#and i find it a forever curious happenstance

[magicaledford]

I will not pretend to understand my dreams, but this one in parcitular wouldn't leave me alone, where @patricia-taxxon invaded my dreamscape.

[forever-rogue]

Can you do one where reader (who's partners with them) goes on a date and Javi happens to already be at the same bar the date takes place and at one point the reader doesn't feel good so she seeks out Javi and he quickly realizes she's been roofied?

I love protective Javi, but then again, don’t we all?

Warnings: drug mention, mention of violence, mentions of sex but nothing descriptive, language, 18+ only!

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier was a lot of things. A walking contradiction as much as he was steadfast in his ways. When you’d first met him, you’d been severely tempted to punch him right in his smug handsome face with that stupid charming grin, and that singular dumb dimple that already made your heart flutter.

It was your first day on the job, a fresh, brand new agent and the bastard had the nerve to ask you to fetch him a coffee. Not only that, but the way he had the balls to end the request with a slow, drawn sweetheart.

You’d exchanged a wry look with Steve, the golden haired man you already decided you liked much better. He had shrugged innocently and turned back to his papers with what you were positive was a smug little grin on his face. Back then you’d been annoyed, but looking back on it now, several years later, you realized it had been a sort of pseudo-test; to see if you’d meld into Javi’s advances or hold your own.

“No,” you’d told Javier firmly, watching as surprise look slowly crept into his features, “go fuck yourself and get your own coffee, old man.”

You’d never seen Steve laugh harder or Javier more in shock than that morning. To say you had proven yourself to both men was an understatement.

To say you ended up developing feelings for that stupid, dark haired, motherfucker was a gross understatement. Fallen in head first and through stuck in lust love with him was a much more accurate sentiment. Although you would never admit that to him or anyone else, let alone yourself.

Instead you settled on other things.

I love your cock. I love when you fuck me like this. I love when you use your mouth on me.

Yeah...it had quickly turned into that.

But Javier reciprocated in kind.

I love your pussy, just like you were made for me. I love when you get on your knees. I love how you look covered in my cum.

It was a lot of lust turned into love, but neither of you would ever admit that. Besides, it was never going to amount to anything; it was just some stress relief between two coworkers that understood each other more intimately than anyone else. No one knew the horrors of what either of you when through on a daily basis. But the two of you knew, and took solace in that fact.

You weren’t sure when the lines became so blurred, but you were almost positive it was around the same time that Javier made your relationship trysts an exclusive thing. No one else, just you and Javi. And damn. You liked that more than anything else.

But it wasn’t going to last forever; no, you knew that well from the start. What started out a one time thing that slowly stretched into more was never going behind that. You were sure of it, despite how good, how alive and protected and safe he made you feel, it was never going anywhere besides your dirty secret. Even the brightest stars burned out at some point.

Which is why when an agent from another department, a non-noteworthy average man, asked you out for dinner and drinks you said yes. It wasn’t an enthusiastic yes by any means, and the way your eyes had flicked to Javier before you agreed to go wasn’t lost on either of you. But he remained still and said nothing while you offered up a small yes.

Before the end of the day, you’d wandered over to his desk, ready to explain yourself, but he was quick to cut you off, not even looking up from his papers. You’re free to see anyone, Dulzura, he insisted in a gruff tone, have fun.

The part that hurt was the most was the fact that he didn’t bother to stop you as you walked out, even lingering for a moment at the door. The light bit of foolish hope you’d clung onto was for no reason after all. But at least you had an answer now. Javier was nothing more than a release.

»»————-　♡　————-««

All this nodding and smiling was going to give you a sore face and a headache, you realized. For a man that seemed so unassuming, he sure did love talking about himself. At one point when you drifted off from the conversation and let your mind wander, you’d looked across the crowded bar, and noticed him.

Of course he’d decided to come here to unwind after a long. Typical. Part of you momentarily wondered if he’d overheard you making your plans in order to come and watch you, but you weren’t going to flatter yourself that much. Chances, coincidence, mere happenstance. Besides that, it was a popular bar, and not an unsurprising place to find anyone on a Friday night.

But when you’d caught his eye, he offered you only a stiff little half smile, and you could visibly see the muscles in his neck stiffen as you raised your glass lightly in a mock salute. It didn’t a genius to figure out he was in a bad mood.

After some time, when you’d downed your greasy bar food, and finished off yet another drink, you still found yourself unable to handle your date. You couldn’t just sneak out, no that would be too obvious and awkward, especially come Monday when you were all back at the office. Instead, you settled on excusing yourself to use the restroom, hoping that if you spent long enough there he would take the hint.

Slipping off the stool, you almost dashed to the bathroom, making your way through the crowd and brushing against past Javier. He watched you bolt away with a curious expression, wondering what had caused the sudden escape. Internally sighing, he studied the man that was your date and frowned. You could have chosen anyone in the world, preferably him, but you’d chosen David of all the people. The man was a joke, a downright fool, and yet you’d said yes.

Fuck. But he could only blame himself. He’d never made a move, and every time he wanted to, especially after you started falling asleep in his arms, he talked himself out of it. It was just sex and companionship, he was sure of it. And now? Well, he been a fool and missed his chance. He narrowed his eyes at your date, wishing it was socially appropriate to go and beat the shit out of him. But he had reason to, and didn’t need to stir up anything. Instead, he decided to silently simmer, and told himself that he’d cut things off with you soon.

It was the right thing to do. Or so he thought.

He watched as you slowly flounced back and downed the rest of your drink, pretending to be engaged in conversation. He knew that face anywhere; the one you used when you feigned interest. Usually it made him laugh, but no? It caused a pit in the bottom of stomach.

But Javier was determined to stay, to keep an eye on you. Something in his gut was telling him that was something was off. And although he knew his instincts were clouded by his overwhelming feelings for you, he always knew that his feelings were rarely wrong.

So he stayed, long after his own companion had left and watched. Watched as you started acting more odd and more strange as you consumed another drink. It was a dramatic shift from your previous demeanor but your date was unphased. At one point, you swayed dramatically in your stool and almost fell to the floor.

Javier almost jumped to his feet as you straightened up and excused yourself again. He could see you mumbling something as the asshole man in question nodding, giving you a grin not unlike that of a wicked wolf.

Slowly stumbling through the crowd you knew something was off. Nothing felt right and the world seemed woozy and far away. You did however, recognize one thing...well, person. Javier. You wobbled over to him on unsure legs as he leaped to his feet, large, strong hands going to your waist to steady you.

“Javi,” your mouth felt heavy and dry and his name came off more than a whimper, a pathetic plea, as you met his dark eyes. His expression was somewhere between intense concern and furious anger as he helped to sick you down in the both, shoving a glass of water at you, “I don’t feel good. Feels weird...wrong. I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Look at me, Dulzura,” he gentle took your chin in his hand as he tried to study your face, but your head kept wanting to lull around. He gritted his teeth as he quickly put two and two together. A growl, primal and instinctive sounded deep in his throat as he look back at your date. Your date that was suddenly mysteriously disappeared.

The rat bastard had made a hasty escape as soon as you saw go to Javi.

He was a dead man.

“Javi,” you mumbled softly, “can you help? Please? I know you hate me now, but I dunno what to do.”

“I could never hate you,” he insisted as he held up the water for you to drink. You made quick work of downing it, feeling slightly less parched than before but still as miserable. Javi easily scooped you up in his arms, clutching you tightly to his chest as you mumbled incomprehensible things, “we’re going home. I’ve got you now.”

“’s okay Javi,” you managed to get out as you buried your head in his chest, “‘iloveyou.”

He stiffened at your words, unsure if you’d actually said those words, or if he was just a hopeful fool. Either way, that wasn’t his name concern at the moment. Getting you safe and into bed was top priority.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“J-Javi?” your voice cracked on his name as you realized just how dry your throat still was. Blinking the bleariness out of your eyes, you studied your surroundings, only realizing after a few moments that you were in his bedroom. A tall glass of water was on his bedside table, along with some pain killers. You took both without hesitation.

On cue, almost as if he could sense you were awake, a soft knock came on the door before he slowly opened the door. He let out a long exhale of relief when he realized you were awake and seemingly okay. Your eyes were wide and worried with your lips pulled into a small frown.

“How are you feeling?” he came in and sat at the foot of the bed, studying you with those eyes you swore you could see right into your soul. You shrugged as you set the glass down and tried not to cry.

“Alright I guess,” you sighed, feeling like an idiot, “I’m a fool. I can’t believe I let that happen. I don’t know I didn’t see it last night...I’m a fucking DEA Agent and I can’t tell when I’m getting drugged. I should be fired and sent right back home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he reached over and gave your knee a gentle squeeze, “it could have happened to anyone. Please don’t blame yourself for it. That guy was a fucking asshole.”

“Javier,” you leaned forward and reached for his hand, taking it gingerly in yours as you studied it. His dominant hand, as well as the other was covered in cuts and bruises, all sorts of colors already and swollen. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as your mouth dropped open, “what happened....Javi. Oh, Javier, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is...”

“He had it coming,” was all he said as he held your hand in his, holding onto it protectively, “he’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I thought about it...”

“What if he tells-”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Javier-”

“Listen,” he stopped you gently, “I had been thinking about doing it all night. From the moment I saw him with you. This just gave me a reason to do it.”

“What do you mean?” you bit your bottom lip as you met his eyes, the two of you watching each other with a silent intensity as you tried not to let your hopes get the better of you. Javier reached up and gently touched your cheek, brushing his fingers over your soft skin and stopping at your lips, “please don’t say something you don’t mean. Please.”

“Why do you think I won’t mean it?” he asked as you dropped his gaze, playing with your hands as you tried to keep your heart from beating out of your chest, “god, I’ve fucking meant it for years. I just can’t ever say it, but when I saw you with that piece of shit, I knew. I should have just-”

“I love you,” and just like that those three words the both of you had danced around for years were out in the air. And it had been so easy, so simple - effortless. But it didn’t stop the nerves, the fear of rejection, the fear of the unknown. You chanced a peek at him, watched as a look of sheer panic crossed his features before settling into the softest expression you’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a slight nod of head, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, “that’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“Say it then, asshole,” you laughed lightly, feeling your heart settle as your normal rapport started to bubble through, “or you can kiss my ass.”

“I’m not opposed to that-”

“Javier,” you jokingly groaned as he pulled you forward, but just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, “some things never change, huh?”

“Nope,” he laughed, “but it’s true.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

[yan-twst]

OMG 1000 is a big number cONGRATULATIONS ! mmmM i was thinking, maybe yandere!scarabia & octavinelle with a genie! s/o ? they have the lamp like in aladdin :o

warnings: general yandere content, implied violence (in floyd’s part)

kalim al-asim

there’s been tales of genies in lamps for years in the land hot sands- there’s plenty of myths and stories he grew up hearing. of course, the chance of actually finding such an artifact were slim, nearing to impossible

so stumbling into a lamp and accidentally unleashing a genie was needless to say, a huge shock. of course, with his happy and cheery attitude, he didn’t waste any time in befriending the genie- honestly, his three wishes are pushed to the back of his mind

at first, he’s eager to show this genie the outside world. how long has it been since they saw the world? have they ever been in a huge feast? kalim says he wants to show them the world- although it’s quite clear to everyone else he’s enjoying their company a bit too much

a human courting a genie is just... unheard of. kalim’s genie is confused, but oh, he’s so sweet! they really can’t sense any dark intentions from him; and he doesn’t, really. the twisted love that blooms in his heart isn’t a bad intention, it’s simply how he loves

kalim takes full advantage of the fact his darling has been stuck to his side since they were awakened, even without he himself realizing it. they trust him; his affection seems to be so pure they can’t help but return it, he’s gifting them jewelry and silk  despite them being the genie, he doesn’t even mention his wishes...

... which is how it’s just so easy to be slowly entrapped by him. oh, genies are cunning and smart: genies are supposed to outsmart greedy humans, to twist their wishes around and make them suffer by their own words. but kalim isn’t greedy, he isn’t one of those slimy creeps who try to use a genie to cheat and win at life... and so his gentle and cheery demeanor is what it takes to slowly isolate and drive his darling into a corner

when they realize what he’s doing- keeping their lamp away from them, keeping them quite literally locked in like some sort of housepet- they panic. they should be in control here. they have to give him his wishes so they can leave. but nothing can compare to the look of hurt in kalim’s face when his genie finally tells him to just go and make his wishes

“if i make three wishes, won’t you leave...? i don’t want you to leave.” kalim is serious when he says this. he doesn’t care what he could wish for (he has wealth, he has friends, he’s happy). all he wants is them. he wants them, he wants to love them; he’s become hopelessly attached

it’s a tricky situation. kalim’s hidden their lamp god knows where, claiming it’s “to keep it safe”, he’s blocked off all escape routes, and they’re technically still his, he is their master until all his wishes are completed. he keeps acting as if nothing’s weird- he almost treats them as if they were just a human lover, happily talking about the future he’ll share with them

there’s still hope, right...? kalim’s genie can only hold onto the hope that as years pass, greed will corrupt the heir and he’ll give in and cash in his wishes, and that’ll free them. of course he won’t, he isn’t the sort of person who’d do that- they... know him well enough now, to be able to know he’s just not the kind of man who’d be so easily swayed. 

perhaps it’s better this way. they’re not human, but kalim seems to be trying to ignore that. if they press too much- if they try to tell him it’s just not how things should be, genies aren’t supposed to be kept around like this- it’s not going to accomplish anything. kalim may be gentle, but he’s possessive. if anything, they might get him to use up one single wish; and he’ll wish for them to stay with him forever, as his lover for the rest of his life.

jamil viper

like kalim, he’s grown up hearing stories about genies in lamps found in the land of hot sands. he also knows how cunning and sharp genies are in the stories; how wishes are turned around, how they make it so someone’s dearest wish backfires

so of course, when he accidentally unleashes a genie when cleaning what he thought was just an oil lamp forgotten in a corner of the treasury, jamil knows better than to immediately give in to his impulse of using his wishes

jamil may even taunt the genie- do they think he’s just going to foolishly make a wish and let them twist his own words against him? he also relishes on how the genie refers to him as a master; it’s... truly a nice change for once

he’s quite shocked that the genie isn’t like those described in myths. they aren’t an old or ghostly looking figure; especially once they’re entirely out of the lamp, they actually look just like any other human. if it weren’t for the slightly outdated jewelry, they wouldn’t look too out of place... they’re quite pretty, really...

jamil tells himself he’s keeping them around because he wants to “think out his wishes properly”. and it is true, he wants to make sure his three wishes are all perfect, but... he cannot deny how nice it is to have someone who’s objectively his. he is the superior here, he’s the master

is it... can he be in love with a genie? they do look so human; they’re so cute with how they try to pressure him into making his wishes, all the while trying to be respectful to their master. he adores how they squirm when he threatens to lock away or destroy their lamp if they keep telling him to hurry and make his wishes, how they’re always so grateful when he brings them food despite them not needing it

finally, jamil has his wishes done. it takes months of pondering; they have to be perfectly worded, he can’t have his darling little genie tricking him, can he? boiled down, his wishes are quite simple: he wants the viper family to be released from servitude to the al-asim family, he wants to be powerful and independent in the future, and...

oh, and he wants to own them and keep them by his side forever. he makes it quite clear- they’re going to be his lover, they’ll be nice and obedient, and do as he acts. after all, he’ll make sure to remember them that he’s still their master; not being allowed to leave despite the wishes being done, being kept in his room as some sort of housepet

azul ashengrotto

a genie in a lamp, a nearly divine creature who can grant any wish... when he was younger, that would have been azul’s dearest wish; however, now that he’s older, he takes more pride in the fact he got where he is with his own work

so finding a magic lamp all of a sudden is... jarring. he’s long past the days he’d wish for a genie or some divine intervention to make his wishes come true, to not be mocked or bullied; so when he’s asked to make three wishes... he doesn’t know

instead, he sees an opportunity. not only are genies a rare find, but this particular genie is just so beautiful; he’s careful with his words. while he thinks of his wishes, won’t they stick around? perhaps help around the lounge? it would be quite an unique experience, wouldn’t it?

