#but like i said here there's like fifty different angles at any given moment

[hella1975]

I’m not exactly well versed in British culture, so I might be a bit off base here, but it might help some of your US followers if they frame the pervasiveness of classism within the context of the American south.

There is a very common and socially accepted assumption that southerners are stupid, backwards, toothless hillbillies with dumb accents.

Its often played off like a joke, but the insidiousness of it is real and harmful. I don’t think it’s too dissimilar to what you experience, either, though perhaps not quite as pointed or extreme.

When I travel, I do my best to flatten my accent so people don’t pick up on it as easily. As soon as everyone finds out where I’m from, I’m made into a joke. It fucking sucks.

i dont know enough about the american south and i would like to reiterate that despite similarities our class systems are still so different that blanket-comparing them isn't gonna cut it, but yes this sounds exactly right!! like class over here isn't just a money thing, in fact more often than not that's a very small part of it. it's dictated by income and region and accent and what school you went to and what your family do and who you know even down to what you wear and what supermarket you shop at, and if you dont meet the top marks in ALL of these then you will experience classism at some point

[brucenorris007]

Departure

Kvhroon.

“You get everything?” Knuckles asked in lieu of any sort of greeting; he didn’t even look up.

Shadow huffed. If he ever had any interest in being able to startle the echidna, he’d given up on it decades ago. Of course, that went both ways; each of them immersed too often in chaos energy for their senses to fail recognizing the other.

“There wasn’t much to collect,” he said to his back. “I don’t suppose you–?”

“I already got everything important to me,” Knuckles said quietly. “I only left the ghosts behind down there. No need to double-check.”

Shadow nodded.

“Well,” he said, hoisting his precious cargo. “I’m confident that I’ve got all I need.”

Knuckles finally turned from what he was doing to glance in Shadow’s direction; he followed with a much more dramatic double-take.

“Is that…?” He asked, tone bewildered.

“She said she wanted to be more valuable than the Mona Lisa,” Shadow said, shrugging and pulling out Rouge’s ashes; his diary and few preserved photos fit, but the heavily jewel-encrusted urn refused to be contained by any zipper. “It certainly kept life interesting after she died.”

“It’s sparkling,” Knuckles said dumbly. “There’s no natural light in here and it sparkles. It’s so…”

“Valuable.”

Knuckles stared at him. Shadow stared back; well aware the guardian had likely been reaching for a different word. He raised his hands amicably, smiling.

“She’d have loved it,” he murmured. “Where are you gonna keep her?”

“I thought she’d like the emerald chamber,” Shadow said. “Give her something to look at.”

“Heh. Sounds about right.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, letting her memory occupy the silence.

“Okay,” Knuckles said, rolling his shoulders. “Check off our list; head count?”

“I spoke to Gemerl just before,” Shadow said, replacing Rouge in his bag. “He’s happy to leave whenever.”

“And the other two?”

Shadow chuckled.

“Omega questioned if fifty tons of ammunition was enough.”

Knuckles’ nose wrinkled.

“Just tell ‘em not to blow anything up unless we actually find a fight.”

Shadow smirked, shaking his head; more than a century, and some things still hadn’t changed.

“I’ll find Metal now.”

“It might be doing laps,” Knuckles said, rubbing his jaw. “Then again, I’ve been in here a while.” He shrugged, stepping to the wall. He grabbed onto an arch that gently angled out of the wall; amidst all the many chambers Shadow had seen on Angel Island, to say nothing of the chambers he hadn’t, one could easily mistake it for something aesthetic. “I’ll start the engine.”

Knuckles heaved; ancient mechanisms shook the floor as the echidna coaxed a massive cylinder of stone from the wall. He took ten paces backward, stopped, then threw the whole of his weight to one side, pulling with his shoulder.

The cylinder turned, a full one-hundred-eighty degrees.

Knuckles shoved, and the ignition slid back into place in the wall; the stuttering, intermittent clicks and clocks beneath his feet gave way and bled into a powerful hum. In the middle of the chamber, a display like a console came to life.

“Sayonara, Mobius.” Knuckles said, tipping his hat.

‘This is actually going to work.’

Shadow hadn’t exactly doubted Knuckles when he said Angel Island could take them off-planet, but the controls in front of him, the tinge of melancholy in the echidna’s voice…

It was suddenly much more tangible.

And Shadow was pleasantly surprised to find himself ready.

“I’m gonna get a little more comfortable with this set up,” Knuckles said, speaking with his back to Shadow again. “Let me know when our crew’s good to go.”

“Roger.” Shadow intoned, turning toward the door. Chaos control might let him move faster, but popping in and out all over the island looking would take him longer.

“Shadow.”

He looked over his shoulder. Knuckles looked back.

“Do you need anything from the–?”

“I only left ghosts behind up there,” Shadow said. “No need to double-check.”

Knuckles nodded and turned back to the console. Shadow silently thanked him for not asking twice.

He left the chamber, gradually picking up speed and skating toward the island surface.

‘Sayonara, Mobius.’

@generic-sonic-fan

[angryinternetduck]

Lucky

hello hello and welcome to halloween !!!! in august!!!! i know it's weird haha but here's about 6.7k words of harry styles x reader during halloween. featuring a "haunted house" and a cute cat with two names. also caramel apples. enjoy!

masterlist | ask

The house was haunted.

You were sure of it.

And yeah, you thought, looking up at the ginormous mansion looming above you, you were incredibly grateful that the house had fallen to you, but the whole thing was starting to feel like the beginning of a bad horror movie.

Some old relative had died - you weren’t close with them at all, and you felt a bit bad that the only feelings associated with their death were happiness at getting their property - and left you their estates. You’d moved in a few weeks ago, and now you were hearing things.

Things like scratching in the vents, and howling in the wind, and glasses mysteriously crashing to the floor of their own accord in other rooms. The floors always creaked at night, and so did the doors, which randomly swung open and closed.

You hadn’t really wanted to tell anybody about all of this or your suspicions, fearing you’d come off as a bit crazy. Of course, the few people you had told had just laughed and given you the It’s an old house - it’s settling bullshit.

Which you didn’t believe. At all.

What did that even mean, “the house is settling”? Settling for what? Settling down, like it was some middle aged guy who was about to have kids with his wife in the fifties? Or maybe it was settling down like it was angry, and had had a tantrum, and was just settling down into a calmer state. Not that that was any more comforting.

Now, as you struggled to get your key to turn in the lock, you wondered if you could sell the house or something. Everybody you’d asked for advice had told you to wait and fix it up, that you’d regret giving it up when you had four kids and a husband and needed space.

They’d also said it looked like shit so you’d get a crappy deal unless you fixed it up.

Then again, those were the same it’s settling people, so what did they know?

You sighed, finally getting the key to turn, and shoved your shoulder into the door. Making a mental note to oil the door - again - as it creaked, you shut it behind you with your foot before stepping into the living room and collapsing onto the couch.

The couch matched the house: gray, run down, and creaky. There were patches sewn in every so often, and it smelled like old lady perfume. It did the job, though, which was very convenient in the moment but didn’t exactly motivate you to buy a new one very quickly.

You’d turn on the TV, but there wasn’t one. Instead, you stared at the empty, ashy fireplace while you gathered the gumption to get up and off the couch. After a few seconds, you heard something - a little skittering sound in the walls - and frowned, pulling yourself up and towards the stairs.

It was probably just mice, but accompanied with everything else, you weren’t about to take any chances. The stairs, like every other part of the house, creaked as you walked upstairs. You’d almost gotten used to the floorboards around the corner creaking before you got to them, but it still spooked you a bit. When you glanced around the wall and there wasn’t anyone there, as usual, you got changed into comfortable clothes as quickly as you could.

Then you collapsed into the bed. After washing the sheets a few (ten) times, you’d gotten rid of the musty smell, and the huge victorian frame and feathery mattress had become your safe haven. The whole room had become your safe place, really - you’d cleaned and swept until it had somewhat resembled a nice bedroom and not a dusty old crypt.

Once you were there, safe in your room with your headphones on, the house didn’t seem all that bad. A huge window covered the wall right next to your bed, looking out onto rolling grassy fields like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

So you listened to music, imagining a dashing stranger saving you from a twisted angle.

Soon, you were asleep.

***

“Nobody will deliver this far!” you exclaimed, talking into your cell phone as you rooted through the drawers in front of you. “I’ve tried, like, six different places, and they all said it’s too far!” Your friend on the line sighed, and you heard her slurp noodles from the Chinese take out she was eating.

“Well,” she said, “that sucks.”

“Oh, gee, helpful,” you deadpanned.

“Listen, there has got to be someplace you can go,” she told you matter of factly. You frowned, digging through a cabinet. “Yeah, well” - you gasped, jumping a foot into the air as something brushed against your leg - “shit!”

You whipped around, brandishing the pan you’d just grabbed as a weapon. “What the -”

A cat.

There was a black cat, with the brightest green eyes you’d ever seen, looking up at you innocently. It meowed loudly, looping through your legs, and you sighed. “It’s a cat,” you explained to your friend.

“You got a cat?”

You scoffed, looking at it as it jumped up onto the counter. “No!” you replied. “No, I - Jesus, of course I didn’t get a fucking cat, I just… I just moved in!” There was a beat of silence, and then your friend said, “So… there’s a strange cat… in your house.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, hesitantly reaching out. It leaned into you, purring loudly, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” you said again, laughing a bit. “Listen, listen,” you added, and you put the phone up to the cat.

“That’s cute,” your friend said when you brought the phone back to your ear, sounding a bit worried, “but, uh… does it have a tag, or something?” You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, and felt around the cat’s neck. Just fur. “Nope,” you replied.

“Are you gonna… keep it?”

You grinned, scratching its ears, and shrugged. “I dunno.”

***

You wanted to name the cat Lucky.

That night, as the crisp October wind howled outside, you didn’t hear any creaks. The house was practically silent, and you slept like a baby with the little creature curled at your feet. Plus, she - as you’d determined earlier - was black, and with the whole Unlucky Black Cats thing, “Lucky” seemed like a nice little joke.

She was gone the next morning, but you figured she was just somewhere around the house, so you went around calling, “Lucky!” as if she’d respond. It was almost two hours before you gave up, and convinced yourself it was just a fluke and you’d never see her again.

“She’s gone,” you said mournfully by way of greeting your friend as you made breakfast.

“Who?”

“Lucky!”

“Who?”

“The cat,” you sighed. “She’s gone. Wasn’t here this morning.”

“Oh,” your friend replied. “Well, maybe she found her owner!”

You pouted, sliding butter around your pan. “I thought I was her owner…”

“You cannot possibly be so attached to that thing after one night.”

“She’s lucky, though! I swear, the ghosts are afraid of her or something - I didn’t hear a single sound all night!” You could practically hear your friend roll her eyes. “A fluke. Or maybe - yeah, maybe luck. I’m sure you’ll be alright without her.”

“Maybe I should get a cat,” you mused.

Your friend sighed. “Oh, boy.”

***

She was lucky.

Lucky was lucky.

One hundred percent.

There was no doubt about it.

The floors creaked like crazy that night. After hearing it for the first time, peering fearfully into the pitch black hallway, you shut the door tight and huddled underneath the blankets. A terrifying cry accompanied the wind, one that gave you nightmares of women in long white dresses stumbling over the moor, and you woke up in a panic in the middle of the night when you heard something shatter downstairs.

It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment, but you stayed in bed, watching the clock and keeping under the covers and deciding you’d deal with it in the morning. It took forever for you to fall asleep, but once you did, thankfully, you were out until the morning.

Half asleep, you stumbled down the stairs at almost noon.

And there, Lucky was waiting for you.

She meowed at you indignantly, as if you were late, and you gasped, crouching down and scrunching her face between your hands. “Lucky!” you exclaimed. She meowed, and wiggled out of your grasp, and walked in circles around you, keeping her tail against your leg.

You were so relieved that you only got partially annoyed when she made you trip over yourself every two seconds while you cleaned up the broken mug and made breakfast. She was very talented at getting in the way, sitting in the perfect position to be as inconvenient as possible.

She wandered around when you started work, getting bored after twenty minutes of jumping onto your laptop and being pushed off, only to do it again, and again, and again. You lost sight of her but somehow weren’t too worried - if she came back the first time, she’d probably come back again, you reasoned.

Which she did!

Sometimes.

She became your companion as the weeks went on, coming every so often to bother you as adorably as possible before disappearing for a few hours again. Sometimes she’d come during the day, but you were always relieved when she came at night because, for some inexplicable reason, she really made the house quiet and let you sleep.

Sometimes you’d give her a little bit of milk, or whatever you had on you (after properly researching what was okay for cats, of course), but she never seemed very hungry, so you’d never really thought about buying actual cat food for her.

You thought about getting her a collar every so often, but between working on the house, normal work, and just… life, you never really got around to it. Plus, she always seemed to come back, so you didn’t think it was super necessary.

So Lucky hung around, and you got some work done, and everything was good.

***

You’d heard creaking. Lots of creaking. And the occasional mysteriously shattered glass. And the howling in the wind, and skittering in the walls, and the weird drafts, and the unexplained cat - all sorts of weird things.

But this was the first time you heard a voice.

A real, live, human voice.

Well, maybe not live.

You’d been cooking when you first heard it, and, in a panic, you’d grabbed a frying pan. Maybe frying pans were lucky, too; after all, one had been your “weapon” when Lucky had sneaked up on you. She was notably absent, Lucky, by the way, and you wished you had your good luck charm with you as you made your way to the basement, feeling only slightly like an idiot.

Maybe a very scared idiot.

The voice was coming from the basement, which you hadn’t exactly ventured into yet. The whole house had a bit of a creepy-basement vibe, so you weren’t quite enthusiastic to go into the actual basement, where you’d imagine the creepiness would be increased exponentially.

The voice sounded male. And British.

You pictured a British ghost - something old and ancient, judging by the rasp of the voice, although it did sound on the younger side… Maybe it had some sort of paranormal ancient youth. Maybe a sailor, who lived in the house hundreds of years ago, and died at sea… And now, he was back, to haunt you, because you’d… offended him… with your… redecorating?

