compound, Sans began questioning whether his father loved him or his work more. And with this thought along with the increasingly added pressure to succeed, his grades began rapidly slipping, and with that, Gaster grew more upset with him - eventually it culminated in Sans having a nervous breakdown on campus. He was swiftly expelled afterward for his 'tantrum' and sent home, back to Ebott Town and never to return.

He gets into a heated argument with Gaster, which leads to a second nervous breakdown and Sans finally unloading every one of his recent negative thoughts on his father and accuses him of not loving him. Sans wasn't satisfied with Gaster's attempts to explain himself and wanted to move out and take his brother with him, but Papyrus refused to leave. So the three live under one roof, a broken family. Sans began using his time working odd jobs alongside Papyrus and exploring the mountainous region that had been around him all of his life. He deflects any questions asked about why he isn't in college anymore by the residents of Ebott and he always keeps his arms covered, wearing long sleeves even in the summer to hide his burns.

Papyrus: Unlike his brother, Papyrus never got the chance to leave town and go to college. He doesn't let it bother him though and finds plenty of opportunities to learn in his own community - life itself will be his educator!

Papyrus never decided what he wanted to do after graduation. There's so much that he wants to do; he's largely indecisive and he doesn't want to leave Ebott Town to pursue a career, so currently he completes odd jobs alongside his brother around Ebott to get a feel for what career might be best for him. However, he can't stop that little glimmer of hope in his heart of wanting to make it big, but unlike everyone else, he wants to make it big right where he is. Adults have tried to reason with him into giving up on that dream, that it's a lost cause and a waste of his time, but he staunchly refuses this possibility and continues trying his best, certain that everything will eventually work out.

He's currently the glue that's holding the pieces of this shattered family together. If it weren't for him, Sans would have left town the night he came home. Sans won't leave without his brother and Papyrus knows this, so he's got Sans at a stalemate. He knows that if Sans ever left town, then he may never speak to Gaster again and then they may never reconcile. And he also knows that deep down, Sans doesn't want to leave Ebott Town either. But ever since he met Frisk, Papyrus thinks he at least doesn't have to worry about that happening anymore...

Undyne: Undyne wanted to become a police officer after she graduated high school, but instead, she's been relegated to the position of 'mountain patrol'. In other words, Gerson took pity on her and used his own position in the force to give Undyne some involvement in the career path she chose but was denied. The higher ups in the police force rejected Undyne because, no matter how strongly she upholds justice and how passionate she is, they still see her as a problem child and won't give her a chance. Gerson, however, sees Undyne's potential and gives her the task of 'mountain patrol' out of sympathy and because he believes that eventually she'll prove herself worthy to the rest of the police force.

Which is why initially, when she learns of the wraiths' confirmed existence and the police sent out a notice requesting their capture, she wants to apprehend Frisk and Chara and secure her place in the force. It took a lot of convincing from Sans and Papyrus to stand down, and Chara constantly announcing her intentions for the town and the rest of humanity didn't help in the slightest, but eventually they reason with her and Undyne befriends Frisk and later Chara. Even though it costed her promotion, she keeps the two shadow monsters safe from the hands of the law, since now she feels having the two apprehended would be unjust and against her morals. That, and she loves a good star-crossed lovers forbidden romance as much as the next gal.

Alphys: Alphys is currently taking college classes online while also working as Gaster's assistant. After Sans's nervous breakdown, she feels guilty for essentially 'stealing his future', getting a college education when he couldn't, and working alongside Gaster even while knowing how he hurt Sans. Sans doesn't hold anything against her for it, telling her that everything that happened between the two of them was his and Gaster's business. Even so, she sometimes can't help but feel like what she's doing is unfair to him and wrong.

Alphys once dreamed that she, Gaster, and Sans would revitalize the town together, but since the latter two's falling out that dream seems impossible to her. Even so, she loves the town and has no desire to leave, feeling that the rest of the world is too big for her and this is where she belongs. Along with Sans, she was the one in their group who was most often bullied in school; she was mistreated for her chubby body like Sans was, but unlike him, she almost always had Undyne to defend her and her side of the story was usually believed over her tormentor's. She had low self esteem until Gaster saw potential in her and took her as his assistant. He built up her self esteem along with Sans and the rest of her friends, so Sans's descent thereafter makes her feel torn between the two even though both assure her she has no reason to feel that way.

Muffet: Muffet works in her mother's bakery and writes independent gothic literature on the side. Unknown to most of the town, several of her stories have already been published anonymously and she's receiving moderate to substantial success. When she and Sans were still in high school, Gaster had set the two up on a date once. Sans had never expressed any interest in having a romantic relationship, and Gaster thought he needed assistance in acquiring a girlfriend, so he selected Muffet as a romantic candidate for Sans. What followed was an extremely embarrassing night for Sans and an amusing one for Muffet. Despite her still teasing him about it, she agrees that the date didn't count since she believes real dates should be mutually consenting from both parties, and Gaster didn't ask either of them before shoving them into an awkward position. The two did become friends, so Muffet became included among Sans's and Papyrus's circle of friends afterwards.

She's one of the few happy to stay in Ebott Town, if only because of her family's bakery and living so close to the mountain where the shadow people roam. She's been sneaking off to the mountain since she learned to walk to try and get glimpses of the monsters supposedly living there and grows excited over any paranormal activity reported to happen near the town. She thinks Sans's relationship with Frisk and Papyrus's with Chara is 'dreamy' and wants her new story she's writing to be a Lovecraftian romance with them as her inspiration.

Grillby: Grillby graduated high school when Sans was entering the 10th grade. He left Ebott Town to go to culinary school but came back just a year later and settled for working as a waiter and assistant chef in Muffet's family's bakery before opening his own restaurant in town. He isn't particularly upset over having to return but he doesn't like the endless stream of gossip that surrounds a person whenever they leave and eventually come back to Ebott. Grillby has an unbelievable amount of patience, but one of the fastest ways to make it wear thin is to question Sans on his own return in his presence. He's one of the few that knows the entire truth about Sans's situation and is quick to dismiss the busybodies from looking for more gossip fodder.

Sometimes after Sans and Gaster have an argument, Grillby will open up his home to Sans and allow him to stay until he's cooled enough. He makes sure Sans eats properly during those times and lends an understanding ear. When he was younger, he was frequently picked on for his large round glasses he had to wear and his overall nerdy appearance. Now that he's older and considered handsome by most that see him, he feels uncomfortable about accepting compliments related to his appearance.

Mettaton: He dreams of one day leaving Ebott Town and becoming a star. Together with his cousin Blooky, his neighbor Shyren, and a bored fast food employee with nothing better to do who wants to leave this town as much as the next guy, he formed a band. Mettaton performs lead vocals, Blooky is the composer, Shyren is backing vocals, and Burgerpants is their lyricist. The problem is, Burgerpants has trouble becoming inspired and gets writer's block often. So until Burgerpants can come up with something original and groundbreaking, Mettaton and the band are stuck making cover of various songs and uploading them on the internet. Even so, he refuses to give up on the band.

His name isn't actually Mettaton - it's his stage name. He got it from the angel Metatron and thought it was something unique and 'fabulous enough for him', but he misread it. Even after learning of his typo he won't correct it. He loves his stage name so much, he had his name legally changed to Mettaton and only responds to this name - if called his old name, he'll pretend he can't hear you. Since Sans came back to Ebott, Mettaton has tried persistently to get him to join his band, but Sans hasn't become that desperate yet.

Asgore: He runs a gardening and flower store in the town, but he's also the town's mayor. It's fortunate Ebott Town was already named when he entered office, otherwise he may have bestowed the town with an even more uncreative name. He's widely beloved by the citizens of the town to the point that many say he's one of the only bright sides to being stuck there. Like his wife, he loves Ebott Town and while he can't blame or place fault in the ones that want to leave, it does deeply sadden him to hear how much someone wants to leave town or watch someone leave.

Being Gaster's close friend and confidant, he knows about his family troubles. Like Toriel, he doesn't like that there's any conflict between them at all, but he's more sympathetic towards Gaster and his various attempts to reconcile with Sans than his wife is. After an argument has occurred, sometimes it's Asgore that Gaster goes to for comfort and reassurance that he isn't a bad father, and yet at the same time, Gaster will vehemently argue with Asgore whenever he attempts to assuage his fears as a parent.

W.D. Gaster: Gaster was a wealthy man with a loving wife and two sons who lived in a city far away from Ebott Town. After losing his wife, he decided to move to escape the pain. He decides to move to Ebott Town after receiving a letter from his old friend Asgore and continue his work there. He heard Ebott was a dead end town and nearly everyone wants to leave for somewhere greater, but he wanted to make the place more populated through his scientific work and later his oldest son's. He made many successes in bringing Ebott more up to date with the modern world, having solar panels installed on every house along with several other widespread achievements, but no matter how hard he worked, people still wanted to leave.

He's still presently working on improving the town with science alongside Alphys, but since the rift in his relationship with Sans formed, he has lost most of his passion. He's loved science since he was a boy, but he discovers that he loved it more when Sans was having fun with science with him. Only, Gaster is poor with words, and he can't properly express his feelings of emptiness and guilt to Sans. Sans still feels bitter and does everything to avoid and spite him in his hurt, which leads to more tension between the two. He wonders if his relationship with his oldest son is beyond repair now. He wants to make amends, but he doesn't know how or if it's even possible anymore.

[chenoehi]

*I'm reposting this bc it's not in any of the tags anymore & I really hate tumblr 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️💆‍♀️

I had a thought about the namkook interaction at the festa dinner, the 'monitoring' comment.

I read and agreed with what @lovetheonlyyouthereis wrote about her theory and how it might have related to kookmin, but something just hit me. If anyone can help me out with specifics on one thing...

So, we all know that Jungkook decided to come to BigHit because of Namjoon and we've heard the story several times before, but for some reason I feel like we're hearing them bring it up more frequently. I wonder if anyone else thought it was curious that Jungkook mentioned it again on stage in Busan after he mentioned it at the festa dinner, which was taped months ago. Then there was Jungkook's answer to an interview question in London, calling Namjoon his first inspiration. There's just been a lot of reassurance coming from Jungkook recently that he values, respects, and loves Namjoon and it seems like it's almost coming out of nowhere because it's not like everyone didn't already know all of this. I'm not sure why but it almost looks like Jungkook is overcompensating, which could very well be because of some tension if the 'monitoring' had to do with kookmin as @lovetheonlyyouthereis discussed or if the monitoring had to do specifically with Jungkook himself.

That's the part I'm questioning; I don't doubt the KM part because as I said before I've already noticed that Namjoon has been more laid back when it comes to them lately, to the point that it has become very noticeable that he is not actively trying to 'break' KM up on stage or even be near them at times. He sometimes chooses not to speak and verbally divert attention when before he wouldn't have hesitated. It's a little odd and unpredictable but it really looks like he's operating on a 'live and let live' philosophy right now. Considering the fact that it was Jimin who had the 3-hour talk with him about the monitoring, considering that Jimin felt so strongly about this thing that was bothering Jungkook that he couldn't wait and he just had to talk to Namjoon about it knowing they had a *morning* schedule, meaning they had to be talking at who knows what time and you know they had to be zombies trying to go about their business, but whatever it was it was that important, considering all that I don't doubt it was something that was personal for Jimin too.

The part I'm thinking about now, or wondering about, is whether the monitoring/watching and the concern extended beyond KM and to Jungkook, as in Namjoon felt like he needed to monitor Jungkook for some reason. I say that for a few reasons, partially because there are things that go on behind the camera that we don't get to see obviously and we never will understand their entire personal lives or their thought processes, but we got a glimpse into Jungkook's at this festa dinner.

He called himself insignificant apart from the idol, BTS's JK, and that didn't surprise me to hear that he feels that way about himself to be honest but I can't say how sad it made me feel. He's made comments before about not really being anybody or having much of a personality, things to that extent, before joining BTS. He says he feels that they made him who he his, specifically, he said they 'filled him in', so without them he might feel lacking. On top of that he made the comments about school, about not studying. Jungkook has said before that he feels he stopped maturing at 15, and he feels he did not apply himself in school, but he also knows he's not the kind of person who traditional school is a good fit for. But he was 'raised' by a hyung who he idolized that was bookish who has an IQ of 148 who did study well who was a good student, and he is also potentially (for those who may not agree) in love with someone who is a math genius and who was class president and was a very good student, so he has all these examples of what he may feel like he should have been and wasn't and despite where he is now he can't see that none of that matters anymore. What does seem to matter to Jungkook is that he is a Jack of all Trades but a Master of None. His passion seems to be creating videos, but to become an expert at anything takes time, hardwork, and dedication, and he knows that. He has things he likes to do and he's good at everything, but I don't know if there is anything he has really mastered yet unless we count singing, but even with that I think he does still struggle sometimes with inflection of emotion.

So I know we all like to point out how perfect and golden he is but the reality is that Jungkook doesn't see himself that way. He felt like he had to apologize to us for not presenting his mixtape when he said he would because he felt he wasn't ready yet, that his skills weren't good enough. He felt whatever he did would be not up to his standards of perfection and a disappointment (there is more than one perfectionist who self critiques too harshly in bangtan, in the maknae line no less).

Back to the festa dinner and the monitoring comment:

I remembered something Namjoon said in "Burn the Stage," when Jungkook had his health issue in Chile. Namjoon said something to the extent, if I remember correctly, that he at one point was questioning if it was a physical problem or if the problem was 'mental' and he realized that it was obviously physical; please correct me if the interpretation is wrong (I don't have the gifs in front of me), but basically, what Namjoon did, period, was bring up the idea of it being the result of a mental problem when he said instead, this wasn't a mental problem this was physical. Because why would he say that unless Namjoon was questioning it to himself. BtS was one of the first things I watched when I started stanning BTS and I still thought that was a really weird thing to say. I'm not sure why he felt like he needed to make that distinction when talking about it. There were other things he said in BtS like Jungkook hides his exhaustion from the other members, so it seems that when things like Chile happen it reminds Namjoon that Jungkook is human and may not always be taking the best care of himself for whatever reasons.

We already knew all of that well, BtS let us into their world and gave us some insight, and Namjoon himself has often been the one to say things about Jungkook that gave us a glimpse of him.

So I thought about that moment which has always seemed out of place to me. The monitoring comment very much seemed to be coming from Jungkook with not really any input from the other members outside of Jimin, but if we consider that the monitoring comment had something to do with namkook as much as it did with kookmin then things like Chile and Namjoon's BtS comment seem more interesting, for lack of a better term.

But then I've been floating around on Quora, as I do sometimes when I'm bored, which is this online question and answer forum, and I saw this question about BTS asking some of their hardships or experiences they've endured and once you look at one answer you can see all of them if you want to. On several of the answers I saw the Chile incident mentioned for Jungkook, but some people said that it was not the only time he has passed out on stage or after a performance. Many people used the number 3 when referring to the number of times it has happened. I know one of those might be that award show performance this spring where he collapsed off stage after performing, but have there been other times when Jungkook has fainted or collapsed due to exhaustion or health prior to these 2019 award shows?

So, I don't doubt the monitoring/watching might have had something to do with KM too, partly because Namjoon has backed off KM a LOT and also because Jimin was the one who went and talked to him; I also love the timing of Jungkook's 'live how you want to live' message for festa and find that telling. But, I don't think that's the only explanation, not after thinking about and reconsidering some namkook specific interactions. Especially in light of what Jungkook said at the festa dinner which was in line with things he's said about himself before.

Basically what I'm thinking is that it's possible some things have gone on in his personal life, emotional, mental, physical health and well being that have caused Namjoon some concern and led to similar monitoring of Jungkook. I'm curious to see if anyone else agrees or if anyone thought that Namjoon's comment in BtS was out of place. Correct me if I'm wrong, but all of the members at one point or another have either spoken or alluded to their mental and emotional health, and sometimes they talk about each other. But I don't remember Jungkook ever saying anything about his mental health. He speaks about a lot of things now but I can't recall anything he's said about that if he's talked about it, and that's strange to me considering that even just recently he's said negative things about himself and also knowing that his hyungs talk about mental health so freely. I think because they talk about their mental health specifically it makes a contrast to the fact that he doesn't really talk about his.

This is particularly interesting to me considering that in the KM relationship Jungkook likes to praise Jimin and build him up, and he doesn't really let him talk badly about himself; the most recent example of the haircut is perfect, he told everyone that Jimin's haircut was cute at the Busan muster because he knew Jimin was self conscious about it. It all gives off the vibe that Jungkook can easily help others practice self love but might have a harder time when it comes to himself. That 'insignificant' comment really let's you know something right there. The fact that he considers some of the experiences he lost by choosing the idol life and career to have set him back and that he's actually comparing himself, however subconsciously, to a person he idolized and another person he cares for it just reinforces his insignificant comment because he's saying he doesn't value his own experience because it wasn't what he thinks it should have been.

Not to be dramatic, but I'm really thinking about this kid who entered a very brutal industry at the age of what, 12? 13? And his parents weren't with him. This was a kid who Jimin found crying in the kitchen because he missed his parents, who was so shy at first that he couldn't shower around them or take his clothes off, who broke down when Hoseok was going to leave the group, a kid who Yoongi said had a big heart but his hyungs couldn't see it then because we all know he had a hard time showing that side, who was so emotionally complicated that he couldn't handle too much affection in front of the camera, and who only cried for his hyungs and not for himself.

Right now, I'm kind of suspicious of what's bringing up all of the namkook content we keep getting; could it be because the conversation Jimin and Namjoon had about Jungkook's issues w/NJ's monitoring led to some tension? Is this just reassurance that NJ is still his first love the leader of his life?

This went off topic and got rambly at times. I've honestly just been watching for a while and wondering if anyone is picking up the same things I am. I know Jungkook is not the member the fandom likes to discuss the most when it comes to these things and I really think sometimes, is it just me, or is the fandom simply more focused elsewhere.