he keeps the lamp locked away, trying to distract them from the fact. he’s advertising their appearance, flaunting the “real genie working in the lounge”, showing them off in the clothes and jewelry they came with when they came out the lamp

it’s easy for azul to become obsessed with them. they can grant any wish to anyone, but they’re his, he controls them now. If he has them, nobody else does. It’s his business to make deals to make people’s wishes come true- it wouldn’t be good for him to let them go, right...? 

his smooth talking is good enough to be able to make requests and convince them to do as he pleases without it quite counting as a wish. it flusters and stresses them out, but to azul, he doesn’t mind

he becomes possessive over them; to the point he’ll attempt to use ‘it’s a deal’ on their ability to grant wishes. they don’t need that; they have him!

he doesn’t want them to be able to go, to be able to leave him. his wanting to keep them around for business reasons slowly becomes him craving their attention and approval. he’ll only ever use one wish: they cannot leave him, ever.

jade leech

oho, a genie? what a curious happenstance. jade seems to take the situation with his usual calm and tempered attitude

perhaps he’s so gentlemanly and perfect, that when the genie first looks at him, there’s no way for them to imagine the way this gentle-faced man will make things go

at first, jade acts innocent. so they’re a genie? how interesting- so they can grant wishes? oh, three wishes then? what are the terms? the conditions? of course he already knows the answers- myths and stories about genies are common- but it’s clear it’s working. he can tell the genie seems to be happy to explain, maybe even charmed by his ‘naivety’

jade plays his cards slowly. he’ll figure out what his genie knows and doesn’t, how long they’ve been stuck inside the lamp; oh, it must have been so lonely there! he takes his time acting like the sweetest gentleman to them, lowering their guard

 and then he makes his first wish

they aren’t allowed to leave or disobey him, ever

the panic is almost immediate when he says this. he’s been a perfect gentleman, a kind master- so why now does he make this wish all of a sudden-?

once he’s made sure that he’s got them where he wants them, jade indulges in his lover. yes, they’re his lover now; it’s not like they have much choice

if they disobey, then he has no trouble shoving them back into the lamp- perhaps he’ll do so when he can’t keep his eye on them, taunting them and making them suffer

they’ve gotten so used to being around jade, of living in the world, being left back in the lamp is suddenly jarring. it’s so lonely, so cold; even though they should be furious at him, they cannot help but suddenly feel calm when he lets them out, when they’re in another being’s presence once again, even if it’s the man forcing them to play the part of his lover

floyd leech

waaah, what’s this? a genie? why��re they hiding in a lamp, like a hermit crab? that’s quite funny, isn’t it?

floyd’s first instinct is to just squish ‘em in a hug. little hermit crab is just sooo cute! why were they hiding in there, all alone?

when a very flustered genie explains they’re actually supposed to grant him three wishes and not, uh, be hugged around, floyd isn’t particularly surprised

three wishes, huh? hmm, sounds interesting

he’ll blow his first two wishes in random, useless things. maybe he’ll wish to run into riddle just to tease him, or maybe he’ll wish the cafeteria will serve his favourite food

... but he doesn’t want to make his last wish

floyd doesn’t stop hugging and being handsy with his genie- or as he calls them, his hermit crab- he can’t let go of them! they’re the perfect little plaything!

and suddenly he just refuses to make the last wish and let them go. they try to ask nicely; doesn’t he have another wish? he can ask for anything, they’ll make it come true!

and suddenly floyd holds them by the neck, eyes darkened- why do they want to leave him so badly? why does his hermit crab want to disappear from his life? don’t they know once he makes his third wish they’ll be gone? do they think he’ll let them?

floyd can be violent in impulse, and it’s clear that they have to tread carefully. trying to press him into making another wish, into freedom, is a ticket to having their ribs painfully crushed in his embrace

stuck as his plaything- a powerful genie, capable of making any wish come true- except the wish for their own wish of freedom

[whirlybirbs]

BEGIN AGAIN ---- i.

summary: after the events of the rise of skywalker, ben solo and rey of jakku make work on gathering and training the next generation of jedi on the planet of ajan kloss. you are a force-user from tattooine. there are two things you’re sure of: there’s much work to do, and you do not like jedi master ben solo. pairing: jedi master!ben solo x jedi!reader word count: 1.6k a/n: this is an au and does contain some spoilers for tros. anyways, i’ve been chipping away at this for a few days now -- merry christmas if you celebrate! if not, happy holidays! here’s my little gift to you.

If someone had asked you where you saw yourself in a year, you wouldn’t have answered, “on Ajan Kloss, of course, running the jungle training course blindfolded, being nipped in the heels by blaster fire from a rusted out JTR-47 droid”.

Certainly, you wouldn’t have explained that you, and many others, were a part of the first class of Jedi to be trained by the legendary Jedi Master Rey of Jakku and Ben Solo-Organa, ex-Sith lord and one of the last Skywalker’s.

But, here you are.

After all, everything changed on Exegol.

Everything.

And when Ben Solo and Rey limped from the carnage of the great hall, force dyad split wide open for the world to see like a raw wound, the war around them began its end in soul quaking violence. The two, bound by the running river of the force, witnessed the end of the Empire -- old and new -- from the cockpit of his Uncle’s old X-Wing.

It’s done.

In the silence of space, they find comfort.

Age old wounds finally begin to heal under the stars.

The war is won.

On Ajan Kloss, Ben Solo falls to his mother’s knees and weeps. Leia Organa cannot remember the last time she held her son -- and for a moment, the whole of the Resistance hangs on the reunion of the last Skywalkers, and the swing of emotions that rush between mother and son through a rekindled home in the lightside of the force.

Leia holds him and Ben smiles for the first time in years.

Everything is different; with the war won, with Palpatine gone...

There’s much work to be done.

Rey is as much his opposite as she is his right hand -- their dyad, though often annoying and terribly troublesome, allows him to have a true friend for the first time in... forever. She is, despite her polarity in approach and attitude, an important part of his life.

And without her, he’s not really sure if this whole rebuilding-the-Jedi-Order thing could happen.

It’s with R2′s help that they locate an age-old holocron buried deep in a temple on Yavin’s third moon -- the names of children who were once designated as ‘gifted’ by the Jedi Order lay in the record. It’s something. The archival piece is nearly rusted shut with age but opens with a delicate tinker when it passes into Ben’s hands.

It’s beautiful.

Pale blue light flickers awake the information inside, presenting a list of names -- a list of lives -- protected deep within the holocron’s humming databank.

When Rey, Ben, Fin and Poe return to Ajan Kloss, hopeful and excited about the prospect of finding others -- it’s with a mournful tone that Leia explains the systemic hunt the Empire conducted to snuff these children out.

“Many of them,” she says softly, “are gone.”

So, perhaps it’s pure chance they find you -- maybe it’s a cosmic happenstance granted by perfect timing and a straight shot in the dark.

Kau'i Koi -- Human -- 10 years old -- Location: Mos Espa, Tattooine.

Your chain code is old -- but places you in a small, old-Empire controlled mining town just outside the Western Dunes.

Ben is skeptical. He blames his dad -- that Solo trait runs through his blood more than anything, along with a bad habit of getting himself into things he can rarely get himself out of. It’s the temper. And off-putting sense of humor.

Whatever.

Ben has to duck when they enter the cantina. Rey is quick to bound ahead of him, leaving the Solo to tug at his poncho and pry the goggles from his face. The sand storm outside has finally started to die down, leaving Chewie looking rather windswept as he steps inside beside him; the Wookie gargles out a bitter complaint.

“No kidding,” Ben supplies, “Let’s hope we find who we’re looking for.”

God, he hates sand.

Shaking his boot, Ben trails Rey to the bar. She’s already chattering excitedly with the barman, eyes alight in that curious way -- the sand doesn’t bother her. Not in the slightest. In fact, she seems to relish in the Jakku-like atmosphere of the desert planet.

“We’re looking for a Kau’i Koi?” she asks, leaning in on her elbows, “Do you know where we can find them?”

“Koi’s been dead a long time,” is the gruff retort she gets. Immediately, the Jedi’s posture sags and Ben sighs, “But her daughter’s around --”

“Daughter?”

“Yeah,” one of his four hands tosses the bar rag over his shoulder, “She runs her Ma’s medicinal shop now. Kid’s got a good hand at elixirs...”

Rey blinks. Ben, narrowing his eyes, tosses five credits on the bar. “And?”

The bar-tender spares a quick look around, leans in and takes the bribe before saying: “Rumor has it, she’s got some Force mumbo-jumbo goin’ on. Buddy a’ mine jacked up his shoulder in a pod-racing accident -- Koi’s kid just...”

He snaps.

“Good as new.”

And that’s how they found you -- wrist deep in an old text about the distilling of certain Felcuian herbs that allows for maximized healing potency. The book, though, is quickly forgotten in exchange for a weary sense of confusion that follows the two people and the Wookie into your cozy, small shop.

“Can I help you?”

You stand, dark root-died robes tied close to your waist. Your tanned, Dewback hide boots mute your movements as you weave through the mud hut.

The first thing Ben Solo realizes is that you’re beautiful. Truly.

(You must be about his age, if not a year or two his younger. There’s something about the quiet calm in your voice -- you hold an air of posture and regality and kindness that falls short on him. You move, too, like a whisper in the wind. You’re quick, a bit like Rey, and far his opposite as he ducks below trinkets daring to clock in him in the forehead.)

The second thing Ben Solo realizes is that you’re dangerous.

Your eyes fall on the lightsabers holstered on either of the hips the moment Rey asks if you’re Kau’i’s daughter. You remember, in that moment, the warnings your mother had nursed you on.

There are people in this world that want you dead for the gift you’ve been given, sweet one. Protect yourself and that gift.

In one swoop, you’ve got a knife to the neck of Ben Solo and a hand raised, stopping the woman with the three buns in her tracks. The Wookie, hurriedly, raises his furry fists in surrender.

The women grits her teeth, muscles locked in a tumultuous state thanks to the force seizing them entirely. Ben is quick to note the control you have over your powers. The knife digs in a bit too much and he winces.

“Who are you?” you ask quickly, calm lost for a terrified look.

Ben raises his hands. “Jedi.”

The first thing you realize about Ben Solo is that he’s handsome. In a rugged, roguish, distrusting sort of way.

You decide, quickly, you don’t like him.

“There are no Jedi,” you spit, grip tightening on the woman as she writhes -- your attention is on the man, with dark eyes and long legs and a handsome face, “The Empire came and killed them. What they left, the First Order finished.”

Rey winces.

“Is that... Is that what happened to your mother?”

We’re not here to hurt you.

Like a rush of cold water, you feel the pass of something along your mind’s consciousness. It’s enough of a distraction to break your hold on the woman who asked -- and it leaves you treading in a sea of panic. It’s an intrusion; a rude prodding of your memories and thoughts that comes like a sideswipe of a pod-racer.

Rey falls to the floor and Ben pushes the blade from his throat.

You step back and raise the knife. Your hands tremble.

“... How do you know about my mother?” you whisper.

"Ben,” she says, “The holocron.”

“... A holocron?”

The tall man digs it from his bag -- the moment it falls into your fingers, the delicate blue crystals interlock backwards, gilded edges rusted from years of hiding away in from age-old temple revealing a data-sequence. A list of names. And your mother’s lay there, highlighted alongside her chain code.

“Only a force user can open it,” says the man -- the one you understand to be Ben -- rather quietly.

You blink. Immediately, the bridge between yourself and the force closes and the holocron snaps shut.

You shove it back his way.

“What do you want?”

That’s when Rey smiles.

And that’s how you find yourself here, six months later, running head on into a thousand year old S’pio tree. The impact itself renders the younglings amused -- the gaggle of them lingering by the upper platform dissolve into laughter as you grip your ribs and groan, rolling into the brush as you swat at the JTR-47 droid nagging at your head incessantly.

“Koi!” it’s a fast bark of your mother’s surname that gathers the attention of everyone on the training course. It comes from Master Ben Solo, swathed in dark robes and perched on the top platform. “Begin again!”

Gritting your teeth and baring the annoyance, you tug the blindfold off your face and begin the hike back to the start of the course.

There’s much work to be done.

And you still don’t like Ben Solo.

[howtotrainyournana]

holy shit 50k, take your time!! literal novel length, oh my god.

i love how Dream tries so hard for something futile - he tries so hard for everything to not go awry again and it just. doesn’t work. but he tries anyway. the first one shot feels vaguely like reading a tragedy it’s great.

and the hints about the end! Ranboo being the ender dragon!! I’m so curious lol, there’s so much being teased about what’s going on outside the dream. are their bodies somewhere out there just sleeping djdkdke

oh my dude, you are 100% right that the first one shot reads like a tragedy. the whole series is a tragedy. i am . . . listen. listen. i know it sounds like nonsense because i so infrequently like tragedies, but that's just because i have extremely high standards for tragedies. tragedies are like, my absolute favorite story type. the thing is!!! tragedy is not about sadness!!! that can be part of it, yes, and it frequently is, but tragedy is not about negative emotions!! tragedy is about inevitability!! it is about knowing, from the opening lines, exactly how this story will end!!!! it's about finding meaning in the middle no matter how foregone the ending is!!!! it's about choice and lack thereof and free will and predestination and the fact that our choices and our character define us and where we will end up!!! i am!!!! a little feral!!!! about good tragedy!!!!!!

because the best part about a tragedy is the time between when the characters figure it out and the end of the story. that's when you really get to see the defining moments of the characters, their true colors and their cores. how they react to knowing the end that is coming for them is telling - and it's a space for so much grief and grace and love and joy to happen. a tragedy does not mean sadness and bitterness forever. we all know our own lives will end someday - it's a foregone conclusion, an inevitable happenstance that will come for us whether we are ready or not. recognizing that that isn't a cause for despair but rather a lesson to hold in our hearts as a reason for hope and finding joy, that is the lesson to learn from tragedies. it's about the finding of meaning even though a thing will end. it's about choosing joy. it's about saying 'yes, this is going to happen. no, there is nothing that will change it. yes, i will choose to love anyway.'

absolutely didn't mean to rant about tragedy for so long, but here we are.

i'm so glad you liked all my hints for the story, you get some Big Time Answers in the third installment. some things are going to be left up to interpretation, but i think i'm covering all the major things well enough. and if people are super curious about things i'll probably end up adding in a few tangential one-shots after the main series is completed. idk, it'll just depend on my time and drive for the story!

i'm glad you've been liking what i've written. i've been immensely enjoying answering these messages lmao. keep sending them if you're curious! i gotta go sleep now, but i hope you have a great night or day!

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 123 Thoughts

#spoilers

You know, I, for one, am not shocked. From an outside view, our options were Eren going through all this trouble to fix everything once and for all with a genius solution that only works with grand forbidden power--

--or Eren continuing to make everything worse.

His most enduring strategy has involved making everything worse.

I’m not mocking him. That honestly seems to be the point.

What’s interesting is how unhappy he seems about all of this. He’s angry when his dad needs him to step in to wipe out the Reiss family. In the aftermath, he’s despondent. He takes Armin’s punches and insults Mikasa. He allies himself with Zeke but makes no effort to build their relationship. He goes out and cries over all the things he’s about to do, but he still does them.

That’s the part of all this that seems strange to me. Eren finally losing to the pressure of being Paradis’ hope is a depressing storyline, but not that weird. Burning everything to the ground because that’s the only way he can see out anymore is something that I can see coming from an Eren who’s taken one too many hits. Sometimes something essential cracks. Sometimes people break, and when the storm that shatters them comes free, there’s nothing left to hold it back.