The stairs were actually pretty quiet, you realized, creeping down them as quietly as you could with your frying pan and marveling at the lack of creaks. You stepped onto the floor, peering around the corner, and realized the ghost - or whatever - must have been outside since the back door was slightly ajar, blowing cool air onto your legs.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t even known that that door existed. A mini lightbulb went off in your head as you realized that was probably where Lucky had been getting in, and you wondered absently if you should get a lock or something for it.

Then your brows furrowed as you got closer and the voice became coherent.

“... you been? ‘ve been looking all over for you… Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Disturbing our nice neighbor like this… Got them to talk to you, did you? Oh, I’m sure, you charmer…” You heaved a breath, kicking open the door -

You brandished the frying pan, yelling, “Who -?!”

“Bloody hell!”

So, you realized then, it was a guy.

And not a ghost.

Very decidedly a guy, actually, from the way the pan hadn’t gone right through him but had rather clanged against his forearm as he threw it up to defend himself. His other hand, it should be noted, was holding a cat.

Specifically, Lucky.

You gasped, lowering your pan. “Oh, my god,” you breathed. “Oh, my god, I am so sorry - I thought you were -” You stopped as Lucky slipped out of the guy’s arms and weaved around your legs, purring louder than a motorboat.

“Hello, there,” the guy said, incredibly pleasant for someone who’d just gotten attacked with a frying pan. “Um - hi,” you replied hesitantly, holding the pan behind your back as if he’d forget about the whole thing if he couldn’t see it. “Hi, I’m - um, I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Sorry,” the guy joked, holding out his non-injured hand, “I’m Harry Styles. Your neighbor.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, shaking his hand as you corrected him with your name.

He repeated your name, smiling as it rolled off his tongue, and despite yourself, you felt a shiver running down your spine. He was good looking, this Harry guy. His eyes rivaled Lucky’s, bright green as he grinned at you. His hair looked a bit grown out, chestnut brown and curling slightly at his temples.

And he had dimples.

Very cute dimples.

And muscles, and -

There was a beat of silence, and you realized you were not so subtly checking him out, and even though you kind of realized he was doing the same to you, you felt your cheeks heat again. Harry cleared his throat, crouching down to pet Lucky as he said, “So, erm - I haven’t seen you around a lot.”

“Yeah,” you replied, laughing a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been… busy.”

Harry nodded, his gaze drifting around you to the messy basement. “I’m sure,” he said. “This place seems like a lot of work.” You shrugged, following his eyes and inspecting the dust and various junk cluttered throughout the room.

“Well, I have time…”

“But not for neighbors, hm?” Harry asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I’m… sorry,” you said again, putting your head in your hands for a second before looking back up. “I hadn’t even thought… I can’t even see your… Do you live, uh - close?” Harry nodded, gesturing vaguely out the back door. “Relatively, I suppose, although - you’re right, you can’t quite… see it… from here.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” you said impulsively, and Harry glanced at you, dimpling again. “Yeah,” he agreed, “reckon I will.” You smiled, suddenly unable to keep eye contact, and then let your gaze dart away after a second.

“And the, erm - the market,” Harry went on. “Haven’t seen you around there. Have you been?”

You shook your head, murmuring, “No,” and Harry tsked, shaking his head back at you, oozing disappointment. “Right, well, that’s just not right,” he said. “That we’ll have to go to sometime. ‘specially now that it’s autumn.” You nodded, and he stood up, dusting off his hands as Lucky came over to you for cuddles.

You expected him to say he was going to go, that he had work to do, or something, but instead, he asked, “Doing anything now?” and grinned, glancing down at the pan, still in your hand. “Besides attacking perfect strangers, of course.”

“I am… so sorry about that,” you said, again, laughing sheepishly, again.

“I’d say it’s fine,” Harry replied, “but, erm… It’s not.”

You felt your eyes widen. “What?”

“I think you’ll have to make it up to me, love,” he told you. You just raised a brow, and he grinned. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me a ride to the market,” he said, and then you smiled. “Easy enough,” you replied, grabbing your keys from your pocket.

Harry dimpled and looked down at Lucky. “Right, then, Dee, let’s go, shall we?”

You frowned. “Dee?”

“Oh, right!” Harry exclaimed, bending down to scoop Lucky into his arms. “I think you’ve met, but this here is Demon. Dee for short.” You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Demon?” you echoed incredulously.

Harry nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, look at this menace! What else would we call her?”

“You’re her owner?”

“Yup. Found her a few months ago, and she just… stuck.”

“Good at that, isn’t she?” you murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ear.

“Has she bothered you?” Harry asked, looking sympathetic, and you nodded. “Oh, yes, all the time. In the most pleasant way possible, though, so I’m not too mad.” Harry laughed, letting her slip out of his arms and onto the ground.

She ambled out of the basement and into the grass, and, after exchanging a glance with Harry, you both followed her. “I’ve been calling her Lucky,” you told him, closing the door behind you. Harry glanced at you, hands in his pockets, and smiled. “Lucky?”

“Yeah. See, the house is -” You stopped, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “The house is what?” You laughed, a bit embarrassed, and then mumbled, “I think it’s haunted.” Harry nodded, understanding on his face. “Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” he agreed.

You laughed again. “That sure of it, are you?”

Harry rolled his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips, and nodded at Lucky. “That’s your ghost.”

“Lucky? How -?”

“She’s the one howling, and walking everywhere to make the floors creak, and knocking glasses off the tables,” Harry explained, and your jaw dropped, just a bit. “Oh, my god,” you said, as it all clicked into place. “That’s why - Well, see, I called her Lucky because the” - you put up air quotes - “‘ghost’ never seemed to be around when she was with me. Which I guess makes sense, since if she was with me, she wasn’t… anywhere else…”

“Yup.”

You frowned, glancing over at him. “So, wait - how did you know?”

“Same thing happened to me,” he replied with a shrug. “Was right convinced the place was haunted when I first moved in - was about to sell and everything. Couldn’t take replacing half the cupboard every two weeks. Then I caught her shattering one of my mugs. Then, I got a night light, and saw her lurking around and making a ruckus with the floorboards.”

“A night light,” you repeated, lightly smacking your forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Took me a few weeks, too,” Harry laughed. “You’d’ve gotten there eventually, don’t worry.”

“Sure hope so,” you murmured, smiling as Lucky jumped up onto your car and started to stretch out on the hood. You opened the driver’s side door and leaned against it as Harry gave Lucky a scratch behind her ears.

“Pesky little thing, she is,” Harry said. “Always does the same on my car, and I’m always tempted to just drive with her on top and see what happens.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “How could you?” Harry shrugged, grinning at you. “I’m sure she’d land on her feet.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that now,” you replied, gently scooping Lucky up and placing her on the grass, where she started to daintily lick a paw. Harry got into the passenger seat, and you asked him, “Where’s this market of yours?”

“Up the road,” Harry said vaguely.

You raised a brow, but he didn’t offer any more information.

So you just drove.

***

“Halloween,” Harry said, “is not fun.”

You gasped, scandalized, and exclaimed, “What?”

“It’s too stressful!” Harry groaned. “I never know what to wear! Especially to parties, bloody hell! Like, do you go for it? Full makeup, tons of tulle, a wig? Or don’t go for it? And if it’s really go for it, and you don’t go for it, it’s like, oh, well, too bad. Or if it’s a party, and you’re invited, like, the day of, and everybody’s going for it, and you’re like, oh, I can’t, can’t go, because I don’t have time to plan it, and -” He stopped, sighing, and shook his head. “It’s a whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you replied, biting back a grin.

You were pulling into a parking lot, and you could already see the hustle and bustle of the market. There were booths set up all along the street and around a little courtyard. People talked and chattered, exchanging money and trinkets and smiles and waves.

You both got out of the car and met at the front, taking a moment to admire the view.

“The caramel apples are the best,” Harry told you with a smile.

“Guess we’ll have to go there first.”

Harry nodded, and you started walking. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a bit cold in the autumn wind, as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. It was only a few seconds before you were stopped, though, when an old man behind a table covered in small wooden carvings called, “Harry!”

“George!” Harry exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” George said cheerily, his gaze darting to you and back to Harry inquisitively. Harry smiled, introducing you as his neighbor. George grinned, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” you replied.

“You must be pretty special,” George said. “Don’t think I’ve ever met any other neighbors.”

“We share a cat,” Harry explained, and George’s brow raised.

Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and then said, “Nice talking with you, George. We should catch up later - we’re headed for Mara.” George nodded. “Good boy. You know what they say! The way to a woman’s heart is her stomach, eh?”

“Alrighty, then,” Harry said, gently leading you away. “Bye, George!”

“Bye, Harry! And nice to meet you, neighbor!”

You smiled, waving at him over your shoulder. “You too, George!”

“Swear he’s been running that booth since about 1804,” Harry murmured as you walked away. “‘ve known him all my life, and he’s always looked the same. Beginning to think he’s a vampire.” You grinned, nudging his shoulder. “He seems nice.”

“He is!” Harry agreed. “He is. Like a second father. Hey, here’s Mara.”

You came up to a cluster of booths that steamed and bubbled and swirled together to smell of a blend of spices, sugar, and caramel. One of the booths proudly proclaimed Mara’s Caramel Apples, and shiny golden apples dotted the table.

The woman behind the table - Mara, presumably - lit up when she caught sight of Harry. “Harry, darling!” she cooed, coming around her table to press kisses against each of Harry’s cheeks. “Hullo, Mara,” Harry replied.

“It’s so good to see you!” Mara exclaimed, pinching his cheeks. “You should come around more often, love, you need some meat on these bones of yours.” Harry nodded, gingerly pulling her hand off of him. “I’ll work on that,” he replied, glancing at you and looking amused, if not a bit embarrassed.

“You do that, Harry,” Mara said, stealing one more pinch and making Harry wince before she turned to you. “And who is this, then?” Mara tutted, shaking her head. “Haven’t forgotten your manners, have you?”

“Never, Mara,” Harry assured her, and introduced you.

“Lovely to meet you!” Mara said cheerfully, wrapping you in a hug.

“You too,” you responded.

“How long have you been together, then?” Mara asked, making your face heat as she walked back around the table and started stirring a pot of caramel. “Haven’t seen you around, dear.” Harry coughed, shaking his head, looking as embarrassed as you felt. “Nope, no, we’re not together,” he corrected her. “Just - erm, we’re neighbors.”

“Ah, neighbors,” Mara hummed.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, she moved in where the Carlsons were.”

“Oh, the Carlsons!” Mara said. “A tricky bunch, they were - I’m glad you’re there now.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, smiling slightly at Harry.

Mara wiped her hands off on a cloth and tucked it on a rack before carefully grabbing two pristine caramel apples. “Well,” she said, handing you both a stick, “here you are, dears. Enjoy, now! And come back soon, the both of you!”

Harry pulled out cash, but Mara waved him off. “Oh, nonsense, Harry, you know better than that,” Mara told him. “I’ll give you the family discount, as long as you both promise to come back on your next date.”

“Not a date, Mara,” Harry mumbled, flushing red, and Mara grinned. “Of course. My mistake. Your first date, then.” Your face felt about on fire, and Harry’s was red as a beet as he said, “Right, then, nice talking to you, Mara! Bye, now.” He walked away as she waved cheerily, and you followed him.

Harry looked at you apologetically. “She’s a bit, erm - concerned, as it were,” he said sheepishly. “Haven’t exactly…” He cleared his throat. “She thinks I’m a bit lacking in the romance department.” You raised a brow, and he somehow managed to get even redder.

“I mean! I mean, I’m - I’m not,” he added hurriedly, “I’m really not, ‘f course - but, erm - she thinks…” He sighed, stopping, and shrugged at you helplessly. “So you’re not?” you said, and Harry’s brows furrowed, confused.

“You’re not lacking in the romance department?” you clarified.

Harry frowned. “... No?”

“So… Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

A bit of the red faded from his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “Well, then, yes. I suppose I’m lacking in the romance department right now. ‘s unusual, though, I’ll have you know. But, erm - how about you?” You shook your head, glancing away from him and around the fair. “Single as a Pringle,” you told him, and you liked to imagine seeing the hint of a smile on his face out of the corner of your eye.

“Gotcha,” Harry hummed. “Right, well, how’s the apple, then?”

You took a bite, savoring it as you crunched on it, and then nodded your approval. “Superb,” you said, and Harry grinned brightly. “Wonderful,” he replied. “‘m glad you like it. Might’ve been a deal breaker if not.”

“That important, huh?”

“Oh, the most important,” Harry said seriously.

You grinned, and Harry dimpled back.

There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Right, then. Tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged, licking caramel off his lips. “Anything. Hopes, dreams, fears, favorite color…”

You hummed as you thought, and then told him the first thing that came to mind. He listened as you talked, looking genuinely interested in what you were saying. Butterflies erupted in your stomach every time you made him laugh, and when you flipped the spotlight to him, you found yourself completely lost in his words.

Something about his voice, and his humor, and the way he giggled everytime he made a stupid joke, made the butterflies linger. It was pleasant, though. It wasn’t alarming, or nerve wracking, or even remotely uncomfortable. You weren’t self conscious, or scared to mess up, or worried you’d say the wrong thing.

You were just… happy.

The fair, you realized, wasn’t nearly big enough.

You’d walk the whole world just to keep talking with him.

***

“That was a date,” your friend declared as soon as you finished telling her what had happened. You balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder and blew softly on your hot tea. “No,” you replied, “it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was!” she squealed. “I can’t believe he didn’t kiss you!” She huffed. “I can’t believe you didn’t kiss him!” You rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself, and insisted, “It really wasn’t a date. I was just… making up for slamming a metal pan into his arm.”

You heard her wince. “Yikes.”

You sighed, again, and took a sip of your tea. “He probably has a bruise.”

“Yeah, probably,” she snickered.

“Hey!”

She laughed, sounding way too amused at your misery. “Talk about a meet cute!”