[casbeanwrites]

Repeatedly 

part 2 of the Dick Pick AU - read part 1 here

dean/cas, 14k, explicit - established relationship, age difference, past boss/employee relationship, angst with a happy ending, bottom dean/top cas, dean in lingerie, multiple prostate orgasms

Dean isn't worried. He isn't jealous. He just... Cas has been working a lot. And he misses him.

you can also read it on AO3

Dean wakes up to soft kisses on his neck and the oh, so missed feeling of strong arms around his shoulders. His boyfriend's scent surrounds him, familiar and reassuring, and he grins at the hello, love, murmured in his ear.

It's not the first time Dean tries to wait for Cas and ends up falling asleep at the dinner table. Or in front of the TV. Or on the balcony. Or naked in bed.

It's been happening a lot lately.

He tries to move, stretching his spine up from the awkward way he fell asleep, hunched over on his books. His neck hurts something awful and his textbook's page is sticked to his cheek. Great.

Cas helps him up and kisses him all the way to their bedroom, holding his weight up because Dean's legs are still mostly asleep.

"What time is it?" Dean groans as he stumbles out of his jeans and onto the bed.

"Two a.m."

It's that damn promotion that Cas has been chasing for months. He basically lives at the office now. Dean hates it.

"Who the hell keeps you in the office until two a.m.? Talking to China or sumthin?"

Castiel joins him under the covers in nothing but his boxers and presses himself against Dean's back, arms strong and secure around his waist.

"Japan, actually," Castiel yawns. He kisses the back of Dean's neck and nuzzles there.

"Sure it wasn't your assistant?"

Another thing that Dean hates about Cas' job. His young, cute, and perky new assistant. Who gets to spend a lot more time with Cas than Dean does these days.

"Alfie?" Cas mumbles, already falling asleep. "I sent him home at eight. I'm not a monster."

He yawns again and then hums contentedly. Dean says nothing. He can’t complain. Cas is here, his thighs pressed up against Dean's, stomach on the small of his back. He can feel him breathe and their fingers are laced over his chest. It's warm, it's safe. He knows he'll sleep well tonight.

Usually Castiel manages to slip out of the office around nine or ten p.m., but always brings a pile of paperwork with him, or has a thousand emails to reply to, or schedules to fill out, or reports to write, and Dean has to go to bed alone while Cas sits at the kitchen table in front of his laptop, the mug of tea Dean has made for him left untouched by his side.

Dean doesn't like to fall asleep alone, without the weight and warmth of Castiel against him, without his slow breaths on his skin. He doesn't like going to bed alone, and likes even less waking up alone, with Castiel already gone for his 6 o'clock meeting, the sheets cold and not even the memory of lips on his cheek.

Dean tries to be understanding. This is a big deal - a big promotion, a chance for Cas to get out of "middle management" and make his way up. Way up.

And maybe Dean should be more patient. Maybe it shouldn't bother him this much that he barely sees his boyfriend at all. After a year of living together and almost two years of dating, maybe he shouldn't miss him this much when he's not there. He should be able to tough it out for a couple of months while Cas gets his big break. It shouldn't feel like claws in his chest and a big twisted hole in his stomach every fucking night when he walks in their empty condo and eats dinner alone.

But it does. Cas is not there and Dean misses him.

He misses his warmth in their bed. He misses his smile at the dinner table, his fingers on Dean's waist while they cook (well, while he cooks and Cas attempts to help). He misses talking to him about his day, about stupid things that don't even matter except when he gets to tell Cas about them. He misses watching TV with Cas or reading next to him while Cas plays a dumb game on his phone, he misses Cas stroking his hair distractedly while Dean falls asleep on his lap. He misses lazy Sundays in bed, he misses late night showers and early mornings, he misses kisses that taste like coffee and toast. He misses missing the end of movies because Cas got bored and decided that distracting Dean would be so much more fun.

He misses sex that isn't rushed, or tired, or says I'm sorry I came home so late again. He misses even the stupidest things, like grocery shopping or buying toilet paper or going to the mall to buy ice cream in the middle of winter and letting Cas drag him to three different pet shops. He misses Cas smiling, and laughing, and not looking so goddamn exhausted all the time.

Because that's the worst thing - watching Castiel be miserable. Watching him drag himself out of bed every morning, grumble around his cup of coffee, huff as he puts on his tie. Feeling the tension in his shoulder when Dean tries to massage the knots out of them. He hates that "long" is the only answer he gets when he asks Cas how his day was. He hates that Cas apparently hates this as much as he does, even if he doesn't say it.

But Dean can’t complain, he can't add to how miserable Castiel already is. At least tonight Castiel is here, and that has to be enough.

Things hit a new rock bottom when Castiel announces that he's going away on a business trip. He'll be leaving town for three days - Friday night to Monday night - which is longer than they've been apart ever since they started dating. Since they've met, actually.

And it shouldn't be a big deal, because they're adults and they can handle being in two different cities for a few days, but Cas' mood goes from bad to abysmal in the weeks preceding the trip. He still keeps repeating that he doesn't have a choice, that he needs to go make his pitch to corporate if he wants a chance in the running.

Castiel sighs and grumbles about it for the tenth time tonight and Dean can't keep his mouth shut anymore. He takes out his earbud, stops the movie and turns towards Cas, sitting next to him on the couch.

"You don't have to."

"Do you think I have a choice?" Cas frowns, looking up from his paperwork. "If I don't go, I lose this promotion, Dean. I lose everything I've been working toward for fifteen years."

Dean gets up. He grabs his laptop and starts to walk away.

"Everything that's been making you miserable for fifteen years, but whatever."

"And exactly what else am I supposed to do? Be a VP for the rest of my life?"

Dean turns around when he reaches the door. Cas' cheeks have heated up, but he still looks so goddamn tired, his hair sticking out in tufts and his eyes bleak. He sees no issue to this, that's obvious. Now Dean just feels guilty for bringing it up.

"No. 'S not what I'm saying."

"Not everyone gets to do what they love," Cas calls out. "We can't all have that luxury."

Dean doesn't answer and goes to take a long, hot shower. The water burns his skin and it hurts. But not as much as Cas' words. He gets it - he's lucky to be studying in a field he's passionate about. But it's not like he didn't sacrifice a lot for it. He took a lot of his classes online, and worked full time on top of school even when he went on campus. He took jobs he wishes he hadn't.

And yeah. Now he lives in his boyfriend's luxurious condo and pays a rent that probably barely cover the hot water. But Cas was the one who asked him to move in. Cas was the one who insisted he quit his job at the firm to focus on school. Cas was the one who said: "I don't need your money, Dean. I need you. I want you." Cas was the one who hated the fact that they were apart so much and wanted Dean in his bed every night.

Dean drops on his back in said bed, rubs his eyes, and lets out a long sigh. Fighting with Cas is the worst. It doesn't happen often, but these past few months have been... Just, bad, on all accounts.

His gaze falls on the framed HR contract hanging on the wall above his head. Castiel's gift to him when he moved in. A reminder. A promise.

Cas didn't just want Dean in his bed. He wanted Dean in his life.

Now it doesn't seem to matter as much.

The floorboards creak. Castiel is standing in the doorframe. He looks so tired. And old. Their age gap has never been an obstacle between them, never been more than something they tease each other about from time to time, but tonight Cas really looks... he looks ancient, he looks hundred and hundred of years old, and as tired as if he'd spent millennia doing paperwork and wasn't even halfway through.

"I'm sorry," he says. The crinkles around his eyes droop down. His blue irises are dark, the light extinguished. "What I said was unfair. I-"

"It's fine, Cas."

"It's not. You work so hard and-"

"Just c'mere."

Dean can't stand him looking so fucking sad and sorry so he stretches out his arm and gestures until Cas takes his hand. He almost falls on top of Dean and Dean embraces him, hugging him tight, until he's tucked under his chin and their bodies are tangled.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you said that."

Cas kisses him. Dean sighs into it. It feels like it's been a million years, even though he kissed him yesterday. Probably. Or was it Monday? Fuck. He doesn't even know.

His fingers card through Cas’ hair, who sighs happily. It's one a.m. and Cas' hands venture under Dean's shirt.

"Cas," Dean murmurs. He kisses the bolt of his jaw. "You should sleep. You're exhausted."

"Don't wanna sleep. Wanna be with you."

He's already slurring though, eyes closed and face smushed between the pillow and Dean's neck.

"I'm right here. I ain't going anywhere."

Cas' body goes lax at those words, like it's all he needed to hear.

"I love you," Cas murmurs, right before he falls asleep.

Cas is more careful around him for the rest of the week, and Dean doesn't bring up the subject again.

And what would Dean push for anyway? It's not like he has any fucking idea of what Cas would rather be doing. He's never talked about it. Maybe Cas doesn't know himself. Maybe that's what's so scary. Dean knows things that Cas likes - long walks in the forest to search for mushrooms (that he doesn't know how to cook to save his life, but that he enjoys picking anyway), going into libraries and looking at books, going into pet shops and looking at guinea pigs and rabbits and fishes, going to the farmer's market and smelling all the homemade soaps.

Doing any kind of shopping with him is endless, because he loves to just contemplate, to look at everything, to talk to the vendors, he loves to explore every last corner of every store - "maybe they got something new, Dean."

"S'not like you ever buy anything," Dean complains, every time. The guy never even treats himself to the things he likes. Dean's the one who goes back to buy him that soap that smelled "so lovely", that mug he held for a really long time before setting it back down with a sigh. Cas loves to look at plants, and has a couple in his office that he prunes and cherishes, but with the time he spends at home lately, it'd be useless to get him some for here. But Dean would've loved to buy him that orchid he spent half an hour admiring in that little shop they went by a few months ago.

Dean feels like maybe he should know. He should know what Cas' dreams are. Or if he has any.

Cas is set to leave on Friday afternoon, but still needs to go to the office in the morning. As usual, he leaves before Dean even wakes up. Dean had asked Cas to make an exception this time, but Cas doesn't, and writes him an apology note instead.

You seemed too peaceful. I hate waking you up. Have a good weekend, I love you.

Dean will be in class all afternoon, which means that he'll miss Cas when he comes home to pack.

He hates this.

He hates that he didn't get a goodbye kiss, and he should love Cas for caring so much, for this tenderness - but he hates him for not wanting to kiss him enough to wake him up instead.

By some miracle, Dean's afternoon class gets cancelled. Giddy, he decides to call Cas' office. Maybe they can have dinner when he comes home to pack. Maybe they can have a little down time at home, take a nap together before Cas gets on a plane to the other side of the country.

Alfie answers the phone, chirpy as always.

“Mr Novak's office - Oh, hi Dean! Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Novak’s in a meeting.”

Dean grits his teeth at the faked sadness of Alfie's tone.

“Right. Of course he is.”

“I’m sure he’d rather be with you,” Alfie offers.

Dean closes his eyes. Sometimes, when Cas is at the office until ungodly hours, he wonders. He wonders if it's really China, or Japan, or meetings, or reports, or that fucking promotion, or if maybe - maybe it's the cute ass of his new assistant that keeps him there.

It's dumb and petty, given the fact that Cas has never given him a reason to doubt him. But he just can't help it. After all, Cas fell for his cute assistant once. Could happen again.

“It’s fine - just, uh, can you just tell him I got off early? So I'll be home when he comes to pack. He can call me if he wants to.”

"Oh." Something in Alfie's tone ticks Dean off. That boy always sounds like he's guilty of something. "Okay. Um, I'll make sure he calls you."

“Just tell him I'm home.”

The phone rings about an hour later.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“You didn’t have to call.”

“My meeting is over. Finally.”

Dean hears the deep, exhausted sigh on the other end of the line. For the hundredth time, he wonders why Cas is working so hard for that promotion. If he does get to higher management, meetings like this are all he’s going to be doing. All day, every day. And he knows it.

“Right. Well, my class this afternoon got cancelled. I'm home, so, when you come to pack, maybe we could grab dinner or-"

"Oh." The silence that follows is like a blog to Dean's gut. "I - I'm already packed. My suitcase is here."

"You're not coming back?"

Dean only realizes he had hope when it all comes crashing down at his feet.

"I'm sorry. I won't have time, we're leaving earlier than I originally thought. I didn't think it mattered since you'd be in class..."

"Right."

Dean breathes out through his nose. Closes his eyes.

"D'you have any time until you leave? I could come by."

"I'm afraid I'm buried in paperwork."

Or buried in your assistant's ass.

"Okay. Well, uh. Have a good trip, then."

Dean hears Cas saying something through the speaker as he hangs up. It's rude, he knows. He should have said more - I love you, I'll miss you . But he couldn't. And it's not because he started crying. His eyes are wet and his throat is closed up because he's allergic to phone calls. That's all.

Cas had warned Dean that he was going to be busy this weekend. That he'd be in and out of meetings and conferences, preparing for his pitch, making contacts and probably spending his slim free time catching up on sleep.

Still, Dean grows increasingly frustrated on Friday night and Saturday morning as Castiel takes hours to respond to his texts with short, monosyllabic answers. Cas told him not to do the thing they usually do because he'd constantly be surrounded by colleagues, and accidentally opening dick pics during a meeting would definitely cost him the promotion. So he could at least reward Dean's efforts at PG texting by something else besides fine , ;) , or you too.

On Saturday night, Dean decides that he's done sulking around. The bed is cold, the house is empty. And there's no else that Dean really wants to talk to, but obviously Cas has better things to do. More important things to do. Work things, colleague things. Naughty skype calls to his assistant, who the fuck knows. Whatever it is, it matters more than answering Dean's texts, that's obvious.

It's been a while since Dean has gone out. "Going out" may be a bit much for just dinner with his brother and Jessica, but it's something, at least, it's getting him out of the condo where the scent of their empty home stifles him. Dean turns off his phone to avoid the temptation of checking for notifications.

He has a life too. The chair next to his at the dinner table feels empty, but since when has he become the kind of guy who needs someone else to feel complete? He doesn't even know when it happened.

When Sam suggests going out for drinks with some of his college friends, Dean says yes. He doesn't actually want to but it beats going home alone. He loves his brother to death, but his friends are young, and loud, and Dean doesn't know them or care to. He just needs to do something besides think about the fact that Cas is probably too busy to think about him.

Dean collapses on the bed at two a.m., not drunk enough, mildly sobered by a tall glass of water.

He turns his phone back on.

He has five missed calls.

From Cas.

"Hello?"

Cas' voice is slurred with sleep. Shit. Dean didn't think about anything before pressing the call button, he just -

"Cas? You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine." He hears shuffling, a sigh, a groan. "What's going on?"

"You - you called me five times."

"Oh. Yes. I was trying to catch you before you went to bed. Didn't you get my messages?"

"Oh. Um. No." Dean rubs his face with his fingers. Presses them into his eyes. "Sorry. I was out with Sam, my phone was off," Dean attempts to explain, an excuse for waking up his boyfriend at two a.m. when he probably has to be awake again in a few hours to do very boring and important things.

"That's good," Castiel says. "I'm glad you had some fun. How is Sam?"

"He's fine, I - shit. 'M sorry I woke you."

Dean should have undressed. His clothes stick to his skin, heavy, uncomfortable. He's not really drunk anymore, he drank slowly and without a point, not really keeping up with the others. The result is a not-quite headache and just... heaviness. Tiredness.

"I'll let you sleep," he mumbles, because Cas is probably even more exhausted than he is.

"No, please. It's fine," Cas says, and somehow it really seems to be. His voice sounds more upbeat, Dean can almost hear the smile through it. "It's really good to hear your voice."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Warmth spreads through Dean's chest and he breathes a little better.

"I feel like we've been apart forever already."

"Yeah," Dean murmurs. "I know."

He puts the phone on speaker and wiggles out of his jeans, and then slides under the covers with a sigh. That's much better. All he's missing is Cas, and the way his arm curls around Dean's chest, the weight of his thighs between his own.

"I didn't remember how lonely and cold it is to fall asleep alone."

"Yeah," Dean scoffs. "I know."

He didn't mean for it to sound like that - like a reproach. But it does, a little bit.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says. "I-"

"I didn't mean..." Dean inhales deeply.

Maybe he did. Maybe he did mean it like that.

"Hopefully, it will be over soon."

Dean's very tired. And an idiot. And he's in love, and he's lonely, and he has always wanted more, more than what he deserves, more than what's given. More than he should ever get.

"What will, Cas? Meetings that run long, video-calls to Japan until midnight, business trips to the other side of the country? That - if you get this promotion, that's all you'll be doing. Forever."

All that Dean can hear is you're such an asshole on a loop in his mind.

"There will be a very nice salary compensation," Cas explains, slowly. "And after your diploma, we could relocate, anywhere you'd like, anywhere you get a job. With this promotion I can move easily, corporate has offices all over the country. This opens many so doors for us. I could buy us a house, and you wouldn't have to worry about anything-"

"Buy us a house?" Dean's voice comes out as a croak. "We don't - why the Hell do we need a house?"

"Because you want one," Cas replies like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"I - when did I - I never asked for a house!"

"When we took that walk down to the river bank a few months ago, we saw those gorgeous houses and we stopped and you... You said you'd always dreamed of a victorian house with a tower for a reading nook."

"I - Cas -"

"And whenever we drive to the farmer's market, you always look at the houses on Peach Lane. The tall yellow one with the white window shutters. And the blue one with the balcony with all the flowers. I see how you look at them. We don't even have a yard. Our balcony is too small for a table. We could have a back porch, so you could hang a hammock and read during the summer, and we could grow some vegetables in the garden."

Dean is speechless.

"Cas, I never asked you to buy me a fucking house."

Dean can hear Castiel frown on the other end of the line.

"I know. I-"

"It was just talks. Dreams. One day, I - maybe, but not now. And not - I didn't mean - I never meant-"

I never meant buy me a fucking house, idiot.

"I just want you to have everything you need. Everything you want."

"I do. For fuck's sake, I already do, Cas."

All that Dean can hear is Cas breathing.

"Look," Dean says, because Cas isn't saying a damn word. "If this is really what you want - if this job is what's gonna make you happy, if you - if you want this, then do it. Go get 'em, and all that. And I promise I'm-"

Dean closes his eyes. He can do this. If the asshole can plan his whole life around buying Dean a house, because he thought it was his dream, then Dean can support him no matter what.