Only Eren’s relentless adherence to his goal doesn’t seem to be something he’s happy about. He doesn’t lose his stress lines the entire chapter, except when Mikasa brings him ice cream. I don’t think he’s had a scene without them since the time skip.

He can see the future. He makes it to Marley, and all he can do is stare at all the people. Alive.

Eren knows what he is going to do. He goes out alone his last night with his friends and cries about it. There is no appearance of this being something that he wants. The only thing that’s seemed to resonate properly since he left everyone is Willy’s declaration that they were born into this world.

He spends one last night with his friends, and leaves them forever.

This is not someone who is so far gone that this is it. This is what fixes everything. That might be where he gets the energy for all of it, but his last honest moment with anyone seems to be asking Mikasa why she cares about him.

Even by Eren’s current standards, he does not look good when he asks.

"Why is it... that you care so much about me?”

What value does Eren have as a person? Who is he? Who does the person who has been most obvious in her affection for him see?

That’s how this chapter opens. With Mikasa asking herself that question.

“But maybe that’s wrong. Eren hasn’t changed one bit from the start. If that’s who Eren truly was all along... what part of him... had I been seeing?”

Eren is someone who can kill children. He can take advantage of his friends’ love and dedication and manipulate it so they have no choice but to cooperate. He can throw his entire country’s desperate hopes to find a new solution out by leaving the room without discussion.

Before that step, he stands by himself and cries. And asks someone who loves him why she even cares. What creates this bond that the future he sees has him destroy.

Over eighty chapters ago, someone else tries to ask someone they love this question. They also get the wrong answer back.

“I mean… I decided to join the Survey Corps on my own. But… you didn’t, right? Back then… you chose the Survey Corps… Because I...” “Because what?! Huh?! Are you saying I joined for your sake?!”

“Then why are you here right now? If you don’t have a reason, then just start running...”

“Why… Why would you do that much for me? Does it have… something to do with my family?” “Yeah. It does.” --37, Krista and Ymir

That saga has its own tragedy, and here we repeat the refrain that causes the most miscommunication; that simple inability to admit the vulnerability of caring for another person by choice and happenstance.

Eren asks why. He wants a direct answer. He frames it first by going through the excuses. He saved her. They’re family. She’s said it often enough.

But is that it? Is that all that sums up her link to Eren? Is it just circumstance?

What is it that Mikasa values in him?

Mikasa can’t tell him the full truth. It’s too much for her to admit. So of course that, when the world is falling to pieces, is what lingers. That last moment of honesty she has with Eren, and she can’t make herself tell him any of the truths that maybe could have stopped this.

There’s no logical reason to think it would have, but Mikasa wonders for, I think, the same reason Eren asks at all.

Is there something valuable enough in Eren that just being Eren is enough?

Can something that isn’t the big picture and humanity and everything--can he find stable ground in that?

The answer was probably always going to be no. Eren’s been beyond friendship speeches for longer than I think any of his friends want to contemplate. But the picture Eren paints is someone who wants to be reminded of his humanity before he throws it away.

Mikasa, hearing that now, knows she couldn’t do that in that moment.

There is a very clear line following Eren through his decisions, but the logic of why he’s picked them is still missing. If the thread of him simply wanting destruction is to be followed, you find his obvious unhappiness whenever he’s confronted with what he’s about to do. If he truly believes he’s doing the right thing, why isn’t he sharing the strategy with Armin, or Hange, or Levi, or any of the people he’s already waded through blood with?

What is so important about Eren doing this, and why is it so important that he does this alone?

The Zero Requiem strategy demands that Eren be the villain of this piece, and he’s playing that part well, but there’s no stable end in this version. He’s simply antagonized both sides to the point of loud voices chanting for genocide.

Framing Paradis as the villain could arguably be the point, but Eren’s firmest declaration about why he’s doing all this is directed at other descendants of Ymir. The only ones who know he’s willing to slaughter the world for Paradis are the people who are already dealing with everyone hating them because of this one damn island.

The state of the world is not such that you can have the good Eldians in one corner and the bad Eldians in another.

Focusing on the island has been the rule of the land for a while, and it’s helped nothing. All Eren has done is bring yet another titan-led wave of destruction down on everyone, reminding them why the hatred started.

Really, the case that Eren’s doing this for precisely the reasons he says he is is the one that makes the most sense, and so we come back to him having clear problems with his own idea.

Additionally, while there are going to be those Eldians who are psyched about everyone else being dead, there are probably going to be more who are traumatized and horrified, so at the end of all the stomping, you’re just going to wind up with different groups of people in wars.

This doesn’t solve anything.

Like Liberio, it’s a bloodbath with the main accomplishment being that more people think Eren should be taken out.

Getting as many people to hate him as possible is the only consistent result of everything Eren has done.

Which is nice, since that suggests that maybe there’s some kind of logic buried under all of this.

Except the aim of making everything worse has only succeeded in making everything worse.

So. Like.

Everything’s worse.

Make everything worse.

Worser.

More worser.

The worstest.

Things are now worse.

Congratulations on a successful plan.

This is why Armin is usually stuck with this.

I can’t even be properly upset that Eren’s setting loose the rumbling, because something is clearly still missing. Not to be a broken record, but we’ve got unseen flashbacks with Historia and our little pickpocket, and Historia’s the only named character permitted to be featured listening to Eren without her face visible.

This after 108 made a big show of pointing out how strangely inconvenient the timing of the pregnancy was. Unless having Zeke alive mattered to someone.

As previously discussed, that adds to the worser pile, clearly making it relevant.

So yay, Eren has succeeded in setting himself up as The Worst.

Now we wait for why while an undetermined number of people are sacrificed to whatever unholy abomination of a strategy this qualifies as.

...Yeah, that’s all I’ve got.

Oh, wait.

This part was good.

This too.

It’s a curious chapter. There’s so much light and joy in pieces, and everywhere we look we see reminders of why these are the people we’ve rooted for. Levi won’t let a pickpocket get lynched, even if it causes their cover issues. Mikasa’s eyes sparkle at ice cream. Armin’s excited to be out in the world.

They party with a group of people they don’t have a language in common with. It’s that easy.

All of that still exists, so what is it that makes this the logical next step?

Why introduce so many devastating cycles only to keep them going? Why would someone--several someones--actively opposed to perpetuating this kind of violence settle on a plan that loops a new one around?

The only answer I can come up with is that this isn’t the final word on what’s going on.

So, in keeping with the chart...

The worse continues.

To the secret better.

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Remembrance Of A Kiss

I was feeling nostalgic for a fic which I wrote almost three years ago called Zeta-7 and The Kiss; it was written back when I first started writing Rnm fics. While, I don't write how I used to, I am fond of it. So, here's this finished wip. I think I'm running on nostalgia these days, for things are changing faster then I can keep up with. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. It's guaranteed to be fluffy :3

In this fic the reader thinks about a past momentous moment.

_____________________

The trouble and light anxiety you had felt about the occasion had been insignificant compared to his. Back then you had been searching for an answer or rather a solution to a predicament; the problem at the time being that you weren't sure how to broach the subject of a certain display of affection. It was neither a lack or an abundance of affection, and it seems silly now when you thought of it, which was often, but when and where had your inclination to kiss him first begin? It might have always been there, but that statement in itself seemed like a lie, for you didn't want to kiss him when you initially met him, but he had been influential; recognizing you from another time, another life, but that wasn't what you came here to talk about. No, you wanted to think of that fateful day.

That day he had been in his usual delightful mood, the kind that came about because he got to see you and was genuinely having a good day; although, with him, he tended to find good in every day and as expected he was deliciously cheerful and had a smile which could last for days upon his thin lips. Oh, how you had loved that smile for it followed you everywhere, even when you couldn't seem him; that haircut which had been copied from an old clothing catalog advertisement and moved about when he spoke; buck teeth which dentists could only dream to keep as trophies, and the hint of lip bite when he'd finished talking; it was part of the draw. You fought, swallowed, and bided your time as you thought of the ways in which you could show him you loved him. For you, there was a momentum, a force which couldn't have been stopped; beginning with his hellos, and would build as you continued to be so affected and had been desperate to satisfy the longing and affection which pulled and drowned your senses whenever he was near; it made you reason that it was the right thing to do; to express and ask if it was alright to move forward; it was and he agreed, but he never quite recovered from being kissed. 

No, you didn't mean all the kisses which occurred after and had taken place up to the present per se, but from the first one you had given him around the start of your relationship; having made such an impression, it was as though you had branded his heart and soul; that a string was tied to one of your ribs and to one of his ventricles which kept him alive only by his sheer will to withstand the forces and madness that threatened to tear him apart daily; he could never recover. You would say that he grew a little more mature that day; in mind, spirit, but not in age. To be sure, things had been so different then; Rick had been so shy when it came to romantic sensibilities, naive to others advances or otherwise natural attraction to him, believing he was unworthy of such while you had so much to learn about the mysteries of men; neither knew what the other had been going through. You hadn't known about his otherworldly adventures yet, his loneliness, or uniqueness, and he knew almost everything except your personality quirks, but as to how he knew was a different story.

Still, that was then, back when there was so much yet to be known, and you thought him to be human. You remembered how for days, he walked as though in a daze, bumping into things and hardly able to look you in the eyes without being lovestruck and tongue-tied; you were sure to watch after him to make sure you hadn't given him a stroke and assured him that he shouldn't deny his worth. Why it seemed even now he could barely function without being a little goofy after a kiss, but it was endearing; you hadn't known then about how he had been starved for affection due to lack of family and circumstances. Yet, if you had any doubts, they certainly were lessened by his attentiveness and wanting to please.

You were sure others might've tired of this behavior long ago, and you had your days in when you thought you weren't capable of managing it all, but for every time you came crashing down, he was there to help you even when you didn't want him to; for every tear and moment of grief, there was his affection which he returns out of love, gratitude, and fear all at once. Oh, if you knew then what you knew now, you would've confessed earlier; let him know how much you had cared, and tried harder to be a better friend. Still, you were making it up to him and doubted you'd ever finish making it up to him. And because he was forever grateful and happy when you kissed him, you decided to ask him one day what it was that he found so dazzling about it and to your shock, his answer endeared him to you all the more. "It's like saying h-hello." he answered matter of factly.

"Really? In what way?" 

"Gosh," he wondered, scratching the back of his neck. "it's uh - it's like touching hands, but instead of the formality of a-a handshake, you touch lips to greet and exchange not only DNA but affection. Culture or whoever happens to partake in this ritual may affect its meaning, but in such an awe-inspiring way I believe it's a reminder of trust and union; albeit more intimate."

Was that how he had felt back then? Had it been a social experiment or a daydream that had come into fruition? Perhaps neither. Maybe, he was concerned that you'd be disappointed if that so-called spark wasn't there, but the good thing was you relied more on just sparks. "So, what you mean to say is that in a sense those who kiss are bonded?"

"I th-think so."

And you believed him, for when it came to such matters, he was sincere. Why it must've hit him harder than it ever will with you, but you blamed being a creature of natural circumstance for that; your childhood and life had been happy and general for the most part, while his had more loops in it then the Whirly Dirly. Thinking of it now, the consequence of your affection was that he took to you so strongly, you were sure that if something happened to you, it might kill him; the thought being burdensome in its own right.

You had never thought of pairing the word passionate with him, but his sensibilities to and of the world in which he existed in as well as to interactions with the beings in it made you wonder if there was anything or anyone he could truly hate; himself perhaps for that was who he was most affected by. 

"Rick," you started, pushing away the unsettling thoughts as you set down the book you had been reading. "I think that's sweet. You certainly have a knack for seeing the poetic nature behind the reality, but what are your thoughts on the people who kiss for fun?"

He ruminated for a moment. It might've occurred to him that people didn't always kiss with the intention of forming serious relationships, but he would be sure to make a note of finding out later. "Gosh, I'm sure there are some benefits t-t-to it, though I haven't done much research on the matter."

Who knew where one would begin on such a subject. There were books on both physiology and psychology, but did any of them go into the happenstance of a kiss? You hadn't thought of checking, but knowing the intelligent man that he was, perhaps he had looked into it. "Research huh? Dear," you explained, "people don't just research kisses as though they are studies or hypothesized."

"Th-they don't?"

"At least not that I know of. I mean, people simply see and do. Don't they? Is there more?"

"Y-yes and no. It depends on the species."

"Hmm, I guess it does."

Again, you wouldn't know. There must've been planets, realities, and universes whose signs of affection transcended that of action, but while it was a fascinating thought, you were glad that in your reality that wasn't the case in its entirety. Searching his face, you found that his brow was scrunched up together, wondering if there was more to it. You had thought the question innocent enough, he, on the other hand, wouldn't be satisfied until he found the truth behind your inquiry. Not being one to try to disappoint him, you turned towards him and nodded. "However, I have my own answer. If you come closer I can show you what I mean."

Removing his glasses, he scooted closer; curious to see if the answer was somehow in your pocket or hiding on his face. The trust which allowed him to focus on you with conviction as you approached him was palpable. Lightly, you brushed back his bangs and passed your fingers lightly over his frown lines. Silly man, he thought too much for his own good, but if he had been unsure earlier, then the blush which dusted his ears and cheeks said otherwise. Stretching up, you pressed a light kiss on his forehead; not unlike the ones he'd give you when he thought you were asleep. And you smiled at him from the bottom of your heart. In turn, he chuckled in happy amusement; boyish in the way his eyes glimmered as though he had gotten a new toy. "Gee, that was - that was swell, but I-I don't understand. Wh-what was that for?"

"I see you and I must kiss you. It's practically the law." you giggled before repeating the action.

"Are y-y-you sure?" he wondered, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. 

Pulling back a little, you nodded. "I'm positive. Especially since it's what you deserve."

The light chuckle which escaped him only fed your joy as you peppered him with kisses. And before you could see it, you felt him smiling and glowing with happiness as his goofy grin returned with a vengeance. 

"Gosh," he sighed with contentment, "I-I learn something new everyday."

"I bet you do, but really a kiss is nothing to think too hard about."

"I-I know."

"If anything, I think it's based on a feeling. For example," you paused to give yourself a moment to gather your thoughts together. "the reason I kiss you is the same reason I've always had and it's because I care about you. In my own way, it's like I'm saying, 'Hello, I missed you, come here, I love you. Oh, I love you so very much. Thank you, for simply existing and being here with me.' Maybe we both have the same reason as to why words sometimes aren't enough, and while a kiss is simple, it's not always so easy to execute, but nothing is wrong with that. It's all done in its own time. In its own way. I am happy you let me kiss you way back when, because I adored you so much that it hurt. I still adore you, and you'll always be precious to me."

Glancing at you in wonderment, he played with his fingers then searched your face again. In his soul, he knew you weren't lying, but since you've first known him, he always seemed to be searching, as well as fighting his self-condemning mind and heart especially having been injured so many times. As though you had a world of answers for some of his simple questions that he would've otherwise been too embarrassed to ask, he'd open his mouth just to close it again. You had assured him on multiple occasions that he could ask you anything, but his bashful nature gave allowances for this; endearing in its own right. Once he seemed satisfied, he took out his notepad and wrote down some notes; if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was writing a thesis by the way the words slanted and blended into one another as he concentrated on the details, all the while sporting that lovestruck grin. "What are you writing dear? Is it a love letter? Is it about the trees, or bees, or whatever goes about in that wonderful head of yours?"

"I'm updating my notes."

This much you knew. "But on what? Not on kissing, right? That would be something." you teased.

"N-n-no," he answered softly, "but on you."

"Is that right? Is there any particular reason?" 

"Mhm," he nodded. "so I won't forget."