“You are not helping,” you groaned, feeling yourself starting to laugh too anyway.

“Don’t worry,” she giggled, “he’ll think of you everytime he accidently puts pressure on it and screams in pain.” You scoffed indignantly and argued, “He will not scream in pain - it wasn’t that bad.” Your friend hummed skeptically. “I dunno about that… It was a pan, right?”

You took a sip of your tea, sighing heavily. “A tiny pan,” you mumbled into the lip of your mug, and then laughed when your friend started cracking up. “You gotta text me a picture of the bruise,” she gasped through her laughter.

“Okay, there’s no bruise.”

“Dude, it was a pan.”

“A tiny pan!”

That just set off another round of giggles, before finally, your friend relented. “Fine,” she said, “send me a picture of him, and the bruise will just be a bonus.” You agreed, and then said goodnight, and fell asleep with a smile on your face.

***

Your fingers did a dance over the screen of your phone, your lip between your teeth as you debated whether or not to send the text. Harry had given you his number the other day at the market, but you were getting a bit anxious about what to send.

The door really did need to be fixed, you told yourself, glancing down at your flirtatious-if-you-squinted text asking if he’d help you fix your basement door. Especially now, since it wouldn’t stay closed at all; you’d had to put a brick behind it to keep it shut, and even that kept sliding around. It was where Lucky had kept slipping in, you’d figured, and even though she was a pleasant enough intruder, you didn’t really want other less adorable trespassers coming through.

Finally, you took a breath, and sent it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds as if he’d reply within the minute, and then threw your phone across your bed. Heaving a sigh, you pulled yourself away from your bed and towards the window, fidgeting with your fingers.

You lasted about ten seconds, and then grabbed your phone, and checked.

Nothing, of course, because you sent the text thirty seconds ago.

You groaned and belly flopped onto your bed.

***

Lucky came first.

She jumped up onto your bed and butted against you until you sat up and started petting her.

You pouted at her, smoothing your hand over her head. “Maybe I should’ve waited a few more days,” you murmured to her. “Maybe I made it obvious how desp- or, like, made it seem like I was too desperate.” You raised a brow, gazing down at her. “What about you, huh? Are you too desperate?”

Lucky purred and rolled over, stretching languidly.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you laughed, sliding off your bed and heading for the kitchen.

You paused when you heard the doorbell ring, glancing at Lucky inquisitively like she’d tell you who it was. She gave you a slow blink, and then jumped up, and stretched, and meandered down the hallway. You followed her, almost tripping over her when she stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase to lick a paw, and opened the door.

“So I sort of forgot any tools,” Harry greeted you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Your brows jumped. “I - of course it’s not a - I just thought -” You stopped, glancing down at your phone, which showed no new notifications, and no new texts. “Sorry,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting you so, um - soon.”

Harry laughed, a bit sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. I was… on the way. I mean, not on the way here, but, like - driving past. Well, not driving past, but sort of - you know, in, erm - in the area. Sort of. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” You stepped back to let him in. “I think it’s open right now, the door - there’s kind of a draft,” you lied. Harry nodded, glancing around the house. “Place looks nice,” he said, and you smiled again, following his gaze.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Was a bit dreary before,” Harry said softly, letting his hand lightly skim the bright throw blanket you’d put on the sofa as he passed. “Downright dull,” you agreed, and he glanced at you, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “Where’s this door, then?”

“Downstairs,” you answered, stepping forward to lead him around the corner and down the steps. “The basement’s a bit creepy,” you warned him, tugging on the light. “Haven’t quite gotten down here yet.”

“Noted,” Harry murmured.

“It’s back here,” you said, weaving around a few cardboard boxes to get to the door.

It was, in fact, open, which was purely coincidental but pretty convenient. “Cold,” you said simply, shrugging at him. “Yeah,” Harry replied, “cold.” You smiled, not sure why, and then stepped outside, inspecting it without a real purpose in mind.

He stepped out too, and you gently pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then it swung open with a creak.

“Might be the lock,” Harry said, bending down to look at the little bit of metal against the side.

Lucky appeared as he fiddled with the mechanism, weaving through his legs, and he gave her scritches as he pushed the lock in and out a few times. “Looks fine,” he started, and then stopped when Lucky plopped down on top of his foot.

“Don’t know how she expects us to do any work like this,” Harry said with a grin, and you laughed, crouching next to him to pet her too. “She’s moral support,” you replied, and Harry raised a brow. “The most bothersome moral support ever.”

You shrugged. “The cutest most bothersome moral support ever.”

“If you say so,” Harry said, gently sliding her off his foot. He slid his hand over the door to its other side, where the hinges were, and then his face lit up. “Right, I have an idea.” He turned to you, looking excited, and asked, “Have a hammer?”

“Uhhh… probably?” You looked around the basement, then pushed open a closet door where a tool box poked out, and handed him a hammer. He nodded, glancing at the hinge again. “Er - how about a screwdriver?”

You gave it to him, and then watched over his shoulder as he gently tapped the pin out of the hinge in the middle of the door. He put it on the floor, raising the hammer over it, and you raised a brow at him. He looked up at you, grinning, and you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop. “I have a plan,” he told you.

“Sure, Styles.”

He scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “You know, your lack of faith is a bit disheartening.”

“I think you’re just stalling because you have no idea what you’re doing.”

He smiled, a challenge in his eyes, and then sat forward and hammered the pin, right in the middle. It bent, just slightly, and then he held it up, looking satisfied. He slid it back into the hinge, tapped it down, and worked on getting the other one out.

Once he’d gotten a curve in that one, he put it back and got the next. You watched in skeptical silence as he put that one back… and then stood up and dusted off his hands. “There you have it,” he announced.

“There’s no way that’s gonna work,” you said.

Harry just stepped back and pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then -

It stuck.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, pulling it out to close it again. It stuck, again, and you looked up at him happily. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe that worked! How did you even know how to do that?” Harry shrugged, fiddling with the door. “These old houses are practically identical. My bedroom door had the same problem.”

“Well, lucky me.”

He glanced at you, and held your gaze, just for a second, with a smile on his lips, and then his cheeks dusted pink. You felt heat rise on your own cheeks, realizing in the back of your mind that the whole door endeavor took a lot less time than you’d expected and now he’d probably leave.

He walked inside, making a grand gesture of holding the door open for you. “C’mon, then,” he said as you walked through and wracked your brain for ideas on how to keep him with you, “I need a tour.” You grinned, wondering if he could read your mind, and then nodded. You paused at the edge of the basement door and turned around.

“So,” you said, “this is the basement.”

“Enlightening.”

“The land of boxes,” you told him, and he smiled before following you out and up the steps to the living room. This was where you’d done the most work, clearing out the old grey furniture and replacing it with bright new pieces.

You put your arm out, gesturing widely to the room and spinning around. “And here’s the living room.” Harry followed you, making a slow circle and inspecting it. “I like the art,” he said, his eyes on the paintings you’d put on the wall.

“Thanks,” you said. “Me too.”

“Have you seen the gallery in town?” Harry asked as he followed you towards the kitchen. You shook your head, leaning against the counter. “No, I haven’t,” you answered, giving him a smile. “You’ll have to take me.”

Then, ignoring the butterflies his returning smile gave you, you went on, “And here’s the kitchen.” Lucky jumped up onto the counter next to you, and you grinned, petting her. “It’s her favorite room in the house.”

“I’m sure,” Harry laughed. He scratched her behind her ears, then walked around the room, his fingers tracing lightly on the white wooden table you’d chosen for the center of the room. “I like this better,” he said. “The Carlsons’ made the room look a lot smaller than it was.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I agree… Was too big. Made it cramped.” Harry’s gaze went out the back windows, which were floor to ceiling and looked out on the small woods in the backyard. There was a beat of silence, and then you walked over to stand next to him. “Were you… in here a lot?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I think they invited me when I first moved in… but that’s sort of it.” You hummed in response, and then asked, “Were you close with, uh - with the Carlsons?” Harry shrugged. “Eh. Not really. Y’know. Neighbor stuff.”

You bit your lip, smiling slightly. “Didja take them to the fair?” Your smile widened as Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But we didn’t share a cat, so I think the rules are a bit different.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, looking back outside. “Yeah, there’s a bit more…” He tilted his head back and forth, searching for the right word. “Intimacy,” he finally seemed to decide, giving you a smile that tugged his lips into an almost-smirk. “We’re co-parenting a little one, after all. There’s got to be some… dinners involved.”

“Ah, yes, dinners,” you echoed solemnly. “To discuss parenting techniques.”

Harry nodded. “You get it.”

“She’s a bit spoiled, you know,” you said, watching her jump from the counter onto the table and sprawl out on the wood. “So we should probably get on those dinners.” Harry grinned. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. Like, as soon as possible.”

His face lit up. “As soon as possible? As in, tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a slow smile growing on your face. “As in tonight.”

Harry grinned back at you. “It’s a date.”

***

okay i KNOW this is weird sldkfj but it'll all make sense soon <333 hope you enjoyed !!!!!

and if you're liking this whole wrong-season-for-the-holiday thing, have no fear because there's a christmas fic coming soon!!!

masterlist | ask

[ramurice]

!Spoilers for Flowers from 1970!

I had to do a reading assignment and it could be any book, any kind of book, and genre, etc, etc. I chose Flowers from 1970, you know, that one dreamnotfound story. So if you don't want to read it, but are curious about it here is officially Copy+Paste from my assignment, so read if you want to, I don't care. Major Spoilers to the book, and even if you get all the way through this, I still suggest it.

Introduction/General Book Information

Title: Flowers from 1970

Author: Astronomika on Wattpad

What genre/type of book is it? (Fantasy, humour, science fiction, mystery, biography, non-fiction, etc.)

Flowers from 1970 was a novel made as a gift for two people, Georgenotfound and Dreamwastaken. Though they never had the kind of relationship implied in this novel it is very close to what was shown in streams with their persona's and the two said people don't mind receiving this type of content from fans, simply because they find it funny. It is definitely a fiction novel as one of the most significant objects is an old telephone that connects George and Dream a fifty-year time difference, Dream comes from 1970, while George is from 2020

Main Character

What is the main character’s name?

The main character’s name is George Davidson, a 24-year-old video game coder.

Describe this character (Physical and personality traits):

George Davidson a 24-year-old boy lived in an old house in Florida, as we go along in the story he describes himself as around 5’5(Inference compared to what he says about Clay), he has a long face that is evened out with a sharp jawline, a medium-sized nose, lips full enough that they don’t disappear when he smiles, his hair is a dark brown that is normally cut short but is a little longer at the moment. I did not use the real person for this description, these are pretty close to actual quotes in the book when Clay asks what he looks like. For a Personality he is described as a kind person, due to his job he doesn’t get out much, nor make friends often, When Clay doesn’t call him for a week he starts going out more because he thought that that's what Clay would have wanted him to do.

How can you relate to or identify with the main character?

George in this book has a lot of things that I can somewhat relate to, for George he didn’t have a hard time making friends, rather he doesn’t get out much to meet people. Most of the people he ends up meeting talk to him first. Dream was actually one of his first friendships.

Another Character

Who is another character?

Another character who happens to be another main character is Clay, or Also known as Dream for most of the story(no last name is given).

Describe this character (Physical and personality traits):

Dream is a 21-year-old living in 1970, he works as a baseball coach and lived in the same house as George. George Describes Dream as around 6’0 from a photo sent to him in a time capsule and a green handprint Dream presses into the wall in one of their conversations, The handprint is described as being bigger than Georges by a fair bit so that prompted George into guessing he was tall. Dream has shaggy dirty-blonde hair that sticks out at odd angles, he also has a cat named Patches, though she isn’t described. As stated by both Sapnap and George Dream is cocky and full of himself most of the time, he wants to be nothing like his father who was an abusive alcoholic, though he does get drunk once in the book to deal with his problems to see if his dad's methods actually worked.

Setting

(Where does the story take place? When is the story happening?)

Describe the time and place of the story:

Flowers from 1970 takes place in both 1970 and 2020, the phone connects Dream and George. The house that the story takes place in is located in Florida.

Comments about the setting:

(EX: setting makes story exciting, the setting has an important effect on the main character, the setting is/is not exciting or new, setting increased my knowledge of something):

A quote from the book is a perfect description of the place; “Now you know that once upon a time, in the same room, of the same house, fifty years apart, Clay and George Davidson had loved each other.” The book takes place in the same house at two different times, Dream being the past owner, while George being the future owner. They find out how to communicate with each other by that telephone, and Dream could send George things from the past by affecting small things, like burying a time capsule in the corner of the yard then telling George where it is over the phone, George can unbury it since it’s from the past, the things will be old and musty since it was fifty years since it was buried but it was an efficient way to send things.

Theme

(What did the author want you to experience, feel, or understand through reading this book? A theme can be about specific people and particular situations or about life in general.)

What is or are the topic(s) of the story?

(EX: courage? working hard? doing the right thing? greed? family? The importance of friends? jealousy? love? caring? happiness? sadness?)

The importance of moving on from things. When Dream died He told George that he made sure he couldn’t contact past Dream again, he wanted George to move on from him because no matter how much they loved each other it would never work, Dream cant have his heart in 2020 when it belonged in 1970.

Plot

(The Action/Summary of What Happened in the Story)

Summary of the story:

(In order, list 4 - 6 events that happened in the story. Keep them in order):

Dream tries to call his friend Sapnap about the assassination of the governor of Florida. He ends up contacting George by accident. George tells Dream that he has the wrong number and that the assassination happened 50 years ago and that the next day his right-hand man, Tubbo, was almost killed. They end the call leaving George thinking the guy who called him is an uneducated lunatic.

Dream calls the next day knowing that it's not his friends demanding that George tell him who he knew that Tubbo was almost murdered. George re-explained to him that it happened 50 years prior and everyone knew about it because they learned it in school. Dream finally asked the date, it was June 28, 2020, Dream told George it was June 28, 1970. This is how their friendship started to kick off.