"I'm not gonna sulk anymore. And I'm not gonna complain about the hours and the business trips and the paperwork and- I promise, I'll be good. I'm with you all the way, I-"

"Dean, you've been extraordinary the past few months. You've endured me in a state that I can't even begin to apologize for."

"Don't. Just promise me you're doing this for yourself, alright? 'Cause you deserve to be happy. I just - I want you to be happy. And I don't need a freaking house."

"Alright."

Dean’s whole body sags in relief.

"Do you really think we can do this?" Cas asks after a short silence. "If I take this promotion, do you really - think we can make it work?"

"Yeah," Dean lies. "We'll make it work. I'll fly out to surprise you in your hotel rooms with the sluttiest underwear. I'll bring you dinner at work and we'll eat at your desk and you'll complain that we're making a mess." Dean hears Cas let out a little scoff. "I'll sneak into your office and give you blowjobs during conference calls and I'll be your really hot date to all those super elite black tie things business people go to. And you'll fuck me in the bathroom and I'll lose my bowtie and everyone'll know, but we won't care. How's that sound?"

Cas laughs. It's deep and warm, unretained, and it's been a long time since Dean's heard that noise.

"We'll make it work," he repeats, and he's starting to believe it himself.

Cas falls silent again, but Dean can picture him, smiling to himself.

"And what if I don't take it?"

"Cas, as long as you do what you wanna do, and as long as it makes you happy, we'll be fine."

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Thank you, Dean."

Dean would give anything to see him right now. To touch him, run his fingers through Cas' hair, kiss the worried lines on his forehead. Feel him shiver as he'd let himself drift to sleep.

"I love you," Cas murmurs. "It doesn't feel like quite enough right now, but I guess it'll have to do."

"Good enough. I love you too."

Dean hears shuffling - probably Cas moving around in his bed. Dean does the same, getting comfortable.

"Time to sleep, maybe?" Dean yawns. "You gotta be getting up early tomorrow."

"Yes. What are you wearing right now?"

"Jesus, Cas, you serious?"

"Very."

Dean chuckles, but indulges him anyway.

"Hey, babe," Dean smiles, phone tucked against his shoulder.

He's been feeling giddy all morning, despite the fact that Cas is still not going to be home for two days. A weight has been lifted off his shoulders since their conversation last night and he woke up this morning without even the whiff of a headache.

He doesn't know what Cas plans to do about the promotion but it doesn't matter. For the first time in months, Dean feels like things are going be okay.

"What are you doing today?" Castiel asks. His voice is pleasant, teasing almost - he has something in mind, obviously.

"Nothing much. Might try 'n write a little. You? Lots of meetings?"

"I was actually thinking about coming home early. Catching a flight this afternoon."

Dean's heart leaps in his chest. He presses the phone against his ear. "Yeah? What about your pitch tomorrow?"

"I moved some things around."

Dean bites his lip to refrain the wide smile splitting his face in half. "That means I'll be seeing you today?"

"Yes. In just a few hours, if I play my cards right."

"Awesome." That's an understatement. Dean's heart is fluttering wildly in his chest. "Can't wait."

The bedroom isn't cold, per se, but Dean's been laying on the bed wearing nothing but very delicate panties, garters, thigh-highs and a lacy bra for hours, and he's starting to shiver.

Cas is late. His plane was supposed to have landed hours ago.

It’s getting dark out. Dean could move under the covers or put on a hoodie, but it would feel like giving up. He had this planned out. Cas was supposed to come home to this perfect surprise to end this shitty couple of months they've been having, but now... it's getting ruined. Again.

He's texted Cas a few times, but Cas hasn't answered. Dean even called, once. Castiel's phone is off. Either he's still on the plane, or he ran out of battery.

Or he turned off his phone. On purpose.

Dean shouldn’t be mad. Has no reason to. Cas moved everything around on his big important weekend to come back earlier, for him. For them.

He was delayed, that’s all. Maybe a meeting ran long. Maybe he decided that he needed to stay a little longer after all and didn’t have time to text Dean. It’s probably just something at the airport, and Dean’s an idiot for doubting him.

Cas loves him. He loves him, he's proved it to him over and over and over and Dean’s an idiot for laying in this bed in frilly, overpriced lingerie and getting cold but not wanting to put on something in case Cas miraculously gets here.

It’s just, if Cas was delayed at the airport, he would find a way to call, right? Or text.

And if he did push back his flight because of a meeting, he should have told him. Should have known that Dean would be waiting. Unless he didn't have time, unless he didn't think-

Or unless he's somewhere else, right now. In a motel somewhere between here and the airport, with the cute perky little assistant he missed so much after so many days apart...

Cas isn’t fucking his assistant. Well, he did. He used to. When Dean was the assistant. But he's not anymore. That’s stupid. That’s Dean’s stupid brain working on not enough sleep and three months of derailment.

It’s just that Dean would've thought he'd have texted by now, that’s all.

Dean startles out his half-sleep when the bedroom door slowly creaks open.

“Dean?”

His voice. Low rumble, hushed, testing whether or not he’s asleep.

"Hey. C'mon in."

“I am so sorry," Castiel says as his socked feet pad on the wooden floor. "We landed an hour late because of the weather, then it took two more hours before we could get out of the plane because other flights had gotten delayed, and then going through security took another hour and my phone was dead and I forgot my charger at the hotel and - oh.”

Dean stirs, opening his eyes to find his boyfriend at the foot of the bed, haloed by the yellow light of the hallway. His hair is sticking out like a paintbrush and his suit is wrinkled and rumpled, like he's been on a plane for - well, hours. He looks exhausted, but different than when he left. Softer around the edges.

His blue eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Dean sprawled out on their bed, the magenta lace clinging to his skin like it was made for it.

“Oh,” he breathes out again.

“Hey, Cas.”

Dean rolls onto his stomach, hugging the pillow under his head and grinding his hips once, lazily, just to accentuate the way the lace curves around his ass and how fucking nice garters look around his thighs.

“Oh. I - I didn’t think you were… waiting for me.”

‘Course I fucking was, Dean thinks. Instead, he shrugs. He’s too happy to see Cas, too relieved that he’s finally here, to start another squabble.

“Wasn’t. Just chillin’”

He hears a ruffle of fabric, a blazer falling to the floor.

“Can I…?”

“Yeah, get in here, c’mon.”

Dean tries not to shiver when Castiel’s body covers his own, firm, warm, here , finally. Cas' lips find the bend of his shoulder, pressing a long kiss there, his hands splay out and roam over the expense of skin underneath him.

“Dean…”

Dean hums, baring his neck for Castiel's teeth, pressing up against the taunt body above him, enjoying the stiffness he can already feel growing against his ass. Castiel smells like hotel soap and too much deodorant, but days away still haven’t washed off his scent of vanilla and pomegranate shampoo. It’s Cas, and he’s back, pushing Dean into the mattress as he slowly grinds down on him. His mouth is leaving sloppy, wet kisses on a path from one shoulder to another, and his hands part Dean’s thighs to settle between them, fingers hooking under the hem of his panties as they make their way up.

“Christ, Dean,” Cas growls. His teeth catch on the lobe of his ear.

“Missed me?”

Castiel stops moving. His nose brushes on the back of Dean’s neck. His lips too. He moves forward, until he can press warm, deliberate kisses on Dean’s cheeks, tender and soft, as his fingers find Dean’s hands. He squeezes tight.

“Yes. Very much so.”

Dean laughs a little bit, silently, fingers grazing through Cas’ hair. He’s here. He’s back. And he missed him.

“Looks like you missed me too, giving the welcome I’m getting.”

Cas gently coaxes Dean to turn around with firm hands on his hips, and Dean can’t but go willingly.

His heart skips a beat when their eyes meet, when he falls into the swirl of ocean blue above him. It's sparkling with something Dean hasn't seen in a while. Joy. He wraps his arms around Cas' neck and hooks his legs around his waist, brings him down for a long-awaited kiss.

It's a little sad, maybe, a little I'm sorry and I've missed you as Cas presses into Dean's lips with long, warm, insistent touches. But it's happy, too. It's I'm so glad you're here as Dean playfully nibbles on Cas' lower lip, as he opens up and meets Cas' tongue, hesitant but eager. It's welcome home as they both moan into it, deepening the kiss and panting into each other's mouth.

“Just thought you’d like the surprise,” Dean finally says when they pull apart, both out of breath.

He begins unbuttoning Cas’ shirt, his relief growing with every button being pushed out of its hole. Cas mouth at his throat, nibbling and suckling, leaving behind a red trail that will soon fade. Dean feels like he can’t pull at Cas’ shirt fast enough, can’t push it past his shoulders and off of him quickly enough.

He breathes in relief when he can palm at the warm muscles of Cas’ shoulders, slide his hands down the curve of his spine,  settle down on the small of his back.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just. Get naked.”

“I will,” Cas smiles, white and a little blinding, entirely breathtaking. “I’m savouring.”

Dean whimpers as Cas’ tongue trails down his chest, leaving his wet skin too cool for the air around it. He arches when Cas latches on his right nipple, sucking it into his mouth through the lace. He wets the fabric, rubs his lips over and over on the hardening flesh. Dean grabs a fistful of Cas’ hair, bucks, whines. Cas bites through it and Dean almost loses it. His nails dig into the meat of Cas' shoulder, he grinds up, his cock leaking, still trapped in his panties.

Castiel moves to the left, giving the same treatment to his other nipple, until Dean's legs shake and he's desperately rubbing his cock on Cas' thigh.

"Babe, babe, c'mon, c'mon, please."

"You look so good in lace."

Cas' voice is wrecked with arousal and Dean groans. Both of his nipples are dark, stiff. Matching the ensemble.

Cas' cheeks are pink, too, his mouth swollen and flushed. His eyes are limpid, like a pool on a hot summer day.

He's gorgeous. He kisses Dean's skin reverently.

Dean wants to say something. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much that I-

But Castiel's palm presses down on his cock, giving him some much needed friction, and he moans instead. Cas strokes him through the satiny fabric and the wet spot grows twice as big.

"Babe, please, c'mon."

Dean tugs at Castiel's belt, attempts to slip it of out its loop. But Castiel's kisses on his neck, on his cheeks, on his mouth, the nibbles on his jaw, the fucking hickey right below his ear, are making it hard to focus.

The best he can do is unzip him and sink his hand down, awkwardly trying to wrap around his length. Cas' cock brushes against his wrist, smears precum on his skin. He's so hard but his skin is soft, and Dean knows what he tastes like, what he feels like, in his mouth, in his ass, against his stomach or between his thighs.

Cas is hard and it's for him, just for him, just for Dean - because of Dean. This is his . Cas’ palm on his cheeks, thumb on his jaw, tilting his head up to kiss up and down his neck like he’s so hungry for it. For him. Dean nuzzles into the soft locks of Cas' hair and inhales the perfume of his conditioner, pomegranate and vanilla, the shampoo he knows because he sees it every day in the shower. Their shower, their home, their life. This is his.

Dean doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. Why, when Cas kisses him again, Dean grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses back hard, surging up to meet him. He bites into Cas' lower lip, tugs, soothes with his tongue before licking into his mouth. He meets Cas hungry and demanding, leaving them both out of breath with swollen lips.

“Baby,” Cas growls against his mouth. His chest heaves, his fingers dig in Dean’s skin, pulling, gripping. His cock smears in Dean’s hand.

His teeth sink in Dean’s shoulders, his hands part Dean’s thighs around his waist. He moves down Dean’s body, mouth ghosting around the shape of his cock, wetting the tented fabric.

“Cas.” Dean’s nails graze his skin, pull at his hair. "Please."

"So beautiful," Cas pants. His lips are moving right above the head of Dean's cock, brushing on the lace. Dean makes a wanton sound and his hips would stutter if both of Cas' hands weren't pining him down to the mattress. "Looks so good on you, Dean. I can't wait to watch you ruin them."

Dean doesn't want to pause, but he does anyway.

"They were kinda expensive. Maybe we should try to be careful. So I can wear them again?"

Cas' eyes turn a shade darker. He leans over, trailing kisses up from Dean's navel to his sternum.

"No," he says when he finally meets Dean's gaze again. There's a challenge in his eyes. "I want to see them ruined by your pleasure. I want them soaking in it."

Dean whimpers. Fuck. Cas was always awesome at dirty talk - and fuck he's got the voice designed for it - but he keeps one-upping himself.

"I'll buy you a new set," Cas promises, kissing the uncertainty off Dean’s lips. Then he kisses his cheek, his jaw, his temple. "I'll buy you one for each day of the week. You deserve nothing less."

Dean's skin flushes under the attention. Cas' weight is warm on his cock, and his words are even warmer in his ears.

"You know," Cas murmurs, pensively, pulling back a little. "If I'd taken that promotion, I could have bought you a set of expensive, silk lingerie for every single day of the year."

Dean frowns.

"If?"

Cas looks down at him, uncertain. "I didn't... move things around. I just left. I'm not pitching for the promotion."

Dean chews his lower lip and tries not to smile too wide. He doesn't want to look too pleased.

"Okay," he murmurs. "How d'you feel?"

Cas tilts his head to the side, like he does when he ponders. He considers Dean, considers the question, as if he hadn't even thought about it before.

"Good, I think."

Dean's fingers caress the hair on the nape of his neck. "Good."

Cas turns a little, catches his wrist with his hand. Then kisses each finger, one by one. "Yes. good."

This time the kiss on Dean's lips is everything sweet. So is the kiss much further down, when Cas parts his legs and moves the slip of silk to the side. Then it's everything wet and warm and soft, and Dean surrenders. He always does, with Cas.

"Do you want-?"

"Yes, please."

The lube is uncapped, squeezed onto Castiel's fingers.

The way he looks at Dean - the reverence, the adoration. How could Dean ever doubt him?

Dean stifles his moan into the pillow as Cas pushes a finger inside. He cants his hips, needy, already wanting more than what is given. But who can blame him, when his boyfriend's got the most gorgeous hands in the world, sinful fingers that render him weak and helpless and aching with every single touch? Nothing is ever enough.

Cas' mouth ghosts over his cock again. His breath wets the fabric. He sucks at the taste Dean's leaked.

"Fuck, Cas-"

"More?"

Dean nods frantically. He pushes back against both fingers, rolls his hips to get them deeper. He barely remembers the last time Castiel touched him. Really touched him.

Quick blowjobs in the shower on the night before he left. Barely feels like it counts. They both just wanted to go to sleep.

The sound Castiel lets out vibrates against Dean's pelvis, warm gush of hair wrapping around his cock. His fingers slip in out and easily, in a quick, wet sound, as Dean slams back against them.

"P-please, Cas."

Dean's eyes roll back at the stretch of three.

He has dildos, he has toys. Brought them over when he moved in. They use them sometimes. Dean uses them on his own also. But recently, it just felt wrong.

It only reminded him that Cas wasn't there, that Cas was choosing not to be there. Dean feels selfish now, as his boyfriend lays adoring kisses on his skin, as he grips his thighs and encourages him to move, murmuring endless praises as Dean rocks his hips back against the fingers creating such a bliss inside of him.

Dean was selfish, to think he had to be the number one priority in Cas' life. That Cas didn't love him if he wasn't thinking about him constantly, if he had other things on his mind, other goals, other - that just because he put work first, for a few months, it meant that-

Dean's breath hitches. His eyes water. Fuck. Fuck.

"Cas-"

"Dean?"

Cas' fingers slip out and he wipes them on the sheets. He moves up, his body covers Dean's, cradles him.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah-"

Dean cups Cas' cheek, rubs his palm on the stubble Cas didn't shave this morning. Cas' lips press on his eyelids, on his cheeks, on the corner of his mouth. Dean helps him out of his pants, finally.

He shouldn't be shaking like this. Cas grabs his hand, squeezes it between his fingers. brings it to his mouth. Frowns.

"Dean?"

Dean tucks his head into the warm, soft skin where Cas' neck meets his shoulder.

"'m okay."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No-" Dean wraps his palm around Cas' neck and strokes. Somehow that relaxes him, to have him like this. Their ankles hook around each others, chests and stomachs pressed warm.

"What is it?"

It takes Dean a moment, a moment of Cas' hand moving up and down his spine, gently catching at the bristle hair behind his neck. A moment to push past the swelling in his throat.

"Did you not get the promotion because of me? Is it my fault?"

"Your fault?" Cas creases his eyes. Tilts his head. His lips find Dean's neck while he ponders his answer. "How could it be your fault?"

"'Cause I didn't want you to take it."

"That's not what you told me. Quite the opposite, actually." He pulls back a little, is thumb brushes on Dean's lower lip. He considers him with curiosity. "You told me that I should, if I wanted to."

"Yeah but - you didn't. You were going to, and we talked, and then you didn't."

"Dean." Cas smiles, of a little, secret smile, like he understands things Dean doesn't. "The only reason I was after that promotion was because I thought it was what I ought to do. I thought that.it was expected of me. By me, and by... you. Even though I shouldn't have, because we'd never talked about it, and obviously you didn't. But I thought you might want... certain things, one day, and that that promotion was the only sure way of giving those to you. Of assuring, in a certain way, a selfish way, I suppose, that you might be tempted to stay."

Dean's mouth falls open.

Dozens of emotions battle through him - surprise, disbelief, hurt, anger, a bubbly kind of laughter.  Does Cas - did Cas - did he think-? Dean struggles a little out of Castiel's embrace.

"Cas, do you think I'm a gold digger?"

Cas' cheeks turn pink. Very pink.

"No. Not - I know you have feelings for me. I know you love me," Cas adds quickly as Dean lets out a huff of indignation. "But I - when you moved in, to this bigger home, and quit working full time to focus on school, and could afford to actually let yourself relax and enjoy your life, I saw... I saw a change in you. You seemed..." Cas smiles, thoughtful, soft. "-happier. And I want to make you happy like that, always. I want to provide for you so that you can do what truly makes you happiest in life. And I wanted that promotion because I wanted to know that I'd always be able to give you everything you'd need."