What a silly man he was, you thought. "It's ok to forget things, but I'm sure you won't. Besides, who forgets the first person they kiss?"

"N-not me."

"Of course not, especially with all the reminders that come after. I doubt I will, but reminders are appreciated. I wouldn't want to forget how happy you make me."

Slowing down his note-taking, he mentioned. "I like reminders too."

Of course he did. From years of journal keeping to the multiple watches and small computers that were scattered about the house, for there was so much going on in his head he needed help keeping his train of thought straight. It was just another way of saying in so many words, how much he loved you. "So do I. And trust me, I'll be sure to remind you a lot. As much as you need, and as often as I can. Hopefully," you winked at him. "I'll be reminded soon."

Giving your hand a squeeze, he softened. "I um - I don't mind reminding you. I-I really like reminders."

"I know, but do you like them more than adventures, or as far as that ship in the garage will take you?" you teased.

Replacing the notepad in his pocket, he nodded. "As far as 238,855 miles w-will take me."

Miles or kilometers were but measurements and distance, but that distance you were sure was not on Earth. "Do you mean to the moon?"

Pressing a light kiss to your temple, he answered. "Por supuesto, y-y más allá de eso. Please, don't forget"

Forget? Why would you forget? If there was a prelude, it was the flutter and happy giddiness which occurred when you caught him off guard, but to whatever came after, it was effervescent, sweet, and addictive. And while it could be said about a lot of things, he was far more complex. You see, you never recovered from being kissed, because you were enticed by his charm, and won by his goodness, but a kiss sealed the deal; for now and forever you belonged to him and you weren't going to let him forget it. Cupping his cheek, you replied. "I won't and I never will Ricky. You can bet on that," as you leaned forward, you whispered. "and seal it with a kiss."

Fin

[xfanfics]

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 7

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity.  Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 39 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

Bare Your Throat and Have Me by highermagic E | 4k | AU, PWP,  a/b/o

Castiel and Dean have only been mated for a few months, but Dean knows how this goes by now.

Deterioration by highermagic E | 33k | Hot,  AU, Cop!Dean, Mystery

Dean has a gift – he can see things. Things that others wouldn't see, motive and calm control between the splatters of blood and fractured mirrors. He solves crimes others simply can't. When bodies are piling up all around him, Dean starts to feel as though he's drowning in it, falling under the weight of his own helpless observations, until he finds something unbreakable. Unwavering. Castiel – if only the man was as good for him as he appears.

Try Something Tuesday by almaasi E | 48k | Fluff, Teacher AU, Librarian Cas

Human AU. Dean Winchester teaches a third-grade class. He's new to this whole ‘bisexual’ thing - but by pure happenstance, he meets Castiel: a particularly dapper male librarian who moonlights as a substitute teacher. Dean's curious and Castiel is willing, so why the hell not? Except, fate never intended it to be one-time-only.

Angel-Cuffed by Luciel89 E | 15k | CANON!verse

Dean wakes up to find himself handcuffed to his angel. Both are annoyed, Sam finds it hilarious and awkward situations await them. But the longer they're tied together, the more things between them start to change...

The Bet List ❤ by StevieCas M | 55k | Fluff,  AU, Underage, wing!kink

"That bet list was the worst thing you've ever come up with, Gabe. If it wasn't for it, I would never have thought about such things. It's bad enough being an earthbound angel, it's bad enough being considered a weirdo even by angel standards. Did I have to be gay as well? Do I even represent a minority or is it just me out there?

I love the world of this fic--and Dean and Cas' relationship dynamic is perfect.    

Ad Astra ❤ by nhixxie T | 17k | Angst

One day Cas says, "Stars died for you, Dean Winchester", against ruffled hair perched atop sun kissed skin and sleepy eyes. Dean stirs, moving to spread his palms against the contour of Cas’ back, tips of fingers languidly strumming the indentations of his spine. One, two, three, four, he counts, the closest he could get to scientifically studying the anatomy of the human body. "Is this some physics crap again?" He frowns with eyes closed. Cas smiles softly. "Far from it. "Dean’s fingers play at the base of his back, ninth thoracic vertebrae, Cas notes. "Then tell me all about it.”

Read it and weep. If this were published, I would buy it.    

Sensitive by nevergotwings E | 1k | wing!kink

Curiosity sparks when Dean gets the urge to touch Castiel's wings.

An Exercise in 'Worthless' ❤ by beastofthesky

M | 26k | AU, Tattoos

"I mean, you’re–" He gestures at Cas, in his neat oxford shirt and nice pants. “–and I’m a high school dropout who tattoos for a living." Wherein Dean makes a hefty living as a tattoo artist who owns the space next to Gabriel's cafe. Sam attends the local university. When Gabe's cousin comes to live with him while starting grad school at Sam's university, Dean thinks for sure that all his negative karma's coming to bite him in the ass because Cas clearly has a thing for Sam. No one would ever choose him over Sam. That's just logic.

Perfection everywhere. Dean's lack of self-worth is explored, and there are tattoos.    

Of ties and wings by perpetuallycaffinated E | 4k | Hot,  PWP, wing!kink

Jealousy, ties and and impatient angel. Also, wings.

pie | by perpetuallycaffinated E | 3k | Hot,  PWP

Dean uses pie to eat out Castiel. That's pretty much it.

I Say, But I Mean by inplayruns T | 4k | Coffee Shop AU

Dean runs a bed & breakfast. Cas works in a coffeeshop.

Heavenly Delights by TamrynEradani T | 2k | Fluff, Coffee Shop AU

Gabriel owns Heavenly Delights, the coffee shop Cas works at and on the day before Thanksgiving, Cas sees someone looking down so he brings him a hot chocolate, and Gabriel conspires to get them together.

New Eyes by ozzutly E | 1k | Canon!Verse

Dean sees Castiel's true form. He decides he likes it.

Resonance by definitely_indecisive G | 1k | Canon!Verse, Soul Bond

The battered and abused presence had poked warily out, almost as if expecting harm. He let his grace drift forward to meet the soul instantly, putting off all of the warmth he could muster. The presence seemed to stutter for a second, before melding itself into Castiel's grace. He allowed the soul to do so, cradling it with his core. He could feel the tiredness and abuse from the poor thing, yet also the amazing light it gave off as it started to slowly heal because of his grace. He could tell this was the most unique soul he had ever met, and that he wouldn't forget the feeling of the presence for all of millennia.

My Roots Take Flight by KismetJeska M | 125k | Reverse!verse, s4 AU

After forty years in Hell, Dean’s more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don’t want found out. Dean’s going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.

Angel Airlines by dancingloki E | 19k | Hot, Airline AU

Dean is an airline pilot with a raging hard-on for his head flight attendant. Fluffy fluffy fluff.

El Tango de Amor by literaryoblivion E | 16k | AU, Fluff,  Angst,

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Dean leaves, is gone for two to three hours, and comes home sweaty and exhausted to the apartment he and his brother Sam share. Sam had asked him where he went once, and Dean had said he was working out, which technically wasn’t a lie. What he was doing was definitely giving him a workout, just not in the traditional sense. In all actuality though, Dean was leaving every Tuesday and Thursday for a dance class. A dance class taught by a one Castiel Novak.

Ugly Sweater!Verse ❤ ❤ by nerdylittledude E | 193k  | Canon!verse,Fluff,  Post s5

If they really go back and think about it... it all started with a tree. A Christmas tree, that is. Castiel is human now, and the apocalypse is not only over, it's been averted. Sam's away at NYU, finally finishing law school, and Dean's stuck in what is probably the most awkward situation of his life. He's not exactly sure how he ended up sharing a flat with Cas in Media, Pennsylvania, but he does know the curious would-be angel is sort of derailing his plans for a life of decadence and booze. Cas is trying to make the best of his humanity by exploring human holidays. Dean can't exactly complain because he's pretty much the reason Cas got his wings clipped in the first place. Dean didn't actually want to fall in love, but how was he supposed to know it would all start with a goddamn tree?

 My favorite fic ever. I don't know how many times I've read it. There is switching, fluff, angst, and slow building romance. I will rec this forever.    

More Than Alien Mojo by remivel

E | 29k | Men in Black AU, Fluff,

Dean was one of Men in Black's best agents. In fact, he's been knee deep in extraterrestrial crap his whole life, and he's gone through more apocalypses than he could care to remember. He thought he's seen it all-- until he and his partner, Sam, were sent out to a routine meteorite crash inspection. What was supposed to be a meteorite turned out to be a golden spaceship, and instead of hitchhiking intergalactic pathogens, it was an alien that took the form of a human male. A very naked human male. Soon, they discovered that this alien named 'Castiel' was a refugee from a war-torn galaxy.The first of his kind to ever venture to Earth, Castiel agreed to share information about his galaxy and his race in exchange for his relocation on Earth. The only catch was: since Castiel was a new alien species, nobody knew what he was capable of, whether he was as harmless as E.T., or as dangerous as the Predator. And it was Dean's job to keep an eye on him and assess just how much of a threat Castiel could be, and if necessary, eliminate him. It wasn't a job Dean was looking forward to doing. Especially since he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off him, naked or not.

Come On With the Rain by remivel E | 36k | High School AU, dubcon

When Castiel was 15, his life changed. In one tragic instant, he lost his parents, and he was forced to live with his Uncle Bobby in Lawrence, Kansas. There he met the Winchester boys, Sam and Dean, who were living next door. He thought Sam was pleasant, and Dean, well, Dean was special. Three years passed and Castiel’s relationship with the boys developed in an unexpected way. Sam became his best friend. But Dean was a different story. Dean was not Castiel’s friend. He was a neighbor, a classmate, the brother of Castiel’s best friend, and the guy who worked part time at his uncle’s salvage yard. That was all. But on the rare times that Dean asked Castiel for help, Castiel couldn’t find it in him to turn him down. Because this was Dean. And the answer would never be “no” when it came to Dean.

Crossroads State by Mercy M | 51k | AU

Castiel has a nice predictable structured life teaching high school, even if he happens to be overqualified for it. Then this guy moves in around the corner and literally knocks him on his ass.

Heart of Glass by omphalos E | 17k | Canon!Verse

He's the one who was punished, severely, because of his feelings for Dean, but who still gave up everything for him in the end. Surely there should exist between them a better level of comprehension than this.

Domesticated by kototyph E | 15k | AU

Being the only angel in the entire Pacific Northwest can be tiring, even if these days Castiel spends more of his time shoveling manure than fighting off the hordes of hell. It's an occupational hazard, unfortunately; he earns most of his living rehabilitating wild animals a few miles outside Spokane. Wild animals like Dean, for instance— a mountain lion who's entirely too smart for his own good. There's a man in Castiel's dreams named Dean too, but that part's just a huge coincidence.

Excite by perpetuallycaffinated E | 3k | Crack, wing!kink

"Sam Winchester, I am going to carnally worship your brother whether you are in this room or not.

Snapshots 'Verse ❤ by highermagic E | 60k [WIP] | AU, Wing!kink, a/b/o, omega!dean

A series of one-shots following the meeting, courting and eventual love between an Angel doctor named Castiel and an Angel teacher by the name of Dean.

Less of a WIP, more of a series of one-shots. Rowan's worldbuilding is lovely, and the sex is perfect as usual. EDIT: Apparently this has been removed.

Angel's Wild ❤ by riseofthefallenone E | 389k | AU, H/C, Wing!kink

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Perfection. Go read it now.    

Sharing Hands by almaasi E | 6k | Hot, Canon!Verse

Dean feels something strange when he touches himself, and realises Cas has been using him as a vessel ever since he came back from Purgatory.

The Good Samaritan Rule by manic_intent E | 6k | AU, wing!kink

Written for deancaskink: "Dean and Castiel are both angels and brothers-in-arms. During a battle, Cas's wings get hurt and [it's] up to Dean to help him out. In the process, Cas finds out how sensitive his wings are and well Dean is Dean no matter what his form [is], so this leads to lovely first time sex." God never made humans. Instead, he made the angels in his image, and on the sixth day he made the is him, and gave them free will.

How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam) ❤ by Vera_Dragonmuse E | 69k | AU, Sam/Gabriel

In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean's angel rather sooner than intended.

Out of the Deep ❤ by riseofthefallenone E | 488k | AU, h/c

Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep. It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep. Castiel should have listened better.

It's long, but worth it.    

Feathers by brightly_lit M | 90k | Angst, Wing!kink, D/s

In an alternate season 5 scenario, Dean, Sam, and twenty of their closest hunter friends stopped the apocalypse by closing the gates to heaven, hell, and purgatory. Now working with his former hunter buddies at Ellen's security company, Dean doesn't know what to make of his weird new coworker who always wears a trenchcoat and leaves behind feathers everywhere he goes. He especially doesn't know that, cut off from the power of heaven, the constantly falling feathers mean his new friend is dying. "Creation cried out against the injustice of a righteous man in hell. I answered its cry.

Vita Nuova ❤ by wordaccordingtofangirls M | 61k | Teacher AU

AU. Dean Winchester takes a job as a teaching assistant to get his little brother into a prestigious academy. He doesn't quite expect such long nights and snobby kids, but the real surprise is professor Castiel Novak: or falling in love with him, that is.

Like a Parched Land by twoskeletons E | 8k | reverse!verse

Written for the following prompt: "Reverse!verse: Castiel is the Righteous Man and Dean is the angel who drags his ass out of Hell." This is an AU version of episodes 5x01 through 5x03.

The Cabin by bookkbaby E | 16k | Canon!Verse, Wing!kink

For an angel, the building of a Nest is sacred. Dean doesn't understand. Written for the 2013 DCBB.

Pies and Prejudice by linoresearch E | 97k | AU

Dean didn’t even want to enter this damn competition. He was happy with his life, more or less. It might not look like much from the outside, or to a younger brother headed towards a big time law career, but it wasn’t so bad that Dean needed to scrabble around for any opportunity to make a change – particularly not one as stupid as this. He’s going to throttle Sam the next time he sees him, for getting him involved in this ridiculous Bake-Off TV show. It’s bad enough that Dean has to cook in front of people he doesn’t know; he now has to go through the humiliation of being judged on it too. Its humiliation piled on humiliation, and to make matters worse Dean has to play nice with all the other suckers involved, like that rich dick-bag Castiel Novak. God, he hates that guy, and he hates that someone so awful has such a frustratingly fine ass. Written for the Dean/Castiel Big Bang 2013

The Breath of All Things ❤ by KismetJeska T | 65k | AU, H/C Angst,

Dean Winchester was twenty-six years old when a car accident killed his father and left him paralysed from the waist down. A year and a half later, Dean is in a wheelchair and lives in a care home in Kansas, where he spends his days waiting to die. It's only when Castiel Novak starts volunteering at the care home that Dean starts to wonder if a changed life always equals a ruined one.

So angsty, and so, so perfect.    

All the Way ❤ by cadignan E | 81k | College AU

Castiel spends the first two weeks of college in much the same way he spent the previous years: alone with his books. He’s fine with it—he enrolled in college to learn, after all. Then in his first chemistry lab, he has the bad luck of being paired with snide, good-for-nothing Ruby, and the further misfortune of sitting behind Dean Winchester, the world’s most beautiful distraction. Ruby catches Castiel staring at Dean and makes him an offer.

Destiel, Actually by Bloodism E | 15k | Crack Fluff,

Picture your typical rom-com cliché. Now picture Dean stuck in that rom-com cliché. With Castiel. Because that's what happening to him - a crazy whirlwind of your typical-and-not-so-typical cliché's. He's playing the main lead in all of them and Castiel's his counterpart. Of course, the culprit is obvious. Gabe's enjoying himself too much, lying back on his favourite cloud with a tub of salted popcorn. It was about time someone kicked the two knuckleheads into gear.

