#and bc we only see the teens it's easy to imagine it as a teen apocalypse drama where all the adults disappeared

[problematicfanfics]

KINKTOBER ‘22 TEACHER/STUDENT (WIP) tombur

deciding to repost bc i added more (a while back) and i just constantly see the first draft get hype on my page and i figured i’d just share.

very slight NSFW

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Tommy wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good kid.

He would do his homework. He attended all of his classes. He’s averaged an A so far the entire year. So yes, by textbook definition, Tommy was a good kid.

1 Snapchat Notification: Anthony 🤯

“Right before p5 meet C hall bthrm”

“Bring cart Nathan feening 💀”

But he knew the only reason he ever made it through the day was thanks to his passing period restroom stops.

Anyone attending a “Western” high school can explain to you the ins and outs of the passing period bathroom breaks all the teens line up for. Each group eagerly awaits for a friend who has the supply.

And if you’re painfully unaware of the dark market being run in every bathroom stall, Tommy loves to explain it as a “social thing”. He’s just generally a better person like this. It’s an easy conversation starter, a fast in, a way to curry favor with more well-known kids in his school.

And he’s realized his grades have never been better.

Ever since he started smoking weed in his tenth year, he’s found he’s a rather studious smoker. His grades improved dramatically. Math seemed to make sense and he wasn’t struggling with anxiety from his testing. Stiff seats are easy to sit still in when your body finally relaxes. Class notes now fit smoothly in his brain between his knowledge of minecraft and song lyrics. Nothing negative seemed to be coming of his habits, despite the fear he gets from running in this little underground market. Passing a teacher in the halls can be a normal life versus permanent felony situation if they so much as ask to search his bag.

“…that fucking bitch doesn’t know her left from her right. Mate, I swear to God, she asked my chemistry teacher which one is which.”

Tommy chokes on the nicotine he’s hitting, lungs collapse into laughter. Promptly he erupts into a fit of coughing

“Yo, dude, get that checked out…” One of his friends in the stall next door said. “Ha, as if. Imagine being like… ‘Hey mum, my nicotine addiction might be affecting my health, mind if we take a look at it down at the ol’ doctor’s office?’”

The stalls laugh at the absurdity of ever revealing this secret to their parents.

Who cares if he’s started coughing from the metal shards when he laughs?

The day he truly understands he’s a functioning addict is when he makes his fifth stop in the C hall restrooms, waiting for his friend Jay while squatting on the toilet, as his other friend pretends to be doing “normal stall things” (as he puts it).

He knows the risks every time, six boys crammed into a stall to trade flavors and discuss about the girls they want and the bitches they hate, the snake “friends” who rat out others and the teachers they despise. He’s always ready to jump to shut everyone up when a teacher walks in. Sometimes, however, his guard falls.

Fifth period Tommy attends a US History class, something he had wanted to take since he saw it was an available course. His love for the subject, plus his new found study buddy, made the class a perfect choice in his mind.

Tommy didn’t mind attending the class. It had taken him upwards of three weeks to learn the teacher’s name (Mr. Gold, but the class called him Soot), and who he was (he was hired by the school three years ago and has been a teacher ever since), and his love life (he has a girlfriend, but all his classes found a picture of her on his instagram and they think he can do better).

He didn’t, however, have a hard time committing Soot’s appearance to memory.

His curly hair fell perfectly every day without a fail. The tight button up shirts he wore required him to roll up his sleeves if he ever wanted any relief from the room’s broken AC. It’s hard for Tommy to not follow his hands switching between the board and the lesson plan on his desk.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he thinks that Mr. Gold was finer than the heavens. It seemed to be a popular debate in this girl’s restroom, too; was Mr. Gold hot or was it just the power dynamic?

As Tommy sits with his legs up between the railing and the wall, inhaling his cart like it was his life force in preparation for his fifth period class, he turns his phone for his friends to see. “You can’t tell me he isn’t hot!” He says as he gives the phone over to an equally contorted friend of his. “Gold? Tommy, you’re crazy. He isn’t that hot.”

“Listen I’m not gay but I’d be a victim. I’m just saying.” Tommy takes the phone back as he preheats the battery. One of his friends nods in agreement.

As the debate continues over the attractiveness levels of Wilbur's instagram posts, Tommy pulls up an old high school yearbook photo of the man. “You can’t say you wouldn’t want William Gold to fuck you, I honestly think I give this man fuck me eyes in class accidentally.” Tommy practically yells to prove his point to Aj.

Suddenly, a loud presence enters the bathroom.

“Ok, I know there’s more than one of you in there. Everybody out.”

The boys look around nervously to one another as Tommy holds back laughter. That is definitely Soot.

There is a tense pause. No one wants to respond out of fear of punishment (and slightly because he had to have overheard the conversation they were just having). “Guys, I’m not playing games here. Let’s go. We can take this to the head if we need.”

Quickly the boys hop down from their acrobatic positions and grab their backpacks.

“One, two, three of you!” Mr. Gold sighs at the sight. “Wow, no! There’s more! Five? SIX? There were six of you in there? My God it’s like a fucking clown car.”

The boys shift nervously under his look. “Listen, I don’t care. It’s just protocol. You’re lucky I’m not taking you down to the counselor, it smells like weed in here.” Everyone exchanges quick looks as they continue to try to hide the obvious vapes inside their hoodie sleeves.

“So you just… don’t care?” Tommy pipes up. His friends shoot him scathing looks, as if telling him to not push their luck and get out while they can.

Wilbur seems taken aback by the question. “Well, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just… Listen, don’t say I’m letting you guys smoke in the stalls. I’m not. I just think you’re smart enough to not be dumb with it again.”

“But if you were truly concerned for our safety wouldn’t you confiscate our shit?”

“Listen, this is great energy Tommy, how about you keep it up in class and stop giving me fuck me eyes the entire period. I get you’re high but try a little harder.”

The entire bathroom goes silent before erupting into laughter. People with no business in the situation Tommy can hear snicker in the background.

“I’ll make sure to have you work for your money today.” Tommy says before Gold shrugs him off to prepare for his incoming class.

“I am so sorry you have to attend his class now.” Tommy’s buddy Nathan pats him on the back. “The sexual tension during lessons boutta go crazy” Aj jokes as he motions Tommy to head to class with him.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Tommy says as he sits in front of the classroom door with his head in his hands. “How do I look him in the eyes? I’ll just skip class by going to the nurse.”

Aj jumps in front of him before he can leave. “We’re already five minutes late. Please let’s just go in. The longer you wait the worse it gets and you know that.” Tommy reevaluated his choices before finally agreeing that Aj was, in fact, right, and that they should attend class.

“Tom Simons, nice of you to join us.” Soot singles him out in the middle of his lesson. Tommy’s equally guilty friend slips into the back of the classroom undetected. “Please, take a seat.” The sarcasm drips from his lips.

Tommy sits in his usual seat far in the back next to Aj. The work was boring mundane class stuff. They used their laptops to research the battles fought during the American Independence War and Tommy finished within the first three minutes.

Tommy raises his hand to gloat to his teacher, ready for the victory as he tells Soot his work is “too easy” and to “give him a challenge.”

“I’m done, easy shit.” Tommy says when Soot finally strolls his way over to the seat. He wasn’t prepared for Wilbur to lean over behind him to read, or the way he said “Good job, Tommy” as he got up (he can’t help but imagine him whispering “good boy” into his ear).

His eyes shoot up to meet Wilbur’s. Every quick retort he had loaded to fire falters. He feels like he needs to say something.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Weren’t you just in there?” Soot makes a sarcastic sad face to mock Tommy’s surprised expression. “I remembered hearing a conversation about being a victim, if I’m not mistaken?”

Aj laughs as Tommy goes pale and forcefully chuckles. “Hey, haha, listen man, I-”

“Ok everyone, please discuss with the person next to you the notes you should have completed by now.” He redirects his attention back to the class, the low tone now projecting off the walls indicating he was referring to everyone.

Tommy turns to face his friend on his left. His shit eating grin left Tommy regretting his entire day.

“Can you send me the answers? I was too busy watching the in house entertainment”

About a week had passed since Tommy was caught, and he was being as careful as possible. Last thing he needed was another run in.

His fourth period lunch left quite a lot to be desired; in the mornings he was never hungry. Instead he fills himself with flavored air, weed, and a severely diluted once-iced coffee.

The lunch period only housed one friend every day, but on alternating days up to seven people would sit with them for lunch. Either way he was too high to notice anything happening around him. No difference was it to him if there was one or eight people, as long as he was being supplied the bodies didn’t matter.

These alternating days with a lot of people leads to everyone slowly making their way to the bathrooms after eating, using it as a pit stop and waiting out the remainder of their time.

Tommy had been waiting since 10:15, and the period ends at 10:30. He was finally getting his new cart today. For the last week he was either smoking scraps from all his empty carts at home or his friends’ at school. His “friend”/dealer had told him to wait in here but it was becoming ridiculous.

1 Snapchat Notification: Rizz 🤝

Rizz: “Soot’s on my ass but omw”

Tommy: “dude don’t come in here if Gold is gonna catch us.”

“he already doesn’t like me 💀”

Rizz: “Skill issue he doesn’t think i’m shady.”

“Or at least didnt before this.”

“Honestly Tommy i’d rather save my own ass and give u the shit before he catches me with 16 carts 💀 i’m dealing today i’m way overdue”

Tommy nervously taps his foot in the bathroom stall. He toys with the $50 in his pocket, rolling it up and flattening it. Honestly, he hates the way Rizz deals. His constant lateness, the sloppiness, as if he doesn’t care that this is something serious. This can be a crime if found out by the wrong person, and everyone will be in legal trouble. But to people like Rizz the real world doesn’t exist. The only reason Tommy continues to buy from him is because he gets a $15 discount (Tommy and Rizz’s cousin used to have a thing).

As he fumbles with the airbar in his hand he hears his “friend” walk in. “Open the stall door,” He knocks and Tommy unlocks it. “Here you fucking go.” He drops the cart in Tommy’s hand before opening his palm for the payment.

As he reaches for his pocket, the front bathroom door opens and the boys are sent jumping.

“What’re we doing here?” Gold asks the duo with his arms crossed. The door slams shut behind him.

“I’m paying him back for a meal he bought me last week,” Tommy explains as he gives the money to Rizz. “It was expensive.”

“I can tell. That’s a pretty big wad of cash. How much?”

“$50”

“And how much is a cart?”

“$65, so you can stop being weird about it now.”

“Ok, and so the constant going in and out of the bathrooms, Rizzario… is that just for fun or?”

He puts the money in his pocket. “It’s a pastime of mine. You should see the architecture up in here, truly stunning.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you get a kick out of it. Get to class.”

Tommy’s unfortunate second capture does not deter him from immediately smoking the cart with his friends minutes later in the same stall. He has been waiting for a week and he’ll be damned if he has to wait any longer. The lack of food in his system, along with his slightly reduced tolerance, makes walking to fifth period a little harder than usual.

Immediately upon sitting down it is revealed to Tommy by a kid sitting two seats ahead of him that there’s a test they are taking today and that he’s the only one who could “possibly forget about as big a test as this one.”, and he realizes he’s screwed up when even Aj is caught cramming at the last minute.

“Tommy, are you aware you failed my last test?”

“Yes Mr. Soot, I’m well aware. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you today. I think I’m a pretty good kid. I do my work, I participate in class, and up until this point I have passed every test with flying colors. Please understand that I do try in this class and I’m not afraid to do extra work to get my grade back up. I’m not asking you to just change my score, I’m really wondering if there’s anything I can do to work for my grade.”

Soot turns to face Tommy, taking off his glasses and laughing. “A good kid? I’d hardly call you a good student.”

“What? Are you crazy? I actually do your work. I do more work than anyone else in any of your classes. I’ve never missed homework, or class work, or done poorly on a test before this. I always answer questions in class and respond when you try to have open discussions.”

“And yet, despite all that, you’re not a good student.”