"You're such an idiot."

The words come out of Dean's mouth before he can think to stop them.

"Excuse me?"

Well, too late now. Cas deserves to know anyway.

"It was you."

Castiel’s face creases in confusion.

"The reason I was so damn happy when we moved in. The reason I've been so fucking happy since. It was you, Cas, it was being with you, being around you. Being in love with you. I've never been this fucking happy in my entire life but it's not because of your goddamn condo or your goddamn money. Idiot. It's you."

"Oh."

Dean moves into Castiel's arms again, kissing the frown off his lips. "You're such an idiot," he mumbles for the third time. "Y'know, Kant's never been the one making me sing and dance during breakfast. Think my face hurts from smiling because of fucking Rousseau, Cas? Think he's the one giving me all the butterflies?"

"I-" Cas' face flushes red. He hides in the pillow, his hand keeping Dean pressed against him. "I suppose I never considered that I was..."

Dean searches for Castiel's eyes. "Enough?"

Cas looks down. "Yes."

"Jesus, Cas. You're..."

You're the love of my life.

"You're really an idiot."

Cas huffs and rolls his eyes. Dean's not good at this. Not good at emotions in the first place, not good at talking about this. He's never done this before. And he's the one who's freaking out, here. He's the one who is in way over his head, who's in love with a guy who's so fucking beyond his station that obviously, obviously at some point he's gonna realize it.

This wasn't supposed to happen. But then again, given the way their relationship started, he really shouldn't wonder about Cas surprising him anymore.

Cas, who's smiling and more beautiful than anything Dean's ever seen. Some heat has fallen, but the slow way Castiel's fingers are running on Dean's skin is awakening it again. The caress of his lips is deliberate. Cas looks so happy, Dean thinks, as he runs a hand through his hair, and arches a little bit against him. He doesn't remember the last time Cas looked like this, the last time he smiled like this, with those little wrinkles around his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks. The smile that makes his eyes gleam in the darkness like jewels in the light.

How could you think you weren't enough, Dean wants to scream. You're everything.

All it takes for Dean to get hard again is Castiel's body moving above him, his mouth on his neck, fingers grazing through his hair. He hears the faster, deeper breaths Castiel takes as their cocks line up, rubbing together a few times. He feels Cas' chest heave underneath his fingers. Then he moves, parting Dean's legs again.

"I'm sorry for doubting you," Cas murmurs as he hooks his fingers on the lace again to push it out of the way.

He slides his cock between Dean's cheeks, where it catches again and again on his hole. Dean whines, squirms. His mind is fuzzy, his body clenches around the emptiness.

"Cas- c'mon."

"I should have never doubted your love for me. Or your motivations."

"'s fin- ah, please, just -" Dean arches, lets out a breathy moan of relief when Cas' cock finally fills him up. He was was stretched a little too quickly and it burns in the most delicious way. "Fuck."

"Sometimes I'm just..." Cas bottoms down and Dean's mind spins around it. "Scared that I'm not enough for you."

Cas' mouth latches on his neck, stomach resting hot on his lace-clad dick.

"That's fucking ironic," Dean mumbles, a little dizzy with relief and pleasure, as Cas begins moving with slow thrusts.

It feels so good, so fucking good to finally get this - not just Cas inside of him, but Cas touching him, kissing him, taking care of him in that slow, sweet way he does sometimes, that makes Dean want to cry. His thighs open loosely around Cas' waist, his fingers slip on the sweaty skin of Cas back.

"Ironic?"

Dean can hear the beginning of a strain in Cas’ voice, possibly coming from the way Dean clenches around him every time he thrusts in deeper.

"Y-yeah."

Dean doesn't elaborate. He makes a keening sound and grips tighter into Cas' shoulders, fucking his hips back against him, mouth slack at the bend of his neck. Fuck, feels so good. So fucking good. To be here, with him, again. His love, again.

"Why?"

Dean doesn't answer. He shouldn't have said anything. He doesn't know why he did, how come that thought escaped his lips. He tries kissing Cas to distract him but it doesn't work for long, and suddenly Castiel stops moving, pulling back to look him in the eyes. He's frowning.

"Tell me."

Dean rolls his eyes and his hips, looking for a friction that isn't there anymore.

"C'mon, Cas-"

"Finish your thought. Please."

"'Cause, you're-" Jesus, now it's Dean who's flushed red from head to toe. He bites into his lip. Avoids Cas' inquiring gaze. He really should've kept his mouth shut, but Cas' cock doesn't just shove open his ass, apparently. "You're everything to me," he finally mumbles. Right there against the shell of Castiel's hear, a secret he's held in too long. Maybe Cas won't understand what it means, exactly. What Dean means when he says those words. "And I'm - I'm your fucking midlife crisis. So it's really fucking ironic that you - that you're scared you're not enough for me, or whatever."

Dean tries to brush it off, but it's hard with Cas looking at him like that, with his eyes so dark like freezing oceans.

He tries to move again, but Castiel won't budge. He's a bit shorter than Dean but he's larger and heavier, and he's got him pinned down.

"Cas-"

"You think you're my midlife crisis?"

Dean tries to shrug. He knows that Cas loves him, he just-

"Dean. The circumstances in which we met were... maybe a bit cliché, I'll grant you, but I'm pretty sure I'd have to be at least forty for this to qualify as a midlife crisis."

"Third of a life crisis, then," Dean attempts. He gives Cas a smile, tries to lighten the mood.

"That's not a thing."

Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel's frown turns into a smile and leans over to kiss Dean, very softly. His hips move again, waking up sensations inside of Dean that he'd almost forgotten. Oh, right, they were doing that.

"How about third of a life bliss?"

Dean huffs, both because of that statement and from the breath being fucked out of him a little bit.

"That ain't a thing either, but fine."

Cas' pace is slow, barely a warm up, but it drags his cock in and out of Dean deliciously, catching at his rim, sending shivers like ripples underneath his skin.

"Do you know why I fell in love with you?"

Dean lifts his hips, moving with Cas. He used to hate slow rhythms like this, the intimacy it created. Cas was the first person he really allowed this kind of lovemaking with. Now he misses it when they don't have time. When they don't make time.

"'Cause I sent you really good dick pics?"

Cas huffs, his hips giving a little punishing snap. "No," he growls. "You know I had noticed you long before that."

"Right. You did say that. Something about me being cute and having good references."

Cas' fingers tug at his hair, Dean hisses a little bit at the sting. It makes him squeeze so hard around Cas' cock that he arches and groans.

"Actually," Cas says, delighted to be finally telling this story, and of the effect his little game is having on Dean, "I fell in love with you on a day during which I was quite irritated with you." He grinds his hips deep inside of Dean until Dean shudders, parting his thighs wide and letting out a sigh. "You were slacking off. You weren't filling out the forms you were supposed to, were giving me my messages thirty minutes late. Took you an hour to get me coffee, and you got the order wrong."

Dean can't reply for a minute, too lost in the way Cas' tongue explores his mouth thoroughly.

"So, usual day." Dean attempts to sound breezy, but it's difficult with Cas' cock aiming for his prostate at every thrust.

The next one is harsher, the bed creaking under them as Cas drives them both into the mattress. His stomach rolls on Dean's cock, trapping it tightly into the precum soaked lace, and Dean whines in Castiel's mouth.

"No. You were a good assistant, most of the time. But not that day. So I did something..." Cas worries his lower lip. He bends down to kiss Dean, pondering. "Iffy?"

"You, the guy who made me sign a twelve pages HR contract before you fucked me, did something iffy?"

"Yes. I have a device in my computer that allows me to see everything my assistant does on their desktop. Kind of like what some parents use to violate their children's privacy."

"Damn, Cas."

Cas thrusts into him, slow, lazy. He sucks a hickey on Dean's neck.

"It turns out that the thing that was so distracting for you that day was a very heated argument on the internet with someone called PissMyTaterTot69 about politics, and, well, philosophy."

Dean groans, and this time the heat on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cock driving slowly inside of him. "Oh. Yeah. I remember him. Should've never engaged with that asshole. Wasted a whole fucking day-"

Cas's laughter shakes them both.

"Did you read all of it?" Dean groans.

"Yes. It was riveting."

Dean tries to hide his face in the pillow. Cas kisses his cheeks, his neck.

"You destroyed him. You quoted philosophers from Aristotle to Scanlon without pausing to breathe or drink coffee. You handed him his entire ass. In pieces."

Dean's chest shakes a little bit. "Kind of, yeah."

"I spent the whole day following that debate. And realizing that you might just be the most brilliant, hilarious, witty, thoughtful, intelligent, persistent, and determined person I'd ever seen."

Dean doesn't answer. He swallows thickly.

"Cas. Only a very peculiar type of idiot gets into political arguments with people called PissMyTaterTot69 on a meme forum."

"Yes, well. That may be true, but you also had such a cute ass."

Dean shoves him, but only a little bit. Cas is being very serious, and he kisses him, and it's entirely too soft, and it's not fair, because Dean is pinned down under 180 pounds of this and he can't escape.

"You were never just my assistant, Dean. You were someone I greatly admired and never thought I'd get. I'm an old, boring, middle management drone, and you're... the smartest, brightest, warmest person I've ever met. You've never not made me smile since the day I've met you, even if it was just a stupid pun about coffee or Mondays. You're... so much more than I deserve."

"S'not true."

Cas kisses him, and Dean clings, opens his mouth, asks for more. His legs are shaking. Cas is still inside of him, somehow, somehow he's managed to stay through all of that, all this insane, completely insane crazy talking.

Sometimes I love you so much I can't breathe, Dean thinks.

He looks at Cas, as his bitten lips, at the wild, adoring look in his eyes. Maybe Cas deserves to know some of the crazy stuff he thinks about, too. Maybe he can say it. Maybe it's okay.

"Sometimes I love you so much I-" he begins. It's harder than it looks.

"You what?" Cas' smile is soft. He gently nudges a finger under Dean's shin.

"S'like the wind gets knocked out of me."

There's that smile again. Breathtaking.

The roll of Cas' hips starts once more, slowly building up. Dean lets himself go, throws his head back.

"Dean," Cas pants. "Do you - can I-"

"Anything."

Dean didn't think that anything would mean Castiel slipping out of him, the emptiness and cold surrounding him. He finds Cas standing next to their dresser, rummaging in a drawer.

"What-"

Dean's question falls short when he watches Cas stretch out a rubber cock ring around his erection, nudging it right under his balls, where it tightens. Cas' eyes are full of fire as he climbs back into bed and spreads Dean's legs again.

"We're going to really make this beautiful underwear dirty."

Dean has only seen this look on Cas' face a handful of times, and he understands. But Cas still asks.

"You want to-?"

"Fuck yeah."

Cas knows exactly what to do. Knows how to bend Dean's legs up, how to seat himself inside of him at just the right angle. They lock eyes. Dean nods ever so slightly. Cas rocks his hips, slowly at first, shallow thrusts in and out. Breathy moans escape Dean's lips. He closes his eyes, the fireworks already starting to burst behind his eyelids.

Holy shit. Holy shit. This always makes him lose it - his arms start flailing, his mouth letting out insanely high-pitched moans, like he's getting murdered and not fucked into high heavens.

Which he is.

One day, Cas found a way he could fuck directly at Dean's prostate with his cock. And realized that he could, with a few skillful pounds, make him come apart entirely. He also found out that Dean's prostate could be stimulated over and over again and that he could come dry, barely spurting, his cock soft on his stomach, many times in a row.

It kind of made Castiel go crazy, especially when he saw how much Dean loved it.

They don't do it often. It has to precise and it's exhausting for both of them. But when Cas gets the idea in his mind, he becomes somewhat obsessed with pushing it further and further and... further.

Dean comes with a shout, two minutes and thirty seconds into Cas' steady aim at his prostate. Come gushes into his underwear, staining, sticking. It's gross and it's amazing. Cas keeps moving inside of him slowly, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his cheek.

He fucks him deeper now, just brushing over his prostate, letting him recover. He kisses Dean's lips, nibbles, and asks for permission again. Dean nods.

Cas fucks him hard. Fast. He's like a machine when he goes like this, his eyes are so focused, his mouth opened slack, his hair falling on his forehead. His chest glistens with sweat and his stomach rolls with effort.

He's so fucking beautiful Dean almost comes just from looking up at him, but the incessant pound at the most sensitive part of him is what does it. He's not even hard again yet but the pleasure comes from within, from Cas' cock ramming into his ass so hard and fast, from the slap of skin against the back of his thigh, from hitting that place inside of him so good - he cries out, a long whining haul, and curls up on himself.

He spurts a little, barely.

Cas' face strains. He breathes. Pauses.

They take a minute.

"How are you feeling?"

"'m okay," Dean mumbles.

Two (very powerful) orgasms in under fifteen minutes, Dean's doing fucking stellar, actually.

"Cas?"

"Yes, my love?"

"You know I'd love you just as much even if we were living in a shitty apartment, and all we could afford were ramen and boxed mac'n'cheese, right?"

Cas kisses the crook of his shoulder. Dean can feel his smile. "Yes. I do."

"Kay. Good."

The third time, Dean's nails leave bloody claw marks down the curve of Cas' back. He’s starting to get hard again but hasn't even had time to get there before the orgasm wave crashes through him, the strength of it taking him by surprise. He whines, huffs, lifting off the bed as he cling desperately to Cas.

Castiel doesn't give him any respite. He keeps fucking him, eager, hungry for his own pleasure. His kisses are bruising now and he bends Dean's legs for far back it almost hurts. Dean lets him. He wants to feel him deep, take anything Cas will give him.

He can feel his own come sticky and wet on his skin, on the lace, leaking around his cock and balls, still frustratingly trapped in fabric. He grows harder with every deep thrust of Cas’ cock inside of him. The head of his cock is oversensitive, rubbing against the hem of his panties. Cas teases it with his fingers, looking down at Dean with dark, half-lidded eyes.

Dean comes. He comes on Cas' fingers, smears them in a white coat, that Cas spreads all over the front of his panties as he squirms in an attempt to escape the oversensitivity. He comes shaking all over because it's starting to be a little bit too much, a little bit too good.

Cas' hips drive lazily into him. His grip on Dean's chest keeps him pinned on the mattress. His head is thrown back, he looks in pure bliss. That's what Dean is to him - pure bliss.

Third of a life bliss.

Dean could do this forever if it meant making Cas feel like this.

Cas changes his angle, nailing his prostate for the fifth time. He looks at Dean, watches him come apart. Dean whines, can't form words. Claws at the sheets. It's starting to be too much. He can hear himself saying things, begging and pleading and whimpering. He comes mumbling nonsense. He manages to spill, somehow, to stain again. Cas praises him, his fingers finally slipping under the hem of his panties, into the sloppy mess he's made.

Dean shudders. He always loves Cas' fingers, always craves his touch, but it's so much right now. His whole body hurts of too much. Cas kisses him. Warm. Slow. Soft.

"So good," he murmurs. "So good for me, baby."

Dean could die right there.

He's wide open for Castiel now, fucked out, gloriously fucked out. On cloud fucking nine. This is the absolute fucking best thing in the world. He’s riding the high of... what, five orgasms? Wave after wave still rippling softly through him, and in such a short time that his ass isn't even sore yet. Still feels so fucking good to feel Cas stretching him wide, his hands touching him everywhere, his mouth, his voice.

You feel so good, my love. So perfect for me.

And now Cas is gonna fuck him, slow, slow, slow, and then fast, and then he's going to come, and it's gonna feel so good-

Cas pulls Dean's legs up again, pushes them back against his stomach. Dean frowns, blinks back into full awareness.

"Cas-"

He lets out a high-pitched whine as Cas' cock drives into his prostate. It hurts, almost, he's not sure which one is it, pleasure or pain, he's threading a fine fucking line here.

"Cas, shit, wait, I-"

"What?"

"I don't think I can-"

Cas' thumb caresses Dean's lower lip, which always has the effect of disabling his brain.

"I think you can."

He can. It takes three minutes and a half, with the added bonus of being able to suck on Cas' fingers for the first sixty seconds. That always leaves him in a good kind of high. Cas' cock and the very precise angle do the rest. He comes dry and it's fucking amazing.

"Breathe," Castiel tells him, because his chest won't stop heaving.

Dean can feel Cas' exhaustion, too. His thighs are shaking against Dean's very unstable ones.  

"Cas, fucking Hell-"

Cas wipes the sweat from his brow and shoots his a devilish grin.

"No, Cas, I can't, I can't, no more, no-"

But Cas ignores him, and Dean wants to say stop it hurts it hurts stop but he doesn't, and it does hurt but also it feels so - and he can't talk anyway, he can't fucking talk when he's being fucked into the mattress to an inch of his life, and pleasure rips his soul right out of his body. He bounces him off the bed, screaming, flailing, tears streaming down his face.

He only passes out for a second.

"Are you okay?"

Dean manages to mumble something along the lines of: "Mmmggng."

Cas chuckles. "I see. One last?"

"Jesusfnngchrisss, no."

"It hurts?"

"S'too much."

Cas licks at the sweat beading on Dean's neck. "Too much what?"

"Too much."

Dean weakly tries to pull at Cas' hair to make him feel a little bit of what he means by too much, but his muscles are devoid of any strength or tone and his arm falls back against the bedspread.

"Mgngn."

"That was seven. Last time we did six... I think we can go for eight."

"Please," Dean hears himself say. "Please, please. Please. Cas."

"Am I hurting you? Like this?" Cas moves slowly inside of him. Deep.

Dean shakes his head. His eyelids are heavy, stodgy like caramels.

"Do you want to use our safe word?"

Dean thinks, for a second, before he shakes his head.

"Okay. Well I still need to come. Is it okay if I keep fucking you?"

"Yeah, please. Do that."

Cas' lips are distracting. So is his tongue. His arms, solid around Dean's face, his fingers grazing and stroking through his hair as he slowly explores his mouth. The length of his body, all warm and solid and heavy on top of him now that he's not holding his legs up anymore.