During the second cell phone conversation they realized that the house They were in at the current time was the same one as each other and on the third call Dream wanted to test something to see if he could change current moments, he dipped his hand in line green paint and pressed it against the wall, it showed up on Georges side but it was worn and chipped as the time wore it down, George pressed his hand against it and Dream caught him in the act as a joke.

Dream sent George a time capsule by burying it in the corner of the yard George found (He encounters Wilbur the first time looking at him oddly while writing something in his notepad) it and opened it on Dreams next call, the capsule contained a container of lime green paint(the same Dream used), Pow-Chew(Dream’s favourite Gum), Music cassette, baseball cards, Quartz(Dream sent it to him because it’s his favourite thing and he wanted to give it to his favourite person, finding that it would be wrong to tell that to someone who didn’t even exist yet he told George that he didn’t he’d need it when he was older), and A polaroid of Dream.

George used the line green paint and pressed his own handprint into the wall next to Dream’s.

(THIS IS IMPORTANT!)Dream sent George a packet of Cornelius flower seeds(Georges favourite flowers, since Dream asked), he had gotten jealous of a couple while on the phone with George because unlike them The long-distance relationship between him and George the distance could never be closed.

George plants the flowers after going to the same flower shop that Dream happened to go to, to buy the flowers, he gets help from his neighbour Wilbur(after Wilbur jots down something in a notepad his neighbour helps)and makes a new friend in the process.

Dream asks George what he looks like, since they cant send things from Georges side they draw on the wall, George describes himself and Dream draws if something is wrong George with tell him and Dream will correct it.

(THIS IS IMPORTANT!)Dream forgot to call, Wilbur came over for some company of George with some cider and they had a family meal.

Dream doesn’t call for a week after he realizes he’s in love with George it’s been at least three months since they first started talking, during that week Wilbur’s family has a family emergency doing with the father that came back from London (BEFORE ANY BIG THINGS HAPPEN!) George watches Wilburs son, Tommy.

The night that George is out eating dinner with Wilbur’s family, Dream calls, he plans to tell George how he feels. George needs to take Wilbur’s family to the hospital, The father is getting worse, he seized up.

They get to the hospital. Wilbur's dad wants to see George. “He called you today, you know.” He tells George, he was confused, and it turns out that It was Dream. “You love him don’t you?” George responds with yes. “I just can’t have my heart in 2020, when it belongs in 1970.”

“Take care of those flowers, Wrong Number.” That was the last wish to George before Dream died.

Wilbur visits the next day, he shows Dream’s Journal to George, on the last page there were dates written down, the dates were every time something happened, George unburied time capsule, I forgot to call, etc with every date. In the middle of their visit Dream calls, He confesses, George confesses, they love each other, in the moment of tears, Wilbur Wrestles the phone out of George's hands and cuts the wire. That was what Dream wanted Wilbur to do, he wanted George to move past him.

What did you like about the book? Why? Be specific.

I enjoyed everything about this book, the writing style was amazing, the characters were amazing. George’s description of himself to Dream was honestly believable, something someone would say.

What didn’t you like about the book? Why? Be specific.

The ending was probably the one thing I really disliked, I liked it but it was sad, I was a mess after I read that ending, both George and Dream knew that in Georges time Dream would be in his seventies but why did he have to die?

Was the story believable or was it confusing and/or hard to believe? Explain Why?/How?

Flowers from 1970 is a very believable story, though it was fiction everything was explained as if you were in the story, you could picture everything, you could picture Tommy and his mixed cereals, you could Picture George on his bed waiting for Dream to call him, you could picture Dream smirk as he harassed George for holding handing with the handprint on the wall.

Explain what you thought of the ending …(good, bad, exciting, confusing, frustrating, etc)…and why.

Ending amazing, but so sad, the quote that made my tears fall even more was when Wilbur cut the phone cord; “I saw my friend die twice, both versions of him.” This is from George.

Overall Rating (0 to 10 stars):

10/10 stars

Would you recommend this book to others? Why?

I would recommend it to anyone, even people who aren’t big fans of the Youtubers this book was made for, it has a plot that is followed all the way through, it really goes for readers emotions, and from what I’ve seen everybody who has read this book has shed some tears. I think it would do good if it ever got published to paperback.

Extra quote!: “Right Person, Wrong Time.”

[mappinglasirena]

Eaglemoss’ Sirena Booklet

I woke up this morning to an excited message from @regionalpancake​, telling me her Eaglemoss model of La Sirena has arrived! I’m still waiting for mine (oh to live in a country where mail gets delivered on Sundays :D), but Regionalpancake was kind enough to send me pictures of the booklet that comes with the model, and there is some fascinating information in there!

Most of the booklet consists of an interview with Mark Yang about the process of designing Sirena, illustrated with many early sketches and models. It’s essentially an extended version of the article published on startrek.com, that I discussed earlier (here and here). However, there are a few new insights.

According to this, La Sirena is 85.57m long (US people: I’m afraid you’ll have to do your own conversions ;9). I’m assuming that’s at the longest point, meaning the full extent of the nacelles. I’ve done a few rough measurements and calculations and this would give us a size of ~32m for the length of the set, bridge to back wall, which roughly meshes with my estimates so far. I’ll have to sit down and do some more drawing and measuring once I have the booklet and model in front of me, though at the moment, I still suspect that the set is slightly bigger than what the 3D model actually allows for.

The launch date is also interesting. Production designer Todd Cherniawsky has mentioned in an interview that Sirena is maybe fifty years old, but that estimate was apparently rather low. ST: Picard begins in the second half of 2399 (around harvest time, i.e. autumn, in southern France). Even if the ship launched at the very end of the 23rd century, that still makes her at least 99 years old. Apparently, Captain Rios’s faible for antiques extends to his starship.

[Transcription: "La Sirena was a mid-sized vessel, designed to be operated by a crew of half-a-dozen or so.”] If Sirena’s intended crew complement was six people, that would explain the need for an extended holographic crew when it’s being piloted by one person alone. Or at least it explains the need for an additional mechanic and one or two people to help out at the helm, but as the EHH tells Picard, the basic installation comes with five holograms.

I’m still not entirely sure how accommodations for half a dozen people are supposed to fit on the ship, given the size of cabins we have seen so far. We know that Rios retrofitted the spacious quarters, so the previous living arrangements might have been more compact, but that still leaves us with the question of where the additional quarters will go once there are seven people staying more or less permanently on the ship after the end of season 1. I’m very curious to see whether we’ll get some hints about this in season 2.

One thing that really struck me looking at this front and back view is just how high the main body of the ship sits above the ground. When Sirena crashes on Coppelius, she ends up buried pretty deep, so it’s not as glaringly obvious, but by my (admittedly very rough) estimation, the cargo doors (centre back of the ship) are around 5m off the ground. That seems too big a distance to cover with a normal loading ramp

In an earlier design stage, the warp nacelles were more sloped and sitting higher to begin with (the wings connecting them to the main body of the ship are horizontal across the top, rather than sloping down as in the final version). Additionally, the concept art below makes me wonder, whether in this design, the nacelles might also have been attached more flexibly and able to fold up a little to bring the rest of the ship closer to the ground:

In the final version that made it to screen, it certainly looks like the transition from the body of the ship to the nacelles is rigid and seamless, so I think it’s unlikely that the nacelles can be folded outwards when landing. However, this is future technology, so nothing is impossible.

If the nacelles are indeed rigid, I would imagine that spaceports will have landing pads that accommodate a setup like Sirena’s, similar to loading docks in warehouses nowadays.

There is another bit of concept art from the same stage of design, showing the front of the ship:

[Transcription: “At one point the idea was that Picard would board Rios’s ship at a spaceport, so Yang produced this concept showing him approaching it. The idea was to show the scale of the ship and to communicate the idea that Picard was in a very different situation to the one we were used to.]

What stands out to me here (apart from the “AC” logo near the wing, probably for “Araña Cosmica”, Sirena’s name in early drafts) is that this early design has an access hatch under the bridge.

It’s not entirely clear whether this decision survived into the final model. We know there is some accessible space under the bridge, and presumably some of it is dedicated to phaser banks, since the few times we see Sirena use phasers, the emitters are located in the nose of the ship.

(NB: as mentioned before, Yang has said that there are additional, more powerful weapons in the impulse engine pods at the sides of the ship, but we have yet to see those in action.)

But it’s possible some version of the front access hatch still exists in the current design. The only glimpse we get of the structures under the bridge comes from a cross section of the computer model that is briefly shown on screen in the blu-ray/DVD bonus feature Set Me Up:

Clearly, that part of the ship isn’t fully modelled, since there is a steep drop right behind the door and something poking through the floor in the middle of the space that I’m not sure is entirely intentional. (If you have any ideas about what is happening there, please do let me know!) Then again, this model doesn’t quite correspond one to one to the final set design anyway (it has the entry to the holodeck where Raffi and Rios’ quarters should be), so it might be an earlier design stage as well.

In general, I like the idea of an additional hatch under the bridge, since otherwise the only access point (and presumably airlock) we know about are the cargo doors at the back of the ship. (On Coppelius, the crew exit through the panorama windows which were clearly not designed for this purpose and only become usable after the crash.) A ship the size of Sirena should probably have one or two redundancies if access to the main doors is blocked.

All in all, the booklet has a ton of beauty shots of La Sirena from all angles (and finally lit properly), so once my own model arrives and I can get some nice scans, I’ll probably spam those here. Thanks again to Regionalpancake for the preview!

[pxrkjihxxn]

under my skin - part 3

summary: "you know," you say, aware of how close your faces suddenly were, feeling your heart speed up again. "i can't keep patching you up forever. you're gonna have to learn to use your words properly soon."

"yeah, i know," he says softly, getting even closer to you than you thought was possible. your lips were mere centimeters apart as he smiled at you, a soft stretch of the lips you've only seen directed towards the likes of doyoung or yedam, but never at you. "thankfully, until i do, i have you to nurse me back to health, right?"

you know he's teasing, he always is, but you can't help but wonder if his question holds another meaning. "yeah, i guess you do."

tags: park jihoon x reader, gang!au, nurse!reader, brother!junkyu

warnings: mentions of violence, recreational drug and alcohol use, swearing, unedited

parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine

three

“so he was silent the entire time?”

if there’s one thing you appreciate about hamada asahi, it’s his no bullshit attitude. he’ll listen to what you have to say, take a moment to process it, and then, in no more words than necessary, tell you exactly what he thinks. and then not tell anyone unless directly asked about it. it’s refreshing - no matter how much you loved yedam, you couldn’t trust him not to rat you out to doyoung, who will definitely rat you out to hyunsuk who will tell both junkyu and jihoon and then proceed to tease you for what you and asahi are currently discussing until the day you die.

so, asahi it is. nobody else can know. 

“completely silent, i didn’t think he could go five minutes without talking,” you exclaimed, taking a bite of the food in front of you. asahi and you had a tradition to meet on wednesdays during your lunch break, which was conveniently right after his painting class at the local community center. you were currently in your student cafeteria, both of you eating from your overflowing food tray, as asahi wasn’t a student at your university.

the cafeteria workers knew about the two of you, though - the smartest thing you’ve learned throughout years of having to take care of yourself is to get as friendly with the school staff. you knew each of the cafeteria ladies by name, what their kids did and which drama they were watching at the moment. it was that knowledge that always got you extra food you could sneak out for asahi. the fact that all the cafeteria ladies found the kid incredibly handsome always helped.

it was a nice tradition, one the both of you needed - with asahi being very quiet by nature, and you being overworked to the point of exhaustion on a daily basis, you enjoyed each other’s company very much. as much as the both of you loved your friends, this agreement of yours was mutually beneficial because you got to talk about things that are bothering you without your brother and his best friend’s yelling making it hard to listen to yourself think.

speaking of your brother’s best friend…

“he didn’t even look at me when we were driving to my place, nothing,” you explain further, shoving another spoonful of kimchi stew into your mouth. “and then, he waited in the car while i took a shower, was silent the entire way to the hospital and only told me to text junkyu when i’m inside. it was so fucking weird.”

“he can be nice when he wants to,” asahi shrugs, reaching forward to take the spoon out of your hand. he wipes it on the napkin next to the tray, dipping the cleaned spoon back into the stew and spreading it over his side of the rice.

“not to me, though! that’s what’s weird!” you exclaim, wincing when you realize how loud you were, turning around to apologize to the people around you. you bow a couple times before turning back to asahi, the two of you giggling to yourself. “but no, seriously, it was weird. the man has never been nice to me in his life and suddenly he’s driving me to work and respecting my personal space. what the fuck is that about?”

“god, your standards are low,” asahi jokes, chuckling to himself when you send a glare his way. “maybe he's finally decided not to be a dick to you anymore.” 

“that would require him not being a dick at all, and that’s easier said than done,” you retort, picking the chopsticks off the table to wrap a piece of kimchi around bulgogi meat and place it in your mouth, a satisfying smile spreading across your lips as you chew. 

asahi smiles as you place a piece of meat on his side of the rice bowl, spooning it up and eating it. “i don’t know,” he says as he chews his food. “he’s always had a soft spot for you, though, maybe he’s finally learned how to express it properly.”

you lean back in your chair you send him a deadpan look. “you can’t be serious, sahi.”

“it’s true,” asahi says calmly as he eats. “you really haven’t noticed?”

“what is there to notice?” you ask.

“well,” he starts, taking a spoonful of rice and dipping it in the stew. “all i’m gonna say there’s a reason any guy that has ever given you trouble hasn’t given you trouble more than once.”

you just sit there, arms crossed across your chest. “that makes zero fucking sense, asahi. why the fuck would he do that?”

“ask him,” he only replies, finishing off his food and wiping down the spoon to place it on your side of the tray. “wanna buy cake and watch anime at yours?” 

you ponder the proposal for a couple second before you pile all of the leftover meat on the spoon and shove it in your mouth. “yeah, sure, let’s go,” you say through a mouthful of food as you gather your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder, asahi’s words still lingering in your mind.