“You’re mental!” Tommy exclaims. “Listen, if you don’t want to tell me where I can get extra credit in my grade, or if you just don’t want me to, then say it! I don’t want nonsense.”

Soot stands from his desk to address Tommy. The silence in the air hangs tight as the man evaluates his words. “You know you’re lying to yourself when you say you’re a good kid.” He finally says. “You know you come into class high every day, with barely any awareness. You babble off in group discussions for minutes on end, related to and not related to the topic. Your homework is subpar at best.”

“At least it’s done, man.”

“We’re not friends, Tommy.”

“Yeah, no shit, I know that. That’s why I came to you in person after class.”

“Mrs. Mark told me you resolve all your issues over email.”

Tommy’s mouth gets dry. Why’s he talking to Mrs. Mark about him? She never liked him much or his tryhard attitude in her stupid Advanced English Language class.

“Did she say I’m a bad kid? I swear she hates me. She’s always picking on me in class.”

“It’s honestly funny Tommy, because if you tried at all you could be such an exceptional student.” His demeanor shifts. Tommy can’t put his finger, but it seems like Gold has something he’s hiding. His mind instantly jumps to things Mrs. Mark could’ve told him. “Everyone keeps telling me that. Clearly it isn’t true if this is me trying.”

The tired teacher throws his hands in the air. “Once again! The lying! You’re so blind to it.” He walks back to his desk from the board for a final time. Throughout his speech he traces the wooden grain on his desk, eyes not leaving the boy’s. “Tommy, listen. You’re such a bright student. You’re wasting yourself with this crap. I know everyone knows you, I understand that you’ve gained quite a highly positive popularity status in this school when it comes to the social hierarchy. But if you just tried you’d see how much more you can do with yourself.”

“Forget it, Soot. I’ll just do better on the next one.”

“Maybe we’ll resolve this over email.” Gold writes out his number on a late pass before handing it to Tommy. “However, I am much more likely to respond over text.”

“No shot.” Kim says as she hands the money to the shopkeeper. “Strawberry Kiwi elf please, love.”

Tommy fumbles, laughing as he pulls out his phone “I swear! Look, it’s saved right here.” He shows her Gold’s contact on his phone, the only texts sent being a “hello” from each of them.

“Then let’s call him.”

“What?”

“If it’s really him, let’s call him. We’ll grab a coffee and walk down to the tracks and call him.” She grabs the box from the cashier. “Thanks, and can we also have…?”

“Cherry Cola Diamond please.” Tommy points to the wall. He reaches over the counter to grab it from the guy. “We can’t just call him. I feel so nervous. What if he’s actually just trying to get me in serious trouble? I mean, look at us.” He points around to the smoke shop they’re in. “This isn’t ok.”

Kim starts walking to the bin down the hall as she unboxes her new toy. “Listen babygirl. Everyone in the school wants that man. You should hear how people talk about him.” She ghosts the nic before dropping it in her cross body bag and strutting out the door, leaving Tommy to catch up. “Bag him, bitch.”

After much debate and argument, finally, at one pm on a saturday, after smoking a joint and walking on the train tracks, Tommy’s finger hovers over the call button.

“Kim, I can’t do it.”

“For christ’s sake,” She hits the button with his finger and puts it on speaker before shooting him an encouraging thumbs up.

As the line rings, Tommy seriously considers laying down on the tracks until the 1:30 pm train hits him.

Finally the line picks up.

The microphone shuffles up against some fabric before becoming clear. Soot’s groggy morning voice seems to burn through his ears.

“Hey, Tommy. Sorry I was sleeping. What’s up?”

He opens his eyes wide and shakes his head no to Kim, who just continues to nod her very adamant yes.

“What am I supposed to say?” He whispers to her.

“Hello?” Soot calls out confused.

“Ask him if he’s free to chat after school tuesday.” She says obviously as she rolls her eyes. Tommy just gives her an almost disgusted look back. “I can’t just… oh my god.” He redirects his voice to the phone. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.” Was all he could manage.

Gold chuckles slightly. “Don’t worry. I needed to wake up anyway to grade all the homeworks.”

“You’re seriously gonna be grading homeworks?”

“No. You caught me.” They both lightly laughed before realizing they seriously don’t know what to say. “Uhm, what are you doing?” Gold finally asks.

“I’m hanging with my friend Kim, we’re under an overpass by the train tracks.”

“You’ll have to show me one day.”

“It’s right across from the school, maybe I’ll show it to you one day during your break.”

Kim squeals through her hands and kicks her legs like a middle school girl watching her friend call their crush.

“Yeah sure, I’d like that… Listen I should probably get my day started so I’ll-”

“Oh yeah no now of course, I understand. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Hope not, we don’t have school.”

“Ahaha, right. Forgot. Sorry, bye Soot.”

“Have fun Tommy,” Soot squeezes in before ending the call.

Tommy looks at Kim with a hatred in his eyes. “That was terrible.”

“…and then she made me call him!” Tommy explains his weekend to the morning bathroom bunch.

“You know Kim loves the drama. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s telling everyone right now!”

“Forreal man, why’d you even tell her that shit?” Kim’s ex boyfriend speaks up. “Trust me, she’s a conniving little shit.”

“I’m like best friends with her twin sister Janie ok? The friendship extends to her. Also she asked me to get nic with her. I couldn't say no, she always pays for me. Everyone thank Kim for the free nic.”

“Thanks Kim”s were mumbled throughout the stall.

Aj shoved Tommy hard enough he falls off the wall. “What did you even say? You can’t end there.”

“I was a nervous wreck! He like woke up to pick up the call and his voice was so fucking hot guys. It caught me so off guard to hear it was like one pm, I don’t know why he was sleeping…”

Tommy spent the remainder of their ten minute morning smoke sesh to fill them in on everything that went down, as well as field questions from his friends.

He wouldn’t lie, he loved it.

Just like with weed, it seemed as though good things only came with getting involved with Gold.

He was putting in good words with all his teachers (including Mrs. Mark!), he was the shit in all of his classes, and everyone wanted to know what was going to happen next.

Gold, as well as the rest of the staff of course, were painfully unaware of the rampant “teacher and student” buzz circling around the smoke clique.

Since Tommy’s last little stint with Gold it’s been one week and three days. Nothing has changed, except for having the favor of every teacher he has a class in. He’s too nervous to take the first step into a possible slippery slope of relations with his teacher (as any normal person would be. But sadly, Tommy is not a normal person, not by a long shot, and he knows this as fact as he lays in bed wondering what it would be like to have Gold 6 inches deep in him)

It’s hard to go to school when everyone thinks you’re fucking the teacher. It was supposed to be a joke, the whole thing; Tommy always chooses one joke a year to be his running gag. He had chosen the gay joke “crush on my teacher” route because of how ludicrous the idea of him and a male teacher ever getting together was to him. It was a joke he often made about the old, prehistoric male teachers he had in ninth year, as well as some of the older women too, though most were married and he always thought it felt wrong to talk like that about them.

The weekend rolled around once more and Tommy spent his time out late at friend’s houses, and finally out until two am on Sunday night. He had begged his parents for hours and when they said yes he didn’t care about the consequences of his decisions.

Finally, reality caught up to Tommy, and for the first time since he first started drinking in eighth grade he wakes up with a hangover. Classes seem damn near impossible to stay awake for. He deems his sunglasses aren’t providing enough darkness and accessorizes with a hat from the lost and found bin, in hopes that now the fifth period fluorescent light combined with seeing Soot’s arms won’t make him vomit all over himself.

He strolls into class three minutes late due to having been kneeled over the side of the toilet in the single stall gender neutral bathrooms just minutes earlier. Apparently it’s clear to everyone in the class he’s a hot mess, because all he can hear is everyone asking him if he’s doing alright. He dismissed each one with a “Yeah, no, just tired. You know how school is.”

Before he knew it he was face down on his keyboard.

Tommy was awakened thirty minutes later to the sound of a bang next to him. Mr. Gold had lifted the desk next to him before dropping it on the ground. “See me after class, Tommy.”

He could probably feel the smirk from Aj’s face even if he was on the other side of the world.

“Really? Falling asleep in class? That’s a new low, even for you.” Gold reprimands him. Tommy stayed. Yes, even he is surprised by it. Usually he’s the first one out the door if a teacher has an issue with him. But something in him almost wanted to hear what he had to say. He was excited for the man to tell him everything he did wrong, how to improve, what to do.

“I’m sorry Mr. Gold. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

They both looked at each other for a minute. “What is your sixth period class?”

“Gym. Such a bore, I hate my teacher so much. She’s so pregnant she can’t even stand near us because she’s scared someone’s gonna hit her.” The two laugh at the situation. “I mean, I can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t just go on maternity leave. Almost all the female gym teachers are pregnant this year.”

“Hey, they got a lot of free time over the summer. What else are they supposed to do?”

“They don’t have to keep fucking like rabbits!” He jokes and they laugh.

Silence once again falls over the room. It’s like something stops them from ever holding a conversation beyond some jokes. They’re too scared to laugh for too long, too scared of being too close, and Tommy’s way too nervous to actually make the first move. Everything relied on Soot.

“Call me Wilbur.”

“What?”

“You can call me Wilbur. William isn’t my first name. Well, it is, but I go by Wilbur.”

“Real quick let me just,” Tommy pulls out his phone from his back pocket and changes Wilbur’s contact name. “I like it. And here, we’ll take a selfie for the photo.”

Tommy turned around and extended his arm to get the two of them in the picture, snapping it before saving all changes. “I think this was a productive chat, Wilbur.”

“Don’t call me that in class or we’ll have issues,” He jokes around (but Tommy feels the difference in the weight of those words). Tommy mocks him before grabbing his bag and heading for the door. “Before you go,” Wilbur stops him just inches shy of the door. “Want to show me that underpass?”

Wilbur called Tommy’s gym teacher, making her aware that the boy was “making up a failed test” and would not be able to attend the period. The two sent off on their walk, Wilbur with his messenger bag and Tommy with some snacks he had in his locker.

Their destination wasn’t far away by any means, but the walk felt like forever as they desperately grasped at straws in order to make small talk.

“So you got a girlfriend?” Wilbur looks at the boy before pulling out his phone. “This is her,” he says, showing a photo of a skinny blonde woman, eyes green, teeth white. “Her name’s-”

“Jenine?”

“Please stop stalking my socials.” Wilbur jokes as he puts the phone away. “But yeah, Jenine. We actually- well, she, actually - decided we should go on a break about four days ago. Took all her shit out of the flat.”

Tommy was taken aback by the demise of their relationship. They seemed really happy from all the posts he saw. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear, man.”

The brunet smiled genuinely. “Nah, don’t worry. Just got more space to put all my useless shit in”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, figured I’d put up shelves to fill the big empty spaces and pile it with games or books or whatever a normal person puts on their shelves.”

“Well what does a non normal person put on their shelves?”

“Youtooz. Way too many to be healthy.”

“I won’t lie, I have a collection too.”

The pair finally arrive on the tracks, Tommy fiddling with the nicotine in his pocket. They’re sat on the weird raised platform under the overpass. The brightly colored graffiti brings some joy to the otherwise desolate area. He passes Wilbur a pack of chips, who was too busy tapping his cigarettes to notice the bag flying at his legs.

“You smoke?” The boy asks his… teacher? That’s a weird thing to ask your teacher. Friend?

He removes a cig from the pack and pulls a lighter out with it. “Yep, since I was fourteen.”

“Same,” He looks up abruptly, eyes wide. What a stupid fucking thing to say! But he has to know already right? (He so desperately wants him to know)

Tommy laughs and looks at the ground. “I mean no! I don’t smoke. Who gave you that idea Soot? Stop asking questions.” He hopes his jokes are funny enough to distract from his truth bomb.

“I know.” Is all Wilbur says as he lights up, a smile spread across his lips. He elects to think the smile is more of a mutual funny smile and less of a smile you’d give a child who’s rambling.

Tommy looks around as he internally debates ripping his diamond. Is it worth it? I mean, the guy knows. He’s lighting up in front of his face. He’s gotta be ok with him ripping nic right? They’re off school property.