It’s all so distracting that Dean can just melt into him and focus on the burn of Cas' scruff against his neck, on the very gentle and slow rolls of his hips... Dean came too many times to get back on the roller coaster but he's on a nice plane of everything feels so fucking nice now and he fully plans on enjoying every last second of it.

He runs his hand on Cas' heated skin and catches drops of sweat as Cas begins to move faster. Dean can't do much to encourage him besides mumbling "yeah, baby, so good," and give him his best smile, his best kiss.

He expects to feel Cas spilling inside of him, hot and full and maybe biting in Dean's neck like he likes to do.

He doesn't expect his fingers pulling, folding over his legs again - "Cas" - and his prostate being under assault for the eighth fucking time. And Dean would protest if he could talk, or if Cas didn't look so fucking gone on him, if he didn't look like fucking Dean was the absolute best thing in the entire world. And once the head of Cas' cock has rammed into his prostate three more times, Dean's absolutely lost for words, for thoughts, for existence.

He's pretty sure Cas is about to break him and he's going to let him.

Dean's eighth orgasm obliterates him. He rips out some of Cas' hair, probably ends up with some flesh under his nails. Doesn't matter. For a second there he's in Heaven meeting God, having a fucking tea party with The Creator and then he's back down on Earth, body so taut with pleasure he's shaking all over. His throat hurts something awful but he can't stop making broken sounds.

He feels a sudden emptiness where Cas used to be, a bruising kiss on his lips, his lungs finally fill up with air.

A steel-like grip on his hip. Dean finally opens his eyes to find Cas above him. His gorgeous features are slack with pleasure. His blue are are looking down where he spills all over Dean's expensive, ruined panties with a shuddering groan.

There's come everywhere.

On Dean's stomach, on his thighs, soaking the red lace still trapping his softened cock. It's a fucking disgusting mess.

"Fuck."

Cas is beaming, the asshole. Dean's on the verge of unconsciousness, his whole body is both sore and numb, his face is wet with tears and his throat is raw. And Cas is grinning.

His fingers dip in the pool of their combined spill. Even goes as far as slipping between Dean's thighs, pushing some of it back inside of Dean.

"C'mon, babe," Dean groans.

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself. How do you feel?"

"Gross. Thirsty. Fucking incredible."

Cas offers him a smile and kisses the inside of his knee before slipping out of bed. Dean blinks awake again a minute later, to his underwear finally being taken off - very gently - and a warm cloth rubbed on his skin. He wraps his fingers around the water bottle Cas hands him and downs it in three big gulps before falling back into the bed.

Fuck.

Fuck.

They should definitely shower. A towel can't rid them of everything they've just done, but Dean needs a night of sleep (or three) before he can walk again.

He forces himself to at least stay conscious as Cas pulls them both under the covers and ready for bed.

"Sleep," Cas murmurs as Dean presses himself into his arms.

"No. Not yet."

"I think you need it."

"No. Wanna be with you. Missed you."

Cas’ fingers knead in the back of his neck and Dean bites back a moan.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Tomorrow you are. If I sleep I'll wake up and you won't be here."

There's a moment; Dean doesn't even realize what he said before the warm shape in his arms slips out of reach. His eyes bat open to find Cas standing on the other side of the bed, phone in his hand.

His thumb hover the green icon right next to-

"You're seriously calling the office right now?" Dean calls out, suddenly very awake. He cringes at the effort it takes to pull himself up to a seating position.

Cas extends a finger toward him to shush him, frowning. Dean hears the message faintly through the speaker.

Castiel Novak's office this is Alfie -

"You're calling your fucking assistant? Is that who you think about when you fuck me, seriously?"

He knew it. He fucking knew it-

"Hi, Alfie, it's Mr Novak. I'm calling to say that I won't be able to come in tomorrow. You will already be at work when you hear this, so you can catch up on paperwork and then head home early. Please cancel my appointments, we will reschedule them when I come back."

Cas turns his phone off - all the way off, not just on silent - and Dean falls face first into the bed, hiding his shame in the pillow. Well. That was embarrassing.

He feels a weight. Cas sits next to him and gently rubs his shoulder. Dean can tell he's smiling, even though he's still buried so deep into his pillow he can't really breathe.

"Dean?"

A kiss on the small of his back, right where the sheet meets his skin.

"Are you jealous of my assistant?"

Still no answer, but Dean needs to move if he wants oxygen to reach his lungs. He turns his head and faces away from Cas.

"No."

"You're lying."

It's not a reproach, just a remark. Cas stretches out next to Dean, slides under the covers to wrap around him.

"I obviously overreacted," Dean mumbles.

"Yes. Obviously. But you've been dropping comments for a while now. I thought you were teasing, but now I think you're actually insecure about this."

Dean turns to look at him.

"You took the day off tomorrow?"

"Don't try to change the subject. And yes. I know you don't have classes on Mondays so I thought we could spend the day together."

"That's nice," Dean murmurs. Warmth and giddiness spread through him at the thought, and he nudges himself back into Cas' embrace. He still feels like an idiot - or rather, a fucking asshole. Cas keeps proving to him over and over how much he fucking loves him and Dean just... doubts him. Constantly.

"Dean, I have absolutely no interest in Alfie. Romantic, sexual, or otherwise."

"Why not?" Dean asks, honestly.

Cas squints at him from the other pillow.

"Why would I?"

"Because he's basically a new and improved version of me."

Well. That came out. Like that.

"A new and -" Cas' frown deepens. "Dean, he's nothing like you."

"He's a hot grad student with big wide eyes and a pretty mouth and he's always in a good mood, so, he's basically me, but better."

"You think he's hot?"

"You don't?"

Cas has never looked more confused.

"I don't - I don't know, Dean. I never really paid attention to what he looks like. He's good at remembering my coffee orders and at taking my calls, which is what I pay him for."

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed he's got eyes grey like a Seattle sky and lips made to su-"

"His eyes are grey?"

Dean huffs. "Seriously?"

Cas has got to be kidding with this.

"Dean, I-"

But he looks so honest. And so very lost, right now.

"I'm sorry. Maybe it's wrong, but I don't pay much attention to him. I've been very busy."

"What's his major?"

Cas squints at Dean and God bless him, he truly doesn't fucking know. "Something in science, I believe."

"That's all you got?"

"Robots?"

"Evolutionary biology, Cas. The guy talks about it every time I fucking call. He must have bored you to death with it."

"I..." A faint blush spreads on Cas' cheeks. "Honestly, I don't listen to much of what he says, unless it directly relates to the matter at hand."

Dean bites on his lower lip. He's not sure if he wants to scream or laugh or... cry. "You kept asking me questions about school. Kept me in your office for twenty minutes every time I brought you coffee."

"Yes, Dean. But we've already established that I had quite a huge crush on you."

"Yeah, but why? I mean, even before the PissMyTaterTot69 incident, you already knew more about me than... I mean, pretty sure you knew the color of my eyes. You sure liked staring in them."

"Yes, I did. I noticed your eyes the moment you walked into my office."

Dean gives a tentative smile. "Really?"

This time, it's Cas who exhales loudly. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

"Say what?"

"How unprofessional I've been with you from the very start? That from the moment you walked in I-"

Cas sighs and refuses to go further. He's crossed his arms on his chest over the covers and looks bothered.

"You what?"

Dean pokes his stomach.

"I was enthralled," Cas finally admits. "By your beauty, your intelligence, and your wit. I never should have even hired you, Dean. It was beyond unethical."

Oh. Oh. And Dean always thought that Cas was so professional, with his HR contracts and constantly, constantly worrying about Dean's well-being before anything else. To know that he wasn't, that he - long before he saw those pictures, that he had a weakness, for Dean, is...

"I never thought I would act on it. I foolishly let myself believe it was safe, because I never imagined you would ever feel the same way about me. That it would ever be... dangerous, in any way."

Dean shimmers closer, until he noses at the nook of Cas' shoulder and neck.

"Didn't work out too well."

"No."

Dean smiles.

"D'you regret it?"

Cas gently, gently touches his cheeks. "Sometimes, I..." Oh. Oh, no. "Sometimes I wish we'd met in different circumstances. I hate that you ever, ever feel like I thought less of you because you were my assistant. Because I was your insufferable boss who made you get coffee in the rain and kept you late in the office..."

"Never heard me complain."

Cas gives him a small smile. "But you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Dean. So I certainly cannot regret making a mistake that day and hiring you, if it led to this."

Dean buries himself in Cas' arms. His heart is so... full. He's not sure how to handle this. Because there were the I love you's, of course, and the let's move in together, and sure they meant that Cas felt for him, and they were so much more than Dean ever got before - but what he feels for Castiel goes so fucking far beyond anything that - sometimes, all the times, nothing feels quite enough, nothing feels enough for this thing inside of him.

"I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"Doubting you."

"It's okay. I thought you were a gold digger."

"Shut up."

Cas' lips press on his forehead. "Dean. I am sorry if I've ever made you feel like you weren't... well. Everything. To me."

God. That’s. A lot. Dean doesn't know how to answer, and they lay in silence for a few minutes until Castiel speaks again.

“Can I ask you why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you doubt so much of how I feel about you. Is it something I do? Or not do? Because-”

“No, Cas. It’s not, it’s - it’s me.”

Dean pulls back a little. He likes looking at Cas when they talk, likes the way his heart flutters a little every time Cas does his trademark frown of confusion. This isn't easy to say, but he owes it to Cas, and owes it to him to not shy away while he says it.

“We’ve been together for two years. No one’s ever stuck around me this long before. I’m a boy toy and you’ve had me in every way imaginable, so -- I guess I don’t know why you still want me. I mean, I live here on a ridiculous rent that we both know isn’t covering anything, I’m doing a PhD in a domain for which they keep cutting funds - I’m never gonna be someone, I’m never gonna - I’m never gonna have a huge important job and - and you have a much cuter, younger, perkier assistant who you could fuck in your office since you spend most of your time there anyway, not that it’s your fault, it’s just-"

Dean wants to punch himself in the face. Instead he hides in the pillow, his voice muffled. So much for being brave.

"I’m getting lost here - I just - I guess I don’t - I don’t get it. And, uh, I think - I know it’s been work that's been keeping you, I know that, but - but maybe it’s also me, maybe you’re also tired of me, so…”

Well, that’s a lot more than Dean ever intended to say. He can go die now. That'd be nice.

“Dean,” Cas states calmly, in the deep, gravelly voice that had Dean hooked from the moment they met.

Dean shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He feels like an idiot. But everything he said… it’s true. Castiel is older, smarter, richer, and the most delightful, gentle, amazing person Dean has ever met. What the hell is he doing with Dean?

Apparently, what he's doing is reaching with his fingers under Dean's chin to force him to look up into his calm, slightly amused gaze. And then he kisses him, soft, and slow.

“In a way, you are right," Cas murmurs. "We have been together for a while now. And I have had you in... many, many wonderful ways. But it’s never been about… having you. It’s about being with you. What we have, this intimacy, this profound understanding of each other, I have never felt it with anyone else before. And it never seems to stop getting better and better. At least, for me. You need to know that.”

Dean bats his eyelashes to chase away the tears threatening to pour over.

“Alfie is a fine functioning assistant but I don’t see him. I don’t see people, they’re not - ever since you came into my life, everyone else is… feels, neutral. Bonds of friendships, yes, shared interests, yes. But you eclipse everyone else, Dean. I can’t even imagine someone else in my heart, in my home... or in my bed." Castiel frowns, his mouth twitches like he’s retaining a scowl. "It’s unthinkable. You are everything to me.”

Dean blinks, he doesn’t know what to say - he feels too full. It’s too much.

Cas has a slow, sad smile.

“And now I realize that I may be scaring you.”

“No! No, Cas-” Dean pulls at him until Cas has rolled on top of him again. There's very little as relieving as feeling him weight on him. “Same. With you. I really fucking love you, okay? Like, crazy, all I do all day is think about you when I should be working on my stupid thesis, and think about everything that’s wrong and right and everything I want and my dreams and it’s all - It’s all you.”

“Well. I’m sorry I’m keeping you from your thesis.”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he's grinning from ear to ear, and it's so beautiful Dean is melting like ice cream during a heat wave. He kisses a path underneath Castiel’s jaw. “It's worth it.”

“Hopefully." Cas nuzzles in Dean's neck, sighs against his skin. "And things… will get better, I promise. I’m thinking about making changes.”

Dean tenses. “Changes?”

“My work. As you know it’s… it’s good for my bank account. It’s not good for my happiness.”

“Oh," Dean smiles, relieved. He shrugs. "Then maybe you shouldn’t do it anymore.”

Cas pulls back and looks at Dean, like he’s evaluating something.

“Yes, well. I also have other projects that… that are also extremely important to me and my happiness. And I don’t know - it’s not the kind of thing one usually does while throwing the rest of their lives away.”

“Changing jobs doesn’t mean throwing your life away.”

“I don’t want to just go sit in a different office tower. I - I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to do something… for me. Own my own business, maybe. A shop of some kind. But that would mean even more time invested, and probably a much higher level of stress. You need to make profit, to make money…”

Dean’s lips curl into a smile. He had no idea Cas had thought about this - that Cas had started dreaming about this kind of thing. But it fits. And it would be awesome.

"Is that what you'd like to do? Your own little shop?"

Cas' fingers tense in Dean's hair.

"Maybe. I'm not sure which kind yet, though."

“Hey, Cas. Hey… it’s gonna be okay. If it’s something you love, something you’re passionate about, the stress is different. Alright?”

Cas nods.

“Those other projects… what’s that about?”

Cas grins and cocks his head down.

“It’s about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

There's a blush on Cas' cheek, a blush that makes Dean's heart pound a little too hard.

“How - how’s that-”

“Well, it starts with… a question, that I ask, and that you answer, yes or no…”

“Oh. Shit. Fuck, you wanna - wait.”

Cas pulls back on his hands, worried.

“Is it bad? Should I not?”

“No, shit, I mean - yes, I mean," Dean grabs Cas' face and kisses him, because he needs to make it clear, that yes, it's going to be yes if Cas ever asks that crazy fucking question. "I - you - um, you - you’re gonna - you're thinking about… doing that?”

“Eventually, yes. Soon… if possible.”

“You’ve - so you’ve thought about it? Like-?”

“Yes. I have… thought about a lot of things. I want… a lot of things. With you.”

Dean feels a tsunami size wave of tears about to pour out. Shit. Shit, he was not expecting that tonight. Is he wiping his cheek?

“It’s not happening right now, Dean, I don’t have a ring yet.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, voice choked up.

Cas kisses his cheek, laughing softly.

“I have looked at some, though…”

“Please stop.”

Castiel uses his thumb to dry Dean's cheek.

“Is it too much? Are you not-?”

“No. Of course I - Jesus, of course I want -" It's hard to speak between wet, shaky kisses to Cas' lips. "I just… ‘m not used to being this happy? I guess. I mean. I should be. Been pretty fucking happy since I met you, but you keep like. Blowing up the roof every time.”

“Well, you might take that back when we move in a tiny studio over my failing joke shop.”

“Maybe I can actually pay my part of the rent for a change. Maybe I’ll be a college professor and I’ll be supporting my husband’s cute little library slash bring-your-cat coffee shop.”

Cas gasps.

“Dean, that is such a good idea.”

“You should quit tomorrow, then,” Dean murmurs, kissing Cas’ nose.

Cas drops back on the mattress next to Dean and gathers him into his arms again.

“Are you sure you don’t want Alfie? He’s much more age appropriate for you. And he’s only just starting his master's degree in biology, but I know he’s dreaming of being a college professor. You have so much in common.”

“So you have been listening to him,” Dean teases. “He talks a lot, some things do end up getting through.”

Dean laughs and then pretends to think about it.

“Mmmh. Yeah, I see it. Few years down the road, nice greying peach fuzz on those cheeks, a shitload of money.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Eh, I guess," Dean shrugs.

“Better prospect than me.”

“Mmh, yeah, broke fifty years old dude who always smells so weird -”

“I smell weird?”

“You will, because of your failed soap shop. You come up with the weirdest, most awful soaps and no one wants them.”

“Of course.”

“So you stink, and you have a beer gut-”

“I don’t run marathons anymore?”

“Nah, too depressed because of your failed business. You drink instead.”

“That is not a pretty picture.”

“Mmh,” Dean hums. He looks over at Cas, at their laced fingers, at his face smushed into the pillow and his eyes so full of light. “Eh. I still choose you.”

“Over the millionaire biologist giving conferences all over the world?”

“Hell yes,” Dean kisses him, and his heart almost gives out right there. “Any fucking day.”

The smile that Cas gives him then could brighten up the world.

Dean turns off the light and Cas turns around. Dean wraps his arms around him, tucking Cas into his embrace. Cas doesn't say it a lot, but Dean knows how much he loves being a little spoon.

“I don’t think we should let people bring their own cats,” Dean mumbles a few minutes later.

“Bring their own cats?”

“Yeah. To the coffee shop. We should have rescues or something but not like, clients’ cats and stuff. I feel like we'd have to mediate a lot of cat fights."

There’s a short silence.

"We?"

"Yeah. You don't think I'm gonna leave you alone with that, right? Plus I'm graduating with a PhD in philosophy soon, I'm gonna need a barista job or something."

Cas laughs. They should be asleep -- hell, Dean should have been asleep eons ago -- but Dean can feel that Cas is thinking. Can almost hear the gears working in his brain. He tightens his arms around him before he speaks.

“Hey, Cas. I know I teased you about your failed shops and stuff but… you know I don’t believe that, right? Whatever you choose to do, I know you’re gonna be fucking brilliant at it. If you open a little shop, or if you go back to school and pick a different career, I know you’re gonna be fucking amazing. And, uh, I feel really lucky that you chose me to be by your side for that.”

“I know,” Cas murmurs, fingers stroking over Dean's arms.  “And it is going to happen, just so you know."

“What is?”

“I’m going to propose. It’s going to happen. I mean it.”

“Well I think I've made it pretty clear what my answer's going to be.”

“Yes, I suppose the surprise is blown now.”

"Can we even surprise each other anymore?" Dean moans in a dramatic tone. "Maybe I should say no, just to keep our relationship spicy."