Suburban War by squeemonster E | 100k | High School AU

Moving to Lawrence with his family is the most significant event of Dean Winchester's life. It brings a stability he's never known, and the only thing to have more of a profound impact on him is Castiel Novak: the two boys become fast friends the day they meet. But as Dean grows older, he dreams for something beyond the monotony and constraints of suburbia, and he is haunted by the inexplicable feeling that he was born for something more than what this life offers. As he struggles to reconcile the person he yearns to be with what his family and friends expect of him, a fateful choice exposes just how fragile his life in the suburbs is, and possibly risks losing the best friend he's ever had.

[aemperatrix]

Keats Is Coughing

by Marianne Boruch

Everything is made of everything. — Leonardo da Vinci

I found Rome in the woods.

Fair to admit it’s mostly tundra to the west in the park, past Toklat the Denali I revised, low grasslands engineered to freeze deep by October — this being Alaska — the great

           Tabularium close to the Temple of            Castor and Pollux I rebuilt that same summer —             not superimposed, exact as any scheme

in secret — the Arch of Septimius Severus at the gravel bar        where fox drank from a river turned stream,           a Theater of Marcellus near               the ranger station where one raven,                                                                                    such a brat,   complained of                      my Circus Maximus, Trajan’s Column,                              my Baths of Diocletian, too many spots soaked in unpronounceable Latin.

                   I really did, I shouldered bits of it,      a ruin-hushed haunted business, my brain                                                         a truck bed, a lift, pulleys big as a whale’s heart, expletives of cheap wonder all over                                                                  my woodlot and expanse.                          One self-anoints to embellish day, years, life thus far, and think oneself so...    

                      Then busted — 

by a raven!

Well, that’s memory for you, that’s so-called        civilization for you, to layer up,                         to redo the already done.

I mean it’s a fact, the puny life span we’re allotted.              And proof — Denali in August, fireweed, spunky scrawny first Latinate — Erechtites hieracifolia — 

              giving off flowers to mark               what weeks left, little               time bomber, time traveler, ancient               slips red-flagging the countdown to winter               by climbing its own stalk.

Something perverse about that. Something perfectly fiendishly self-conscious about that.

•

From the start perverse, any premise.      Ask...We can’t know. To be compelled

           makes an occasion. Rome’s grand     past horrific, fire and ash, swamp into bog, lust              and bloodlust — 

The Alaska Range dreams lurid as Rome,                                        the worst way below being fire, summer snow at night      off the highest peaks by noon              as distant from our cabin as the size of a hand if I                         held up the one with                         an eye in the middle

to know how this works. Some have the power to raise from the dead a before, before scary and beautiful           back to mystery cults, in caves, rubble far under a Roman street, the altar to Mithras still slaying his bull, crumbling the stonework.

            All things being equal. But they’re not.                    Agony, it’s older.                      Ask the moose at Denali,                         the snowshoe hare, the lynx,

such a wily courtly lot.                                           Ask Ovid      banished to his hovel on the Black Sea, aching                for Rome’s exalted rude cacophony, each      exiled month a big thick X down

                                  Februarius,                                 Aprilis to home-shattered sick enough

for an undersong. Look it up! Undersong: a strain; a droning; the burden of a song —                                              Maybe that lowest common denominator is contagious. Rome or Denali, a mash-up of lunge and cry out, predator and prey throwing coins to a fountain, footholds made first by a hoof, pickpockets at buses and trains, nuns queuing up their no-nonsense, thorny brambles, raggedy spruce groves,                                           a look, a nod to sell loveless love on the street, a chain of mountains in choral repeat, saints stained to glass, how ice gouged rivers from rock-bound,                                 the one-lung rapturous common-sense Pope all outstretched arms, his little popemobile circling the thrilled at St. Peter’s up on our rickety chairs to see in six, seven languages how radiant —                             Cross my heart, he was. And Keats, Keats is coughing.

•

You find the fossil record everywhere. In woods, tundra, under streets, in cadaver labs.                                 Not those bright transparencies, wistful orderly page after page in biology, a lie, a kind of flip-book romance. It’s the one big mess of us in us, the generous extraordinary dead prove that, signing a paper, giving themselves away                                            to be cut, disembodied for the knowing it, sunk to their chemical depth in some afterlife, opened on a table by kids really,                                             belabored doctors-to-be, our shabby shared wilderness to untangle, bones   joints   arteries   valves,                                                         The Dissector in hand, weirdest how-to book on the planet. For Keats too, 1819, his scribbled roses and sunflowers in margins,                                                                  his training,                                                           his anatomy theatre, looking down and later: still London, then Rome (he who gets it,  body fails, second floor, beside the Spanish Steps).                                           Heart, not my heart anymore.                                     Forgive me. I’m worse than the hopelessly confused misnamed English sparrow, descendant of the great weaver birds of Africa, a finch that lost the gene

      for nest, how to beneath, to across so intricate, precise, bringing bringing sticks and hair and bits of shiny paper. Undersong: the burden of a song.                                                       Poor bird. Poor sweet muddled middle of it. I watched morning after morning, his offering...                                                                           It’s Keats who made claims about beauty and time. His bed at the last                        too low for the window, his must-have                                 tell me, what’s out there — 

I admit: a ridiculous layering, Rome in Denali. Just because? Because I went to both in short order? Two continents, an ocean apart. My mother loved hand-me-down expressions — never the twain shall meet. They do meet.                           To repeat: that’s civilization for you. Happenstance and right now drag along future and past                             and why the hell not the Denali, the Rome in any of us, no two states of being more unalike, worn-out compulsion to collect and harbor, piece together,                                                                    stupid into some remember machine.

  Such fabulous unthinkable inventions we’ve made to merge or unmake: the trash compactor,   the poem, all tragedy and story, pencils sharpened to

a point that keeps breaking, wilderness gone inward as

                  an ocean-going ship’s container,                         a Gatling gun,                                 the AR-15 of the seething deranged,                                         the H-bomb,                                             Roman legions to Canterbury to blood-up fields into legend then dig the first plumbing but

                                            how can you                                             be in two places at once                                             when you’re not anywhere at all!

       (Thank you, Firesign Theatre, brilliant wackos,              old vinyl on a turntable still in the game... )

                     Fine. Fuck it. Start over.

•

See the sheep on high ledges, the arctic squirrels below.

See the way Dante saw, sweeping his arm across Vasari’s great painting as Boccaccio looks off, the plague sealing city after city. Dante

in hell, steady-luminous     those fact-finding trips to service           his worldly Inferno.

Winter sleeps through. August at Denali, bears shovel it down       a razor-edged maw —                                                 twigs! berries! more stems! —  Fate hoards to prepare, sub-zeros, fattens into...   

See the park’s camper bus, 92 miles how most of us jolt and slow, crossing hours more daylight than night all summer, rattling tin can with its exhaust and hissing gravel, the fear landslide                  an undersong just-possible, how we zigzag a mountain. Look!

                 Nearing a bear, the young caribou abruptly                             hesitant, shy as a leaf — 

No! Don’t! Do not! That grizzly huge, bent to his ploy just                                                 these berries around here, his ignore ignore, sure, quiet-tense as a trigger, and we of                      fogged scratched windows so hard to open — 

stop! The bus stopped. Jesus. The thing curious, closer...                          They’re not

that smart anyhow, a stage-whispering drunk from the back      of our imperial realm, mile 62, the Park Road.

What did Venus decree in her temple up whichever narrow street in Rome, the Ancients’                             stink of slops, standing water,           a bear chained to a slave (out of slav, by the way,                             backdrop is horde, human spoils)

both shackled to a grindstone for                                                             a later mob and roar.

Here’s what we saw: the little caribou  in reverse wanders sideways and safe.                                             Our bus one big sigh or like a wheezing asthmatic the brakes unbrake.

Bad dream, bad dream, the undersong start to all fable if                        for real we’d seen that kill back to lions off their continent cornered, bloodied in the great amphitheaters, rearing up, a nail to hammer’s                                   bite and blow. The wilderness in us

is endless. Near the cabin, near evening, a warbler                               in the fireweed                                         ��          hawk saw or heard,                          his switchblade clicked to —                                                                         I was and I was                      whirling feathers, either bird —    Every hunger                            is first century. Forever-thus   feral cats at the Forum about to leap too.                                                        The Forum, last homage   I shoveled holes and rocks to   remake, mile 82, while the haymouse riddled the meadow   down deep, her catacombs.

•

Time + beauty = ruins. Perfect shapes in the mind       meet my friends Pointless and Threat and Years of       Failure to Meld or Put to Rest. Ruthless                                                                                 is human.

I ask a composer: How to live with this undersong thing                             over and over, how to

                                                                   get rid of it,                                                                        the world of it — 

 He looks at me. What undersong thing? And shrugs       I’ll put it on the test! Let students define it.

     So I dreamt such a test: Go there. To Rome.                    Half-doze against a wall                      two thousand years of

    flesh    sweat    insect wing ago, stone laid by hand, by a boy when a whip, a whip, a welling up, his will not speak.

   Have at it. Please explain. Please fill in this blank.

Grief punctures like ice, moves like a glacier   to flat and slog and myth, low blue and white flowers       we hiked trail-less. The rangers insist. They insist — 

      never follow or lead, never lay down a path.

                                                                       From above the look of us spread out, our seven or eight a band, little stray exhausted figures                                           as over the land bridge from Asia,

circa: prehistory keeps coming, older than Rome, both   both underfoot, understory, underway

        miles below numb, it’s burning.

•

To see at all, you time                                         and this time and time again.

The spirit leans intrigued, the other part bored, then there’s want,                                                                    then there’s wait.

Once a city began with a wolf whose two human pups would      build, would watch it fall, nursing                                              at her milk for centuries               in marble               in bronze.

         She stands there and cries of                                                               that pleasure, by turns a blood-chill. The tundra. At night.

A snake eats its own tail, forever at it on a fresco. A real snake                       leaves his skin near the gravel bar. Some words sting, some are sung. Another life isn’t smaller.

[fatechica]

I don't know if you've done this but fake dating?

ooh, fake dating (everyone should go read @elshopper​‘s wonderful fic “fake it til you make it”, btw, but this is going to be a different kind of fake dating)

Mike’s mom has been on his ass forever over why he’s not married yet.

Every time he goes home, for whatever reason, Karen’s constantly getting in little digs about it and Mike dreads going home because of it.

He would just like it to be known for the record that the following is not his idea - it’s El’s.

Mike meets El at university, where by happenstance, they share a couple of GE classes. They bond over annoying professors and even more annoying classmates, pairing up for projects and they become really good friends.

Mike can’t not notice how pretty El Hopper is, but he’s even more pleased to find out that she fits in really well with his friends - because, naturally, the Party has all gone off to college together (he definitely has a crush on El, but then they become friends and he doesn’t want to ruin it, so he shelves it and tries to move past it)

El, for her part, DEFINITELY has a crush on Mike, but he’s never shown any interest over the years they’ve been friends, so she’s done her best to ignore her own feelings. She’s tried dating other people, and has even been marginally successful, but her longest relationship has only lasted about 6 months.

But, anyway, back to El’s idea.

Mike and El are maybe 25-26 and Mike has to go home for his mom’s birthday weekend and he’s dreading it. He just knows his mom’s going to harp on him all weekend about why he’s still single and how he’s never going to get married and his mom’s never going to be a grandmother (like Nancy or Holly just don’t exist or something). He just wants to be able to go visit his family in peace, thank you very much.

So, as it gets closer to Mike going home, his mood gets worse and worse until El finally decides to just ask him what’s going on.

Mike tells her everything and El just blurts out: “Well, why don’t you bring a girlfriend home with you?” And Mike’s all “El, I don’t have a girlfriend.” And El goes “Well, how about I be your girlfriend? Just for the weekend, of course.”

Mike’s a little ambivalent about the idea at first, but El reassures him that there’ll just be some hand holding and sitting a little closer than they usually do (the two of them are pretty touchy feely with each other as it is), so it won’t be too weird or anything. And, reassured, Mike agrees - really, if it’ll get his mom off his back, even if just for the weekend, he’ll take it.

So, Mike and El head back to Hawkins and they go over the story they’re going to tell Karen - because Karen’s known El for years, so they have to have a story. They keep it simple: they’ve been friends for years, but only recently discovered that they both wanted it to be more, but didn’t want to say anything until they were sure, but now that they are, they both figured this was a good way to let everyone know

They get to Hawkins and Karen’s just ecstatic. She always knew there was something between Mike and El and “Mike talks about you all the time, El. A boy doesn’t talk about a girl that much without being in love with them.”

Suffice it to say, it’s awkward. Mike’s embarrassed, El’s trying not to get her hopes up, but they’re both just trying to grin and bear it.

And then Karen reveals that Mike and El are just going to have to share his childhood bedroom because her parents are visiting for her birthday and there’s just nowhere else El can sleep, but they’re both adults and Karen’s “sure that you two are used to sharing a bed *wink wink*. I know how you young people are these days.”

Suddenly, both Mike and El are really nervous. Sure, they’ve fallen asleep on the couch together after a late night of watching movies. But that’s entirely different than sleeping in the same bed. El especially is freaking out because, well, she didn’t think she’d be sharing a room, much less a bed, and what she brought to sleep in is, not, well...it’s something she wouldn’t mind her actual boyfriend seeing if she had one, but Mike’s a different story all together.

So, yeah, sleeping is really awkward that night.

What’s even more awkward? The next day when Mike’s grandpa insists that Mike “give your girl a kiss. Don’t be so shy!”

Now Mike and El are really freaking out and there’s a moment where they just share a look - Mike’s trying to silently apologize and El’s silently telling him it’s ok - but they both recognize they’re backed into a corner and, secretly, they’re both curious about finally knowing what it’s like to kiss the other person.

So, in front of all of Mike’s family, Mike kisses El...and it’s amazing. So amazing they almost forget this is supposed to be fake. And they both realize that those feelings they’ve been trying to suppress/ignore and maybe thought had disappeared? NOPE NOT A CHANCE and they’re both painfully aware that they’re in love with the other person and it’s so horrible because THIS ISN’T REAL.

The kiss ends, reality rushes back in, and now it’s not just awkward, but strained. Because El didn’t think it was going to hurt this much; she thought she could handle pretending to be Mike’s girlfriend, but she underestimated just how in love with him she really is. And for Mike, he’s very painfully aware that he’s never stopped having feelings for El and it’s a horrible time realize this because this is just fake and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be in love with his best friend and not tell her.

Eventually, probably during the birthday dinner or after, El slips away, needing some space, and Mike goes after her, clearly knowing that something is wrong (he thinks she probably has figured out he’s in love with her and it’s making her uncomfortable).

He finds her on the verge of tears and when he asks her what’s wrong, he’s so nice and sweet that El just ends up blurting out everything - how she’s in love with him and she knows he doesn’t love her back and she’s so sorry that she even came up with this idea in the first place because she didn’t know it was going to hurt so much and she’s so sorry that she’s ruined everything and she would completely understand if he doesn’t want to be friends with her.

Naturally, this is when Mike kisses her. Not because he’s backed into doing so, but because he can’t not. Because El loves him like he’s loved her all along. He tells her that he feels the same, that he has for a very long time but he didn’t want to ruin everything, so he’s been ignoring it. Beyond happy, El kisses him this time

After a very long while, they stop kissing and talk about what this means and both of them very happily decide to date for real instead of just pretend.

(Mike’s mom never find out)

(But you can bet your ass the Party does)

(And they never let Mike and El forget it)

Send me an AU and I’ll give you 5+ HCs for it!

[jodiwalker]

TATBT Recommends: 'The Haunting of Hill House,' AKA, Spooky 'Parenthood'

"Ghosts can be a lot of things: a memory, a daydream... but most times they're just what we want to see."