Finally he lifts the nic to his lips and takes a hit. He avoids eye contact with the man in hopes it eases the anxiety he feels.

The teacher looks over at the boy and puts down his cigarette, smoke drifting through the air in sultry clouds that Tommy can’t help but lavish in. “I’m gonna write you up for that,” Wilbur laughs through his exhale. “Naughty.”

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat as he’s inhaling and coughs violently. He plays it off, mumbling about some “shitty flavor” under his breath, looking at the man in an attempt to ignore his reaction. “So, Soot, is it often you smoke with kids?”

“I wouldn’t say often, but I’m no stranger to taking a smoke with a student in the ’lot.” He grabs another cigarette from his pack and lights it with his dying one. “Chain smoking without worries is my favorite, though. This is a really nice spot. Did you know we’re not allowed to smoke anywhere near the school property as teachers?”

“I mean kinda makes sense, but what’s considered “near” the lot?”

“I guess anything within fifteen hundred meters of the school? I’m just assuming. I think they don’t want us to set a bad example. Mrs. Moore got caught smoking out of her car window and it was a whole big thing with the head.”

“What’d they say?”

The train begins to chug down the tracks at them. “Threatened to put her on suspension until she stopped smoking. I don’t know how they’d even enforce that though.”

The loud woosh of the train fills their ears, unable to do much but wait for it to pass by. Tommy waves violently at the passengers. Wilbur joins him. “You always do that?”

“Sometimes,” He shrugs (he always does, he knows he’d be so happy if he saw someone waving at him from the tracks, but he won’t tell him that, because he’s not a kid, and he’s had enough oversharing for one day)

“So,” Wilbur clicks his tongue. “How’d you find this spot?”

Tommy flips the vape over in his hands as a fidget. “I was walking around with friends one day, trying to find a new smoke spot for our spiff, and we stumbled across this.”

The man stretched out his legs, changing positions to sit slightly closer. “And the Do Not Enter sign didn’t deter you guys?”

Tommy didn’t notice the shift. “Wilbur, we were going to smoke a joint. I don’t think a stupid sign is really our concern.”

“So instead of one felony, you guys decided on two?”

“Either way we’re fucked,” He laughed. “Can’t imagine underage illegal substance use is too great of a look in court.”

“Trust me, it isn’t that bad. You can manage to get yourself some community service and occasional drug tests for two months.” Tommy hit his shoulder lightly “Speaking from experience?” Wilbur pretends it was harder than it was, knocking himself over slightly. “And what if I said yeah?”

“Naughty.” (he can feel the adrenaline rush to his head as the words leave his mouth)

The teacher smiles at his pupil and shakes his head. “What about it? Gremlin.”

He’s glad he didn’t cross a line. And he can’t wait to tell everyone about this in the morning.

Wilbur turns to face Tommy. “I don’t want to cross a line, but you’re a great kid Tommy. Do you want to possibly get a coffee together some time?’

“I’d be more than happy to.” They exchange a brief glance at each other’s lips, a passing second neither notice, and hope the other didn’t catch them. They continue to discuss location and time before they begin a slow walk back to the school ground to continue their day.

Morning smoke circles are a different type of friendship. The type where you gossip, even if you aren’t a gossiper. Everything you know is shared knowledge. Nothing is a secret, and you spill it all in the hazy fog of morning brain before classes. You spend ten minutes hyping each other up to get to class despite your lateness. You tell them about your weekend, your weekday, your classwork, your romance, your life story.

So it was no surprise that the next morning the first thing everyone heard about was Tommy’s escapades by the tracks.

Tommy entered into school the following days, elated and on top of the world. A week passed before he realized he bombed a really important math test he took the day after he met with Wilbur. He had been so caught up in the whole “hanging out with his teacher” thing he completely forgot to study. But he thought he did well!

He went to talk to the math teacher after class that Thursday, but it was no use. He spent the rest of his day on the verge of tears. The only stain left on his record for this quarter.

The next morning he and his friends met up in the E hall bathroom before classes started and began talking about all the other drama happening at the moment.

It’s not like he remembers it, though, and he wakes back up in his third period architecture class, slumped on Nathan’s arm, in the middle of a lecture from his teacher.

“Are you even listening to a word i’m saying?”

He looks up at Nathan before looking back at her. His brain is still catching up to become conscious.

“I- I um…”

“Repeat what I said.”

The silence fills the room, minus the snickering coming from three annoying girls in the corner. (He doesn’t know. Truthfully! He might as well have just randomly walked in now and he’d probably know more.)

But Nathan pulled away, and before he knew it he was yanked up by the arm and told to get out.

There were still 30 minutes of class left (apparently), and he was still tired, so he decided to pay a visit to his dear friend, the art teacher.

Well, he wasn’t really his friend. He just knew a spot to sleep in. But Rizzo can’t keep his mouth shut. For the second time in the same period he was pushed out of a classroom for misbehaving.

So bathrooms it was, and on his way down he passed a familiar guard he regularly chatted with. They waved and stopped to talk about their days, their summers and the upcoming break. The guard walked him as far as the bathroom door and they said bye.

Tommy hears mumbling in a stall before a meek “Is there a guard?” is heard.

“Nah it’s all good guys,” He walks up to the stall door and puts his foot under. “Let me in.”

They open the door and Tommy drops to one knee to get his airbar. “Hurry the fuck up, man.”

“Trust me, I’m always safe.”

As he stands, he turns to see the door opening.

And if he was any less high, he definitely could’ve come up with something good to get them out of trouble.

But he wasn’t. He was really high.

And now he was still high.

But sitting in the dean’s office.

Somewhere between getting caught and getting put in the room, Tommy blacked out. But he was here now and there was nothing he could say or do to leave without talking to him.

Like, the big guy. The man who could absolutely obliterate any hope of a future Tommy had (well, what any little of it there was).

The dean came in and sat directly across from Tommy,

jump #1

Tommy sits on the freezing bathroom stall tile. It looks clean enough to sit on, and he hopes the wet feeling on the back of his leg is actually just his imagination. His bag is over in the corner and his jumper is blocking the awkward vent between the door and the floor that someone might be able to see him through.

The smell of marijuanna that has permeated into the walls of the gender neutral bathroom made his head spin. Tommy couldn’t help but feel slightly bad. What was supposed to be a bathroom for people became a smoke spot. However, it doesn’t stop him from pulling out the crack wire from his bag and hooking it up to his school computer.

He turns the cool glass over in his hands and traces the black mouthpiece. It was almost empty and he didn’t have another 50 to drop. As he places the wires in their appropriate spots he pulls out his phone.

The glass heats up and he takes a hit as he types out a message to his dear friend.

Wilbur (US HISTORY)

> can i have a fifty

He knows he won’t respond. It was a dumb thought to even ask him, he fucked up the second he sent the text. Wilbur isn’t dumb. He’ll know it’s for a cart. There’s no way in hell he’d go as far as supplying the boy with drug money.

Wilbur (US HISTORY)

> can i have a fifty

< I’ll give it to you

after class, ok?

Tommy waits behind after class. Aj’s confused look as he walks out the door is all it takes for his stomach to get queasy again.

Soon enough the room clears out and all that’s left is the boy and the teacher.

“Fifty dollars?” Wilbur asks from his desk, rummaging in his bag for his wallet. Tommy nods. He can’t seem to get words out today, his muteness being noted by not just his classmates but his teachers as well.

But Wilbur doesn’t pry. That’s what he likes about him; he doesn’t need to speak what he needs out loud. He seems to just know.

Wilbur motions for the boy to approach the desk and so he does. Opening the front pocket of his backpack he drops the cash in.

“Do you at least get it safely?”

He nods.

“Are you ok?”

He doesn’t nod.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

jump #2

“Tommy, do you know why I wear these?”

Tommy, confused, replies no.

“I like them. I like to think that people perceive me differently. Smarter, cuter, more approachable. But it’s a guise. They’re just glasses. They aren’t actually doing anything for me. You’re not a good student Tommy. You have some serious underlying issues that you’re just self medicating with weed and nicotine and adrenaline rushes, and you think it’s doing something. You try to trick yourself into thinking you’re a good student just like I try to trick myself into thinking these do something for me.” He picks up the glasses before setting them back down. “I don’t know if you’re really all that ‘good’ of a student.”

“I do everything you ask!” Tommy yells. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked. Do you understand how stressful school was for me? Do you understand I had nearly no future in school before this? I was skipping my classes constantly to game and play with my friends. I couldn’t sit still or focus in class ever. Information never made sense. I have found what works for me. One day I’ll be old enough to learn I don’t need it to function. I’ll have options and resources available to get help. I don’t right now though. I have to work with what I have. Something isn’t right up there and weed fixes it. Sorry if you don’t like it but that’s how it is.”

“Tommy, you act like I dont smoke weed myself! I know what it’s like!”

Tommy falls silent. He furrows his brow and contorts his face. “You’re an actual teahead?”

“Why do you think I gave you that fifty? Why do you think I never actually bust anyone? Tommy, I get it. I did the exact same thing. I still do. The only way I can ever grade all of your shitty homeworks is if I’m high. And I know what it’s like when there isn’t any other option because I didn’t have any. I want to find you what you need.”

“Probably a psych evaluation.”, Tommy laughs to himself. “I’m serious, Tommy.”

“Wilbur, I truly appreciate the concern. But “teacher helping me find myself” wasn’t exactly in my life plan. It’s all laid out perfectly, I just have to make it to 18.”

Wilbur stares in disbelief. “Living every day just to make it to eighteen isn’t any way to live. Barely making it through your weekdays just to party on the weekends isn’t healthy.”

“No shit sherlock.”

“I think I will get you a psych evaluation if you keep talking back”

“Alright, fine.”

jump #3

Wilbur’s palm lightly trailed up the boy’s stomach. “Is this ok?” he whispered breathlessly into his ear.

“Yes, yes. Please.” Tommy clenched his jaw. He hadn’t felt like this… hell, ever. He could hear the man chuckle. “Already? I haven’t even gotten to the good part baby.”

The way he said baby, fuck it drove him mad. It was just utterly intoxicating. His head floated from the weed as his nervous system went haywire.

Slowly Wilbur covered the boy with his body more, closing in on him on the couch. Tommy’s lungs burned from the green rip as he desperately tried to steady his breathing, the marijuana smell only making it harder to catch.

“Fuck, this is good shit, Wil.” Tommy’s hands were now in the man’s hair, not moving but instead paralyzed on top. Wilbur slowly started kissing up his neck. “Only peng for myself,” he laughed lightly. “And for you.” He deepened the kiss in the crook of the boy’s neck, hungry to taste him. “Where’s your usual witty banter kid?”

“Kid? I ain’t no kid. I’m a-“ he wheezed lightly. “I’m a man.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but genuinely laugh. “Nevermind, limit your talking. It won’t be needed.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, you can’t talk when you’re making out.” He lifted Tommy’s lips to his, lightly testing the waters before jumping in. All composure Tommy had now left, and he didn’t mind at all. His hands grabbed the man’s woven jumper, one he often wore during the winter months of classes. Imagine after sitting in that cold class all day, he went over to his room and warmed him up? Filling the room with sex and sweat? He couldn’t help but moan at the possibilities they’d opened.

Wilbur disconnected the kiss to feel up Tommy’s sides again. “Fuck, you’re so cute. Such a good boy, just for me.” The boy couldn’t help but whine at the comment, grinding his hips up. Fuck, he was Wilbur’s good boy. His. He had waited for this since december.

Hot lips pressed against his ear. “How do you feel about taking this further?”

His eyes widened. How far?

“What do you want?” Tommy’s throat went dry thinking of everything he wanted, what he would beg for.

“Mister Soot, I- please, fuck me.”

The older smiles into the boy’s body. “You really want it?”

He nods his head viciously. How could he tell him he’s been wanting this for months now? That he’s been dreaming about it since he first laid eyes on him?