Cas kicks him.

"I'm kidding, Jeez."

Another silence.

"Hey, Cas? I'm really fucking happy right now."

"Me too."

"Guess we better get used to it."

"Yes. I guess we do."

[lizord-lord]

The Invisible Language

(This is a vent fic. I was struggling with having to dump a friend yesterday and it got me dwelling on my social struggles..and so I tried my hand at actually writing a fic to project all my problems through! XD)

(For anyone who doesn’t know, I have autism-Aspergers specifically, and I totally 100% headcanon Logan as an aspie. I have this post detailing why. So..for those of you who also stan autistuc Logan (and maybe a bit of ADHD Roman) here is this, me basically throwing my entire life story on our poor nerd and I am so sorry but also not XD. Also, the book I mentioned is very real, and I actually own it. It’s really useful, if a bit dated and heteronormative)

Warnings: Descriptions of sensory overload (similar to a panic attack) social struggles, very brief mention of selfharm, mentions of fistfights and minor physical violence.

Ships: none, but you can probably see my logicality heart in there lmao

The Invisible Language.

It was all just so complicated now.

Or rather, now he knew how complicated it was.

Before, Logan had always just thought he was bad with people. That was fine. It fit, with his habit of staying inside with his nose in a book. The socially awkward, introverted nerd who wasn’t good with kids.

It was simple.

But that’s the thing. Life isn’t simple. And neither was Logan. Even as a six year old.

The socially awkward, introverted nerd, from what he’d seen on tv, would have cried or just silently tried to make due when another kid ‘accidentally’ spilled tomato juice all over his copy of Alice in Wonderland. Logan Sanders leapt from his desk, grabbed the kid’s wrist, and yanked him down so his head smashed into the wood.

The socially awkward one was laughed at. Logan was sent to the office.

Time and time again this would happen. Until he turned eight, and his parents pulled him out of school. He was homeschooled after that, and it was simultaneously like a breath of fresh air and entering a stifling hot room. He was free of the children, free to discover on his own, but he found himself itching for more, to ask questions about things his parents could answer, to do projects he’d heard about online but often ended up screaming in his attempts to recreate them because it wasn’t explained, why this, why that, how do I do that, it doesn’t make sense!!

Homeschooling was a blessing and a curse. He made due. He did well in fact, almost all of his online courses were marked complete with a neat 100 for the score. It was enough for them, but not for him.  Eight year old Logan hated it. Ten year old Logan was used to it.

Eleven year old Logan dug his heels into it.

Middle school. His parents wanted to send him back. He understood their reasoning, the rational half of his brain did. Middle school was a big change, adolescence, and the middle ground before high school, which he always knew he would be going to-you can’t get college credit from online courses and library books after all, not the ones he was using. It would give him time to prepare. And yet he was a creature of habit, so used to his solitary life..

Logan has no choice however.

On the first day he stepped inside, armed with only the knowledge of American Girl books he’d skimmed through (who cared if they were meant for girls, they didn’t write helpful guides for boys!) and distant memories of elementary school. The first weeks went by as a blur, and Logan ate it up. The assignments, the grades, the smirk he always found himself wearing when he placed his assignments in the bin. That triumph didn’t even compare to the rush of pride and satisfaction he felt when the teacher told the class that he test they’d been given was apparently too hard, many kids failed and only one student actually got a perfect score, and his paper was handed back with a 100 written on the top.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t hold the paper up a bit and catch the eyes of the numerous people who stared at him with no surprise in their eyes.

Logan even found friends in those first few weeks. A darkly dressed kid who, much like him, never really knew where to go during paired projects and ended up working with him. He found that Virgil was actually very bright, a relief when he looked around the room to see people talking and not doing anything useful. The pale boy was quiet, but listened as Logan chattered away about his  plans for the assignment.

Patton was next, a round-faced boy who seemed to share at least a few words with everyone he saw. Logan didn’t mind that. He wasn’t a lazy student, maybe a bit easily distracted, but when he was sat next to Logan in science his work quality was always at least a solid B, as long as he was shushed every now and again. He seemed better with people too, and Logan found himself enjoying his company.

Then there was Roman. He was introduced to their little trio by Patton, who apparently shared a drama class with the tanned boy. He was..a handful. And yet Logan found himself challenged by him. Their friendship was an unusual one, full of debates that more often than not ended in yelling, but at least they started off with intelligent points and interesting ideas-and if often Patton had to break off their passion so neither of them landed with lunch detention, well that was the price to pay.

He was enjoying himself here.

Then the second month. Logan remembered where he was when a redheaded girl told him he was wrong in that ‘you’re a moron’ tone when he told her that actually, the word for the study of space was astronomy, not astrology. When a boy in a green sweater had blatantly ignored him when he asked him to stop scooting his chair across the hard floors. When an entire group of people had continued to call him Logie even though he’d told them over and over he hated it. Many of them seemed to do it just because it annoyed him. This went on. Every day another simpleton would disrespect him. Every day he’d tell him to stop. Often he’d snap at them, or swear. That always got him snickers in return. And Logan found himself clenching his fists as his whole body burned red hot.

It happened again a week after this started. A boy with a Minecraft t-shirt cut him off in the lunch line, and when Logan told him to go to the end, the boy only scoffed and responded with “Are you in kindergarten?” in a tone that made his blood boil with how fucking snotty it was.

Logan’s hand was fisted in the back of that obnoxious t-shirt and pulling back with all its might before he could think.

The boy ended up on the floor crying, and Logan ended up suspended.

There were more incidents that year. Mostly yelling or swearing, but minor physical violence was not unheard of. It was common even.

Logan didn’t want that. He wanted to be cool, to drop the bullies and idiots with bullets of intelligence from his tongue, but everything he tried a witty comeback they’d give him either confused looks, no acknowledgement as all, or retort with ‘Your mom’ jokes, a sort of ‘insult’ that required barely a single brain cell to perform.

They never listened. They were stupid, childish, disrespectful. Logan stuck only to his three friends and the many teachers he’d grown quite friendly with, They liked him after all, he was precocious and that was something teachers always found fun. with adults, he also found he could make himself actually heard, his theories, ideas, suggestions, it was a glorious freedom he had previously only had with Patton, Roman, and Virgil.

But things didn’t get that much better.

In fact, in seventh grade Logan found his outbursts getting worse. They were farther and fewer between, but the eventual rage that would explode was far worse than before. It was like the dam that held back his rage had grown stronger, but that meant it took more water to barrel it over, and that sent far more devastating floods down the peaceful valley of his mind.

In eighth grade, he got into a fistfight with a boy who had called Roman gay as an insult, not knowing that it was true or that the word should not be used in such a manner. When the boy refused to listen to Logan’s explanation of what the word meant and instead switched tracks to scoffing every time he said it was a normal and perfectly acceptable, beautiful thing. And by the time the midget of a bigot tossed in the dreaded f-slur Logan’s mind was so crimson he only felt a rush of relief when his fist connected with the boy’s head.

It was two weeks of suspension for that. And it was during that time that Logan’s mother revealed something to him that he had never expected.

Tales of his childhood-or babyhood rather, where he had exhibited strange behaviors no other parent seemed to have seems.

“I think you might have Aspergers,” she had said.

And now, here he was. He couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to tell him of her suspicions. But now Logan was sitting on his bed, the blanket covered with constellations, staring at the cover of a book.

It was a familiar scene.

But this wasn’t a book chosen by Logan’s own hand, or by the school, or even a recommendation from his parents or a loan from his younger sister Abby.

It had been gifted to him by the man at the Autism Center.

The Asperkid’s Secret Guide to Social Rules.

He’d read the whole thing.

Before, he’d thought he was just awkward.

But no. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. It wasn’t that he just didn’t know that w to say. He was. missing an entire way of communicating that people his mind now knew as ‘neurotypicals’ spoke in without realizing it.

The secret language. Body language, facial expressions, tone, he knew that all existed yes..but he’d never seen it. At least not in the subtleties the book described. And all these double meanings of phrases? So the dark-skinned girl who had asked him what he was reading during math class didn’t want to just read the back and learn Sherlock Holmes’ latest mystery? She’ wanted to get to know him?

Why didn’t she just say so!

It was so much more complicated now. The vague, yet simple term of ‘weird’ was replaced by the vast, yet specific, confusing, and multifaceted word that was autistic. A word he’d never have expected to apply to him. Mental health went really a subject he’d looked into, feelings were too wound into it.. and feelings had always been his greatest vice.

So now, with that book in his hand, he thought.

There was a whole other world he couldn’t see..that’s what he had been missing all this time? was the specific shifts in tone in posture people made-what he’d always thought to be absently-something his parents expected him to understand and that was why he always seemed to have to be elbowed when running his mouth?

It was like….like telepathy. Yes, to Logan, the cues he now found himself putting extra effort into finding; his sister’s slightly hunched shoulders at the dinner table, his dad’s slightly turned up nose when he mentioned his history teacher, were a sort of telepathy that the ‘normal’ population all shared. But it wasn’t as if it was that simple. Of course, it was tauntingly, agonizingly complicated. You see, these people were all telepaths, sharing cues in an invisible tongue-and yet, none of them knew they were telepathic. And yet still, they all expected everyone else to be.

So that was why he was strange. Logan had looked up how much of communication was non-verbal - he felt his eyes go wide when he saw the percentage dedicated to ‘body language’.

Fifty-eight percent.

Fifty-eight percent.

What else could he have missed?

Logan was both happy and uncomfortable with the diagnosis. He now knew terms, words, blessed reasons for his little ticks, why he felt like something was terribly wrong for at least an hour just because he’d had to take an alternate route to school (routine disruption), why was such a picky eater (finickiness caused by sensitivity to textures and certain flavors/smells), why people always responded with confusion whenever they saw him pepper the science teacher with question after question, challenge after challenge like he was trying to understand how the universe wove itself in the span of five minutes, and looked surprised when Roman asked him if he knew why Patton was being quiet. Logan had responded with a simple no, informing the other that Patton hadn’t told him-and when the slightly taller boy had suggested that he ask, Logan realized the thought had never occurred to him.

Most importantly, it explained what Roman had dubbed ‘The Fitness Fiasco’. To sum it up, Logan had thought of a new game for their groups to play in gym class—something besides basketball for once in their lives, and yet as he tried to explain, the girl who seemed to have taken charge of the group he was trying to explain the idea to kept talking over him, ignoring him, challenging what he said—and the noise. The noise, how all the chattering and the sound of balls bouncing on the floor, the rage he felt at being slighted in this way, how it had attacked him. How he’d suddenly found himself tensing, wanting to run or to yell, unsure which, how the sound turned solid and pressed in-his muscles going taut, his hands twitching with every word from the students mouths,  how his arm violently jerked away as Patton tried to comfort him- And then the scream. He’d screamed at the top of his lungs for quiet, falling to the ground and sobbing in the fetal position—eyes screwed shut behind his glasses and hands clamped tight to his ears, unsure of what was even falling from his mouth aside from the fact that he was begging, begging for silence. It had only quieted a bit as people turned to stare, and then he’d felt hands on his shoulders, ones he jerked away from—but no one knew what to do. Virgil’s low whispers for him to breathe, to use the 4-7-8 method that the emo always used to calm his own panic attacks, was only met with more incoherent begging for silence. It had been Patton who rescued him, who brought the teacher over and ended up guiding the sobbing Logan to an empty classroom. There he had been met with silence. There he felt his terrified bawling turn to weeping with relief. In the silence, he’d recovered, his muscles lost the tension, and he allowed the freckled boy to wrap him in a hug.

He’d only been able to call it a panic attack before. But now he knew the term. Sensory overload, brought on my the noise and the stress.

It had been a relief just to know that. To know that in moments when he stood among too many people, feeling his muscles clench as their shoulders brushed his, that his hands should not go out to push them away, but to his ears, to block out the trigger.

It became a cue, when debates with Roman got heated—they were friends after all, if rivals as well, and it was understood that if Logan’s jaw suddenly clenched and his hands went up to cover his ears, they had to pause for at least a minute.

But of course, knowing where the holes in his social skills were led to Logan compensating, and it didn’t..always feel natural. He found himself staring at people, trying to read their faces, for a little too long on many an occasion, or overreacting to something because he’d overanalyzed the tone. He found himself having to bite his tongue on many an occasion to keep himself from simply explaining why he did what he did to his parents, who would only take it as making excuses.

It was a balance of the good, the bad, and the ugly. He understood now that his all-or-nothing attitude was why he found himself simply not doing projects if he couldn’t grasp the material—and this led to him having to more often than not, swallow his pride and ask for help when he was getting frustrated. Yet the same black-and-white philosophy got him gasps of shock from Roman when he explained that, in the story Roman had been iterating to him, the whole second half of the plot could have been avoided if Leealli had simply decapitated Sorcerer Kai while they were trapped in her dungeon. Roman had protested, saying it would make her just as terrible as they, but Logan had frowned, explaining that yes, the act was cruel, but if a single act of evil by her direct hand was all it took to stop countless others by her indirect hand, wasn’t it worth it?

But he had also been the one to convince Patton not to remain friends with Oliver, when one day, sitting on the cotton candy clouds that patterned Patton’s quilt, the smaller boy had confided in him that Oliver had vented about his habits of self-harm to the kind soul for three hours the night previous, yet refused any help Patton gave, shot down any attempt at saying he was worth more than he thought.

It was Logan who had took Patton’s hand and told him that people like that could only be helped by themselves and a therapist, that he should not take it upon himself to bear others’ problems in that way. Who had given him a hesitant hug and told him that his mental health was just as important as theirs.

His friends were his lifeline. Maybe they tripped him up—well, they definitely did, yet as much as he found himself apologizing to Virgil for seeming angry when he was simply tired and being a bit blunter and more insensitive with his words than usual (not that he usually was tactful or sensitive when it came to criticism, even constructive criticism) he found himself sighing in relief as the anxious boy shared with him his own experiences in worrying about the negative undertones in the words of others too much to be considered healthy. They would sit and talk about it, the same experience for two different reasons, one of them due to the irrational fear of people disliking him or being angry, and the other due to worrying he was doing something incorrectly that he was not aware of, failing to pick up on a crucial piece of information.

As much as Logan found himself and Roman butting heads, even shouting at each other during friendly debates gone sour, name-calling and snapping fault after fault, he reflected fondly on the time he had been ecstatic to discover that Roman’s own ADHD-riddled brain hyperfixated on Disney just as his own did on Sherlock, and they would both go on for hours about their obsessions while sadly recalling how old interests had faded.

As much as he often found himself hurting Patton unintentionally, and even worse, learning that Patton had been hiding that fact from him for weeks as to spare his feelings, as difficult as it was to convince (well, more plead with) Patton to tell him these things, as he wouldn’t be offended much and he had no other way of knowing what he was doing wrong, he found himself sitting by his side, all attention completely fixated on what to him were mindblowing truths about people and yet seemed common, boring knowledge to Patton, as the freckled boy explained cues and rules, that invisible language Logan did not speak.

Those friends stuck by him, even though others did not. With all the walls Logan had built up around his emotions, to protect himself and others, few could breach the fortifications—except for those who had already been on the inside as he built them. And he was fine with that.

Going to a therapist was...awkward at first, but it helped. Mr. Picani understood his aversion to talking of his feelings, and instead cleverly tricked him every time, asking questions about events until Logan was off on an angry rant. With that expelled, they’d talk through possible solutions.

He kept the book. And most of the other books he was given on the topic, eager to learn and understand more things about himself, knowing the reasons behind behaviors, quirks in things had always been one of his favorite things, and now he found it was possible in people.

As Logan worked through his discovery during the last semester of eighth grade and through that summer, with his Virgil, Patton, Roman, his parents, Mr. Picani, and occasionally even his rainbow-haired little sister, he found his mind shifting. He was truly calm now more often than not, able to express his rationale...well, rationally, rather than through insults. His debates grew calmer, and while he certainly had his slip-ups..he was improving. Slowly. Steadily.

His viewpoint of the world was unusual, like an outsider, and while that could be isolating, if he explained it well, people were often interested to hear it. It was different, his own; the metaphor Logan found himself using was that everyone else was a Macintosh computer, and he and his fellow spectrumites were PCs, capable of all the same things, though in ways the world was not wired to accommodate. Also, clearly superior in many a way.

His core programming was different, even if his exterior seemed the same, and Logan was okay with that. He’d never know the invisible language, not as a native would, but he could learn it—the same way he learned slang, through help, a lot of online research, his friends, and some study notes here and there.

It was complicated, they way he figured things out, the systems he’d devised. But complicated problems would never be solved with simple solutions.

And he still had plenty of time left to learn.

(Thanks to @poisonedapples for betaing this and basically screaming RELATABLE every two second, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear!)

(...I don’t really have a general fic taglist so imma just- y e a here)

Tags: @royallyanxious @whatwashernameagain @sandersmarvel @the-incedible-sulk @supremestoverlord @hanramz-the-fander @childhood-wishes-and-dreams @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @madly-handsome @galaxy-warping @extremist-water-agenda @ierindoodles @princeanxious

[themagiciansreccenter]

Author Spotlight: @highkingfen

Every week we are going to be interviewing a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.

First things first, tell us a little about yourself.

I am Cath, I’m 27 years old, I speak French and I live in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. I met my husband on Tumblr, I love cosplaying and doing edits in photoshop. My main blog is @booksandanxieties and, my other side blogs are @themagiciansweirdface and @fillorymedia. I also co-own @neitherlandslibrary.

How long have you been writing for?

Since I am 12, there’s some french harry potter fic written by me in the dark web of ff.net.

What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?

I missed writing! And there was not a lot of fics when I join (Still remember there were only 15 pages on ao3)

Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite?

Arielle and Fen, which is odd I am aware ahha! I adore writing about them because first, we don’t get to see them a lot and I love to explore what they could be and their story and I love writing about what it is to live in Filory and all of its lore, they are both great protagonists to do so.

Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about?