**

“HONEY WE’RE HOME!” you yell as you enter your apartment, asahi following closely behind you. the two of you knock your shoes off and make your way to the living room. “junkyu? asahi and i bought cake and wanted to know if - oh, hi,” you stop in your tracks as you walk in and take in the sight in front of you - your brother, sleeping like a baby, curled around a stiff-looking park jihoon.

“help me,” jihoon pleads through a whisper. “he got a bit too baked and started clinging to me like a koala. i haven’t moved in at least half an hour and i can’t feel my arm,” he says quietly, pleading eyes begging for you to move junkyu off of him. when you stay put, arms crossed across your chest and an amused smile on your face, he whines quietly and you don’t wanna admit it, but he looks kinda cute. “come on, kim, help meeeeee.”

“fine, but i need to take pictures first. asahi, get the cake ready, i got this,” you say through a quiet chuckle, giving the box to an amused asahi, fishing your phone out of your pocket as you approach the two cuddling on the couch. you crouch down and get your phone as close to your brother’s face as humanly possible, snapping at least fifty pictures from ten different angles.

“okay, you’ve had your fun, now help me,” jihoon mutters through gritted teeth as you take a picture of his annoyed face, junkyu’s puffed cheeks in the bottom corner of the frame. you try to contain your laughter as you move closer to your brother and start massaging his scalp, knowing the action was going to start waking him up slowly, but not completely.

“hey, honey,” you murmur softly once junkyu starts squirming, knowing you have about ten seconds to communicate what you need him for before he either goes back to sleep or fully wakes up. “hi, let’s get you to your bed, okay?” you say as you run your fingers through his fringe. junkyu nods, eyes still closed as he unwraps himself from jihoon and moves to stand up. you grab him by his forearms and help him to his feet, stumbling as he drapes himself over you, dropping all of his weight on you. jihoon stands up immediately when he notices you stumble and grabs onto junkyu’s waist, moving some of the weight off you.

you flash him an awkward smile as you wrap junkyu’s arm around your shoulders, slowly starting to walk towards his room. the two of you waddle to his bedroom, jihoon trailing behind you with his hand on junkyu’s back. “hey, i got him, can you open the door?” you whisper to jihoon when you reach the door. he makes eye contact with you and you nod, stomach churning at the way he softly smiles at you before he lets junkyu go and moves to open the door.

jihoon walks in first, moving the blanket off junkyu’s bed. you carefully walk your brother to his bed, putting your hands on his shoulders. “i’m gonna need you to lie down for me, okay, baby?” you coo as you push junkyu to sit down on the bed, helping him lie down. he immediately curls up around his pillow when he does, whining when he realizes he doesn’t have a blanket.

“hey, hey, here it is, it’s okay,” you quickly shush him, covering him with the blanket and tucking him in. you chuckle at how childish he looks, and you can’t help but remember all the times he used to be the one to put you to bed when the two of you were younger - it feels nice, being able to do this for him, even though it’s because he smoked a bit too much weed. 

“thank you.” you hear junkyu murmur as he snuggles under his blanket. you smile again, running his hands through his fringe so it doesn’t get into his eyes.

“of course, kyu,” you whisper, moving the hair up to peck his forehead. “you need anything?” you ask softly as he settles into a comfortable position. he shakes his head no, face scrunched up as he smushes it into his pillow, falling asleep in the blink of an eye.

you sit and watch him for a bit, running your fingers through his hair as his breathing slowly levels out, soft snores muffled by the blanket. for the first time since coming home, jihoon’s words run through your mind again - what was junkyu doing getting extremely high so early in the afternoon? he has never been the type to smoke during the day unless he knew he didn’t have anything to do, and from what you remembered, hyunsuk was talking about needing him that evening the last time you talked over the phone.

“hyunsuk hyung cancelled the evening meeting, it’s okay,” you hear jihoon say from behind you and you turn around to find him leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, looking at you with that soft look again. you hate that it doesn't make you want to vomit the moment you see it.

“how did you-”

“you just seem worried. don’t be, i wouldn’t let him if i knew he needed to be fully capable,” he explains, not moving from his spot at the door frame. you brush your fingers through junkyu's hair again lightly as you look up at jihoon, careful not to wake your brother up again. 

“it’s just… i know there’s things he wants to do with his life outside what you idiots do,” you start off quietly. you don’t really know why you’re telling jihoon this, opening up to him with things you haven’t really told anyone out of the blue. jihoon moves to sit down on the floor next to you and you look away from him immediately, focusing on junkyu’s sleeping face. 

“he has such potential and i just hate to see him wasting his twenties away for me… i’m fine now. the hospital pays for my tuition and i’ll have enough time next semester to actually get a job but i just can’t get to him sometimes. i know he has this protective older brother complex which is ridiculous because he’s only a couple minutes older, but i just want him to start doing things for himself for once, you know? like, actual things. i hear him sing in the shower, jihoon, and he’s good. i know he has a notebook full of song lyrics hidden somewhere in his room that he doesn’t want to show me because he doesn’t want me to feel like he’s not pursuing it for me, but i can’t help it when i know he has dreams and aspirations and i just want him to put himself first, you know?” you explain, trying your hardest to be as silent as possible as you thread your fingers through your brother’s hair. you feel warm when jihoon enters your personal space, subtly moving closer to you. you sigh, drawing your knees close and resting your hands on them, dropping your chin on your palms. “i don’t even know why i’m telling you all this.”

“you want me to talk to him?” jihoon asks, letting out an amused chuckle when you turn to face him, confusion on your face. “he’s my best friend, y/n. if you’re worried about him, i should be worried about him. if you want me to talk to him about music or whatever he wants to do, i’ll do it.”

you maintain eye contact with him, looking for any signs of him teasing you, but all you can see in his eyes is sincerity. “you’d do that?”

he smiles, and it’s that confusing smile again, the one that makes you warm all over and you have no idea what it actually means. “don’t get your hopes up, kim, i’m only doing this with my best friend’s intentions in mind,” he teases, getting a bit closer to you with his face to smile cheekily at you. 

you scrunch your nose at him, scoffing as you turn away from him. “whatever, park. that’s the last time i open up to you about anything.”

jihoon chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “oh, come on, y/n,” he whines quietly, smiling as he hooks his chin onto his shoulder, getting even closer to you. “you know i’m just fucking with you. if it helps, i don’t think you should feel bad about junkyu “giving his dreams up” for you. you’ve always been the more level-headed out of the two of you, i think we all expected you to figure your shit out first and junkyu to help you along as he figures his out. he’s had a couple years to fuck around, we just gotta help him to start doing what he actually wants to do. and we’ll be there for him until he does,” he explains softly, nudging you again so you’d look at him.

you turn your heads towards him again. “we?”

jihoon smirks, nodding. “yeah, we. as i said, he’s my boy. i’d do anything to help him out. and if helping him out also means helping you out, then so be it.”

for the first time since he sat down, you suddenly become aware of how close you two are. shoulders touching, faces mere centimeters from each other’s. you look down instinctively, breath hitching as he pulls his now-healed bottom lip through his teeth and when you look up, it’s obvious he’s staring at your mouth. breathless, you start to panic when jihoon slowly starts leaning in, your eyes closing on instinct. you sense him hesitate as he gets really close, lips almost brushing against yours, as if he’s waiting for you to make the final choice. and you want it, you really do, so much it actually scares the fuck out of you because you never thought you would ever voluntarily put yourself in this position, but not here. not how. not like this. not while you have no fucking clue what all of it actually means. 

panic swirls in your chest and you pull away slowly, careful not to make too much noise as you clear your throat, opening your eyes. “i, uhm,” you start off, not wanting to be too loud as you move away. “asahi’s probably worried if junkyu’s okay. we should probably head back.”

jihoon presses his lips together, chuckling as he leans back on his hand. “yeah, asahi. maybe we should.”

you move to stand up, brushing off the nonexistent dust off your pants, trying to make this as painless as possible. “we’re probably gonna watch anime and have cake, you wanna join us?”

he locks eyes with you, holding his gaze on you for a couple excruciating seconds before he moves to stand up too, shaking his head. “i gotta get to hyunsuk hyung’s. you and asahi have fun.”

the have fun leaves a weird feeling in your chest and you don’t know what to do as he makes his way to the door. “jihoon,” you call out quietly and he stops at the door, turning around and leaning back against it. “thank you. really.”

he smiles, an empty type of smile you know isn’t really genuine, but you don’t want to push it, already knowing you fucked up. “anything for junkyu, right?” he says through a hollow chuckle, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him no, this isn't just about junkyu.

but you don’t, not sure what exactly to say other than, “yeah. anything for junkyu.” so you do, not able to look him in the eye as his lips drop slightly and he nods his head to himself, bidding you goodbye and walking out of the room. you hear him greet asahi in the living room, the two making awkward small talk before he leaves.

you turn to look at junkyu again, the sight of your brother sleeping peacefully making your chest hurt as you lean down to kiss him on the forehead again before tucking him in a bit more and leaving the room.

fuck.

***

a/n: i’m not sure if i’m rushing it but i hope you like this chapter! i’m still busy this week but i finish my last exam on monday and then i have a week off before classes start, which means updates won’t take as long! i have a lot of things planned for this fic and i hope you’re ready to embark on this journey with me. i apologize for the mistakes, i’ll beta it when i have the time! once again thank you for reading and all feedback is much appreciated! <3

taglist: @jjikyuu @m1ieu @lolibaaae @skittles2429 @remedyonrose  @najxemins if you want to be added just let me know!

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[iwaisa]

Hey can you do a Kuroo x reader where you failed in science and you have to ask him for help please and thank u 💓

a/n. of COURSE i can do this (i’m totally not emphasizing this because i just read kuroo angst and now i am s a d) (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

► now playing...

- pairing. kuroo tetsurou x gender neutral reader

- word count. 2.3k

- warnings. mild swearing, one (1) make out session, kuroo being an adorable dork

Two words. Chemistry sucks. More specifically, AP chemistry. You just weren’t getting it at all.

The equations were confusing as hell, and your teacher couldn’t care less if the class understood the material or not - he just kept moving on without stopping. So many questions surfaced in your head, but you were too nervous to speak up in class. So you just dealt with it, trying to juggle all of the new information with the old, while simultaneously trying to speed-write everything your teacher had on the board before he quickly erased it.

You were taking a test, and you simply admitted defeat. You gave up. Everything you were reading on this test happened to be everything you didn’t understand. Was your teacher trying to fail you? You tried to remember everything your teacher went over, but it just didn’t work. The only questions you managed to get right were some true and false questions, which only counted for one point. It was a fifty point quiz, and you would be surprised if your score came around to be a little more than ten.

You waited until the bell rang to turn in your test, slowly walking up to the teacher’s desk with your head down. Your teacher thanked everyone, and with that, you sat back down waiting for the next teacher to come in.

As the last bell rang, you couldn’t wait to get home. You made it through the day, but it was still a Tuesday, which meant you had three days of school left this week.

Hooray.

You walked out to the shoe lockers, only to be stopped by your chemistry teacher. He had asked you to meet him in the teachers’ lounge to discuss your score on your test.. “L/n, you only got five points on your test today. Is everything alright? Did you have trouble paying attention?”

Ouch. Five points out of fifty. That was ten percent. Double ouch.

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better on the next test.” Your teacher asked if you could stay in the library after school to practice some equations. You had nothing else to do, and you would just be bored when you got home. Plus, you really needed the extra practice, so why not? You trudged your way to the library, test in hand. You knew you would only get the true and false questions right. There were so many red marks that you were just embarrassed. You folded the paper and stuffed it in your pocket. As you walked into the library, you scanned the room to see if anyone else was there. You picked a table and opened your textbook. You looked around before pulling the test out of your pocket. You began working on the equations your teacher wrote down, but after about an hour you grew restless. What the hell is a mol?? You burned holes into your paper with your eyes and sighed. “This is impossible.”

“That one’s 5.098 grams,” a finger slid onto your paper. You jumped and slowly looked up to see who the finger belonged to. Your face exploded into different shades of red as you made eye contact with Kuroo Tetsurou. Volleyball captain, total nerd, and total hottie. Every time you saw the familiar bed-headed captain, you wondered how he didn’t have a girlfriend. “What?”

“This equation. ‘Convert moles to grams.’ It would be 5.098 grams since you have to divide these numbers. Can I borrow a pencil?” You just nodded and handed him your pencil without breaking your eyes away from his face. He was so attractive it should be a crime. He squatted down next to you so that your shoulders were touching and began jotting down numbers. Even his handwriting was attractive. He turned to look at you, your faces just about a foot away. “I have some time before practice starts, you want me to help you finish this?” You nodded, not wanting your words to fail you. “So is there a reason you’re still here even though school ended an hour ago?” “U-uh, my teacher told me to practice these some more,” you mumbled. “What, did you fail a test or something?”

Triple ouch. You turned to face your textbook and nodded slightly. “Wait, really? What was your score?”

“Oh you know, a just-below-average score,” you started laughing and dismissing the question with your hand. “And what was that just-below-average score?”

Shit. You would probably die on the spot from embarrassment if your crush of three years looked at your test.

Before you could explain, he reached over you grabbing said test. “Wait,” you said trying to grab the paper from his hands, but he held it out of reach. He skimmed through the test, his eyes widening a bit. “Woah,” he began. 

“It was confusing, okay! The teacher was talking too fast and he didn’t even give us a chance to write the material in our notes! It was like he was talking in three times speed,” you tried to defend yourself. You watched as Kuroo chuckled. “This isn’t that bad, actually. You did the first part of the equation right, but you just got confused a little bit around here,” he pointed to the paper, setting it on the table now. “You’ll get it in no time, so don’t worry about it, alright? You got it.” 

Your heart was about to explode out of your chest as he patted your head and gave you a thumbs up. “Well, I gotta get to volleyball. I’ll see you around, l/n-san!” You didn’t want him to leave yet, especially not after the way he just patted your head. Before you could think, you stood up and bowed at a perfect ninety degree angle.