“I know you’ve been waiting for this.” He travels down the boy’s

[pbaz7]

playing teenage girl by cherry glazerr bc I just know the cute vibes are gonna up im so excited

Paige and Azzi had been best friends since they were teenagers, long before they ever set foot on UConn’s campus

my day ones

Winning a championship at UConn in 2025 was supposed to be their peak but their lives together were just getting started.

manifesting SO hard

Azzi landed with the Washington Mystics that same year, a dream come true for the hometown kid

her hometown reunion❤️‍🩹

For two seasons, they made the distance work.

this doesn't mean they broke up! right...

Requesting a trade and being adamant it was to Washington wasn’t an easy decision

Paige would leave the trenches of Dallas just to see her princess

But none of that mattered to her. Azzi mattered. She always had.

ill cry author pls stop writing them so perfectly

just a little note to let everyone know that if Paige and azzi EVER end up on different teams there will be HELL to pay and I will probably collapse

What do you think is clicking for you right now?”

idk maybe the fact that the girlfriends are back

Paige handled the deep technical breakdowns, always more of a nerd when it came to basketball, while Azzi added lighthearted quips that explained what Paige’s complicated breakdowns meant that drew quiet chuckles from the room.

oh their dynamic💗

“Mommy!”

oh my god please tell me its their kid

their daughter, Aliana

wait author this is such a perfect name for her like I could actually see them naming their daughter this

Her curls were slightly messy, and her big, brown eyes—an exact replica of Azzi’s—were wide with impatience.

her being Azzi's twin means Paige never says no to her and I know that for a fact

Paige, never able to resist her soft spot for her daughter that looked exactly like her wife, sighed quietly. “Come here,” she said, her arms outstretched.

what'd I tell you

Aliana immediately tucked her face into Paige’s neck, her tiny hands gripping her mom’s jersey for comfort.

im gonna cry why is this worse than angst

“Mommy, Mama! You both did so good!” she exclaimed, her tiny hands clutching Azzi’s jersey.

oh aliana you don't know how talented you're gonna be

Azzi smiled down at her, gently correcting, “We played well, sweetheart. But thank you.”

azzi WOULD correct her literal toddler's grammar

“What about Mama? Did you see my block in the second quarter?”

Paige ever the needy one

“Exactly! They tried to say I wasn’t a shot blocker. Can you believe that?.”

paige blockers

Azzi’s arms slid up to wrap around Paige’s neck. Their kiss was slow and lingered for some time as they sighed into each other.

their love is forever I dare someone to tell me otherwise

Aliana’s little voice piped up from the backseat. “Are we going to get ice cream now?”

oh my god she's just a mini azzi

“We’re here, we’re here!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she looked out the window.

there goes avoiding the fans

“I said that one time,” Paige replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

I just know azzi teases Paige about every little thing she says even if it was decades ago and irrelevant

“We’d love to, but we’re keeping this one out of fan pictures for now,”

only time I can ever imagine p turning down a picture. she really is the people's person

the teenage boy behind the counter greeted them with wide eyes, clearly recognizing Paige and Azzi.

so famous they've even got teen boys fan girling

As the boy’s gaze lingered on Azzi a little too long, Paige subtly shifted closer to her, sliding her free arm around Azzi’s waist.

Paige is always gonna make sure she Azzi's and her only

ensuring the boy’s eyes couldn’t miss the ring gleaming on her finger.

I can only imagine how HUGE Azzi's rock is

“Everything okay over there?” Paige asked as her gaze flicked to the boy, who quickly snapped back to attention.

Paige please the kid is like 16 he's not trying to steal ur woman

who squealed in delight as Paige handed the boy a $50.

jealous of him and still pays triple what it was worth

“Mama... Mommy,” Aliana said, her voice drawing their attention. Both women turned to look at her, their teasing forgotten.

poor aliana with her freaky parents

“But... I think you love each other more than ice cream.”

stfu. tears just filled my eyes stop.

Aliana beamed, her dimple deepening. “Good! ’Cause I love you both more than ice cream too.”

coming from someone with a three year old cousin this is a really big statement

Paige, already sprawled out on the bed in her pajamas, let out a low, playful whistle. “Well, damn,” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.

horny even with a toddler and years later

settling herself over Paige to straddle her hips resting her hands on Paige’s stomach.

watch aliana come in

“Are you tired?” she asked softly.

even if Paige was do you really think she'd say so while ur on top of her

“You always say that,” she mumbled, her lips brushing against Paige’s skin as she continued kissing her neck, “but then you’re not.”

she loves her princess too much what can she say

But just as Azzi reached Paige’s waistband, a small, sleepy voice called out from the other side of the door. “Mama?”

knew it was too good to be true

There was a pause before Aliana’s voice called back, recognizing Azzi’s voice. “No, I want Mama!”

these kids always being messy

“I wanna sleep with you.”

that makes two of you

Aliana, as if on cue, practically threw herself into Paige’s arms, a loud giggle escaping her.

I know Paige sneaks her out in the middle of the day to get ice cream and tells azzi they were running errands

“Mommy was hot,” she replied easily, raising an eyebrow as she climbed back into the bed with them.

in multiple ways I fear

“Goodnight, princess,” Paige whispered, talking to Azzi but kissing Aliana’s forehead.

both of her princesses

“Aliana Bueckers you know better!”

of course she took Paige's name. pazzi as moms is too cute🥹

“No, Mommy!” as if she couldn’t stand the idea of sharing Paige’s attention.

they've already spoiled her so bad im dead

“You need to apologize to Mommy, pretty girl,” Paige said softly, her tone a little more serious.

it's giving "drew Thomas. tone it down. ten levels" from that one ice live

“I need to be gwateful... and use my words…”

why is this so cute like ugh

Azzi and Aliana both looked up, Aliana’s face breaking into a grin. “We coming, Mama!” she giggled.

just their perfect little family

Her small voice was a little jumbled as she started her prayer, mimicking the words Paige had taught her.

oh my god just imagine this little girl walking around saying "give all glory to god" stop it I know Paige is such a good mother to her

Aliana giggled, her tiny hands pushing their faces together. “Kiss!” she demanded with a smile.

aliana baby do you really wanna see that

The kiss started slow, tender, but quickly deepened as Azzi shifted the energy between them. Paige’s lips parted in surprise as Azzi’s hand slid down her back, pulling her closer, the heat of their bodies radiating through the air.

good luck with that one guys having a kid to take care of eliminates any sexy time

Paige turned and practically ran down the stairs, eager to finish what she'd started.

just imagine her sprinting down the stairs im crying laughing

she didn’t hesitate to pull Azzi closer, her hands sliding firmly to her wife’s hips,

wife. stop im tearing up

Paige and Azzi had carved out their own world in that moment just like they promised to always do when they said their vows.

author please.

you really tugged on my heart strings with this one.

you gave me such bad baby fever hello.

just thinking of paige asking that little girl if she could hold her for the picture and rubbing the baby on his stomach after one of the games this season

ilysm and thanks for this it really brightened my day🙂

-🍉

manifesting SO hard

i literally need it so bad

her being Azzi's twin means Paige never says no to her and I know that for a fact

you clocked immediately

im gonna cry why is this worse than angst

omggg how ???

coming from someone with a three year old cousin this is a really big statement

exactly 😭 children are actually insane when it comes to ice cream. no matter what the weather is

it's giving "drew Thomas. tone it down. ten levels" from that one ice live

then him saying “we gotta be quiet” sent me 😭

i’m sorry i didn’t mean to give everybody baby fever tonight 😭

[nefariousfool]

brat review under the cut bc no one on here gaf

It agonizes me to do so, but I'm gonna structure this in comparison to Taylor Swift's new album, not because we must "pit two bad bitches against each other" (taylor is not a bad bitch) or that everything must be about that wretched blonde woman but because their careers actually mirror each other quite well in some aspects that show both charli's weak spots on this album that follow what seems to be the trend for millenial pop artists, but also her strengths. also I never got to bitch about TDPS as much as I wanted to

Speaking of strengths, I'll start with those. Compliment sandwich to make the rest go down easy. She makes what is undeniably a fun album. Much easier to digest and more cohesive than CRASH, ultimately a wonderful example of her command over visual advertising matching auditory experience. I can easily imagine the best way to experience Sypathy is a Knife, Everything is Romantic or 365 is best heard loud as all hell in a club you don't remember arriving at and won't return to again for a few months for what it does to your body. As promised its a return to her public "prime" but cooler, sexier, a little wiser.

So I is maybe the only Sophie tribute that doesn't feel theatrical or subtle or in very poor taste. Rather than sheer worship over a woman who now is unable to live in the minds of many as a complete human being, charli admits she took her for granted. She doesn't mythologize her death but rather opens up that the wound of losing a friend you wish you spent more time with is still there. it might scar over, but the pain remains.

Now to where the comparison begins. Both artist imo had their best year the year of lockdown. The forced introspection made their work calmer, better. Taylor's was definitely in some aspect her trying to find herself after her absolute flop of a comeback album while also attempting to legtimize herself as an artist to the more critical pop crowd. Playing with narratives that don't involve her personal life was, while a bare minimum mark of a decent artist, something people weren't sure she was capable of anymore. It was a calculated move that birthed two albums that live as her best in her discography. Charli was, as far as I can tell, less calculated and far more authentic but netted the same results. The Cool Girl version of Taylor, she too achieved success in the late 00s as a teen, but rather than doing all American sweetheart gigs about how precious and lovestruck she is, she was 14 performing her songs at illegal raves. Her rising career was based off a very cool, distant persona. For this reason, she previously was not nearly as personal in her songs but took the lockdown time to open up about her feelings as well as her relationship with her long term partner at the time. They were songs that spoke personally to her audience, allowing them intimacy at a time when everyone was very vulnerable. Cringe exposing my emotions but party4u still brings tears to my eyes. It seems, in the latest albums of these two, they have "come home" to what is comfortable for them. You do see slivers of incredibly personal moments slip through, especially in Rewind and I Think About it All the Time (and of course So I) but overall rather than fond nostalgia for her roots this album gives the vibe of someone desperately trying to keep on a mask that used to protect her but doesn't anymore. Taylor, too, has slipped into her old habits of overexposing her personal life in uninteresting, spoken word lyrics that I hear in Brat as well. The lyricism feels lazy, attempting to act nonchalant and casual while abandoning a rhyming scheme completely for many of the songs. Some fans delight in this, but I know both of these women can do better.

Maybe this is all best exemplified in a song that wears the identity of the album the best, Mean girls. This mindset is ever present in the album, but this track is embarrassingly on the nose. Slapdash and pandering, it shows Charli has acquired a specific audience other than poppers addicts and people who wish they could have worked at an American apparel in 2010, and that audience is the fleabag type. A loser. You're showing your love to the losers and the haters. Maybe it's because im in this album and I don't like it, but it shows how much she too has attached herself to the persona of the late 20s shit head woman who is fun at parties if you're also drunk, but in the daylight is liked by no one who really gets to know her. the self victimizing "just being honest" woman with the soul of a wet rat, an intensely online woman, sex and the city's Carrie for Zelennials. miserable. This was where it was going to end up, wasn't it? This is the modern Cool Girl, after all. This is what she wants us to believe she is. She's so Julia. This is so Charli, I guess. It evokes pity in me.

I don't have much a compliment to end this with actually. Overall I do really enjoy it on a sound level, I'm likely to listen to it on repeat for a while yadda yadda. Whatever I was really critical of Crash upon release which I softened my opinion of as time passed but idk, millenial women cannot stop being messy and weird about it and it's embarrassing.

[yandere-yearnings]

On top of my last ask I also have a question geared to your sillies

We all know both Sunny and Dice have a serious jealousy problem but I was wondering why exactly that's the case? Like did anything happen in their past to make them respond so aggressively when the threat of potentially losing reader arises?