Lately, I have been fixed on 3x05 (life in the day) because I wrote an entire fic named The Golden Tile that is about the first five years of Eliot and Quentin in Fillory’s past. I love rewriting whole season with canon divergences. What if’s are fun to write especially in this fandom, the timelines make it easy to do it!

Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it?

As some may know, I am currently writing an Unofficial The Magicians dnd book! ( @unofficialmagiciansdnd ) It is about 65% done. I have still some of the mechanics to write and a lot of lists to create (Such as a list of spells or a list of magical creatures)

I also write on the side Book 2 of The Golden Tile named Under Pressure. I finished the first fic with a surprise plot twist that was canon divergent, with the second book I explore the consequence; what if Eliot and Quentin found the golden tile 5 years into their quest and comes back on Earth 5 years older with Arielle and Rupert.

How long is your “to do list”?

Not so long, I try to focus on what I write and I tend not to think of other things. But I do have a Twin!Au with Fen and Q that I want to write and Book 2 of my Fenfic where we see her point of view during season 2 and 3.

What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why?

That’s cruel to ask. I have two that I am rather proud but if I have to choose, I’d say The Girl from the World in The Wall (that I nicknamed my fenfic) which is the story of Fen before Eliot. We follow her from her 2 years old until she married the High King, learning his name on the altar.

I had started to write it after season 2, totally in love with Fen and mad that we didn’t know anything about her and mad at how the gang treated her. So I wondered what it was to be raised knowing you might marry a king. The word might is important since they didn’t know if Eliot would ever come. I wanted to explore how did she join the FU Fighter and why, despite her beliefs, she accepts her forced marriage. There was a lot to explore there so I started to untangle everything and ended up having to create lore for Fillory because we do not know much of what it is to be a farmer, knifemakers, peasant, in this land. I fell deeply in love with the lore and discovered in Fen a strong woman that decided to choose love and kindness, not out of naivety, but because it is the right thing to do.

When Season 3 aired, I’d finished writing the fic (it was a NaNoWriMo goal) and I was more than happy to discover that what I’d written actually fit what they wrote about her. I ADORE that we got to know her more and don’t get me started on her being an acting king.

P.s: Some of the lore in the Fenfic ended up leaking in The Golden Tile; I love tying my fics in one large universe.

Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?

My fenfic, hands down. I wish they would read The Girl from the world in the wall to see where most of the lore and my love of Fillory comes from. Fen is underestimated in the fandom (Though less since season 3) and deserve more recognition.

What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?

I listen to podcasts all the time so when I write, I need silence. Music distracts me. I always need the thesaurus synonym because I tend to use the same word over and over or know what a word means but finding it imprecise. Which makes writing without internet hard, but now that I know its a must, I try as much as I can, to write where wifi is. Also, I can’t write if someone is in the room. Even if they are doing their own stuff. I don’t know why. Even when I was writing essays for classes it was like that.

Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?

I had nothing really going during season 3 and then episode 5 happen and I kinda exploded. Knowing it was a self-contained story (the life having already been lived by Q and Eliot) I started to write while it was airing. It is at the end of it that I decided that the ending of The Golden Tile could be interesting if it was canon divergent; I’m excited to see what Arielle and Rupert bring into the group and if it will lead toward the same choice. Only time will tell!

Otherwise, I usually write One Shot during airing season time, that way I don’t have to overthink things if what I write is not canon compliant anymore.

What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?

My Fenfic. Maybe that’s why it is the one I am the proudest of. To have to create a whole character and yet stick to the canon was exciting. As well as reading as much as I can about Fillory. There was not a lot about it online at the time, so it had been meticulous research (I had the map of FIllory open most of the time I was writing just to be sure of the place I was saying were compliant. ) Before I never did much research before writing a fic, now it is one of my favorite parts

Are there any themes or tropes that you particularly like to explore in your writing?

Canon divergence, as you can see! I love to see the butterfly effect and how one thing can change the whole story. My first longfic Shake it off was about Eliot forcing back Quentin on his med. And that changed a lot of things! Yay for timelines that can make us say its canon!

Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?

J.K Rowling will always be important for my writing because her universe made me want to write. I read a lot of YA so I can say the author influence my writing because, through reading, I discover what I like and what I don’t which makes me better in the end.

Fanfic-wise, I discovered a lot of great author in this fandom and I hate naming people because if I don’t name someone they might be sad or get discouraged, and I don’t want that. I adore that we got so many writers and that the subjects are so different. It’s not only one trope on one ship over and over. Sometimes I read a summary and I laughed cause I wonder how the author came up with the idea! It made me want to be better and write more elaborate and less easy trope fics.

What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?

Depression had kicked my ass with reading. I went from reading 92 books last year to 4 this year. So yeah, I don’t read as much, but I try to get back in, now that I am feeling better.

I just finished reading There there be Gerblins, a graphic novel of the first arch of The Adventure Zone podcast. It’s really good and funny. In fact, this podcast is part of the inspiration of me writing the DND book.

The Dnd book writing means that I carry everywhere the 5th edition of Dungeon and Dragon with me. It is not a copycat of it, but there are mechanics that are the same or, sometimes, they help me just figure out how to structure the book itself. I love the weird look I get when I go to Starbuck with it.

I just bought a new book by J.K Rowling name Very Good lives and I am excited to read it when I’m going in my next trip; a plane without wifi is a good excuse to read.

Fanfic wise; I usually binge. I wait a month or two and then read everything I haven’t read. But one fic I read the moment there is a new chapter is The Mess We Made by Rays. I looooovelove love it. A must read

What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?

Write first, edit after. Otherwise, you’ll edit the same paragraph the rest of your life.

that or

If 50 shades of gray can be published, you can do it.

they are my two mottoes.

Cringe time:

Are there any words or phrases you worry about overusing in your work?

oh, I have a ton of them. I can’t think of one example but sometimes I get stuck on a word on a paragraph and I am using it for like ever. Hense the wonder of thesaurus synonym website.

What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?

A harry potter one, I probably can find it. I don’t want to. LOL

Rapid Fire Round:

Self-edit or Beta? Self-edit, trying the Beta for Under Pressure!

Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes? COMMENTS FOR SURE I LIVE FOR THOSE. how many time did one comment make me continue to write! But honestly, anytime someone acknowledges they read my thing, I am happy and blown away. I forget sometimes, that people want to read my stuff.

Smut, Fluff or Angst? All of the above? Honestly? Depend on the mood!

Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn? Depend on the mood too! Usually slow burn but sometimes a good Quick & Dirty is always good

Favourite season? 3

Favourite episode? Six Stories about Magic

Favourite book(The Magicians books)? The first one

Three favourite words? Bunny, kindness, writing

Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.

[iridescent-lightning]

You know, when people ask me about my passion in life, and I say band, a lot of the times they sigh and shake their head. They picture a few kids in a room with old instruments playing twinkle twinkle little star, or high schoolers in black suits and dresses under the lights, or a marching band under the lights of a football field. They tend to brush me off as a bando, just another geek. And they wouldn’t be wrong. But I have to say that it’s so much more than that. It isn’t about just the instrument, it isn’t about just the uniform, it isn’t just about the individuals in the ensemble. Those are all facets, of course, but it’s so much more than that. So, so much more..

When I was in 6th grade, I was dead set on playing the violin. My parents signed me up for the band instead, so I sighed and settled for the clarinet. Though, little elementary school me mixed up the name of the clarinet and flute, so when the teacher dropped the instrument in my lap, I was convinced I would hate it. My friend and I figured we could take the class another semester, then drop it for another elective. Why do band? I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

It took me a week longer than the rest of the class to produce a note from my flute. I didn’t catch up for a while. I wanted to quit, and my mom signed me up for zero hour band in 7th grade anyway. I was going to a new school that year, and while I won’t go into details, I had a few teachers that landed in jail for treatment of students. It was a rough year. But I pushed through for band. I started practicing more, and the focus of the instrument helped me survive. I liked band. It kept me in school, but I wouldn’t say it was everything to me. Not yet. Just something to look forward to in the morning.

8th grade was rough too. Another new school, new faces and places and subjects. I kept up with my band, and threw myself into it during the school day as a distraction. The year passed. It was slow, and hard, but I survived. I didn’t really have a direction in life, so I went through school, and just tried. It wasn’t really enough. My best never tends to be.

It was sophomore year of high school where things went down the drain. It was also the year that I discovered how much band meant. It was a safe place to be. The newly founded marching band was accepting. I was good at it. They wanted me around. Plus, nobody could see who I was in the uniform, especially under the shako. I loved it, the thrill of working together to learn, the rush of performing, the satisfaction after a perfect run. It was an addiction. But then the season was over, and I was lost again. The band drifted apart in the following months.

Halfway through the year, I found out that my best friend and the boy I liked at the time had been working together to use how I felt for him against me. They lied and manipulated, and needless to say, I was devastated. My only friend had betrayed me, and to make it better, she found it hilarious. I was ready to give up. So, I decided to watch a few videos of marching bands online. Might as well be happy for a moment before I go, right? By random chance, I stumbled across drum corps. It was so amazing to me that I decided, right on the spot, that I was going to do it instead of dying. When I told my dad, he laughed. So did my friends, and my band director told me, “Those are some, um, pretty lofty goals. I think you should stick to flute for now.”

I did not stick to flute.

I ended up watching the season from the sidelines. At the end, marching band wasn’t really enough. It was fun, sure, but I wanted to be able to show other people what I loved about music. I wanted to inspire them like drum corps did for me. And at that point, I couldn’t. Things fell apart even worse for me as a junior. My mom landed in the hospital and almost died. In response, my stepdad shut down. My biological father, well, he was my dad. Angry, ruthless, violent. I held on to the thought that I could someday do what had saved me once before. That November, I went to my first one day clinic.

I tried, I really did try. I learned a lot that weekend, and I cried on the way home. I had just been in a drum corps horn arc! I did it!

After the audition, I got cut. I was crushed. I could hardly breathe. After so long, I just didn’t have what it took to be in the corps. It seed everyone had been right. So I tried again.

At my second camp with the next corps, a volunteer tapped my shoulder in the horn arc. I put my horn down, relieved to have a break for my burning arms. The volunteer led me into a side room, and started measuring, before handing me a black and red uniform with a shiny, silver triangle. I was in shock. She prompted me to go try it on. The bathroom was down the hall, to the left, and if adjustments needed to be made, let her know.

I froze. This couldn’t be happening, could it? Looking down at the jacket in my hands, I started crying. The volunteer looked at me, sighed, and said, “Hey, don’t start crying. You’re going to make me cry too.” I nodded, and left the room. The next day, I went and found her. I asked, “Does this mean I’m getting a contract?” She smiled, nodded, and told me it did. I almost collapsed.

The night before move-ins, I was standing outside, looking at the stars. It was terrifying. I wasn’t the best at playing, or marching, but the little open class corps had welcomed me in. It had been my inspiration to survive my year. Without it, I wasn’t sure I’d have made it out alive.

It was a rough summer, but I came back as a stronger person with a mellophone shaped hole in my heart. I tried to pass on my love for the activity to my band, but they didn’t care. None of them wanted to be there. The director had given up on them.

I pushed through the semester, and got cut from the world class corps I tried for. I knew I was capable enough. So I tried again, and got two callbacks to another corps, before finding my home elsewhere. I’m finally in a world class corps, and I plan to pass my passion on to everyone I see. They deserve a safe place and a family, too. I want to get better every day, to improve myself and my playing.

Band was my motivation for survival. And it is for others, too. I found my home, my place in the world, my everything. A member of the 2014 Bluecoats colorguard said, “If your dreams don’t scare you, they’re not big enough. The only limits you have are the ones you put on yourself.” Band isn’t just a group of performers with instruments, it’s a dream and a source of hope and a reason to live. Its the inspiration to have dreams big enough that they do scare you. When people sigh and shake their head when I say that I love music, they’re just.. wrong.

Band saved my life. So don’t ever tell me that band isn’t worth people’s time. It’s my dream. It’s my hope. It’s my everything. It taught me that I can be enough. It’s the feeling of being wanted, being needed, having people be willing to teach you how to do what you need to in order to succeed. It’s the feeling of a successful run and being able to look at your brothers and sisters next to you and knowing they succeeded too. It’s the feeling of having a family. Having a home.

Really, it’s irreplaceable. I’m glad I found what I love, and I hope others can too. My dreams scare me, but that means they’re big enough. If the only limits I have are those I put on myself, then I won’t have any. Music gave me a pair of wings, and it’s time to fly.

[elleberquist6]

Stray Cat - chapter eleven

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2581 Warnings: Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut Summary: Phil Lester believes that if he does good things then good things will happen to him, so on one of the worst days of his life he invites a rain-soaked Neko boy named Dan into his home. Phil has never met a Neko before and he knows nothing about the dark system that has molded Dan. Dan is part of a repressed population with few rights, and as Phil gets to know him he can’t understand why – Dan is the most amazing person he has ever met. — Though he liked the idea of hiding beneath Phil’s duvet from the world for the rest of the day, Dan dragged himself out of bed. While Phil got ready for work, Dan made himself presentable by putting on a t-shirt and sweatpants – the pants were uncomfortable because of his heat, and Dan stifled a whimper as he settled onto the sofa beneath a blanket.

Someone knocked on the front door, but before Dan could shift the blanket off his lap and get up, Phil had answered the door. Dan heard him say, “Morning, Mar.”

“Hey, Philly.” Dan heard them walk to the kitchen, and then Martyn asked, “Where’s Dan?”

“I think he’s in the living room,” Phil responded. Dan wondered if he should tell them that he could hear them. “Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem,” Martyn said “So, you said he’s sick? Does he like need anything? I’m happy to help but I do need to get some things done today… Just letting you know that I can’t be a nurse if that’s what he needs.”

Phil hadn’t told Martyn what was wrong with him yet – Dan definitely wasn’t going to tell them that he could hear them now. “He should be fine. He’s got a fever and he’s throwing up, but I just don’t want him to be alone in case he passes out and falls down or something.”

“Okay. So, he has the flu?” Martyn asked.

“Uh, no, not a flu.” There was a pause as Phil thought of how to respond. “He’s in heat. Have you heard about that before? It’s a thing that Nekos get.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of that. But not from a reliable source. Just pornos… Yeah, I don’t really know anything about it. I didn’t even know that it could make them sick like this. Just horny.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t imagine that this is anything like what you saw in porn. He’s feeling poorly. I think it’s because he’s resisting it, fighting the way his body is trying to feel. It doesn’t help that this is happening before he has recovered fully from what was done to him before we met – the bruises haven’t even fully healed yet. It’s all just… really awful. But he should be feeling better in a couple days when this heat is over. Can you come over tomorrow, too?”

“Sure, Phil. What time do you have to go to work today?”

“Oh!” Phil exclaimed, and there was the sound of a chair scraping across the kitchen floor. “I should leave now.” There were approaching footsteps and Dan looked up as Phil materialized in the doorway. “There you are. I have to get going. Martyn is in the kitchen setting up his laptop – he’ll be here until I get home, so you won’t be alone.”

“Okay. Have fun at work. Keep an eye out for those flying chocolate oranges.”

Phil grinned at him. “Don’t worry. I’ve been practicing my dodge. I won’t get hit again. See you later.”

“See you.” Dan listened to him as he walked away and then left through the front door; he missed him already. A moment later he heard the chain being put across and then Martyn popped his head into the living room.

“Hey, just wanted to say… hi,” Martyn gave him a wave while Dan stared at him. So, this was awkward – not that Dan could blame him. “I’ve got to get some work done. If you need anything, give a shout, or else I’ll just see you in a few hours when I take my lunch break.”

“Okay,” Dan said, exhaling in relief when Martyn left the room and took the awkward tension with him. Wanting a distraction, he turned on the TV and the game console. He muted the TV so that he didn’t bother Martyn in the kitchen and he started playing Mario Kart. After a few minutes, he was glad that Phil wasn’t here to see how awful he was – he felt too lousy to concentrate on the race and he kept getting hit by items. He played until he couldn’t focus anymore, stared at the menu for a while, and then dropped the controller.

Dan buried his face in the arm of the sofa. He wanted the pain to stop – his head was throbbing, his heart was pounding, his dick was so sensitive that it was painful, and his stomach was rolling with nausea though he hadn’t eaten anything today. Dan didn’t like being a Neko – he never had – but it was moments like this that made him hate what he was. He was broken.

Someone was touching his shoulder. Dan woke with a shout and flinched away from the hand. “Sorry!” someone said. Dan looked up to see Martyn backing a step away from him. “I made sandwiches for lunch. I was just waking you up to see if you were hungry.”

“Oh,” Dan tried to even his breathing. He must have been asleep for a while if it was lunchtime. Truthfully, he was tired and would have preferred to continue sleeping, but he gave Martyn a polite smile. “Thanks, Martyn.”

Martyn sat next to him on the sofa and Dan saw that he had already placed two glasses of Ribena and a platter of sandwiches on the coffee table. Martyn nodded to them in invitation. “Peanut butter and jelly. I even cut them into triangles because that makes them better, of course.”  

Dan took a bite of a sandwich hesitantly, but his stomach seemed to have settled. Martyn was acting less awkward around him, and a few moments later they settled into a casual race of Mario Kart between bites of peanut butter and jelly. Dan asked, “How much longer are you on break?”

He glanced at his watch. “About 45 minutes, but my schedule isn’t really strict. It’s more a matter of keeping track of how much time I work for when I bill my client later.”

“What is it that you do?” He asked, and he said it with more than casual curiosity – Dan liked the sound of a job he could do from home.

“Web design.”

“Oh,” Dan said, unsure what to ask next. He only knew about ‘the web’ in an abstract sense when people like Phil talked about the internet or he saw it depicted in movies or on TV. He was curious about going online, but no one had ever allowed him to do it before Phil handed him a laptop when they were looking at jobs, and Dan hadn’t explored any other websites at the time. “How did you learn how to do that? Did you have to go to school?”

“Yeah, I went to college. I knew some things about it since I was a kid, but I couldn’t get hired until I earned some credentials.”

Dan sighed, letting go of a vision of the future where he could be a web designer.

Martyn glanced at him. “You’re thinking about getting a job?”