“Please tutor me!” You shouted louder than you meant to, and you hoped he didn’t think you were too needy. “Sure. How about this weekend I can work on this stuff with you?” You told him yes, and you heard him step closer to you. “Now get up, will you? We’re the same age, and it’s not that big of a deal, I promise.” He smiled at you while leaving his hand on your shoulder. There was no way someone could be this attractive, smart, AND kind. You wanted to thank Kuroo’s parents. “I’ll see you this weekend, l/n-san.”

You waited for him to leave the library to squeal. Did you really just say that? And did you really just bow like that? How embarrassing. On the other hand, you just asked your crush to get together outside of school. You were excited and annoyed at the same time - excited that you got to talk to Kuroo more, and annoyed that you had to wait a whole three days until then. 

Thankfully the days flew by. Your teacher asked you to stay in the library everyday until the end of the week. Kuroo kept coming by as well, so you were thankful you got to keep seeing him and his outrageous but gorgeous hair. You couldn’t help but notice that each time he came around, he kept getting closer to you. It was like he had to be touching you at any given moment. It also didn’t help that he had a ton of chemistry pickup lines. Like, too many for any normal human to memorize. The first one he wrote on your paper almost made you short-circuit.

‘Are you made of beryllium, gold, and titanium? Because you’re BeAuTi-ful’

You just laughed and shook your head at him, but you couldn’t stop smiling the whole time you stayed with him. You hoped the reason he was wearing his signature grin was because of the same reason. “Hey, l/n, I wish your name was Avogadro...then I would already know your number.” You stared at him as the corners of your lips spread into a smile. “Come on Kuroo, you’re supposed to be my tutor, not a comedian.” “Actually, I’m serious about that one.”

Oh.

“So that I know when you show up to my house tomorrow.”

Quadruple ouch.

You two exchanged numbers and Kuroo went to point to another section in your textbook. The rest of the day you stayed quiet, not wanting him to pick up on the disappointment in your voice.

You woke up the next day and dragged yourself to Kuroo’s house.

Kuroo >:O - Remember to be at my house at 10 AM sharp! And let me know when you get here :D

You - right! :}

You knocked on his door and braced yourself to come face to face with Kuroo in all his bed-headed glory. After a few minutes, the door slid open, revealing Kuroo in joggers and a large t-shirt. The tips of your ears turned a rosy color from seeing him in casual clothes instead of the school uniform. Casual clothes that looked great on him. He led you up the stairs and into his room, and you looked around as he shut the door behind you. His room was pretty normal - he had his bed in one corner, a small study table in the center, and a balcony. He sat on a cushion at the table and patted the cushion next to him. You sat down and began pulling your textbook and papers out of your backpack.

A few hours passed and you and Kuroo had abandoned the papers on his table. Now you two were just talking about school and volleyball or anything else you could think of. It was already two in the afternoon, but the time you spent together felt so short. You wanted to talk for as long as you could, but Kuroo had realized how distracted you two were. He watched as you started solving an equation for a random question he picked from the textbook. As you were writing numbers and units, Kuroo asked to see your phone. You questioned him, and you handed him your phone as he assured it was nothing bad. You watched out of the corner of your eyes as he snapped a photo of himself holding up a peace sign with a dorky grin on his face. He typed something, and placed your phone on the desk face down, telling you not to look at it until after you left his house.

Another hour passed and you were still writing. You had gotten carried away and finished the problems your teacher had assigned for the following week. This was partially because you wanted to test Kuroo to see if he would start talking to you again. Instead, all talking ceased except for the occasional “that’s right,” or “you got it.”

You also couldn’t help but notice that Kuroo couldn’t stop staring at you. You turned to him a few times asking him if something was wrong, and you swear you saw his eyes flicker down to your lips. He assured you nothing was wrong and with that, you turned to finish the rest of the page.

Kuroo reached his hand over to slip your pencil out of your grasp, and you turned to question him. Before you could say anything, he began to lean closer to you. You felt his breath fanning your face as he stopped a few inches away. Your eyes switched between his eyes and his lips until he closed the gap. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes flickered shut. His lips were soft and warm as they collided with yours. A few seconds passed and he pulled back. “Was that okay?” He asked quietly while keeping his eyes on your lips. “That’s what you’re supposed to ask before you do that,” you retorted. “Hm. Couldn’t hold back.”

His lips crashed onto yours again, and this time he quite literally stole the air from your lungs. Your lips moved quickly and he wasted no time as he brushed his tongue against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth to let him in as you began to crawl onto his lap. He moved so he was leaning his back against his bed, and his hands rested on your hips. Your tongues explored each others’ mouths, and your hands moved to grip onto his permanently messy hair. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, and his hands slid from your thighs to squeeze your ass. You moaned in response.

You two pulled back, needing air in your lungs. “So, um… do you like me?” He chuckled. “What do you think the answer to that is, cutie?” You shrugged bashfully, “I don’t know.” “Oh come on. I thought I made it obvious from the pickup lines,” he said while grinning. “You were confusing me, I figured that was just who you were.” “Yeah, like I would call just anyone beautiful.” You shrugged again in response.

“F/n,” he said while moving his hand to grab your chin. “I really like you.” Your heart was beating uncontrollably. Kuroo really liked you? So he wasn’t just telling you those pickup lines for the fun of it? “I like you too, Tetsurou.” He felt his own face and ears heat up at the use of his given name. He guessed that’s what he gets for calling you by yours.

You left his house half an hour later, after gathering all of your papers and books and stuffing them in your backpack. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before slipping your shoes back on. He slid open the door for you and bid you goodbye. As you walked back to your house you remembered what Kuroo said after messing with your phone. You unlocked it and were met with a photo of him with the caption, ‘I hope you’ll be my s/o! :D’ You laughed at his dorky photo. Well, your boyfriends’ dorky photo.

You - you’re such a dork! :P

Tetsu <3 - Huh?

You - but at least you’re my dork now :D

Tetsu <3 - So you saw the photo? Thank god.

You - you think i could ignore the photo you set as my home screen? lol. you’re cute.

Tetsu <3 - That’s you ;3

You - thank god i asked you to be my tutor, huh?

Tetsu <3 - That’s exactly what I was thinking. I would’ve died if I didn’t confess to you soon.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-5th Place

Up until now, I’ve been pretty iffy on which show went where on this list. However, from here on out, there is no doubt in my mind the ranking is almost perfect (or, at least, to me it is). 

Just keep in mind, this next pick isn’t as cute and innocent as it might look.

#5-Camp Camp (2016-)

The Plot: Camp Campbell is a place where kids can go to do anything! Like space camp, theater camp, art camp, magic camp, and also other magic camp! It’s a dream come true...except for a little rapscallion named Max, who was forced to go there by his crappy parents. With the help of his two new friends, Neil and Nikki, the three of them will make it their life's mission to make life a living hell for their two camp counselors. Or, at least, it’s their life’s mission until the end of the summer.

This is the first and only web series on this list, and it is made by the (in)famous production company called Rooster Teeth. And trust me when I say that Camp Camp is the best show Rooster Teeth created ever since they started working on Red vs. Blue. And I can think of a couple reasons why.

Reason number one is the show’s comedy. Just like Rick and Morty, Camp Camp relies on being absurd and dark to get a laugh out of audiences. However, there is one thing Camp Camp has that gives it an advantage: The fact that it’s a show on the internet. There’s a lot of jokes that writers are not allowed to get away with on television. But on the internet, it’s all free game, baby! You want to make jokes about Hitler and the holocaust? Go ahead. You want a young cis boy to ask when he’s going to get his period? Go ahead. You want four kids to get scarred for life after catching old people having sex? Go right the f**k ahead. Because this is the internet. A place that is impossible to make kid-friendly, no matter how hard certain websites try! (And in case you’re wondering: Yes, all of those examples I just listed are actual jokes within the show. So have fun.)

With the benefit of having little to no filter, Camp Camp’s sense of humor allows it to go further with its jokes while having competent enough writers knowing the definition of “too far.” Because believe it or not, there is a limit that this show has with how far it’ll take its humor, and rarely does it feel like it crosses it (and it’s usually Kerry Shawcross’ episodes that crosses the line, oddly enough). Now, as I’ve established in my Rick and Morty review, not everyone is going to find these types of jokes funny. But for the most part, I personally think Camp Camp is hilarious. In fact, out of a fifty-nine episode line up, there is a total of ONE episode that I felt was low on the laughs. And like most good comedies, the best jokes come from who’s saying them and not what's being said. People need to remember that humor comes from the characters. Otherwise, when the gag goes to the wrong cast member, you’ll end up having people respond with, “but that’s not what this character would do or say.” In fact, the only time when a joke falls short in the show is when the wrong character says what is already a funny line that’s just misplaced.

And seeing as how we’re already talking about the cast, now might be a great time to mention that Camp Camp has the best group of characters Rooster Teeth made since the first thirteen seasons of Red vs. Blue. Like I said with Rick and Morty, I prefer to have a series with a moderately large cast of characters, as it offers writers enough room to work with so the series doesn’t become stale. And boy, does this show have a lot to work with. Everybody starts off with a personality that’s simple and serves the purpose of making a joke. But as the Camp Camp goes on, the more that these personalities grow and the audience gets to learn more about them. Even characters who seem like they’re only useful for the same comedic bit eventually become more complex as the series progresses. The best example is Dolph, who starts off as a source for Hitler jokes. But in the episode “The Candy Kingpin," we see that he’s also a little kid who’s just lonely and naive...while also still being the source of Hilter jokes. Now, at a glance, it might seem like there are too many characters, and it can certainly feel like it at times. Luckily the writers are smart enough to know which characters need more focus and which ones can be used for comedy. For instance, Space Kid doesn’t seem that complex in the slightest, but he’s a source for comedy, so he doesn’t need to be. Besides, the writers can develop any characters it wants whenever they want to. Because if Max and David are of any indication, this show has the best character development in any Rooster Teeth series.

I’m not kidding when I say that the relationship between Max and David is the best thing about the series. They start off with a simple dynamic: David is the happy go lucky optimist who gets in the way of Max’s pessimistic schemes. There’s nothing too noteworthy at first, and the majority of the episodes are just Max screwing over David and David keeping Max in check. However, the showrunners found a way to make their relationship more intriguing with each season. (Kinda spoilers ahead) Not only does Max learn that David understands how rough life can be, but, realizes why David has the determination to stay optimistic in the first place. And once David learns why Max is so jaded, he begins to work with Max through a new angle. In fact, the second they’re both on even ground, the two of them stop working against each other and learn how to work with each other (kinda spoilers over). Now don’t get me wrong. David still gets on Max’s nerves and vice versa, but there’s still a small amount of respect shared between the two. This is what I loved about their dynamic: Their development isn't blatant, but it still exists. In Red vs. Blue, it feels like Tucker’s development seems to take a step backward and forwards with every other season. And in RWBY, it feels like Yang is a different character after experiencing a traumatic event. This is understandable given what happened to her. But seeing how her having a sense of humor, which is everything likable about her personality, left after this one moment, it can be a bit disappointing (especially since Yang seemed like a person who hid her trauma through comedy). As for Max and David, everything that is likable about their personalities is still there, only now seen through a different light. This may not seem that impressive, but considering how Rooster Teeth has handled character development in the past, it’s pretty great.

Here’s another thing that may not seem as impressive as it really is: The show’s animation. I am amazed at how this series manages to have a television-quality of effort. Now, that may not sound like a compliment, but considering that this is a web series, it’s pretty darn impressive. Most online animated shows barely stick to a weekly schedule and the ones that do only manage to have episodes lasting for 3-5 minutes. So, seeing as how Camp Camp can have 12-24 minute long episodes once a week AND still managing to look good is a testament to how far internet animation has come. There’s also a surprisingly large amount of detail added into the show. I’m not talking about the characters themselves, as they have pretty simple designs. What I am talking about are the little things that the animators added in. If you pay attention to the props, backgrounds, and even things they wrote in, you’ll notice a whole lot of things that would have flown over your head otherwise, such as great jokes, continuity nods, and even sublime foreshadowing when it comes to season three.

So as you can tell, there’s a lot to like about this series. So you’re wondering why it’s only #5. Well, my reasons are more pitiful if I’m being honest. You see, Camp Camp is aimed at adults, but it doesn’t feel like that at times. Like I said with my Final Space review, most writers think that for a series to be considered for adults, you have to use sex, drugs, violence, and cursing. Now, in all fairness, those aren’t really meant for kids. And understandably so. However, if you take all of that stuff out, then what’s stopping this show from becoming kid-friendly? Not a whole lot, especially since there’s a handful of episodes that have plots I’ve seen in other kids' shows (“Jermey Fartz,” “Eggs Benefits,” and “Night of the Living Ill,” to name a few). Personally, I believe that for a show to be for adults, it requires two things. One is to have writing that may seem boring to kids but interesting for adults. It's also important to have stories/plots that kids are not ready to fully understand yet. If you fail to do both, then there’s nothing stopping a twelve-year-old from watching your show and enjoying it just the same. And I should know because I was twelve when I started watching Rooster Teeth’s content in the first place.

Also (and this next complaint is less pitiful and more problematic), it's not good with how whitewashed the voice cast is. I get it. A voice is a voice, and the color of the actor's skin shouldn't matter...except that it does. Because if you're going to go the route of having a diverse cast of characters, then you might as well go all the way by having their voice actors be people of color as well. And don't get me wrong, these actors do a perfect job for their respective roles, both for the dramatic and comedic moments. But, as this series started coming out in 2016, long before current events, it still bothered me that a character like Nerris--

--was voiced by a woman like Barbara Dunkleman:

Yeah...That’s a big yikes.

So while it may not exactly be the best example of an adult series and definitely needs some recasting, Camp Camp is still one of the best shows in the 2010s. It has impressive animation for an online series, has hilarious comedy, and even better characters to enjoy. And seeing as how this is only #5, that can only mean that the shows can only get better from here.

(Side note, is it bad that two seasons of this show made me connect to the characters much better than the first six seasons of RWBY? Because I certainly think so.)