If you're planning to go into this further in their main stories then you can ignore this ask ofc :)

-Gnawing on your latest posts, 🦢

i do intend to delve into their backstories and why they are the way they are later on down the line in their main stories, but bc i'm being a bit slow with releasing new chapters, i figured it'd be nice to just explain it. also, i'm glad you enjoyed my latest posts swan nonnie🥺 gonna try and answer more asks soon so hopefully that means more content too🥰

major spoilers for sun's and dice's backstories under the cut!

warnings for mentions of cheating, alcoholism, child abuse and neglect❗❗

so, originally sun and dice had a fairly normal life, if not a really happy one — they were in what would be considered a standard family, with a mother and father who seemed to love each other loads and dote on their children. in actuality, their parents' marriage was going stale and their mother ended up having an affair with another woman, soon eloping with her and abandoning them.

that in itself was a point of trauma for both of them, sun especially, bc he was older and had spent more time with her. neither of them really understood how someone could say they loved them one day, only to have left them all alone within 24 hours, not even a note or message to explain.

then, they were forced to take the repercussions of their mother's actions in the form of verbal and physical abuse from their father, who had steadily become an alcoholic. all of the household income was used to fuel his addiction and own living expenses, and sun and dice were neglected for a long time before their aunt came to take them away.

somewhere, they kinda expected their father to at least fight for them, but when he gave them up so quickly — not wanting to see their faces anymore bc they looked so much like her, the feeling of abandonment they had been experiencing prior finally reached a point where it started to define them.

they had a lot bottled up from then; feeling wronged, feeling like they had so much left to say, questioning why. a lot of anger and bitterness and desperation to just feel wanted again fueled them into becoming who they did. sun would fight a lot as a teen, bc he felt constantly frustrated and it was easy to push him over the edge. dice was really passive, and he'd let himself get picked on bc he didn't feel like he was worth enough to speak up against it.

their respective darlings meet them at a time where they've just begun to establish a sense of self-importance, and it's bc they're clinging to that little confidence they finally have, that they're both adamant nothing takes it away from them ever again. sun doesn't ever want to be tossed aside like his mother had done to him all those years ago, and dice doesn't want betrayal to turn him into the monster his father had become.

for those reasons, they'll do whatever it takes to make sure they don't lose you. whenever they see you with someone else, they can just imagine you building a relationship with that person and leaving them behind to suffer in the end. just the thought has every bad memory flooding back. it makes them murderous.

for what felt like forever, all they had was each other and the resigned understanding between them. now they have their darlings, that desire to be seen again has reignited, and they rely to a dangerous extent on the promise that love could make up for all the pain they didn't deserve.

[thetaoofbetty]

Why do you think there's so many bad takes in fandom? I know you've been watching/reading Bridgerton lately and there's so many terrible takes in that fandom that it's making me cringe.

literally only asked me this bc you know i'm fandom old. pfft.

no but also we (i'm guessing) were in the riverdale trenches and does no one remember those takes? like, remember when 4 underage teens were sitting by a fire in a promo and it turned into 4 underage teens on the lowest standard of basic cable were having an orgy within hours of said promo bc someone turned their anxiety into everyone else's problem? i do. it's also hilarious but that's not the point i suppose.

my best guess is media literacy is now a long lost art bc you're reading a lot of takes that stem from very and extremely literal interpretations of promo/interviews/trailers. they lack nuance and paint a lot of things in black and white and any deviation will be met with swift accusations of doing wrong think in fandom for whatever character/plot/ship they don't like.

let's all remember alex. not a good or right take in his career and there he is, being paid to share his bad takes with the rest of us. people playing telephone without context and letting their bias talk them out of simple logic is sort of wild when those people also have access to the rest of us online, ha. i can see how easy it would be to let someone's anxiety spike over hearing/seeing something they were already worried about happening and turning it into a full fledged theory based on something that, in all probability, won't be anything like they imagined.

in my (long and varied) fandom experiences, the best theories come from the english degree girlies who are quietly discussing themes and motifs with their friends and not the people screaming every 5 mins about how this is going to happen bc a social media post/promo got met with vibes and anxiety. or, to be totally honest, a lot of people just write a fic summary and call it a theory while passing it around making everyone else anxious with them.

actually tho, i can think of so many people who would be better off just writing the ideas they have as fic instead of passing it off as fact and then getting mad when people don't agree with them. 🤔

[sayyourprayers]

Why is the fandom so weird about Finn and Noah's appearences and body type? Finn is constantly get babygirlified in a false narrative bc people see him as 'soo gender' bc he is tall and slim, they even apply eating disorder to Mike? When there is nothing that points to that on the show (if you do not reach). Lets not act like it is not because of overfocusing on Finn's appearence. They are also so weird abt Noah, and it is just more uncomfortable due to him being gay. This overfocusing on someone's masculinity and not is so weird especially when people project it onto Will to erase his canonical gnc'ness when we know he has been shamed for being like that. And people getting weird because Noah has an ass? Like idk what to tell you but people are not in the wrong when theu draw Will as having a butt or as his canonical gnc portrayal. You (neutral you) are, in fact, making it weird by capitalizing on the butt aspect so much though or insisting on making him buff.

Overfamiliarity. Incredibly BORING definitions of what passes as OBVIOUSLY gay (☂️). Obsession with skinny white men who are tall and have visible lips and did 3 fashion shoots wearing high heels or long nails maybe. Wearing a cap backwards as being a sign of men men men men manly men men men. Idk. Conflating charACTORS. Even then using weird baselines for both. Purity culture. Taste or lack of it.

Calling Noah buff is like how in the 2000s anything above size 4 was considered big. N calling Finn the various things he's called is disrespectful to Harry Styles.

I dis/agree about the ED takes as they're not solely reliant on his physique. But they're not devoid of relying on those. I guess it depends whose justification you read. Matters not to me since I disagree with all.

Will having a butt is canon. They're giving him tight pants. The cast too have spoken about it. They gave him short shorts. I think it's their way of showing his flamboyance or preference towards not loose clothing unlike the other boys in his group and even the teens.

It's easy to make anything weird if you put your mind to it. And we know the fandom has an overactive imagination generally. But in ways antithetical to the supposed message of the show and hell even the legacy of Tumblr.

But freedom of expression enshrines freedom to bullshit. So here we are.

The reversal confuses me because I genuinely feel there is no sweeping intent tying all the people who partake in it. People do it cuz of Noah Finn weirdness. Or sometimes it's to kind of make byler feel more equal. Let's switch what's happened so far. So now Mike's the delicate one and the one pining while Will's the cool mofo slinging guns and tearing his shirts as he flexes to upturn a car. "Told you, physique!"

I would put more thought into it. But I'm not being paid enough or at all. N that's an area that's important to me but not top of the list.

Canon is superior simply cuz it's canon. It's superior even with its flaws and imperfections and bad execution and misplaced intentions and all that jazz. Because that's the only truth that can be debated upon.

Headcanons are their own thing and have fun go ham.

Fanon is rust. And we have seen it fucking up the fandom machinery. It basically checks a lot of the boxes to classify as orwellian. But it's a silly show so I feel silly saying it. But ya.

Just don't give a fuck. Be rude to people who are rude to you. Assert your dominance by pissing on bad takes. What do I tell you man? Fight fire with water.

[afriendlyood2]

Confession of the most arrogant sjw ever, aw shiiii

hello, I have a flow of thoughts about hyperreality, digital instruments, fandoms and anger and arrogancy...

and mental health of course

so basically many influencers before my unpopular and even cancelled ass already noted that we have entered this digital agenda era when gadgets are stealing our attention and overwealm our brain to the point that we forget our own thoughts and real world around us

and that is their very agenda, as digital marketing specialists are batteling for the space on our phone screen and seconds of our attention, and public speakers and polititians are battling to drag us into the discourceTM bc "how can you be out of politics you ignorant jerk the world is on fire" etc etc. many described these mechanisms before so I won't repeat what they have said already, it's out on Youtube and many otehr resources.

and also many said before me how fandom discourse went to shit... well, it was shit even in my youth... we would battle over this problematic bullshit even by that time which was the early social media era of late 00s - early 10s (now it is even more radicalized though, to my horror)

but I as a millenial am horrified of how gen z and gen alpha folk are not yet realizing where it will get them in 10-15 yrs time... it will get them in hell, as I as a 30 yrs old millenial see from my own exeperience. some of them won't even survive mentally and I am even not overstimating the problem, as this is also real.

back in the day we had this cursed AOT fandom. I knew a girl from my city (I was in early 20s she was still a school teen) - an easy imaginable situatuion, as the fandom is mostly made of these age people. notable mention - by that time culture geek culture wasn't open to the self critisism sentiment yet, actually the opposite - geeks were made cool, "brainy is the new sexy" bullshit was sold to you by sherlock bbc or the big bang theory or shit like that, so geeks and especially millenials were HIGHLY arrogant and gatekeeping (i mean uss callister was yet to happen, in the meantime we actually head star trek into darkess coming out tbh). add that to the western way of white saving everyone and pull the discourse from a higher position of somebody morally dominant and 'progressive' and you will get quite a sick mental cocktail to spoil everybody more or less geeky and intellectual stepping into the online fandom game, especially if you faced bulling in school before that or smth... that shit alltogether can make you this arrogant main character with savior complex, fr, and I am horrified to see that in modern fandm teens cause THEY HAVE NO IDEA where it can lead them, yet I sadly do.

well /dark batman music theme/ let me tell you where it can get you you little arrogant social justice dick reading this

back in the day I as I told you I knew a girl who did some AOT fanfiction which you guys as I did by the time would call problematic. because that's what you see online right? a person writing some hateful words in their art online. basically puting a negative emotion of hate and only that emotion, not what stands behind it and creates it - you're to arrogant to see that, so you judge that little hateful teen (the fact that we are making teens feeling negative things 'problematic' is some sick shit to begin with in the first place - they are teens they are SUPPOSED to feel these things, the world is going at them, come on). that fact that I was arrogant to judge her even though we had an attempt at friendly conversation and understading each other... basically it locked her up - if a person judges you, you don't wanna talk to that person, you close from that person right? yep. that's what she did... as somebody who was ACTUALLy bullied by everybody by the time, literally by everybody from her social circle - and she WOULD tell me if she would trust me enough and if I wouldn't judge her, thus I would give her shelter orgs and psychiatrists or smth, I knew some by the time so could help.

thing is the girl - tw here - killed herself. I got to know that stuff from her then-time bf who came in his riddler era to avenge me later in 2020 and for damn sure he hated my arrogant ass as I was an adult who knew his gf and had recouses for giving helo yet not the knowledge of the girl's sutiation, and not to mention we are from the same city btw. bruh my mental image crumbled right before me and in intence karma hit I tried to repeat this girl's fate TWICE since 2020, and second attempt was here in Krk after I escaped Kharkiv in 2022, this year's June. I considered myself not worthy of life and happiness because I didn' see her troubles back then.... ugh.... call that catholic gulit of smth, but I am eating myself to this day. many say - this doesn't help actually and you need to live and help the living, not to crumble over the dead ones. but for damn sure I feel the guilt EVEN THO I am not her abusive classmates or older 'protectors'.

Social justice is sometimes arrogant and blind and it SHOULD NOT BE goddammit, stop and reflect on yourselves - are you really that morally right?

Also dear gen z and gen alpha

Those who have an ok social circle of family and friends - pls drop ya phone and get to them RIGHT NOW. For those who escape to the digital world from abusive surroundings - bruh some of us out there are arrogant as shit, but please tell your pains and seek for help I beg ya, and seek for shelter in REALITY, cause YOUR REALITY is abusive in the first place and just running into the virtual world sadly won't save ya, you need a safe space irl as well fr.

That's my message of this awful Batman Daredevil and oh my god Lenny Bellardo kinnie I am in my 30s. It is not told in calm voice, I am screaming here to ya. Shit will get fucked fr. Take care of these things pls.

P.S. as tho my arrogancy in that interaction was real - these folks, oh the irony, used my guilt to put not just her death on me (even tho it's on her abusers), but also the mess in the workplace of my ex boss - not to mention she later put the death of an ex colleague on me (jeez she died because of being overwelmed by activism she did during the war so this is ON OUR ATTACKERS DAMMIT) cause it was so suitable to force me into guilt for something I am not responsible for, so she and these folks became as ugly in social justice as I am LOL. Such an irony of things turning back at them right? All these people are Ukr refugees like me btw. We all have to learn fron this.