**This article originally appeared in the TATBT newsletter. No spoilers beyond the first episode!**

Steven Crain uses these words to undermine the idea of "real" ghosts in the earliest moments of this ghost story, immediately establishing himself as The Haunting of Hill House’s skeptical audience surrogate (although I trust that we are all much less of a drag than Steve, while simultaneously being just as hot as him).

Series creator Mike Flanagan then spends the next 10 episodes proving to us and to Steven, in the most frightening ways possible, that just because the ghosts of Hill House can be explained doesn't make them any less real — and no amount of logical explanation can rid Steven or his family of the ghosts that bind them together. Trauma is not logic-bound, and neither are the scars it leaves behind.

The Haunting of Hill House dropped on Netflix a week ago, and while I knew it would be an extremely loose adaptation of Shirley Jackson's fearsome 1959 gothic horror novel of the same name, I surely could not have guessed that the malleable nature of that adaptation would turn this haunted house story into what I've been referring to as...Spooky Parenthood.

And that’s a compliment. Prepare yourself for a gushing recommendation,; although I do discourage you from watching Hill House with the lights off, a full bladder, or in the near vicinity of anything that casts a shadow. The list of things that made me do a double-take, followed by a full 20-second stare down to see if they moved again include: the shadow of a sink faucet, every open door in my house, and the reflection of my own face in the TV when I finally turned Hill House off.

The Haunting of Hill House follows the Crain family at two different points in their lives: the summer when they briefly lived in a gorgeous, super haunted Victorian manor that was "born bad," and then 26 years later when a great tragedy forces them to reckon with the ways in which that house never left them, no matter how long ago they left it. The nonlinear nature of this family story might lend itself more glaringly to a This Is Us comparison, but the thing is...I'm the one making said comparison, and I think Parenthood is a far superior family drama to This Is Us.

And The Haunting of Hill House is, indeed, an excellent family drama. Who knew?! I love a good scare, especially around Halloween, so I set into Hill House expecting to do a little doom, make a little ghost, get scared tonight. All those things happened, but I also found myself crying repeatedly — a reaction to entertainment I both cherish and live in fear of. The cleverness of this series is that Flanagan understands that horror can be doubly horrifying when its rooted in care.

After getting to know the Crain family, you don't just want these people not to be tormented by ghosts because ghosts are the worst; you don't want them not to be tormented by ghosts because you care for them, in that same complicated way they care for each other in the midst of their own grief and tragedy.

The scares of Hill House aren’t just frightening...they’re sad. And surely there is nothing more frightening than despair. So the question remains: can you enjoy watching a series that asks you to repeatedly bare your second-hand soul in a sea of self-reflective human tears? 

Parenthood and The Haunting of Hill House say yes you can, and you will probably love it all the more precisely because of that emotional connection.

With style and empathy, Hill House coaxes viewers into caring for a family who turn away from their shared trauma and mental health at every turn. It makes you care for them so hard, you won't even give up on them when those turns so often reveal floating men in bowler hats and long-haired ladies with disturbing 90-degree angles in their necks.

Because of that time spent cowering under beds and around corners with the terrorized younger Crains, you understand why older Luke would turn to drugs; why Shirley would build up walls so steep no one can get in; why Theo would give so much to her work and so little to herself; why Nell would find the allure of her mother's own mysterious demise irresistible in the wake of numbing personal tragedy; and why Steve...

Well, Steve is just kind of sanctimonious and rude, but he's an eldest child with a superiority complex, and when building a family drama, it's important to depict accurate family dynamics. We need look no further than Adam and Kristina Braverman to know that just because someone is annoying doesn't mean they're not bringing a necessary ingredient to the familial table.

Sorry oldest children. — signed, ME, an endlessly lovable youngest child; a more reliable Crosby, if you will.

Of course, the youngest child in this scenario is Nell, a touch on the unreliable side because at only 6-years-old when her parents moved her to Hill House, she and her twin Luke were most vulnerable the spectral happenings within. A child cannot use logic or happenstance to explain away what's right in front of them — they can only see what's there. It's no surprise that being told what’s right in front of you is actually all in your head could leave psychological scars so lasting they'd lead grown-up Nell to...

Well, you’ll see.

If you don't like horror or earnestness, there's a good chance you won't like The Haunting of Hill House. But if you like even one of those things, this weird hybrid of a series might just sway you into liking the other. To call it "fun" would not exactly be correct on account of all the oppressive grief and sorrow and whatnot. But it thrills in that way only a truly spooky story can, and the family at its center is so thoroughly engaging.

Undoubtedly, life is a far more difficult journey for the Crains than it was for the Bravermans, but I am here to tell you, the healing that awaits them at the end of this battle is worth the fights and frights, if you’re willing to take the trip with them.

Oh that's right — this show is scary as hell and it gets a (mostly) happy ending. A few other helpful things to know going in:

THE CASTING

I've said repeatedly that Flanagan takes his time establishing empathy for the Crain family through recognizable sibling dynamics, and familial grief and devotion, but there is one thing he employs that establishes connection immediately...

The Crains are all smokin’ gorgeous, starting with their parents played by Henry Thomas in a pair of spooky-but-whatever-I'm-into-it blue contacts and Carla Gugino who has been maybe the most beautiful woman in the world for like 20 years running. The woman does not age, she just spawns cute little versions of herself who grow up to be beautiful, haunted adult iterations of herself. And the only thing I like more than a group of unreasonably hot characters...

Is the perfect casting of miniature versions of those characters. Seriously, I know y'all like This Is Us, but eat your fucking heart out Mandy Moore's painted-on wrinkles. The kids in that show are cute and they bear a passing resemblance to their adult counterparts, sure, but look at this:

Elizabeth Reaser (grown-up Shirley) and Lulu Wilson (l'il Shirley and also Camille's ghost sister in Sharp Objects) look...exactly alike??? It is wild. And it just goes on from there...

I've hardly even mentioned Theo, the coolest Crain sibling by far, played by the impossibly gorgeous Kate Siegel in full-size, and by the most prolific child actor of her generation, McKenna Grace, in fun-size.

I have mentioned Steve, but it's worth noting that much of his insufferable adult characteristics are assuaged by the fact that his younger self (Paxton Singleton) is a highly endearing little preteen nugget, and his older self is played by hot ass Michiel Huisman pretending to be a nerd by always carrying around a pair of lucite-framed glasses, but never actually wearing them.

And, oh the twins; these poor, poor twins who have just the most adorable faces, you can almost understand how a ghost would want to get all up in there for a squeeze. Given all these Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Actor magic tricks, it could only be intentional that tiny bespectacled Luke (Julian Hilliard who must have Jacob Tremblay absolutely shaking) grows up to be Oliver Jackson-Cohen who could legitimately play Captain America post-experiment. 

The camera spends a lot of its 10-hour run time zoomed-in on the face of little Nelly (Violet McCraw), so it's a delight every time you're struck once more by how much grown-up Nell (Victoria Pedretti) looks exactly like an enlarged version of her child self...even if every zoom of grown-up Nell is not a delight in and of itself.

That’s from the first episode! It’s not a spoiler, really! You’ll just have to watch!

IT'S THE SUMMER OF 1992

The Mall of America is opening, Ross Perot thinks he should run for President, and the Crain family have just moved to Hill House with intentions of flipping it to make enough money for their "forever home." It's difficult to immediately tell what time period the Crains are in when they move into Hill House because Olivia, the warm but occasionally possessed Crain mother is prone to swanning around the drafty mansion in velvet robes and wedges.

So, sometimes you might feel like it's 1970, but knowing from the beginning that it's 1992 could be helpful to your viewing experience.

The present-day timeline is 26 years later, and this will make it all the more curious as to why they brought in Timothy Hutton to play a 26-years-later Henry Thomas when Timothy Hutton is only 10 years older than Henry Thomas, but...should I just show you the young-and-old Shirley comparison again, and what say we forget all about this misstep??

THIS IS EPISODIC TELEVISION

The first five episodes of Hill House are building blocks, each one told from a different Crain sibling's perspective. I don't normally like to say this because it can make a viewer hyper-aware of their own viewing experience, but you gotta stay vigilant when there are ghouls peeking out from every dark corner anyway, so here goes: Just give it a few episodes! You might not find yourself enthralled in the first one or two, but the build is so enjoyable along the way. Y'know, if you find secondhand suffering and personal terror enjoyable (I doooo).

And once you make it to episode 5 — Nell's episode — you might not shake it for days. I certainly would not recommend watching it right before bedtime or in any sort of rush. I can think of few other entertainment experiences so suspenseful and conclusive; so terrifying and moving all at once.

And that emotional climax makes the perfect entry point to the marathon that is episode 6, which plays out like a stage production in only five continuous shots, the longest one running 17 minutes straight.

And this is where I warn you that some people who have loved the series have not loved the final episode. I am not one of those people because I'm sappy as hell and I love a perfectly tied ribbon around an oozing, molding, rotten, terror-wrapped package.

No, the emotion-heavy resolution of Hill House is not subtle, but family resolutions rarely are. They take time, and work, and they cannot be passive. Deep wounds — cuts that have been kept open for a lifetime — must be healed with intention. The ghosts that have haunted the Crain family for decades haven't disappeared by the time the final credits roll, but acknowledging that they were ever there in the first place is comfort enough.

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[redeyedryu]

Apathy & Happenstance

Chapter 7  - Ventilation and Conversation [Ao3] | 1 | 6 | x | 8

W H E L P. A bit over a year later but eh, better late than never, amirite? Let’s try this writing thing again, shall we? Anyway, I’ve been working on the world building and plot for this story for the last few months and am excited to get back into it! I’ve also decided to shift it into being a Reverse Harem fic so that’ll be fun.

Summary:   You can't lay in bed and sleep away your troubles forever. Eventually you're going to have to face the day and all its rancid smelling trials and tribulations. At least you've got pancakes.

You awaken the following day slowly; groggy, mind clouded in a fog and body heavy. You groan and rub at your eyes. Sigh and roll over. Maybe if you just lay here you can drift back to sleep, get another hour or so before you have to head in to work. The sound of a raised, albeit muffled, voice filters in through the door and you’re abruptly smacked with recollections of yesterday’s strange events. The groan you let loose borders on a whine as you pull the blanket up and over your head.

Maybe if you just ignore them the issue will go away. Maybe it really was just some crazy lucid daydream all along.

The voices begin steadily increasing in volume, chasing off any lingering remnants of sleep and, by extension, your hope of not having to deal with your new house guests. When you hear cabinets slamming and the clanking of pots and pans you decide sleep is a lost cause at this point and that you can only avoid facing reality for so long.

“Hnnngh…” you practically growl, tossing the blanket off. You reach over and nab your phone, intent on checking the time. You frown. “It’s too early to be alive…” you grumble, locking the device as you flop it face-down onto the bed. It’s really not but your incredibly tired body argues otherwise. You don't know what time you had finally managed to fall asleep but you're pretty sure you had seen the faintest hints of dawn peeking from between your heavy curtains.

You didn't get nearly enough sleep, you had been rudely awoken, and you have work today. A sure recipe for a shitty day.

You drag in a heavy breath, hold it for a beat, and then release it, taking the moment to muster up the strength to face the day.

It’s no big deal, you tell yourself. It's just another day; it'll be over before you know it. Then tomorrow will come and pass, then the day after and the day after that. However long it will take Sans—the one from your own universe, the blue one—to get here will creep up on you in no time, he’ll come and take The Edge Brothers and it’ll be back to your usual routine in no time. Back to being by yourself.

You ignore a strange tightness in your chest at that thought and push yourself out of bed.

You find the skeleton brothers bickering in the kitchen, an unrecognizable lump of something sizzling in a skillet. It smells like a strange combination of burnt starch and vinegar. Your face involuntarily scrunches up at the burning stench.

What the ever-loving hell had they been trying to cook…?

You swallow down a strong, acidic taste in your mouth, not particularly inclined to vomit so soon after starting your day and brush past Papyrus, commandeering the stove and flicking the burner off, shifting the smoking mess onto an adjacent burner. The fan atop the stove is quickly turned on max and you take a brief moment to survey the kitchen (nothing else seems to be burning or in an otherwise dire condition, thank goodness), batting at the smoke burning your eyes and nose. With all the smoke lingering about you count yourself lucky the smoke alarm hadn't gone off. You make a mental note to check its batteries later.

You surmise Papyrus had been the one cooking (if you could even call it that) judging by his proximity to the stove and that Sans was seated on the counter opposite the appliance; not a very conducive location for one to cook from. You note with mild interest how the two appear to be reciprocating your silent surveil.

The Edge Brothers are watching you in tense silence, as if waiting for you to explode or something. You think you see Sans flinch when you shuffle by him to open the window in the living room. Was he thinking you were going to hit him? It begs the question of just how bad things are in their home world. You try not to dwell on it, however; for all you know, you could have just imagined it and are overthinking things.

You take a deep breath, hold it, and then let loose a heavy exhale upon your return to the kitchen. You direct your dry, tired gaze to Papyrus but before you can even open your mouth, he speaks.

“YOUR EGREGIOUSLY LOW-QUALITY FOOD STUFFS MAKES FOR ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE INGREDIENTS!”

Your brows furrow.

…what?

“I WAS UNABLE TO SHOWCASE MY EXCEPTIONAL COOKING SKILLS BY PREPARING MY SPECIAL BREAKFAST LASAGNA DUE TO THE MEDIOCRITY OF YOUR PANTRY!”

You blink. Blink again, slower. Quirk a brow. In what world does lasagna involve so much vinegar to the point your nostrils are burning? Not to mention you're pretty sure you're supposed to use balsamic vinegar…. But that rancid mess? Your gaze drifts to the still steaming mass of failure. That is most definitely the smell of white vinegar. As your gaze drifts back to the towering skeleton’s empty sockets you find yourself doubting these “exceptional cooking skills” of his, quality of your pantry’s stock aside.

“Or maybe you’re just a really bad cook,” you mutter, shuffling back over to the stove to turn off the deafening fan, the smoke having dispersed enough. When you get no howling retort you're not sure whether you're relieved Papyrus hadn’t heard your snarky remark, or disappointed. You decide not to press your luck and try to shift the topic away from his questionable, self-proclaimed cooking prowess.

“Dunno many people that eat lasagna for breakfast,” you muse, bending down to retrieve another skillet and a lid, the latter of which you promptly drop atop the charred whatever-that-is. You nab a mixing bowl from the next cabinet over and go about gathering the necessary ingredients for a more common breakfast. Papyrus, meanwhile, has apparently elected to spectate a bit behind and to your side. “Though I guess there’re people out there that have nothing but meat for it…”

“YES, WELL CLEARLY YOU HAVE BEEN MISSING OUT, HUMAN.” You think he might have been trying to make that come off as some kind of condescending, baiting remark, but choose not to bite.

Instead, you proceed to mix the pancake batter before you, turning the stove on and heating up the skillet. The unmistakable sound of bones tapping out an impatient rhythm against linoleum drifts from behind you. Papyrus is probably still expecting some kind of response.

You're not going to indulge him, though, so you remain silent.

As an awkward, tense minute passes in verbal silence and the tapping of his bony feet petter out, you think you hear the sound of Papyrus’s skeletal jaw parting and brace yourself for a potential verbal bout. Before he can utter a single syllable, however, his brother beats him to the punch.

“whatcha makin’?” the sharp-toothed skeleton inquires from his perch.

“Pancakes,” you reply. As you spoon batter onto the pan you twist to address the two. “There anything y’all like on ‘um? I’ve got chocolate chips, blueberries, strawberries, a couple’a bananas, some cinnamon…?”

For a brief second you're caught off guard, your brows furrowing and head tilting ever so slightly. At your inquiry and obvious implication that you’re making breakfast for them, too, they had given you this wide-eye socketed look, an expression you can only describe as flabbergast on their bony faces. They didn't say anything, only continued to stare.