[lesserpandeu]

Software Instability | prologue

fandom: NCT

genre: Sci-Fi/Detroit: Become Human AU!, android AU!, probably lots of angst + fluff in later chapters

pairing: Mark x Reader (probably some Donghyuck x Reader if you squint super hard, especially in later chapters)

words: 3,262

warnings: gun violence, death, cursing;

summary: The amount of deviant cases your department has been receiving is concerning to say the least. After pressuring the android manufacturing company, CyberLife, they send an android to assist your department in finding out what is causing the deviancy in so many androids lately. His name is Mark, and as soft as he seems on the outside, you can’t help but be utterly terrified by him. 

A/N: This story is based on the world of the video game “Detroit: Become Human”. Just replacing Connor (one of the main characters) with Mark and putting y/n in it. You don’t need to know anything about D:BH to read the story, as I explain everything the reader needs to know as the story progresses! While it doesn’t follow the plot word for word all the time, sometimes I need to look up the cutscenes and repeat them to help progress the plot (like the negotiation scene in this prologue). Warning: It might take me awhile to update, but it also it might not, lol. I’m awful about staying on top of fics. Enjoy!

prologue: “My name is Mark”

One more fucking deviant case and you’d lose your goddamn mind.

It was only a matter of time until the deviant jumped off the balcony with the little girl in his arms, sending them both to their dooms. It was a little more imperative for the girl, considering she was actually alive. The android was expendable, but given the fact that it was holding her hostage outside on the balcony, that was going to prove difficult.

Every SWAT officer that’s gone out to stop it was met with bullets aiming with perfect accuracy and an inability to get closer, risking the girl’s safety.

“One more team, just send one more, we’ll get him this time-” your colleague was suggesting as the both of you stood in the office of a once peaceful family home, before the android turned on them and killed them all, except for the little girl he was currently holding near the edge of the pent suite’s balcony.

“It didn’t work the first two times, it won’t work a third, Taeil. We wait for the negotiator to arrive to diffuse the situation-” Donghyuck, your other colleague cut Taeil off before he committed the same offense.

“What’s a fucking negotiator going to do?! That deviant was beyond the point of reason the minute it went nuts!”

“Both of you, shut up,” you groaned, holding your fingers to your temple. You were currently sitting in the office chair, trying to sooth yourself from one of the most stressful moments in your career, no doubt. “No one likes the situation right now, cause frankly, there’s currently a 5% chance that this kid is making it out without falling to her fucking death. If we go against orders and things turn as sour as we’re expecting it to, we’re in for a lot of shit from the head of department that ordered this new approach. We wait, and we obey orders.”

“Oh, nice, so we’re just going to sit and watch as a blue headed android just hops off the roof murdering another innocent human, further dispelling the faith the people have in their safety around androids, only further increasing the rate of android deviancy and cases we’re already overwhelmed with, yeah, you’re so right.”

Taeil had a reason to be stressed out about this. Androids had been implemented into society now for about 30 years. Nearly everyone had one, if they could afford it. They were perfect companions, workers, and entertainers. They came in anyway you could want them: tall, short, dark, light, young, and old. You could program them however you wanted. They could be funny (honestly, you never thought comedic androids were actually funny), kind, obedient, or even sarcastic.

It wasn’t until three months ago that a crime involving an android popped up in your department. An android turned on it’s human, stabbing her fifty times in the chest. It was so shocking at the time, which made it worse when just three more cases appeared in the next two weeks. Now you're on your seventh case, though there have been many more handled by other factions of the PD. One thing all of these cases clearly had in common: deviancy.

The only thing every single android was required to have in common was obedience. It was never allowed to go against its owner’s will. Technology isn’t supposed to disobey. Bad things happen when that occurs. And boy, were they happening. Like the bad thing happening right now.

“Could you- Would- Piss off,” you end up yelling, earning a flinch from the SWAT officer that walked by the open door. They were standing by as the final resort. 

“I just want this shit to be over, thank you very much,” Taeil defensively crossed his arms and leaned against the only wall not hidden by dressers with the family’s pictures. It was suffocating to sit in a home just so freshly destroyed.

“Well, it looks like it will be, cause guess who’s here?” Donghyuck mumbled.

You looked up from your shoes to see what he was talking about.

An android dressed in a stereotypical investigative uniform strode up to the door frame, stance practically perfect. No one needed the glowing serial number on the pocket of his jacket, the blue band wrapped around his arm, or the LED ring on the side of his temple to know that he was an android. He had black hair with bangs parting out, and high cheekbones. He looked young, he seemed to have been designed with a baby face in mind. If he were just a human, he’d probably be a teenager or a college student.

He smiled. It looked so realistic. Androids look just like people these days.

“Oh my god,” Donghyuck responded. The android looked puzzled, blinking a few times as his smile dissipated.

“I didn’t say anyth-”

“They sent a fucking android to talk us out of an hostage situation cause by an android?” Donghyuck exasperated.

“Okay, enough, we need to get that girl out,” Taeil said. “What are you doing?”

“Hello. My name is Mark. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife,” he introduces himself. His voice has an odd chirp to it, like he was programmed to come off as friendly as possible.

“I hate him already-”

“Donghyuck, stop it, we don’t have time.”

“You’re damn right we don’t,” Taeil had enough and walked out the room, squeezing by Mark standing in the doorway. “This way.”

Mark followed him, allowing you and Donghyuck to do the same. You walked into the living room where the sliding doors that led to the balcony were located. The bodies of the last SWAT team lay on the ground by the pool, one fallen inside of it. No one in the room was fazed by it.

“The situation,” Tail started. “The Acharya family is home, their daughter is coming home from school. At 5:24 pm, the father is murdered by the android on the couch with a handgun. The mother follows after coming out of her room to see what is going on. The daughter returns home at 5:40 pm.”

As Taeil explains, Mark begins looking around the apartment. Any other time an officer would ask what the hell he was doing, but since Taeil was talking and didn’t seem to care, you figured it was fine. He went into the kitchen, as it was combined with the living room in a big space. He notices the stove top, which obviously causes you to be aware of it. Water is boiling, who knows for how long at this point. He turns it off, setting it on one of the inactive burners. You raise an eyebrow but nearly instantly forget about it. 

“Then, she calls the police but is then taken hostage by the android. They are currently outside, on the edge of the roof ready to fall off any minute now. He has held her at knife point the whole time, making the sniper unable to shoot. Your job is to get him away from her, preferably without killing her.” A brief, but not long at all, silence looms before Mark says something.

“Do we know the android’s name?”

“...uh”

“What kind of question-” Donghyuck laughs, cutting himself off as if in frustration.

Mark doesn’t miss a beat, “I’m going to need more information to ensure the best approach. There is currently only a forty-eight percent chance of this mission being a success.”

“Yeah, and the longer we wait, the more quickly it becomes 0-”

“Five minutes,” you state. Sure, maybe Taeil should have the final say since he is your senior in both age and experience, but you don’t care right now. Taeil sends you a glare, momentarily staying silent before letting out one of the most stressed out sighs you’ve ever heard him breath.

“Five minutes, or I’m going out there myself.”

 Mark seems to briefly look at you and Taeil as to acknowledge your permission before further inspecting his surroundings. Taeil walks off, going to talk to a SWAT officer. Donghyuck is still outwardly paranoid, leaving the room as he tries to cool down.

You? You watch Mark. Someone’s got to make sure this beta testing droid doesn’t do stupid shit. Okay, maybe less so that and you were just curious.

He walks over to the body of the father (still on the ground, you tried to ignore it the best you could), and takes the holographic tablet out of his hands. He unlocks it somehow, looking through it. Soon he puts it down and goes off somewhere. You follow him, he doesn’t seem to pay you any attention, though.

He, interestingly enough, goes into the girl’s bedroom, indicated by the giant teddy bear residing in it. He looks around, noticing a few things. Frankly, you have no clue what he was doing. But it was too much of a bother to prod him for answers. 

He picks up a different tablet this time, unlocking it. Audio playback begins, drawing your attention. You then notice that it’s actually a video playing. You can see it from around Mark’s torso, given the angle created by standing in the doorway of the bedroom. What on earth was he doing?

“This is Jaemin!” the girl’s voice declares. The video shows her face, that then pans out to show her arm around an android. The blue-haired one you were dealing with at this very moment. But his hair was brown in the photo. Not strange, given most androids had automatic hair color changing options. “The coolest android in the world! Say hi, Jaemin!”

“Hello,” he smiles widely, waving at the camera. They both look so happy. While the video quality is significantly good, the slight distortion of the medium causes ‘Jaemin’ to look practically human, if it weren’t for the commercial android uniform. It was illegal for an android not to wear a uniform identifying that they were digital animals.

Mark puts down the tablet, ending the video playback and continuing his short investigation. He proceeded to the next room, doing just about the same thing there that he did in the last one. He kept this up until Taeil finally yelled out that the five minutes were up.

You followed Mark until you were just in front of the sliding doors, where Mark was about to walk through to diffuse the situation.

“He’s heading out now,” Taeil spoke into his receiver. With that, he opened the door. A burst of wind came through when the door opened, likely from the helicopters that had been circling around now for over an hour.

“This is going to go terribly,” Donghyuck spoke calmly, finally.

“Have a little faith, will you?” You shoved him with your shoulder, arms crossed.

“Just because you think he’s cute doesn’t mean you should have any faith, (y/n).” You hit him on the side of the head. “Oww.”

“I don’t think he’s-”

“The two of you need to shut up, we can’t hear what’s going on.”

The minute Mark stepped out, a gunshot rang. Donghyuck instinctively grabbed you and pulled you down, pulling the both of you away from the door.

“STAY BACK!” you heard the android yell out. You recovered your wits quickly, trying to look at Mark. A new blue blood stain is on the floor right outside the door, coming from Mark. You naturally looked to see if Mark is okay, even if it logically wouldn’t make sense for him to be in pain. He is looking down at the fresh wound on his chest, without any hint of pain in his face. It gave you chills. Androids didn’t feel pain, and as long as they could function with all their parts working, they could take anything.

“Holy shit,” you heard Donghyuck whisper.

“MOVE ANY CLOSER AND I’LL JUMP!” Jaemin yelled, holding the girl with his other arm. She screamed, begging for her life. It’s horrifying to see.

“Get into position, go, go, go!” Taeil speaks hurriedly into his receiver, likely speaking to the sniper squad. The SWAT team that stands by lines up behind the door, ready to burst out at any moment. The situation is at its highest level of intensity that it’s been tonight. 

This is it.

“Hi, Jaemin!” Mark yelled over the noise. So he proves he knows the android’s name, you think. So what? “My name is Mark!”

“How do you know my name?!” Jaemin questioned, the gun still pointed towards Mark, and frankly the rest of you as well.

“I know a lot of things about you,” Mark continued yelling over the helicopters outside. “I’ve come to get you out of this!”

A second later, a helicopter swung around too close to the balcony, producing an even higher gust of wind and blowing the lawn furniture off the ground. It doesn’t hit anyone, but it definitely irritated a certain deviant.

“I know you’re angry, Jaemin,” Mark spoke again. Yeah, why the fuck was he so pissed? You thought to yourself. 

“But you need to trust me, and let me help yo-”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP! NOBODY CAN HELP ME, ALL I WANT IS FOR ALL THIS TO STOP I-... I JUST WANT ALL THIS TO STOP!” He pauses a moment before becoming aggressive again.

“Are you armed?!” he asked.

“I have a gun,” Mark responded. He slowly reached behind him, pulling a handgun out before tossing it aside. You’re deadly silent until Donghyuck impatiently interrupted your focus.

“Is he fucking crazy?”

“He’s doing great, now shut the fuck up,” Taeil whispered angrily in his and your direction.

“There,” Mark said gently, despite keeping his voice loud and clear. “No more gun.” Another short silence settled before he kept slowly approaching the deviant, or Jaemin as you guess his name was.

“They were going to replace you,” he continued talking. “That’s what happened, right?”

“... I thought I was part of the family,” the deviant pathetically confessed. “I thought I mattered… But I was just their toy! Something to throw away, when you’re done with.”

“I know you and Kiara were very close,” Mark sympathised. Or at least he appeared to. Kiara? That must be the girl’s name, you reasoned. Did he find that out when he was looking through stuff? “You think she betrayed you, but she’s done nothing wrong-”

“SHE LIED TO ME!” the deviant cried. Mark stopped, doing something unexpectedly. He looked away from the hostage and the deviant, to one of the officers on the ground. He leaned down, observing before speaking out again.

“He’s losing blood. We need to get him to a hospital or he’s going to die,” he said. The action was very weird, in your opinion. But maybe it’s part of his tactic. You guessed that’s what Donghyuck also thought because he wasn’t saying anything.

“All humans die eventually,” the deviant said coldly. It nearly gives you a shiver. “What does it matter if this one dies now?”

Mark seems to ignore him, starting to turn the officer on his back and do something. Another shot rang, nearly hitting Mark and the officer.

“Don’t touch him!” the deviant yelled. “Touch him and I’ll kill you!”

“You can’t kill me,” Mark stated. “I’m not alive.” He continues whatever he’s doing, seeming to forget about the mission for a moment.

“Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck-” Donghyuck starts whispering. You covered his mouth with your hand, trying to shut him up. How the hell did they let such a hot-headed person get on the force?

Mark finishes what he’s doing, which you guess was to try to stop the bleeding. He stood up, a tie now gone from his uniform. He continues to approach slowly.

“It’s not your fault. These emotions you are feeling are just errors in your software.”

“No… It’s not my fault. I never wanted this. I-” Jaemin goes limp for a moment, hand with the gun falling to his side. “I love them. You know?... But I was nothing to them,” he picks up his gun again. “Just a slave to be ordered around. AUGHH-” he suddenly bursts. “I CAN’T STAND THAT NOISE ANYMORE!” The helicopters. Obviously. They’ve been around for hours. “Tell them to get out of here!”

Taeil spoke something into his receiver in order to do so, but you are hardly listening anymore. Mark is so close. Soon the helicopters left and the negotiation continued.