[unohanabbygirl]

Back at it again with a giant ask about a FMN and HIPS crossover. Thank you so much for giving me the time of day. Onwards! I’m obsessed with idea of artwork and the way it exists in your reincarnated universe. Is it a slap in the blacks/Osferth’s face that Aemond surrounds himself with depictions of Luke’s assault? It’s so fucked up for Aemond to try to convince Rhaenyra and everyone that he is changing, wants to be better and is good enough to meet Osferth, but then spends hours upon hours surrounded by expressions of the horrific crime that happened? Would you say that the blacks can see right through him and know that while he’s not proud of the assault, he takes narcissistic pleasure in being remembered by history? “Please let Osferth know I called” Aemond says while staring at a romanticized depiction of the assault he committed. Can you imagine Heleana taking the children to visit Aemond at work and they walk down a hallway to his office with all those paintings leading the way? Or if Maelor and the twins learned about him in school and THEN remembered and felt sick knowing he was their uncle but Alicent/Helaena encourages them to give him a chance? Imagine r*pe apologist Alicent trying to keep the truth from them but like the internet exists?? It would be interesting in that scenario that the more Alicent pushes the narrative that Aemond was the victim or Luke was a liar as a way to rally the targtowers, she just ends up isolating herself and Aemond even more? It would be INSANE for Alicent to drag all of them to church including Helaena’s kids only to have the priests start on about how evil Aemond was and the sin he committed against the Mother. So much of FMN is these two groups coming together so it’s fascinated to see the same people again so polarized. Also it would be SO dope to have Daeron and Luke meet first because Daeron wouldn’t recognize him? He remembers Like as children vaguely but had no idea he was this amazing as a teen.

You mentioned that Daella was an omega…since it’s modern times and medicine is so much better can we please have great granny Daella alive and well and she’s one of Luke’s mentors? They don’t even know their connection!

I also have to ask that since it’s an abo verse in the FMN universe, does Luke still go through the trauma you’ve written as his back story? The repeated abuse, Owen’s presence, and his case? I would imagine that with scents—to put it crudely—teachers and government officials in charge of his foster care would be able to smell if he was being abused? Since he’s an omega does he actually end up in a much better situation when placed in foster care bc I would think that special treatment is given to omegas? Honestly I feel like the trauma he’s gone through in FMN plus HIPS is a little TOO angsty. Especially with this last chapter of FMN showing the way repeated assaults have just utterly destroyed his sense of self worth and remembering would just prove to himself that HE’S the problem. To know that this didn’t just happen to him in modern times but also in a previous life seems too much to bear.

In a different line of thought, I know some of us may tend to skip over this when reading because we want the drama, but wealth and class are a huge presence in FMN. Could you expand on what it’s like for the targtowers not to have access to that? I can’t remember if they are using Viserys’ money or if Alicent is also well off. It’s easy to share the wealth when all is forgiven, but in this scenario I don’t see Vizzy giving any money over to them solely because of what Aemond did to Luke. Also…what’s Rhaenys like in this? I remember from the original post of the HIPS drabble that she brings Luke back to KL thinking he is one of Corlys side pieces which kicks off the whole reunion. What’s it like for her to be in the presence of a Luke who doesn’t remember who in the past she unwittingly forced from his sanctuary? I feel like the whole family would be terrified of spending too much time with him because they DON’T want him to remember. Of course some of these questions may be difficult to answer since both stories are unfinished. We don’t yet know a lot of the behavior of the blacks bc unlike in canon, Luke returns to them with Osferth.

Of course! I love this crossover so much and I’d be more than happy if you kept the questions coming so long as you have them ☺️

As for your first question; Aemond knows his obsession with such artwork is more than a bad look for him in this journey to prove he’s a changed man and earn Rhaenyra’s trust in order to actually be allowed contact with Osferth. Because of this he’d more than likely keep his interest a secret for as long as possible despite filling his life with horrid depictions of his worst crime. However, I imagine it would all come out in the open after Egg takes a school trip to the museum Aemond works at and spots him in a trance with a very explicit piece of Luke’s assault. It’s enough to make Egg’s stomach churn as his classmates also express their discomfort with the piece.

Of course the first thing Egg does is text his mom before snapping a picture as evidence since he’s no different from the rest of the blacks in completely being against Aemond having contact with Osferth. And this little infatuation is more than a enough evidence to prove that he doesn’t deserve it. After all, how would Osferth fell knowing his father tries to constantly relive the worst act committed against his muna?

This ends with a “family” meeting consisting of both fractions in order to discuss this new development leading Aemond to have no choice but to reveal his new place of work (though he keeps his true reasons for taking up the curator job rather than his original plan to become an archivist to himself)

The meeting is an absolute mess because both sides have their arguments. With the blacks its “why should we believe he’s a different man when he clearly gets some sort of sick satisfaction from surrounding himself with glorified art of what he did to my son/brother. Do you think Osferth would be happy to know this?” and for the greens its “But you all know Aemond has always expressed interest in uncovering and learning as much as he can in regards to history. Is he supposed to find a new passion just because those artworks happen to he there? There isn’t a single museum in the country that don’t have similar paintings available for viewing.”

The meeting ends without coming to a valid middle ground and on continues the internal fighting among them all. And though both Alicent and Helaena know their argument was bs seeing as Aemond could easily find a position that doesn’t involve surrounding himself with such violent art, they can’t help but be on his side. For Alicent it’s because she truly sees no wrong in her sons actions because “it was Luke’s sinful nature that seduced my son.” While for Hel it’s simply because she feels its her duty to remain at her mother and brothers side. This in turn leads down the path of Maelor and the twins learning what their uncle is remembered for.

This is one thing the greens (except Daeron) have never actually taken into consideration. Hel’s kids aren’t going to remain naïve children forever. They’re growing by the day and the kiddy lenses they view the world through are slipping off with time. I feel that its when the twins reach their 6th grade year that they learn the total extent of Aemond’s actions during a history lesson. They want to learn more which leads them to researching more at a friends house after school. Long story short it leaves them feeling sick with a sense of betrayal towards their family. Their eldest uncle may be less than kind to others but he’s always been good to them. It causes them to look back at their immediate families actions and it makes a lot of sense. Daeron’s constant malice towards Aemond and Alicent, their grandmother’s outdated faith to the old ways of the seven (which I feel would be similar to the old Testament) as well as her constant attempts to shield them from learning about history, I.e. keeping them from viewing any history channels and putting child block on certain sites. Their mother has always seemed uncomfortable with Alicent’s approach at making sure they’re blind to the truth and now they know why.

I don’t think either of the twins would be the type to approach Alicent head on but the shift in energy towards both her and Aemond would make their new knowledge obvious. This in turn leads to an immediate trip to Sunday service the next day to quote “wash away the lies” but it all gets thrown back in her face when the septon begins preaching of “respecting the holy omega” and “all who’ve done wrongs towards embodiment of the mother in any way shall burn”

Its safe to say the trip back home is VERY silent.

Daeron meeting Luke first would be a good choice because he practically has no idea what a young Luke looks like since all memories of his nephew are from when Luke was grown. He’d likely have no idea that Luke Rivers is actually Lucerys and thus form a genuine friendship with this rebellious and carefree omega who’s so different from his high society Peers Alicent encourages him to befriend. I’d even say Luke treats him like a little brother despite being a year younger. For the first time in his life Daeron feels like he’s in good hands, which makes sense once the truth comes out.

I love the idea of great-granny Daella! Maybe she works at a foster center and feels a strong connection with this amazing young man before taking him under her wing. Telling him stories of her youth and giving advice on how to navigate the world while still being true to himself. I feel she’d 100% think of adopting Luke herself after some years go by without this sweet boy finding a forever family but her higher ups tell her it wouldn’t be permitted. I can imagine her going on about Luke to her daughter and granddaughter all the time and it makes Nyra cry because all she can imagine is her own lost son. Maybe it would come to the point where she brings them to meet Luke during one of the centers field day for the younger kids where the older teens help out and bam! Family reunion. Though I think such a revelation would give granny a bit of an anxiety attack 😭

Since Luke has already been through sexual trauma in his past I would completely change his current storyline. As you said, its all way too angsty and feels like putting Luke through abuse for the sake of it which i’m not a fan of. To know he’s been assaulted in both lives would likely send Luke down a path of contemplating hurting himself in a surge of hopelessness. It’s way too cruel for comfort. While this Luke has been in crappy foster homes and even been groped without his permission once or twice, he’s certainly never experienced r*pe or a forced sex act of any kind. Nor has he shot up the heavier drugs such as milk of the poppy.

However the question of if public officials could smell if a child was being hurt in that way is an interesting one because there are so many possibilities that along come with it. People can in fact smell the scent of abusers on children in the system along with their fear which make the chances of creeps trying anything incredibly low but sometimes a r*pist throw caution out of the window during extended holiday breaks in the school year since there’s enough time for the “smell” to wash off naturally along with long forced shower. Scent blockers have the ability to conceal this quite easily but there are many limits such as age and reason. If a child hasn’t presented yet for example.

Getting your hands on these isn’t an easy task; you have to have an actual reason for why you need the blockers, multiple doctor’s visits and received many sign offs as proof to whatever pharmacist that your prescription is valid. Think of it like getting a Percocet prescription. There are so many current barriers in place that even when prescribed by your doctor for a valid reason pharmacist will still turn you away.

Even with these measures put in place there’s always someone things illegally so the possibility of predators abusing this drugs to cover their crimes remains.

If Owen does exist in this au i’d rather have him be the way older boyfriend who sometimes snorts coke and is a bit of a weirdo but overall is harmless loser who works at the local 7/11

What makes this s Luke different is that he’s experienced a much better life due to his status since there are a multitude of precautions in place to make sure such a vulnerable percentage of the population remains safe. All omega homes and government programs keep them together with older omegas to act as a guiding hand. I can also imagine something akin to an omega protection act. Luke’s omega status has saved him from so much trauma in this life, a complete 180 from the past and will overall serve to help give him faith for both his and Osferth’s safety once his memories return.

The question of class and wealth is one I always love answering because there’s so many way’s which their money and connections affect their lives. In the original story Alicent’s money is her own BUT it was Nyra, Daemon and Viserys that got her out of the mud so she could build herself up. Since their relationship is so strained in this AU Alicent would find herself marrying into high class through lies of her true connections to the Lannister’s (not to mention she’s a Tully despite technically being a bastard. But unsurprisingly she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge it.) Alicent would definitely go about the path of seducing a way older man whose the head of a great house (maybe Baratheon?) and slipping her way into his will before its light’s out. It hurts her mentally in way since she’s basically repeating the past step for step. Yet she’s so used to her past life of absolute luxury that remaining a working class citizen is beneath her in her mind. Because of this Aegon/Hel and Aemond/Daeron would have different fathers which is it’s own can of worms.

Now that I think about it, giving her last two children brown hair and eye’s is a fun idea to play around with. While Aegon and Helaena have traditional Lannister looks from their father it would be a huge hit to Aemond’s self esteem to have “basic” coloring. Not to mention that it would basically make the resemblance between him and Osferth that much more striking…gonna think about this some more. But back to my point—

Alicent still finding a way to slither her way into wealth is a hit to the Rhaenyra big time. It just goes to show that she’ll never truly escape Alicent’s nasty ways. The upperclass are in such a tight-nit circles therefore they’re all forced to interact and play nice to keep up a good image for both their peers and the public. I can imagine that once some years pass and everyone comes together that gala’s, banquet’s, and all that jazz are so tense. Especially when its the kids who are forced to interact at nice events that are full of pressure to lay on the nice-nice act thick.