“Uh…” Had you said something wrong? “Unless you guys don't want any?” you say, offering them an out; maybe they didn't like pancakes? You squint at them before redirecting your attention back to the pancakes cooking before you. You honestly have more than enough batter for them and then some. If they don't want any you'll just bag the rest for later.

“strawberry…”

You barely catch it as you're dropping the first two ‘cakes on a plate. You're not sure you even actually heard that.

“Sorry?” you respond, turning back to catch Sans’s gaze. That curious red sweat is dotting the crown of his skull again and he quickly averts his gaze from yours. He’s clutching the edge of the counter tightly, hands on either side of his thighs. “I didn't quite catch that,” you prompt.

His shoulders are hunched up and he seems to be retreating into the collar of his sweater. An errant thought dances across your mind that he reminds you of a turtle trying to hide in that moment.

“s-strawberries…” he mutters, though it's muffled through fabric. He's still avoiding looking at you.

You take a moment to blink wide-eyed at the skeleton who’s apparently flustered for some unfathomable reason and then shrug.

“Strawberries it is, then. And you?” You shift your gaze to Papyrus, who has since taken to leaning against the counter, legs and arms crossed. He holds your gaze for a brief moment, the tip of his index finger bones tapping against his forearm.

“CHOCOLATE.” His reply is flat and in similar fashion to his brother, he averts his gaze from you by way of turning his skull to the side.

“Strawberries and chocolate, got it.” You have to suppress a snicker at that combination as you get back to cooking. There’s just something amusing about these “tough guys” having any apparent soft spot for sweets.

Breakfast (though it’s honestly more appropriate to call it lunch at this time of day) was a rather nice affair, all things considered. You had cooked up scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast to go along with the pancakes and the brothers had dug in with gusto. Papyrus, much to your surprise, had even insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes, allowing you ample time to ready yourself for work.

You had given him quite the skeptical, dubious expression at first but he had insisted.

You find yourself reflecting on the interaction as you thread a belt through the belt loops of your pants, nearly ready to head out.

“OH PLEASE, HUMAN,” he had huffed, and though he had no visible eye-lights like his brother, you had the distinct feeling he had rolled his eyes at you. “I MAY BE MANY THINGS: GREAT AND POWERFUL, TERRIFYING AND AWE-INSPIRING, BUT ONE THING I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT, IS INCAPABLE OF EXPRESSING MY GRATITUDE.” You quirked a brow at that, the plate you had been lifting off the table slowly gravitating back to its surface. He proceeded to let loose something of a ...growling sigh? You weren't sure.

“MUST I SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU?”

Uh… maybe?? Your internal dialog supplied. Seriously, where was this sudden shift in character coming from?

You must have emoted something as Papyrus had then proceeded to drag a clawed hand down his face with an unintelligible grumble.

“YOU HAVE AGREED TO SHELTER ME AND MY BROTHER, ABSOLUTE STRANGERS,” he continued after he had recomposed himself. “DESPITE KNOWING THE POTENTIAL DANGER WE COULD POSSIBLY POSE TO YOU. DESPITE OUR… RATHER LESS THAN AMICABLE  INTRODUCTIONS TO ONE ANOTHER. FURTHERMORE, YOU HAVE INCLUDED US IN YOUR MEAL WHEN YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO LEAVE US TO FEND FOR OURSELVES.” He had clenched his jaw and shifted his gaze to glare at the floor. “Especially after my bungled attempt to…” he shook his skull with a growl and had then locked eye to eye socket with you. His subdued voice was rather jarring, after having acclimated to his typical volume.

“WE ARE IN YOUR DEBT.”

He had said no more after that, simply proceeded to gather up the dishes scattered on the table and carried them to the sink. Sans hadn't pipped in anything, having disappeared into your guest room the second he had finished off his food, where he has remained since.

It's interesting, you think to yourself as you scour your room for your work hat, that Papyrus had laid that out there. You can't deny that little moment—whatever it was—with him was nice. Odd, yes, but nice nonetheless. Getting more insight into your house guests and learning that at least one of them has some semblance of etiquette is a relief.

Now if only you could find that stupid hat…

Pulling out your phone, you glance at the time and realize you’re just going to have to ask Josh for a new one. Again. You heave a sigh as you pick yourself up from the ground, extricating yourself from under your bed. Maybe you should just keep a cap in your locker.

Sans is apparently still napping in the guest room as you head out, as you don't spot him on either couch, in the kitchen, or seated at the small dinning table. Papyrus, meanwhile, appears to be wrapping up his rather thorough cleaning of the kitchen—seriously, you can't recall the last time it had looked so spotless. You catch his attention just as he's tossing a couple dirty paper towels into the garbage and motion him over to the living room. You give him a very quick, very condensed rundown of your consoles and TV, and inform him of the spare key in one of the kitchen drawers should he or his brother want to head out, before informing him that you’re heading to work and will be back later in the evening.

It isn't until after you're halfway to work that you realize you never really set ground rules or boundaries with your guests. You heave a heavy sigh and hope they don't go through your crap—not that you have anything particularly scandalous to hide. Guess that’s something the you of tomorrow will have to deal with. And besides, this afternoon hadn't been that bad at all; maybe this won't be as terrible a situation as you had first assumed.

[jamiemac26]

Movin’ On - Chapter Nine

Movin’ On - By JamieMac

Description: A relationship is made up of moments. Moments that span days and years, spaces of time. Y/N had been with Harrison Osterfield for 10 years, but after a horrific argument they break up and she finds herself reminiscing, about all the good times they had together and all of the bad times that they went though. She starts to see the pieces that fell - what she once thought was the perfect puzzle, every piece in its place, turned out to be a facade, one big jumbled up mess with nothing but patches in place of the missing pieces.

“Are you okay,” He asked her again, more concern lacing his words. She reached above her into the overhead bin, grasping onto her small suitcase. Familiar hands wrapped around hers and she allowed them to hoist the case down for her. She smiled at her friend, his shoulder flush with hers, “Thank you Thomas.” She squeaked as he pinched her arm gently, feigning his dislike for her use of his whole name.

“You okay,” He asked her quietly, his lips a whispered breath from her ear.

She nodded, her focus on the people in front of her as they filed out of the plane. She felt his warm hand slip into hers, locking their fingers together. His closeness. His warmth. His comfort settled her and she took a deep breath to steady her raging nerves. As they neared the terminal, he released her fingers, the back of his hand brushing lightly against her skin. She knew he would remain by her side, even if he couldn’t physically be touching her. The airport could be crawling with fans and cameras and Tom was always at his ready. He knew that she had been through enough, her breakup with Harrison was still gossip fodder and he didn’t not want to add to the chatter.

They were caught up in the throng of people, most heading in the same direction, a conveyor belt of movement. She had thought that she’d been separated from him on a couple of occasions, but he managed to appear next to her each time. As they flowed towards the exit, her mind drifted to the many times she had disembarked on American soil. Her first time had been when she had gone to visit the boys in Atlanta, the sweltering, suffocating heat imprinted on her mind forever. She remembered vividly the first time she had seen New York City and how it had been the defining moment of when she had fallen for the bright lights. How she had felt when she had first arrived in Los Angeles...not just five years ago when she came to call it her home, but when she had accompanied Tom and Harrison to the Civil War premiere.

Then she thought of the last first time she had landed in this enchanting city. Five years ago, she had walked off a plane, high on love, an unwavering future and the possibility of a new life. She remembered the excitement that elicited out of Harrison and how infectious it was, how it had seeped into her and she couldn’t help but be wrapped up in the dazzling prospects. She never once thought that she would be walking off a plane without him. She never thought that her life would exist without him in it. She always thought they would be together, that she would marry him. The last thought caused her to blink rapidly, a small tear inching its way down her smooth cheek. She didn’t swipe it away for she feared drawing Tom’s attention to her slight emotional break.

By some miraculous happenstance, Tom was only noticed a couple of times, each meeting lasting only a couple of moments. She was staring off into space, waiting for him to finish, when she felt the warmth of his hand on the small of her back. He guided her towards a tall man in a black suit...a man who held a sign embossed with Tom’s name.

She slid into the dark, cool backseat of the luxury sedan, Tom’s body flush against hers. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, his way of letting you know that he was still right next to her.

Once again she nodded her head, keeping her eyes turned from his curious stare.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N, I saw the tears,” His fingers pressed into her skin, the comfort melting her walls.

She sniffled, “I just wasn’t expecting to be back so soon. The wounds are still infected.”

She felt his fingers burn into her skin, the pads gripping her chin. He gently forced her head in his direction, his eyes locking onto hers. “I’m right here Y/N.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her eyes slowing creeping open to meet his gentle brown orbs. Words would not fall from her lips, but she expressed her appreciation with a simple look.

-

-

She sat at a familiar table, allowing the golden rays of the warm LA sunshine to soak into her skin. Her eyes were shielded with dark lenses, ones that allowed her to gaze at the passersby without their knowledge. Locals and tourists alike, strolled down the sidewalk. She wondered what their story was, what brought them to this bustling city. She grasped the ceramic mug in her hand, taking a sip of the steaming liquid. This cafe had been her haven, one which she visited on an almost daily basis. She loved the view and being in this city, her heart yearned to sit in this exact spot.

She thought back to the morning, Tom had a day full of meetings. A trip to this city was never meant for just one event, as his schedule would be filled to the brim. He had asked her if she’d wanted to join him, but she had politely refused, as she didn’t want to be baggage on his busy day. He had insisted that she would be a perk and not a burden, but she itched to get out and walk the city that she had once called home. After much back and forth, she had assured him that she would be fine, her lips pressed a soft kiss to the smooth skin of his cheek, the tingles of familiar electricity pulsed between them. She had watched him leave and set off on her own to explore.

She took another sip, lost in a world of her own making when a shadow loomed over her space…

‘What the fuck, I thought you weren’t coming back to LA.”

In retrospect, she should have gone with Tom.

She glanced up, the sun haloing a familiar mess of blonde curls, “Hi.”

He pulled out the empty chair, not even waiting for an invitation, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a coffee shop, am I not allowed to have a cup,” She avoided his bright blue eyes.

“That is not what I meant. I distinctly remember you saying that you would never set foot in this town again and yet, I find you sitting here.”

She used the moment to take another sip of her drink, not sure how to proceed without causing a scene. Harrison studied her studiously. He knew this woman, inside and out. He knew what she was thinking and he knew when she was avoiding talking about a certain topic. He squinted his eyes, anger and perplexion written on his face. She snuck a quick glance and as her eyes met his, they popped open, realization dawning.

“You’re here with him,” Harrison’s rigid body seethed.

“He has a name for christ’s sake,” She ignored his ire.

“Whatever... so how long have you and Tom been together?”

She rolled her eyes, “We aren’t. He’s my friend Haz, just as he was once your friend. I lost you but I sure as hell would not lose him too.”

Harrison fidgeted, not liking what he was hearing, “You were always more willing to support him over me anyway, so I’m not surprised that you’ve followed him back here.”

She snorted, his words stinging her ears. She narrowed her eyes at him, the fury beginning to bubble, all of the pent up emotions mixing together, creating a cocktail of anger. “What the fuck are you talking about,” She hissed, painfully aware of the perked ears surrounding her, “How did I not support you? I spent two years Harrison, two years, working 80 hours a week to pay for a condo that we couldn’t afford, so that you could keep living your pretentious lifestyle. I moved to this deplorable city for you. I left my family for you. I left everything that I loved for you and you can sit there and tell me, to my face, that I didn’t support you enough.” The sting of tears burned the backs of her eyes and she silently cursed herself for giving in to the well of feelings. She needed to keep it together.

He sat staring at her. His eyes unblinking. It’s like he was looking into her, yet through her at the same time and it was unnerving. She fidgeted in her seat, her hand clenching her phone, fingers at the ready to text Tom. He moved to stand, causing her to flinch, but she maintained eye contact with him.

“I see that you long ago made your choice,” His hand extracted a couple wadded up bills from his pocket, causally tossing them onto the white table.

Again, she blinked, his words swirling, “What are you on about?”

“If you don’t know Y/N, then what is the point of me even explaining it to you,” With his voice still hanging around them, he turned and walked away from her.

She sat in silence. The sounds around her turnin to a mellow din. She was stunned, yet she wasn’t surprised by what he had said. He’d always assumed, always thought that there was something going on between herself and Tom and no matter how many times she had tried to tell him it simply wasn’t the case, he had chosen to believe otherwise. She should have known that showing up here, being Tom’s plus one, was going to do nothing but confirm what he’d chosen to take on as truth.

“Ugh,” She forced the word from her throat, loud enough for faces to turn towards her. She blushed under their stares and ducked her head, her fingers flying over the smooth surface of her phone.

-

-

“Are you okay,” He asked again and again.

Y/N nodded her head, burying her face in the plush bed pillows.

“Are you sure?”

She could hear the concern laced throughout each word and she turned to look at him. His brown eyes searched her face and she gave him a small reassuring smile, “I am okay Tom, I just can’t figure him out. How long has he believed? How did I not notice? God, I knew that he was jealous, that he struggled with your success, but I never thought that he believed I would choose you over him.” She stared at the ceiling, her mind spinning in circles, her thoughts nothing more than a jumble of memories, “How could he think so little of me?”

Tom sat down next to her, his hand pressing into her thigh, “Y/N it has nothing to do with you. He wouldn’t be saying or even thinking these things if you had gone back home to someone else. It’s me that he’s angry with.”

“But why? Tom you never did anything to him but try to remain a loyal friend,” Y/N sat up slightly, her eyes catching his.

“Because I had everything he wanted, including you.”

She allowed her eyes to flutter shut, trying to decipher his words, “But you didn’t have me...he did.”

“He didn’t have you exclusively, you stayed my friend. I had the career he wanted. I drove the cars he itched to drive. I lived in the house that he could only dream about and to top it off, I had part of your heart, so even that, even that he had to share.”

She felt his fingers rub comforting circles on her leg, hot where he touched her. He was right. Harrison had asked, even begged her to stop talking to Tom, but she hadn’t listened. She had defied him, ignored him, had gone behind his back to maintain Tom in her life and that, that had cut deeper than anything else. “Oh…”

“Knowing that you’re here, here with me...You know Harrison, he never has dealt with his feelings well,” Tom glanced over at her, his eyes soft.

She could feel the tears building again. Tom sensing that she was about to break, crawled up the bed, taking her in his arms. He pulled her to him, enveloping her in the security of his comfort. She breathed him in. The same scent that she had come to associate with warmth, love, friendship and home and her heart started to flutter. His arms were strong and his chest was firm under her cheek. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping feelings that seemed to make an appearance whenever they touched. She bit back the urges, reminding herself that he was her friend, her family...she couldn’t feel for him any other way. But as he held her, his fingers smoothing through her hair, his voice cooing in her ear, his body giving her the peace that she needed, she struggled to maintain her mantra. She lifted her head, catching his soft eyes watching her. Her lips pressed into his collarbone. It started as a thank you, but her lips continued on their upward journey. The nap of his neck. His chiseled jaw. The soft skin below his ear. His smooth cheek. She inched ever closer to his plump lips, the soft moans that escaped them drawing her to him. His arms tightened, holding her body flush to his. She hesitated and in that moment, Tom took control his lips crashing down onto hers. She froze, but as he moved with her, she melted into him. His tongue swiped across her bottom lip and she parted, allowing full access. So caught up in one another, they failed to hear the clamoring of phones, both going off in perfect synchronization. She was the first to pull away, horror briefly flashing across her flushed face. Tom failed to notice, his own cheeks a bright crimson. He reached for his phone, pulling it to his ear. She turned to find hers, confusion at seeing Harrison’s name registered across the screen.