“Well, I don’t want to live off Phil forever, and I know there aren’t many options for people like me. When Phil said you work from home I started thinking about how nice that sounded. It might not matter that I have a tail and ears if I can work from home.”

Martyn nodded. “I can see that. There’s lots of other jobs you can do from home. Not all of them require degrees. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“Thanks,” Dan said with a smile, feeling a bit more optimistic. They completed another race, and Dan came in nearly last as he became distracted by another thought. “Martyn, could you tell me something about Phil? I didn’t want to ask him in case it would be crossing a line, but why does he work in customer service if he doesn’t like it?”

“Oh, he wouldn’t have been bothered if you’d asked him. You should know that Phil has a Bachelor’s degree in Linguistics, but there aren’t many jobs in that field and he doesn’t want to work in that area anyway. He also started working on a Master’s degree in Post-production and he loved it, but he stopped since he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his degree and the classes were really expensive. So, Phil started working in customer service jobs to pay his student loans while he took a break from school, and that’s what he’s been doing since.”

“So, he hasn’t found his passion yet? The thing he wants to do with the rest of his life?”

“Oh, no,” Martyn shook his head. “He found it. Hasn’t he shown you yet?”

Dan just blinked at him.

“Where’s his laptop?” When Dan pointed to Phil’s bedroom, Martyn left and then returned with Phil’s laptop. He opened it but then stared at the place where he was supposed to enter a password. “Hmm, I know his old password, but I’m not sure if he’s changed it. Oh well. If it’s wrong, I’ll just show you on my laptop when I’m finished with work, or you can get Phil to show you.”

Dan watched Martyn’s hands move across the keyboard, and then he said, “His password is Buffy1987?”

“It used to be. Let’s see…” Martyn hit ‘enter’ and they both laughed when the laptop accepted the password. “I guess I know my brother. Okay… so, have you heard of YouTube?”

“No.” Dan watched as Martyn pulled up a website with bright red logos. Martyn typed ‘AmazingPhil’ into the search field. Then he slid the laptop over to Dan.

“Okay, I’ve got to get back to work, but if you’re curious this used to be Phil’s passion. He would make videos on this website. I’m not sure why he stopped – I haven’t asked him. But it made him happy, so I hope he starts doing it again someday.”

Martyn returned to the kitchen and Dan pulled the laptop into his lap. He plugged in some headphones, but he hesitated before clicking on a video. It seemed personal somehow, like he had found Phil’s diary and was about to start reading it, but then he had to admit that this was a poor analogy because if he came across Phil’s diary he would probably read it. Dan wanted to know everything about Phil. So, he played the video. And then another. And another.

“Hey! Can someone please get the chain?”

Dan looked up at the sound of Phil’s voice – Phil was home, but he was locked out. Dan shut the laptop and shifted it to the cushion beside him. He gathered the blanket around his body to conceal the effect his heat was having on his body and he walked to the front door. Martyn was already there, closing the door behind Phil.

Dan grinned like a fool and launched himself at Phil. After taking a second to recover from his surprise, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan. “Hello, you. What was that for?”

“Just happy to see you,” Dan responded. There was a slight rumble accompanying his words and Dan realized that he was about to start purring, but he held the sound in and pulled back from Phil with an apologetic smile, wrapping the blanket tighter around his body as if he could hide beneath it in his embarrassment. “Didn’t mean to attack you as soon as you walked in the door. Sorry, I just missed you.”

“Missed you, too.” He looked at Martyn. “I know you were working, but you didn’t ignore him the whole time I was gone, did you?”

Martyn snorted. “No, Phil.”

“He was nice, Phil! Don’t be cross with him. He just wasn’t you.” Dan looked away, embarrassed.

“Okay,” Phil clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Thanks for your help today. I’m just going to change out of my work clothes, and then you can get going. I’m sure you want to go back to your place.”

Martyn nodded, and Phil started walking to his room. When his back was turned Martyn made eye contact with Dan and then glanced at the kitchen. He whispered, “Come, please.”

With a mix of apprehension and curiosity, Dan followed Phil’s brother to the kitchen. Martyn didn’t immediately indicate what he wanted as he started packing his laptop and papers into a bag. “What is it?” Dan asked.

“That hug you gave Phil…” Martyn said as he continued shuffling his papers. “I was just wondering what that was about. Did you ever talk to Phil? About the thing you said you were going to talk about?”

It took Dan a moment to remember the conversation he had with Martyn the last time they were together. “Oh! Yeah, we did talk about that.”

“You did?” Martyn looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. “How did he take it?”

Dan suddenly found it difficult to meet Martyn’s gaze. “It didn’t go the way I thought it would. Kind of the opposite.”

“He was upset when you said you didn’t like him?” Martyn whispered, glancing at the door to make sure that Phil wasn’t coming.

“No, I was the one who… No. I told him that I might like him.”

Martyn gaped at him. “Why did you do that? You said you weren’t going to hurt him.”

“What’s going on?” Phil was in the doorway, looking between their faces. Dan’s face was flushed, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his heat or shame. “What are you guys talking about?”

Martyn picked up his bag. “Nothing. Um, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. If you want me to come back.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to come back?” Phil asked suspiciously.

Dan shook his head. “Don’t be silly, Martyn. Of course he’ll want you to come back.”

“No hard feelings?” Martyn asked with a sad smile. After Dan gave him a nod, he turned back to Phil. “Well, good night.”

Phil walked his brother to the door so he could lock it, and then he returned to the kitchen. “What was that about?”

Dan pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Phil sat down at the table beside him. “Sorry, are you feeling okay?”

Dan gave him a small smile. “Not exactly, but don’t worry about it. Listen, about Martyn...” Phil nodded encouragingly, and Dan went on. “Don’t fight with him, not on my behalf. He’s just being protective of you.”

Phil frowned. “I’m used to it. He always has been. Well, except for this one time when I started going to the same school as him and he ditched me on the first day. Other than that, yeah, he’s always been there for me. Kind of annoying actually.”

“Don’t take it for granted.” Dan spoke with a hardness in his voice that seemed to get Phil’s attention. “Don’t throw that away. No one has ever looked out for me, not in the way your brother looks after you.”

“What did he do, though? Looked like a pretty tense conversation when I walked in.”

Dan shrugged. “That’s all it was – a conversation. He knows you like me, so he’s been asking about it. He’s just being protective of you. It’s fine.”

“Oh. Well, sorry about him. I should have told him not to bother you about it – I just didn’t realize that he knew I liked you.” Phil looked away. “Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Dan shook his head.

[klappertart]

my anime journey

I’m so bored lol so enjoy this weird essay

I started watching anime for real in 2014, last year of my highschool. I used to hate anime with burning passion in my elementary and middle school until my mother (lol) showed me “My Neighbor Totoro”. So I thought, Japanese animation isn’t only about weeb sh*t and loser, there are also good animes out there. I went hardcore Ghibli fan in 2012, but still hate other animes. In the same year I played Japanese RPG horror Ib and really love it that I finally tolerate my ‘anime hating’.

Here’s some titles that leave most impressions in me:

1. Another

This grosteque anime is my first anime series I watched by streaming, in 2013, I just put this here to mark this is my first anime lol. I still don’t like most anime when I watch this and I simply watch because of my interest in horror stuff. Tbh this anime didn’t really leave impression on me. Uh, except umbrella.

2. Shingeki no Kyojin

Everybody watched this. The boys in my class watched this, we put this on the projector in class. Ofc finally I watch the entire anime in 2014 and traumatized (even when I say I like horror), I can’t stand too much gore and dying people lol. I even read the manga, until SNK s3 takes place and maybe some more. SNK is the first anime that REALLY leaves impressions in me and I went crazy for some months because of that. SNK is great, it has no oversexualized characters or pantyshots but the gore part and edginess is too much for me to handle. I’m not going to rewatch it, or watch the new seasons..I’ve had enough.

The anime is 8,5/10 for me (I can’t stand too much blood and dying) and the fandom is 10/10 especially for memes. This is once-in-lifetime experience.

3. Tokyo Ghoul

This is what I watch after I binge watching SNK and tbh it’s certaintly not a good option lol. But since everybody in tumblr throwing this at me so I guess I’ll give it a shot and here’s my opinion: Kaneki is dumb and I’m tired of watching people being eaten. Also, Hide is bae.

4. Sword Art Online

Since I watched anime in 2014 and I watched them from crunchyroll bruh. I watched anime legally! I was randomly scrolling that site and found “sword art online season 2″ and decided to give it a shot... to refresh my mind from people being eaten. My conclusion: Sinon is my new waifu! I love her! And so, I watched SAO s1 after that.

I don’t know about this anime bad reputation back then, but seriously personally (maybe bcs I watch the s2 first) the story isn’t that bad. I see why people detest it though, the ALO arc is total sh*t. This is my first time I found anime songs I really like and discovered Yuki Kajiura and abec. I read the entire LN. I love Eugeo. And finally I take part in tumblr anime community by making SAO gifsets.

Although I stopped following SAO in the end, since what happened to Eugeo.. hahah. So SAO: the anime pretty much 7,5/10 for me. The fandom is 8/10 ish.

5. Noragami

Another anime aside “Tokyo Ghoul” that I watched because of tumblr and guess what... I LOVE IT!! I watch it in early 2016, and I can say Noragami is my most rewatched anime. I can even say which episodes are my favorite. It’s awesome, and I really, really love the main trio thanks to the first ending (which is why I put Hiyori running in the header). They have comedy, drama, edginess, and WHOLESOME FLUFF at the same time I’m really living for that.

I stopped hyping about it because that’s the same year I entered university that’s hella hectic. I probably forgot about this for a while (I think cuz of another anime I'll mention later), but the characters are always remain in my heart... then suddenly I read the manga in last February and went wHAT THE F***. I guess there’s no escape now. Downside of this anime/manga: pantyshots so it’s 9/10 for me. The fandom itself is the one of most solid and supporting I ever discovered so 10/10.

6. Fate Series

Welcome to the most hyped fandom I’m ever into. One of the biggest regret of my life is I watched Fate/Zero first before Fate/Stay Night.

To anyone who want to start watch Fate Series: START WITH FATE/STAY NIGHT THEN FATE/ZERO!!!

The main story of F/SN is epic and kind of edgy but then I realized that ‘edginess’ is fading away because of a thing called fate/grand order with the meme supplies. Note that I don’t aware about existence of FGO before 2017.

I watched Fate/Zero in late 2016 after my first semester in uni ended andddd THE FEELS. THE FEELS. I still can’t recover to this very day. Fate/Zero is extremely edgy on par with SNK with no comedic aspect and unnecessary fanservices at all but I still like it especially the historical setting since I’m a historical nerd. Thank God Type Moon is kind of generous, even when F/GO kinda ruined the main plot’s message, it still has really good main story and we got anime and manga and some others!!

Downside about having this much of source material and fanbase is the ‘tumblr community’ became isn’t that strong, but only filled mostly by memes. Not that I’m complaining tho, but the fanmade stuff didn’t worth that much if you have so many official things, right. And the tagging is complicated. Also since FSN emerged from H VN expect some horny fans so I rate this entire fandom 8/10. Fate/Zero alone is 10/10, Fate/Stay Night UBW is 8,5/10. F/GO is.. well.

That’s all. Actually I watched a lot of anime after watch SAO (so people saying “sao is my first anime!!1!” stuff is pretty much right?) but they don’t really leave impressions. I watched KnY but I’m not that impressed like I did with those titles so yeah, last anime that makes my heart racing is Fate.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Petition to Remove University Mural Depicting KKK Rally Sparks Controversy

Students gather for class under the controversial panel, “Parks, the Circus, the Klan, the Press.” (photo by Emily Eckelbarger, courtesy of the Indiana Daily Student)

Recent national headlines have focused on Indiana University’s refusal to remove a Thomas Hart Benton mural depicting members of the Ku Klux Klan before a burning cross. The decision became a topic for national scrutiny and discussion this summer after an article in the Indianapolis Star about a petition demanding the mural’s removal was picked up by USA Today. However, the present controversy largely disregards the function of the KKK imagery in Benton’s mural and echoes previous calls to remove the work — which seem to erupt anew with each successive generation of IU students.

The offending image appears in one of the 22 panels that make up Benton’s “A Social History of Indiana” (1933). The so-called “Indiana Murals” were commissioned in 1932 for the state’s hall in the Century of Progress Exposition opening in Chicago the following year. The plan put forth by the state committee’s chairman, Colonel Richard Lieber, was a dramatic departure from the typical fair display: a massive mural program that would showcase Indiana’s history.

At Lieber’s recommendation, the state offered Benton the third mural commission of his career, following “America Today” (completed in 1930 for the New School; today at the Metropolitan Museum of Art) and “The Arts of Life in America” (completed in 1932 for the Whitney Museum; today at the New Britain Museum of American Art). Benton presented the industrial and cultural history of Indiana from pre-Columbian to modern times across 12-foot-high panels, 11 each about culture and industry, spanning the 232-foot perimeter of the almost 3,000-square-foot exhibition space. Four additional panels, two blank and two painted, were placed above the entrance and exit.

After the exposition closed, the murals were dismantled and stored in a barn at the Indianapolis Fairgrounds. With no consensus about what to do with them, the panels languished there for years until Indiana University President Herman B. Wells worked with Lieber and Governor Clifford M. Townsend to secure the donation of the 22 panels to IU in 1938.

Industrial and cultural panels two through nine of Thomas Hart Benton’s “A Social History of Indiana” (1933) are installed in the IU Auditorium’s Hall of Murals. (photo courtesy of Indiana University)

Plans were drawn for the IU Auditorium and the largest sections of the Indiana murals — the central eight cultural and eight industrial panels — were incorporated seamlessly into the lobby area, dubbed the Hall of Murals. Benton arrived in Bloomington in 1940 to supervise the installation.

The first and last panels of the cultural and industrial portions of the mural were placed in the theater (now a cinema) next-door. The penultimate cultural and industrial panels, “Parks, the Circus, the Klan, the Press” and “Electric Power, Motor Cars, Steel,” went to a room in nearby Woodburn Hall, the closest classroom building at the time.

This proved to be an unwise decision, as the image of hooded Klansmen looms over students participating in freshman orientation, final exams, and class lectures. However, in Benton’s rendering, the Klan recedes into the background, its actions of hate dwarfed by a nurse caring for black and white children at the progressive Indianapolis City Hospital and by a team of journalists representing the media’s investigation of Klan activities. Although Benton intended to pay homage to the Indianapolis Times, winner of the 1928 Pulitzer Prize in Public Service for exposing the Klan’s influence and corruption of state government, these images can be a jarring reminder of a history of racial and religious oppression and victimization.

In August of this year, “in the wake of the tragic events in Charlottesville and other acts of hate on college campuses,” IU alumna Jacqueline Barrie created an online petition to “remove [the] KKK mural in Woodburn Hall,” claiming that the panel violates the university’s Freedom from Discrimination policy. As of this writing, the petition had just over 1,600 signatures.

In response, IU’s Political and Civic Engagement (PACE) program sponsored a forum on September 26 for students, faculty, and community members to discuss what should be done with this panel. By all accounts, the conversation was passionate yet civil. Three days later, Provost Lauren Robel released a nearly 2,000-word statement on the murals with the conclusion that classes will no longer be held in Woodburn 100, the room housing the mural, and that the room will “convert to other uses,” such as public programming, at the end of the semester. Barrie has not taken down the petition, but wrote in an update on September 29: “I do consider this a good solution for the safety and concern for all students and faculty and a step in progress for Indiana.”

Cultural Panel X of Thomas Hart Benton’s “A Social History of Indiana” (1933), “Parks, the Circus, the Klan, the Press” (photo by Kevin E Montague, Eskenazi Museum of Art)

This is not the first time the mural panel has sparked criticism. Asked about the present controversy, Curator of Campus Art Sherry Rouse, who oversees an estimated 20,000 objects across IU’s eight campuses, told Hyperallergic, “that mural has had controversy since it was installed.”

This was most notable in 2002, when members of the Black Student Union pressed for its removal and the controversy was reported in newspapers across the country. In response, IU Chancellor Sharon Brehm required all professors teaching in Woodburn 100 to discuss the mural with their classes. This policy soon fell away. In an effort to educate students about the mural’s history and head off any controversy, the complete mural scheme was reproduced in miniature above an informational panel outside the classroom. This effort, however, is largely ignored. Acknowledging the difficulty of addressing the issue satisfactorily, Rouse observed, “the freshmen graduate, and a new group of kids comes in.”

Regardless of Benton’s intentions, given the difficulty in educating a continuous stream of incoming students about the history and symbolism of the panel, many of the issues at stake in the discussion of the Benton mural are the same issues raised in the current national conversation about the display of Confederate monuments. No student should be made to feel unsafe or “other,” and the images a university displays serve as a reflection of its values. This is of particular concern on a campus with a student body that is only 4.5% black.

In an email, Assistant Professor Phoebe Wolfskill, who teaches African American art at IU, voiced support for Robel’s decision. “I teach the murals regularly but almost never have access to Woodburn 100 because the classroom is already occupied when I’m teaching,” she said. “Woodburn 100’s availability as a potential gallery will be ideal for my classes.”

While the matter has been resolved for now, history indicates that the issue of removing the panel is likely to surface again. Questioned about the idea of relocating the panel, Rouse declared, “That’ll never happen. There’s no place in the [IU Eskenazi Museum of Art] for that.” While this reaction was based on the size of the panels relative to that of the museum’s modern gallery, removing the panels from Woodburn Hall would also require dismantling both the interior and exterior doorways of that building. In addition, poor early storage and Benton’s unique egg tempera and varnish techniques have made conservation a serious concern.

Rouse takes the recent petition and debate in stride. “As far as I’m concerned, controversy is good,” she said. “Controversy is what helps us have conversation … and as an academic institution, I think we have a responsibility to inspire with controversy.”

The post Petition to Remove University Mural Depicting KKK Rally Sparks Controversy appeared first on Hyperallergic.

from Hyperallergic http://ift.tt/2AqcoRf via IFTTT