As for Rhaenys, her hope to make up her mistakes to Luke is even stronger in this crossover because if it hadn’t been for her, Luke and Osferth would’ve remained happy and carefree in their peaceful lives. Luke wouldn’t have been forced to deal with the judgment of the entire realm on his back and Osferth would never be exposed to such nastiness that comes with royalty and nobility. All the boy has ever known is pure love so the switch to being looked at as dirt beneath people’s shoes is so much to handle. And though Rhaenys never intended for her actions to destroy their little slice of heaven its still an action that changed their lives drastically. Rhaenys would definitely find herself trapped in a constant battle between wanting Luke to remember so she can express her regret and attempt to make it up, and wanting him to remain oblivious so he doesn’t have to deal with trauma from his past.

But in all of this it’s truly Osferth who lost the most from Luke being separated from the rest. While he has a solid incredibly loving family, who he truly needs is his mother. For so long they were all one another had. True soulmates in every way. It’s heartbreaking because he’s the one who has to deal with the history lessons in school, the disgusting art and public opinions when it comes to his mom who never wanted more than to live in peace.

[keysimash]

This is all FAST AND LOOSE general STUFF and not hard canon/hard timeline

But it started bc I was thinking how the fact Sectonia and Taranza are spiders.... they are bugs. How would a big bug society work on a fundamental level

Loooooooong post

And the Floralians who rebelled against queen Sectonia and planted the seed in triple Deluxe were NOT buggies. Curious

So spiders. Spiders are CARNIVORES. Spiders can.be CANNIBALS after mating. Spiders PRODUCE SILK, AN EXTREMELY

Good material

SILK IS SO STRONG. AND VERSATILE. the only reason we dont use it is cos spiders are impossible to farm because, the cannibalism

Unless you make a sentient spider segregation hellstate

Let me ECPLAIN

SO there's a lot of bugs we see in trpldlx . And I was thinking, how many of these bugs would have "value" in a capitalism sense. Value doesnt come from what you can produce but like. They live in a society. Joker face. Anyway Spiders have their silk and bugs are SUPER STRONG for their size so, laborers I imagine

Also. They can FLY

And I was considering how their fucked up mating habits might affect their culture and society

It's very easy to imagine on an isolated island whose only export is bug produced goods that are in extreme high demand by the rest of the world, AND THESE GUYS ARE CARNIVORES, SO they cant exactly go into other countries who will welcome them with open arms, because in my au there is a STRONG disdain and racism for the "scary" species. So they are isolated, their choices are live on the islands of Floralia or live in a place that will treat them like dangerous foreigners where they cant even make a living selling their own silk/goods because Floralian silk is WAYY cheaper

So a ruling class emerges. Ones who don't have the disadvantages bugs do. Ones who look cute cuddly and acceptable to the world who can do business anywhere they go . Flower ppl

You can guess where this is going

And obvs it's not totally a racial thing. There are ruling class bugs and plenty of poor floaty flower ppl.

Housing in Floralia is also CRAZY expensive bc it's an ISLAND and so are imports/food because NO FARMLAND. Bc of this and the carnivorism . It gets really bad for anyone poor aka most.

Also bugs and spiders esp have weird gender roles that increase suffering all around. Female spiders tend to get very vERY VIOLENT bc hormones and hunger after mating but even tho this only happens if they're preggo they're treated as little more than crazy animals and only male spiders are "civilized" and allowed to do things like learn to read and go to school. A females job is to make eggs and silk to support the family until she dies and the males get to do the business and what they can to try and become part of the ruling class except they cant bc SPIDER. Also since ALLL BUGS make CRAZY amounts of babies.... many exports of omnivore or herbivore bugs are straight up... "laborers" aka slaves to countries with less scrupulous morals. king ddd doesnt allow this but uhh. Many others.... do.

Cue sectonia and Taranza meeting as young teens. Sectonia is the product of a society that has fucked her in ways indescribable and unimaginable. Taranza inherited a bookstore from his uncle and is one of the few somewhat well off spiders. Not quite living paycheck to paycheck so to speak but very aware of his position in society and how easily that could be taken away

Taranza loves her but cant imagine being with her as a mate due to the ways love and violence are tangled up in their world. Sectonia realizes and is disgusted by him for this but they stay friends bc hhe is nice and teaches her to read

They both desire change and he and Sectonia start a secret radio broadcast spreading their message to other bugs etc and start learning how to make.... very effective weapons

bombs its bombs

Taranza in my au uses a bow and arrow type make from his own silk and a bolt of magic he shoots. He can pull a strand of silk and point and shoot anytime he wants.

Sectonia uses earth magic that makes gems and crystals like in the game

So, they did a magic process, where they actually switched hands. One of Taranza six hands is Sectonias. One of her hands, is his. This way they can use a bigger variety of magic. Taranza can make an arrow of crystal that explodes into shrapnel on impact. A weapon to maim. Or just make a crystal dagger.

And with Taranza hand, Sectonia can use a little bit of the dark magic Taranza started teaching himself for The Cause. Mind manipulation and necromancy.

His little notebook? His little diary.

That's a Grimoire baby

They gathered a large enough group and did some silly violence and took control . And this actually was GREAT for the bugs. The minority flower people, even the poor innocent ones, not so much ! The two had made into a racial thing rather than a class thing, and many innocent ppl were tortured and slaughtered, though work began on making bug society better for bugs, and the fact SECTONIA, a FEMALE SPIDER, was heading it all?? girlbOSS!!! AMAZING for female rights.

ALSO. A lot of the people that were

Executed under Sectonia --

That were important enough to be in charge of existing govt positions

Were kept around as zombie puppets by our little necromancer Taranza to carry out Her will

Michael afton ass. Except he didnt kill and zombify innocent kids but instead financial ministers and military generals

Complicated situation.

And the world that waNTS these goods for CHEAP? That wants an endless supply of SPIDER SILK AND SLAVES???

Bad ! Bad!!!

They are quickly labeled a terrorist state, and many other countries quickly send in their own militaries to put an end to this NOW NOW.

Sectonia and Taranza predicted this.

Sectonias particular crystal she was attuned to, is known as Loftstone, because in large enough quantities, it floats.

Theyd positioned the floating islands of Floralia, powered by loftstone deposits, above a large settlement of bugs who'd tried to escape Floralia years beforr and settled on the ground. The ground above a very large and unstable loftstone deposit.

The militaries came, and

taranza and Sectonia had prepared a spell for this.

They ripped an entire city out of the earth, combining their powers in a necromancy spell that created a new floating island for Floralia, killing almost all the soldiers that their own militaries didnt kill with their flying abilities.

What their propaganda doesnt want you to know is that thousands of their own died in the process

Anyway! Nobody wants to mess with Floralia now!!!

CUE META KNIGHTS LANDING AND SUDDENLY

DREAMLAND has an extremely powerful alien that's also a killing machine....

Sectonia goes

NUTS!!!

She cant let it happen again!!! Not to her bugs!!! The planet NEEDs to be powerful enough to fend ooff an alien attack!!

Sectonia and Taranza are also horrifically,xenophobic and racist lol

They "capture" and torture Meta for a while as you know from that one fic I wrote

Tama knight doesn't like Floralia doing this to his reflection . Not one bit

During this time Sectonia had fallen in love with and next in line for the throne was a bee lady

She is still a spider at this point

Tama knight does a silly.little political assassination!! Shoots Sectonia right in the head, in front of her gf and problematic boytoy at a speech in front of thousands

Taranza goes nuts!!!

He is a necromancer. This CANNOT happen. This WILL NOT HAPPEN

It doesnt matter if she hates him. It doesnt matter if she kills him . All that matters is that

She is alive again.

He asks for the consent of her lover, to use her body as a vessel to bring back the woman they both love more than themselves.

The contract is sealed in blood.

Taranza forcefully drags sectonias soul back to the living. Her body is . Irreparable. Her lovers body becomes hers. And her lover is banished into darkness.

Every time she sees herself she sees the woman she once loved. Still loves.

Sectonia hates Taranza until the day she dies.

And Taranza will love her until the day he dies.

(Also the reason he helped kirby in trpldlx was cos, he realized Sectonia soul was going out of control and didnt want a repeat of the giant spell that killed thousands of their own civilians. He and most of his country hate aliens and he and kirby, are not friends.)

I listened to this song the entire time I wrote this:

Pacing around in my kitchen hands behind my back thinking about how fucked up Taranza and Sectonia get in my au

[urcrookedneighbor]

Wake = Titania

This is a crack theory based on arguably unfounded logical leaps

Important background: Why are the three Fourth House chapters in HtN marked Fourth House? Hmm the Sleeper or Wake are mentioned in the two chapters [3rd is BARISTAR] that barely or don't feature Isaac and Jeannemary (nor Ulysses and Titania) [Chapters 8 (River Bubble!Canaan House arrival) and 30 (Dios apate, minor)].

Therefore, the Sleeper/Wake must somehow be a Fourth House character or have some significant connection to the Fourth House.

And then the wild leap step: Well, we know of Four Fourth House characters and they're Isaac, Jeannemary, Ulysses, and Titania. Ulysses dragged himself and RB 8 into a stoma, never to be seen again. Huh, Harrow the Ninth ended with Ianthe saving John from the same fate and Augustine saying hello from the other side of the stoma. Just like Ulysses.

Hmmm, other theories have reports of lyctors' deaths being greatly exaggerated (Cassie) (Mercy would def have helped her fake her death in the River). I don't recall any physical descriptions of Titania (I would check, but a. crack theory and b. I need to finish typing this and go to sleep). Huh, Wake sure is unusually robust and not insane to the point of incoherence for a revenant. Particularly a non-necromantic revenant. Who lived in her bones and then a sword for nearly two decades. And then possessed a lyctor's corpse. That's not how that's supposed to work.

What if we still only know of Four Fourth House characters? What if Wake is Titania? So many other lyctors were working with (or sleeping with) Blood of Eden. What's one more?

What if going through the stoma reverses lyctorhood? Allowing Titania to be her own person again? Or maybe even mimics the effects of the first Resurrection, revived to life with no memories of what came before but vague senses of emotional truths?

Tl;dr: Wake is somehow connected to the Fourth House and reviving Titania fits with Pyrrha's cav experience and provides a possible answer to what happens when one goes through the stoma, a question I'd argue Harrow the Ninth is asking the reader to consider. New characters are for suckers, secret identities for everyone!

P.S. The reason Abigail shuts down Harrow's adorable coffee shop au is because she accidentally pulled the Teens back into the bubble and Abigail is freaking out bc she thought she already solved that problem. No matter how fun it is to imagine Abigail as a coffee shop au hater.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

I suspect quite a few people on this site don’t realize they are struggling with the effects of chronic trauma. In particular I think more people need to learn about the symptoms of C-PTSD.

Distinct from general PTSD, Complex PTSD is caused by prolonged, recurring stress and trauma, often occurring in childhood & adolescence over an extended period of time. There are many risk factors, including: abusive/negligent caregivers, dysfunctional family life, untreated mental/chronic illness, and being the target of bullying/social alienation.

I’m not a mental health professional and I’m not qualified to diagnose anyone, I just remember a million watt light bulb going off in my head when I first learned about C-PTSD. It was a huge OH MY FUCKING WORD eureka moment for me—it explained all these problems I was confused and angry at myself for having. The symptoms that really stood out to me were:

Negative self-perception: deep-seated feelings of shame, guilt, worthlessness, helplessness, and stigma. Feeling like you are different from everyone else, like something is fundamentally ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ with you.

Emotional avoidance of topics, people, relationships, activities, places, things etc that might cause uncomfortable emotions such as shame, fear, or sadness. Can lead to self-isolation.

Learned helplessness: a pervasive sense of powerlessness, often combined with feelings of desensitization, wherein you gradually stop trying to escape or prevent your own suffering, even when opportunities exist. May manifest as self-neglect or self-sabotage. (I remember watching myself make bad choices and neglect my responsibilities, and having no idea why I was doing it, or how to stop myself. Eventually I just stopped caring, which led to more self-neglect.)

Hyper-vigilance: always feeling “on edge,” alert, unable to relax even in spaces that should feel safe. May be combined with an elevated “flight” response, or feelings of always being prepared to flee. (I used to hide important documents and possessions in a sort of emergency go bag, even when I was living alone and there was no logical reason other than it made me feel “prepared.”)