Movin’ On Masterlist

Taglist: @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @marvelmakeuplover @baileythepenguin

[cassiepanicked]

I fell down the rabbit hole of watching adoption and foster care advocacy videos. Now I’m sitting in silence in my empty apartment wondering how this montrosity of a system has had such an impact on my life. Both good and bad, I am who I am because of colonial practices and treaties. I am estranged from my family and rely heavily on the compassion of my animals and complete strangers.

I don’t remember my sibling’s ages or birthdays. I think my mother’s eyes are a gray-green but I couldn’t tell you with a certainty. I’m cycling through bouts of crippling depression and paranoia. I’m falling into a comfortable stride at work while serving my family as community members in the inner city and removing myself from their name. I didn’t recognize their faces and they knew me. They looked so excited to see me until they saw their stranger faces reflected in my curious expression.

Who am I? Nothing is happenstance and I am here for a reason. I’ve been making the wrong decisions and the right ones. Some with intention some without. What I’m becoming increasingly cognizant of, is how I am falling on the living half of the death statistics youth in care represent. I graduated. I’m working. I’m advocating. And I still wanna die. The trauma and shame lingers forever, I’m fairly certain there’s actual markers of childhood trauma embedded in the brain. I’ll find the study at some point.

Main point being, we all need to do better.

How do you move on?

You don't. You just live with it everyday and time shall pass, memories turns vague and it would feel like everything was just a dream.

[gigiree]

Something about moonlight

A/n: okay this one was a bit of stretch, but since eventually SasuHina will get together, I figure Hanabi’s mere presence fulfills the Day 7:In-Laws prompt. Also in which we learn why Hinata stole the scroll. Sort of. —

Good evening Sasuke-san. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Hanabi says politely, kneeling across the low table from him. The steam of their tea makes her pale features ghostly, but her eyes are still shrewd and amused as he growls his irritation.

“You’re not the one I was looking for.”

“Then who was this Lady Hyuuga you were asking for?”

“Hinata…” He says her name like it’s disease, with so much distaste, he can feel the girl’s chakra rise.

Her eyes might even be paler than Hinata’s. They glint fiercely in the bright lighting of the receiving room, and Sasuke finds himself just a tiny bit sympathetic for the poor soul who would be Hinata’s suitor.

Hanabi smooths down the folds of her cream colored kimono with practiced elegance. Something about it strikes him as false. He can see her inexperience in the tightness of her jaw, the constant movement of her fingers as she traces the rim of her cup.

She glances up at him, eyes cutting through the steam.

“What do you want with my sister, Uchiha?”

Sasuke finds himself mildly amused, and while he can see why Hinata would do anything to protect her sister, he’s having a hard time reconciling this fierce young clan leader with someone who needed protection.

He wonders what sort of clan head Hinata would have been, with colored cheeks and a slim neck peeking out from those cream robes. It doesn’t matter.

Hinata still has the scroll, and he’s bought her as much time as he can. The librarian is starting to get suspicious.

“She borrowed something from me. I need to get it back.”

Hanabi stares at him for a long time. He can see the sheen of her slightly bulging veins as she lets her silvery chakra flow and checks him for signs of lying.

His heart rate is steady. His breaths are normal. He’s calm in the face of her scrutiny and with a sigh, she shuts her eyes and nods.

“I’ll call for her. Wait here, she’ll come soon.”

And with a delicate wave of her hand, she rises and seems to float out of the room, closing the sliding door behind her with some measure of force.

He stares at the painted screen, admiring the white of the cranes that seem to nearly fly from the lake. Their heads are crowned with red and he feels a sharp sense of melancholy.

There’s sadness here. He’s not entirely sure why, but it hangs over this home like a rain cloud. He finds himself curious. Perhaps he can ask Hinata about it. —

She’d thought her entire world had shattered again on that one clear night. A night where the stars had winked out clearly with a cold light. And then she’d thought that a rebirth was incoming, a hope blooming in her chest until she felt she was choking on flowers.

She’d thought, she’d wished, she’d cemented her pathway…until stagnancy settled in and wilted her hopes to nothing. Hanabi keeps those same hollow eyes trained on her duties as clan head, unknowing. Her father holds the same weight of secrecy in him as Hinata does.

She’s trying. Trying hard to unravel the lock mechanism that keeps him and herself strained and sad.

This had all been a month after the war. She’d raged. She’d swept aside any of her father’s assurances as she broke down sobbing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Why didn’t you tell us?!”

Hiashi hadn’t explained that.

“Hinata…daughter…let me take care of this…I’ll find a way. I’ll work with Lady Tsunade…you just…concentrate on finding your place in this world.” His words were like scissors, frigid, merciful. Snip, snip he cut away her bonds to her station and set her free.

She resents him for that.

For the way that she was dismissed from that lonely hospital room…away from the moonlight cradling a thin figure who was hooked up to too many machines, their dark beautiful hair splayed out all over the bed.

She knew that person wouldn’t have wanted her to linger. So after she had wept, after she had decided that her mind counted this person lost but her heart did not, she had gathered herself up and attempted to find her place.

But she was forever bounding to places where the village wanted her to be. It seemed that even if her clan had set her to meandering, Konoha had its own plans for her. Konoha was growing and recovering. It would not wait for a girl forever bouncing on a trampoline.

She tries her best by choosing her own assignments, by trying out new things and giving herself new experiences. But she hasn’t let her father cut her loose completely. She’s clinging onto those fraying threads with dying hope while she waits for some sort of end to this whole thing.

It’s the waiting that kills her. It’s the waiting that prompts her to steal a precious scroll from the library. And she hadn’t thought she’d be able to keep it this long, she’s already made some headway. But there’s too much here to copy of her own accord.

She feels a little guilty for blackmailing Sasuke like she had, but if she could unravel the Caged Bird Seal, it would all be worth it. She might even be able to save the thin, comatose person sleeping in lonely moonlight and sunlight. But the days have worn on. It’s been nearly half a year.

She should count herself lucky, but she’s still grieving.

And she needs help. She doesn’t want to arouse suspicion of what she’s attempting, but maybe all her questions to Sakura might already be too much of a give away.

She trusts Haruno. She trusts her team…she doesn’t trust herself…to have the ability to see this through.

She needs the Sharingan for that.

And by happenstance or by fate, Sasuke is at her door today. She’s sent Hanabi to distract him for a bit, but she needs to lay out what her request will be.

She chances a brief glance at one of the many picture frames on her nightstand. She needs to swallow her doubts and say her wish.

So with one last longing look at the group of picture frames on her desk, edged by stacks of paper and the scroll. She smiles softly at the candid photo and Then she heads out to meet her guest. —

She catches him doodling. He’s taken up one of the extra pens she brought out, and while she overlooks the sections she’s interested in, he’s already covered a napkin with perfect little Uchiha fans. The style is familiar, and it reminds her of the personalized stationery his shopping list had been on.

She smiles at him, setting aside the scroll for now.

“You’re very good at that.”

He stops and looks up at her, one brow raised to silently ask what she means by that.

She nods towards his designs, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“They all look exactly the same. They’re perfect. Did you copy the pattern from your stationery?”

Sasuke blinks slowly, bemused at her interest in something so simple.

“I made that too. It helps to relieve stress.” He waves a hand over his eyes. “The Sharingan makes it easier.”

“Ah…I see.” She frowns a bit. “Do you remember learning something about the sharingan being descended from the Byakugan?”

He grunts, unsure of where she’s going with this. He’s starting to feel wary of her line of thought, especially when her white eyes spring up to meet his with such excitement, he feels his heart leap up into his throat.

“Do you think…I could borrow your eyes for bit?”

“Aren’t you already borrowing them? I’ll copy down whatever you need me to. I already agreed.”

She shakes her head vehemently, bringing up a few trembling figures to trace over her temples and her eyes.

“I want to see what it looks like when you activate it? You have the Rinnegan too, so I want to see if I can decipher what chakra pathways our types of eyes activate!” She places her hands happily on the table, leaning forward until her face is too close for his comfort.

He could drown in that quicksilver, could lose himself in those eyes of hers. He leans away, crossing his arms over his chest until she gets the hint.

She looks apologetic. Very much so as she fists her hands in the folds of her brown skirt.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

For some reason, she looks like she’s collapsing under the gravity of her own eyes, as if they had their own lunar gravity and they were slowly pulling her into herself.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He remarks, and wonders if he’s made a mistake when she gasps and nearly leaps over the table to clasp his hands in hers.

“Thank you. Thank you so much! I promise I won’t bother you anymore. You won’t have to see my face ever again after this.” She tells him earnestly.

He believes her. And somehow, the thought of never seeing her again makes him feel queasy. —

He heads back home that day. The scroll safely in his possession to return tomorrow to the library.

His face still feels strange. Foreign to him. Even when he looks in the mirror and the same sullen expression as always stares back at a him, he can feel the lingering brushes of her fingertips. Can feel the pathways she’d traced while she examined his active Sharingan with her Byakugan.

He looks back at her stolen umbrella near his door. It stands guard over the assurance that he will see her in the future.

Somehow, this also makes him queasy. He tells himself it’s probably just the strange tea blend he’d been served and shuts up the little nagging bits of his memory that won’t let him forget the feeling of her gravity, slowly…slowly pulling him into her orbit.

For @penpenheart. :)

[fleetingfan77]

The Flaw in Every Crystal (aka The Darkest Fic) My Thoughts and Feelings

So, I love this story and decided that for my third reread of it I will post all my thoughts and feelings on it as well.

Chapter 1:  'Welcome to Praxus' Part 1 

aka: The meet cute!

aka: IT BEGINS

I find giving Jazz the career of cultural investigator interesting in how many ways it is used. I have seen the career going from government jobs to being a reporter like Jazz is in in this fic. Also odd how often Praxus is associated with crystals when I believe there is a place in transformers called “Crystal City”.

So we see at first that Jazz is actually dreading this assignment at first when compared to every other place he had ever visited despite being in some dangerous areas before. Perhaps its a “better the devil you know” about an unknown place, or just the sheer creepiness of a clean city, like an empty apartment that just seems wrong somehow. And the odd sameness of suburban areas.

We also see that this cleaness and order goes all the way to customs which Jazz has to contend with before entering the city. Almost surprised there is no examination of either his subspace or his medical health if the city is truly so paranoid. Also, I wonder how hard it would be for a Praxian to leave Praxus to live somewhere else? We do see what seems to be a local stealing Jazz’s paperwork. Though I wonder how easy it would be to sell/use by someone other than Jazz. Any paperwork I would assume would have at least some visual information about Jazz that would make it hard for another person to use.

Surprised that the data work went multiple days. Would he have to go to a city hall type place? I had assumed at first it was like customs with the information being taken at the gates/terminals. Maybe there is preliminary data taken there then he has to go to another government building?

I am a bit surprised that there is such a seemingly large tourist section for a place so hard to get into in the first place. I wonder if the places there are run by people who originated outside the city or if its one of those imitations by the locals of places they have never been.

I wonder if Jazz is just randomly stopped or if he was stopped after being seen talking to a local. I wonder if Prowl set it up almost or if it was just happenstance? It was rather convenient that Prowl just so happened to be there when Jazz was dragged in. It was also just as Prowl’s shift had ended when in most stories, Prowl is known to stay late at work. It would be easy for Prowl to use this to meet Jazz, and if Prowl didn’t end up liking Jazz, Jazz’s paperwork is mysteriously “found” in a raid, lost and found, or a thief, point is Jazz can then leave and all is good. Prowl is also “Intrigued” by someone being brought in and seems to know right off the bat that no one is coming for Jazz. One could argue that since Jazz looks like an outsider and has no glyphs that Prowl can logically assume that no Praxian is coming to pick him up, but Prowl had no way of knowing that Jazz didn’t come with other friends or family to the city who would be able to pick him up later. Prowl then practically shoves them both out of the door of the police station. No question of if anyone is here with Jazz, no filing a missing report of the data or even any question if Jazz is missing anything else such as credits that most other thieves would probably want to take first in other cities. Prowl, despite being an officer, just accepts that Jazz just lost it with a remark of “hardly clever”. What would be a clever response to losing your paperwork? My cyberpuppy ate it?

I have to wonder again about how a Praxian would be able to get out of Praxus since the culture is so mysterious that only the tourist area is known. It makes it sound like everyone who is born there never leaves. Which partly you could say is the way the people are raised, but even then there should have been someone who got curious about the outside...

I do like how Prowl almost seems to be showing off the city at first by taking Jazz to his personal favorite shop. I wonder if Jazz wasn’t so quick to allow Prowl to order for him, if Prowl would have done so anyway. 

I wonder why Jazz doesn’t just say he doesn’t know what an Escort is. Could it be some of his fear of the city cropping up? Is he wracking his brain if he had heard of such a thing in the tourist district? 

It also says a lot about Jazz that he’s the type of person who would give the energon the benefit of the doubt and then drink something he hates rather than feel as though he insulted Prowl by trying to order something else. 

As for the role of an Escort, I find it interesting that Prowl says, “As such, among a few other stipulations, you are not to go anywhere without me.” Would this be during one of the routine stops that Jazz was going through at first, or is he now kinda “marked” as needing an escort?  

I wonder then if you lost your paperwork and then left before an Enforcer picked you up, would you still be unable to return or is it just if you don’t have the Escort that should be with you? It is also telling that Jazz doesn’t question being unable to return to the city if he is found without an Escort despite not knowing what an Escort was at first. This leads us to assume that being exiled from a city state is not unheard of and may even be common. I also wonder what stranger things Jazz had gone through earlier.

Did the police get where Jazz was staying when they brought him in to know to contact the hotel? They must have since otherwise they would have to pretty much send a data packet to every hotel in the area. 

I guess the city may not have a lost/found for Jazz to fill something out if his belongings seem to automatically belong to the hotel. I’m also surprised that its that the belongings go to the city if the hotel can’t “use” them. I wonder if selling counts as “using” or if the hotel must actively be using them. Though Prowl seems confident that they can get the items for Jazz if needed. Is there a time limit or is Prowl entitled to them as the Escort before the hotel?

Interesting knowing what happens later on that Prowl says “my home” at this point. This does seem to me to lend a lot to the Prowl setting him up theory, or Prowl would have eventually just taken Jazz to the train/exit and....exiled him? Or could Jazz come back with new paperwork as long as he left with an Escort? Kinda funny to imagine Prowl dropping Jazz off and then just turning away and going “Welp goodbye forever...”  

Also odd that Prowl confirms he works from late at night to early in the morning. So by this time frame Jazz was out and about first thing in the morning in order to be brought in as Prowl’s shift was ending. So the meal they got together would be considered the morning/brunch meal rather than lunch or dinner. Jazz must have really been out of sorts then to be willing to waste so much of a day going straight to Prowl’s home in what at most must be the early afternoon. UNLESS IT WAS A SET UP, *ahem* anyway...So it seems that Prowl is willing to stay up late to him, early morning/afternoon, to take Jazz to wherever he wants.

And the question that will ruin it all  "You said you had questions about the culture of Praxus. Were you only interested as a tourist or did you want the full experience?" If only Jazz had said just as a tourist, I wonder if it would have changed anything at all... It is interesting that Jazz doesn’t give a clear cut answer to this question, saying that he would be up for “almost” anything. Prowl then clarifies that Jazz wants to be considered a citizen, to make sure he can record Jazz saying it as proof of their relationship later on? I can see when having to file paperwork to make him and Jazz mates, Prowl could produce this as Jazz consenting. Does bring up the really messed up unable to withdraw consent implications for all relationships though. Prowl said the paperwork would be done by tomorrow, so I wonder if he means that the mate contract can be filed the “apparently” same day they met as long as Jazz “agreed” or if simply being an Escort requires paperwork that Prowl must go back to file since they did leave the police without Prowl filing any official paperwork. UNLESS HE ALREADY HAD IN PREPARATION FOR JAZZ BEING BROUGHT IN LATER.

Thus concludes chapter one. Till next time.