Difficulty regulating emotions: may include mood swings, persistent numbness, sadness, suicidal idealization, explosive anger (or inability to feel anger and other strong emotions), inability to control your emotions, confusion about why you react the way you do.

Sense of foreshortened future: assuming or feeling that you will die young. Recurring thoughts that "I'll be dead before the age of 30/40/18/21 etc." As a teenager I used to joke darkly that I didn't plan to live past 30—not because I planned to end my life, but because I simply couldn't imagine myself alive and happy in the long-term. I couldn't imagine a meaningful future where I wasn't suffering.

Emotional flashbacks: finding yourself suddenly re-experiencing feelings of helplessness, panic, despair, or anger etc, often without understanding what has triggered these feelings. Often these flashbacks don’t clearly relate to the memory of a single event (since C-PTSD is caused by repetitive events, which can blur together), making them harder to identify as flashbacks—especially if you’ve never heard the phrase “emotional flashback” and don’t know what to look for. For years I just filed it under “sometimes I overreact/freak out randomly for no reason, probably bc I am just a terrible human being.” (It turns out there was very much a reason, it was just hidden in the past. I have since learned to be kinder and less judgemental towards myself.)

There are other symptoms too, here are more links with good info.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile, because I’ve noticed that a lot of the people I interact with online have risk factors and experiences similar to mine. These include:

growing up in a dysfunctional household

having caregivers who do not fulfill basic emotional needs (do not provide consistent positive attention, encouragement, support, acceptance, communication, a sense of safety and security)

on a very related note, experiencing neglect or abuse at the hand of caregivers or other adults. I also want to emphasize the significance of emotional abuse, since it is hard to recognize, easy to ignore, and utterly rampant in so many communities. In general, family dysfunction, abuse & neglect are quite difficult to identify when you are a child/teen and that is the only “normal” you have known.

(For example, in my family it manifested as an emotionally absent father I was vaguely frightened of, constant nagging from a hypercritical mother, and a house full of people who yelled and screamed at each other. It took me years to realize I grew up in an abusive environment, because there was no physical violence, because I participated in the fighting, and because my behavioral problems made me the family scapegoat. And I internalized that guilt: I thought I was the problem. But no—I was a child, and I deserved not to grow up in a household full of anger and fear and negativity. You deserved that too. You deserved to grow up safe and loved and treated with kindness.) 

anyway back to more risk factors:

being neurodivergent or chronically ill (especially without receiving proper treatment/support/accommodation)

being queer (especially in a conservative or undiverse community, or without the support and acceptance of family & friends)

being the target of bullying or harassment (from peers, teachers, authority figures, irl, online, etc)

being isolated or alienated from peers, from family, from your wider community.

growing up with chronic anxiety, discomfort, pain, fear, or distress caused by any of the above and more.

There are many other experiences that can cause chronic trauma, but these are some particularly common ones I see people in my own community struggling with. And I want more people to be aware of this, because we’ve been taught to ignore and second-guess the significance of our traumatic experiences. We’ve been taught to feel guilty for our own pain, because “other people aren’t struggling, so I shouldn’t either” or (contradictorily) “other people have it worse, so I shouldn’t complain.” But that’s not how it works—you are not other people, and you deserve to have it better. We all deserve better. We deserve to be happy. We deserve not to be in pain.

I used to think I couldn’t have a trauma disorder because (I argued in my head) the things that happened to me weren’t that bad. And then I spent five years in therapy learning to accept the full extent of my issues. I’ve since learned that trauma comes in many forms, and can happen quietly, invisibly, silently, chronically, and usually without the survivor being aware of the long-term repercussions of what they are surviving. That revelation comes later, after you have survived and must instead learn to live.

Finally, no single type of trauma is more real or harmful than any other. Severity is measured by the way the individual is affected, and the same situations affect different people in different ways. Because no one gets to choose how their brain reacts to trauma. No one gets to choose their hurt—otherwise there would be a hell of a lot less hurting in the world.

We can, however, choose to seek help. We can learn to recognize when something is wrong, we can learn when to reach out to professionals, and we can learn to educate ourselves on our injuries.

And gradually, we can learn to heal.

(posts like this brought to you by ko-fi supporters)

[wokestonecraft]

Once again seeing posts about radfems only criticize hijabs and not any other religions’ forced modesty like okay lol, this is my time to shine, I have such a bone to pick with Christianity. I had to veil in a Catholic Church to attend my aunt’s wedding. There was a little pamphlet explaining that veiling was a mark of respect towards women, since they were the vessels of life, and compared it to the veiling of the chalice used for the eucharist. My aunt was told by the priest that she better hurry up and start having kids before her womb shriveled up, haha. (She was in her late thirties and desperately wanted kids). I tore off my veil as soon as I got outside and refused to put it back on until my mom made go back inside for the pictures. I was an angry teen girl, and I was made angrier that I would go home in a few days, and have to face more modesty restrictions at my school and in my town. Now, we didn’t have to cover our heads, but shoulders and knees were verboten, and we would make fun of another school where girls had to wear ankle length skirts, because that school was “too strict”. We at least got to wear pants. I remember when my best friend, who had gone through puberty a little bit earlier than rest of us, was pulled aside by a teacher and told in no uncertain terms that she was showing too much cleavage and that she had to go and change. We were in middle school, and she was wearing the same simple crew neck shirts as the rest of us. She cried in the bathroom, and for years afterwards, she would always wear a camisole underneath all her shirts. I just gave up and wore nothing but long pants and skirts so I don’t have to endure the humiliation of having my shorts or skirts measured. I wore jackets all the time, so I wouldn’t have my shirts’ necklines scrutinized. We had similar rules in regards to our sportswear, certain length skirts and shorts, no bellies showing, and no wearing just a sports bra ever. This was particular issues with the girls tennis team, as we started training in late august in the American south, and would get so hot we wanted to strip off our shirts and pour cold water over ourselves. One girl did this, and brought out the school’s principle to yell at us about disrespecting the game, ourselves, and the school. Her shirt went back on. This was really irritating as the boys track team trained at the same time, and not only did the boys run shirtless, they wore the tiniest shorts that left nothing to the imagination. And they were never told off for being immodest. One year, the girls swim team had to take their yearbook photo in their school uniforms instead of their racing one pieces because it was too immodest. The boys team was photographed in their speedos and swim caps.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in the Bible Belt, but I am always hundred percent ready to levy any criticisms at Christianity’s modesty standard. We just didn’t cover our hair, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t still policed with same accusations of “slut” and “whore” when we stepped out of line. I was lucky, in that my parents didn’t particularly care what I wore as long I was neat and clean, but I knew girls whose parents would check over their clothes to make sure that they were modest enough before they went out the door.

I still struggle with wearing certain kinds of clothes. It’s summer right now and I’m wearing jeans, as I never show my legs unless I can help it, lol. The amount of times I skipped out of swimming bc I didn’t want to wear a bathing suite in front of people fills me with regret. My sister struggles from the same issues, and we didn’t even come from a religious family, this is just the attitude our town and region had towards women and girls’ bodies. I think head coverings and face veils are easy to point out, as the face and head are such important parts of human interaction, but modesty standards on general are terrible and should be critised regardless of religion, and I don’t think radfems pull any punches when it comes to Christianity lol.

There are some good books about American Christian modesty and purity culture that helped me to move forward, and well as making me extremely grateful to my relaxed and loving parents, especially my strong and independent mother who did her best to combat what the rest of the world was teaching us. “Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement that Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free” by Linda Kay Klein is heartbreaking personal account of the American evangical purity movement, and I really recommend it to anyone who has been or is going through something similar. “The Purity Myth” by Jessica Valenti discusses how American culture deals with the concept of female virginity, and it’s consequences, and highlights a lot of the religious aspects involved therein. “I Fired God” by is Jocelyn Zichterman is the author’s personal memoirs of her life in and escape from a fundamentalist Baptist cult and it does touch on modesty standards and the consequences. And finally, there’s a book that I think every American radfem should read, which is “Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement” by Kathryn Joyce, which is a harrowing documentation of far right Christianity in the US and the wider world. It’s a tad bit outdated, as some of the major figures discussed, like Doug Phillips of Vision Forum, have fallen in scandal and disgrace, but it’s really important to read, especially in light of how politics in the US are moving against women right now.

[caustic-light]

Okay so why is barely anyone talking about the absolutely off the charts level of amazing body type diversity in this movie?

Like, yeah every main character has their own distinct shape (as should be the case for designs of animated characters anyway) but all of the background cast, too. There is no copy pasting of bodies there, there is no defaulting to a couple different shapes, there is so many fat characters all with entirely different bodies. There is so many skinny characters all with different bodies. They understood that two ppl of the same height and same weight can have vastly different bodies based on weight distribution, bone structure, muscle to fat ratio and so on, and they showed they understand this. And as a result all the recurring background characters are distinct.

Bear with me bc I'm gonna gush about Tyler again, as I am contractually obligated to do in every one of my TR posts, but.

It's a little hard to see if you're not familiar with that kinda body type he has, because he wears multple layers of clothes, including a long shirt that covers his butt, so it's easy to not take notice of how unconventional his design is. But not only is he clearly squishy, despite being in the range of vissibly skinny to most ppl (which is something that is already really fucking rare for character designers to go for) but on top of that, he is also naturally curvy as fuck and has big hips and a pronounced butt. And that is a body type a lot of boys and men have, but do you know how many examples of male animated characters I can come up with of the top of my head who have that kind of body type?

3. Including him. The other two are Miguel from Coco and Takato ftom Digimon Tamers.

I can not put into words how good it feels to see a character who looks the way I used to look when I was thirteen. A body type that most designers pretent doesn't exist. That most ppl will not differentiate from basic skinny boy but that a lot of boys feel so self concious about that they will hide it to pass as generically skinny. Dressing for example the way Tyler doed in the movie.

And I figure it's not just him. I am less personally attatched but I can't come up with a lot of characters from anything that look like Mei either. Or like Miriam. I have seen plenty of young teenagers who look like her but her entire vibe and design consists of traits that i feel are usually restricted to older teen characters.

And that's another thing. These kids are thirteen to fourteen. All of them will be at vastly different levels of development and the movie shows it. It shows all the messed up invetweens of puberty, at the absolute height of awkward and mismatched childlike and adultlike traits. You have characters who look like children, you have characters who would probably pasd as adults by the time they're fifteen and you have so much beautiful awkward transitionary phases.

There is a thing happening where visual media tends to pretent puberty doesn't exist. You have child actors for prebubescent roles and almost all teenage rolls are played by either older teens or adults. The amount of media depicting young teen characters by actual young teen actors peaked in autum 2017 when both IT and Stranger Things did it at roughly the same time and since then has kind of gone back down.

This creates an illusion where we kind of stop seeing kids that age in how we percieve age. We kind of just get used to prepubescent children smoothly transitioning into what may as wrll be smaller and more oyuthful adults. And it fucks up our perception of age on a significant level. Look at the discourse about Call Me By Your Name where people called Elio "visibly a teenager" and Oscar "visibly an adult" when their actors were in their 20s and 30s respectively.

This has consequences and they go beyond the awkward charm of Breakfast Club casting.

Imagine what this does to pubescent teenagers. To see themselves erased from representation because that stage of development is too awkward for TV. Think about what that does to someones mental health.

So yeah, ppl should talk more about the body type diversity in this movie.

[imherongraystairstrash]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but  they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.” 

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more. 

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh. 

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.” 

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.” 

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once. 

“What is in the attic?” 

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.” 

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him. 

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption. 

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.” 

 “That’s…” 

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments. 

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress. 

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.” 

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. 

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday. 

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it. 

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?” 

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.” 

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?” 

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it. 

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other. 

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt. 

 But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

… 

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.” 

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room. 

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room. 

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling. 

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.  

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre. 

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly. 

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.” 

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see. 

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames. 

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s. 

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead. 

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again. 

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

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[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

+

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.