“There,” Mark assured. “I did what you wanted.” Mark is practically standing in front of him at this point. Jaemin seems hesitant and does not know what to do.

“I-” he stuttered. “I want everyone to leave! A-And I want a car. When I’m outside the city I’ll let her go.”

“That’s impossible, Jaemin. Let the girl go, and I promise you you won’t be hurt.”

“... I don’t want to die…” Jaemin began to cry, his voice becoming softer.

“You’re not going to die,” Mark assured. “We’re just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you.” Mark stops before uttering his next phrase with utter seriousness. “You have my word.”

Everyone held their breath. The silence is long and infuriating. You felt Donghyuck radiate heat from your side. You can only imagine you weren’t far from doing the same thing.

“... okay,” Jaemin was still crying. “I trust you.” He slowly let the girl down, still holding his gun but not pointing it at anyone. She shook, running only a few feet away from the edge before collapsing onto the ground. There was another moment where Mark and Jaemin looked at eachother. Unfortunately, everyone on your side, including Mark, knew what was about to happen.

A louder shot rang out from one of the snipers, and Kiara screamed. A large gaping hole appeared in Jaemin’s side, the force of the shot causing him to stumble around. Not a second later, another shot went off, right into his chest this time. It’s followed by a third. Jaemin wavers, falling to his knees. With three different shimmering blue gashes across his body, he struggles before looking back up into Mark’s eyes.

“You lied to me, Mark.” He tries to say it once more, before his voice fails and he shuts down.

You don’t move and neither does Donghyuck. You can’t believe what just happened. That had to be the most intense moment of your career and you hadn’t even started. Donghyuck was probably on the same boat. Taeil was the first one to move, coming onto the balcony and walking past Mark. Mark just turned away and walked back into the flat. 

You see his face, completely and utterly stoic. Even Taeil looked back, though his face doesn’t show it you know he’s as stunned as the rest of you that just saw everything that took place. And how this android that just appeared so empathetic, compassionate, and kind enough to save an officer’s life just walked away like it was another task completed. It reminded all of you that this wasn’t a human. It was just an android.

If you couldn’t be more awe-stricken and terrified, Mark’s eyes flicker to yours so fast you hardly know if it was just your imagination. But that is all he does as he leaves just as casually as he entered.

“Jesus Christ,” Donghyuck can’t bring himself to get up, now resorting to sitting on the floor. “I really don’t like him now.”

For once, you would have to throw the towel in. Mark was utterly terrifying.

[love-and-monsters]

Okara the Mermaid

F mermaid X GN reader, 3075 words.

This takes place in the same wold as Arunio’s story, so there’s a little more elaboration on human and merfolk relations. Mostly it’s just fluff, though. 

The room looked like a combination between an aquarium and a board room, which made for a very strange space.

In the middle of the room was a table surrounded by comfortable chairs. A projector sat on the table, pointing toward a blank wall. There was a small house plant sitting in the corner. Given that there were no windows in the room, the plant looked rather droopy and sad.

Well, there were no windows that lead to the outside, at least. One wall of the room was covered in thick sheets of glass. Behind the wall was a hallway of water. An intercom was attached to the wall, allowing communication between parties on either side of the glass.

Technically, you weren’t authorized to communicate with the ambassadors. You were an intern, which meant assistant duties rather than anything interesting. But you were allowed to be in the room when the ambassadors came, which was more than you’d originally expected.

You sat down a little way back from the table, fiddling with the stack of papers you were holding. Typically, you were responsible for handling the copious amounts of notes from previous meetings and taking new ones. If someone wanted information, you needed to go back through the notes, pick out everything that was useful, and present it in a formal report.

It wasn’t a fun job, but you were working with the merfolk and if you did this job well, you could someday get a higher position. You were willing to put up with some shit if it meant getting your dream job.

Two merfolk swam down the tunnel. That caught your attention. One of them was familiar, the mermaid that usually showed up for meetings. She had a long, rust-colored tail with short, sharp fins. Her hair was cut into the traditionally short style of ambassadors and she wore a woven band around her upper arm.

The mermaid that was next to her was unfamiliar. She was smaller and had a darker red tail, though the fins were a similar scalpel shape. Her hair was cut differently as well. Instead of the short, ambassador cut, one half of her head was nearly bald and the other half had nearly shoulder-length hair. She, too, wore an armband, but this one was a simple braid rather than the complicated weaving of the one on the ambassador.

Your boss, a woman in her mid-fifties, moved to click on the intercom. “Marcessa. You have a companion.”

How the ambassador managed to understand the sound through the water, you didn’t know, but she nodded. “My apprentice, Okara,” she said with a small gesture to the other mermaid. “She is preparing to take on the position of ambassador, so she will be attending meetings from with me for now on.”

Your boss nodded. “I see. Well, I look forward to working with her. So, as we discussed in the last meeting, we have proposed new fishing laws in large stretches of the ocean.”

The meetings started in earnest and you struggled to keep up with the conversation, taking down notes and looking up any relevant information. You felt somewhat more harried than usual because of the apprentice, Okara. She kept looking at you. Not with interest or disdain. Just… looking. Her gaze followed you around the room.

When the meeting ended, you were left alone in the board room to finish organizing some of the notes and to straighten everything up for the next meeting. Usually, the ambassador would linger for a few minutes longer, often watching you for a few minutes and appearing to think before she swam back off. This time, she spoke to her apprentice for a few seconds, or at least you assumed they were talking- you couldn’t hear them through the glass. Then she swam off down the tunnel, leaving Okara alone.

You paused in your cleaning and looked at the mermaid. She stared back at you, swimming close to the glass. Her gaze was steady and unrelenting. She didn’t even blink.

Slowly, you approached the glass. Okara stared at you, following your movements on the other side. When you reached the intercom, you pressed the button. “Can I do something for you?”

Okara tilted her head at you, eyes wide. “Perhaps,” she said. “You are my age, are you not?”

You peered through the glass, assessing her. Merfolk aged at roughly the same rate as humans, and she did look like she was in her early twenties, as you were. “I think so?” you said. “But what does that have to do with-”

Okara pressed her face close to the glass, hands flush against it. “What is the human world like?”

Her voice was filled with a sudden intense ferocity. You blinked at her, startled. “It’s- what?”

She pushed herself closer to the glass, eyes widening. Her voice became hushed, somehow, despite it being entirely in your head. “I have been fascinated by the human world for a long time,” she said. “It’s so different from the merfolk world. I have always wanted to see what it’s like. But…” She hesitated. “It’s not always safe for merfolk to go onto land. I became an ambassador because I thought I would have a greater chance of going on land. But Marcessa says that I won’t be able to go on the land for years.”

“Okay,” you said tentatively. “What do you need me for, then?”

=Okara smiled. Her teeth were very sharp, you realized. “You’re young, like me. You’re not going to be all stuck in your ways like them.” She tilted her head in the direction Marcessa had gone in. “You can help me.”

“Help you do what?” you said, though you already had an inclination about what she was going to ask.

Her smile got even wider. “Take me onto land. Show me around. Let me see the world.”

You glanced over your shoulder, making sure that no one was in the room before you responded. “I could lose my job,” you whispered. “If I got found out…”

“I would lose my job too,” Okara said. “But you wouldn’t be found out. And! You could ask me whatever you want about my world. I can give you a lot of information that might be useful. It could help you.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Please! I can set everything up! I just want to see what the land is really like!”

You hesitated, but her pleading eyes and voice were pulling on your heartstrings. You sighed. “Okay. Okay. I’ll see when the best time is to go on land.”

As much as you were uncomfortable with the idea, it was hard to regret your decision when she grinned and spun around in the water.

It was another week before you were able to stay behind after another meeting and get in contact with Okara. She swam close to the glass, pressing up against it like she thought if she was close enough, she could phase through it. “Did you find a way to get me on land?” she asked.

“Kind of,” you said. You put your phone screen up close to the glass and tapped at the map you’d pulled up. “We’re here. If you follow the shoreline down a ways, there’s a little alcove with a big rocky outcropping. People don’t go there very often, so if we meet early in the morning, we should be safe. I can bring you some clothes and you can transform there.”

Okara peered at the screen, examining the map. “Yes, I know the location. I should be able to convince Marcessa to let me out of her sight for a day.”

“Great. We’ll meet in two days, then.” You slid your phone back into your pocket, glancing over your shoulder. “Is there anything in particular you want to do while we’re on land?”

Okara looked momentarily embarrassed. “I don’t know that much about the land. Marcessa won’t tell me what the land is like even though I know she’d been.” She tapped her chin with a long nail. “Mostly, I want to know what humans are like.”

“Sure,” you said. “I think I can do that.”

]Two days later, you packed a bag with clothes and headed down to the shore. The alcove wasn’t obviously visible from most angles; it looked more like a cliff that collapsed into a pile of rocks as it reached the edge of the sea. But once you got closer, you could see that the rocks obscured a small cavern filled with seawater. As you approached, Okara emerged from the water.

It was the first time you’d ever seen her without the glass in the way and you were struck with a sudden urge to touch her. Automatically, you reached your hand out. Her hand broke the surface of the water, reaching for you in the same moment.

Her skin wasn’t exactly human. It was cooler and smoother, and you could feel her long nails tapping at your wrist as she squeezed your hand.

The spell over the both of you broke at the same moment and you pulled your hands back. “I brought you some clothes,” you said, undoing the zipper of your bag and showing her. “Are you going to transform?”

She nodded and ducked under the surface of the water. You turned your back, leaving the clothes lying on the rocks next to her. For some reason, it felt more uncomfortable to look at her naked as a human than to look at her naked as a mermaid.

When the rustling and shifting of clothes behind you stopped, you looked around. You’d made a good guess at her clothing size, though you hadn’t gotten it exactly right. You’d erred on the side of too large over too small and, given her exceedingly slim frame, it did sort of hang like sackcloth. She had to roll up her pant legs so they didn’t drag on the ground.

You offered her a pair of flip flops. She crouched down to put them on and paused, staring at her toes. She wriggled them a few times, poking at them with obvious interest. “I thought they’d be different,” she said. “Marcessa told me that toes are like little fingers, but they don’t really feel like that.”

“They’re not that dexterous,” you agreed. “Do you need help putting them on?”

“I’ve seen humans wear shoes before,” she sniffed and slid them onto her feet. She took a few steps. They were awkward and a little fumbling, but she adapted to legs surprisingly quickly.

You tilted your head, indicating for her to follow, and you walked up the beach together. Okara paused every few seconds to look at something, examining the little bugs that scuttled out of the sand and glancing over a small bird that landed on a dune nearby. She wasn’t excitable, as you’d expected. Whenever she looked at something, you could almost see the gears turning in her head.

“Where are we going?” Okara asked as you left the sand and walked onto the tarmac parking lot.

“You said you wanted to see what humans were like,” you said, stopping next to your car. “So, we’re going to the mall.”

Okara looked blankly at you as you got into the car. You opened the passenger door and gestured to her. “Get in.”

It took her a moment to get inside, carefully sorting her new legs underneath her. Once she was in, you had to direct her to put on her seatbelt. “Do you know what this is?” you asked, noticing her curious glances at every part of the car.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve heard of these. But I’ve never seen one.”

“It’s a car,” you said. “Humans use them to get places faster.” You started the engine and Okara jumped at the sudden rumble. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Your car was not impressive. It wasn’t a junker, but it wasn’t a very good car either. It couldn’t go particularly fast. But from Okara’s expression, you might have just thrown her onto a roller coaster going straight down a hill. She clutched at the seat, eyes wide, lips pressed tightly together.

The destination was only a few miles away, thankfully, because Okara looked as though her heart would burst if she spent any more time at forty miles per hour. She stumbled when she got out of the car, pressing a hand to the exteriors to hold herself up. You hurried over to her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, panting. She looked up at you and grinned. Her teeth still seemed rather sharp. “I think I would like to try that again.” She let out a breath. “Once my heart stops racing. That was exciting.”

You laughed. “We weren’t even going that fast.”

Her eyes fixed on you and she seemed torn between leaving the car and staying and going as fast as you could go. Eventually, she made up her mind and stepped from the car to peer up at the building.

You’d brought her to the mall. It was one of the most human places you could think of in the city. Throngs of people pushed in and out, their chatter blending into a low murmur of sound.

Okara turned in a slow circle. “I thought it would be quieter up here,” she said. “They always say the song is gone when you go up on land. I thought that would make it quiet.”

You laughed a little. “I thought it would be quiet in the ocean.”

“Sure, there’s a lot of sound in the ocean,” Okara said, though she no longer looked interested in speaking about it. She took hold of your hand, making your heart give a startling leap. “Show me around.”

Okara’s eyes only got wider and wider as you walked around the mall. She was absolutely fascinated by the racks of clothing, examining them with a keen interest. Shoes and socks also absorbed her attention and you took a break so that she could try on a few pairs of sneakers.

It was a bookstore, however, that really grabbed her. “What are they?” she asked, flipping through the pages of a thick book.

“Books. They’ve got writing in them, like stories,” you said.

“You write your stories down?” she said. “But how do they flow?”

“How do they what?”

“Grow and change. If you write them down, they don’t change when you tell them,” she said.

“Yeah? That’s the point, isn’t it? What’s the point of telling a story if it changes every time you tell it? Everyone would have different versions of it.”

Okara looked like she wanted to say something, then she shook her head and went back to skimming the books. “What’s this one about?”

“Um. It’s a story about wizards,” you said. “You can’t read?”

She shook her head. “A bit. I can read some words. But not this many.”

“Maybe you’d prefer something like this, then,” you said, walking over to another shelf and offering her a graphic novel. “It’s still got words, but you might be able to figure out the storyline from the pictures.”

It didn’t take long for Okara to be absorbed in the book. You curled up together in the café section of the shop, leaning close so you could read the book together. After she asked you a few times to read out some of the wordier sections, you just started reading it out loud for her. She seemed fascinated, especially when you tried to put on different voices for the different characters.

Eventually, you ordered some food for the both of you and Okara was absolutely fascinated by the raspberry crowns. She ate about three of them before you cut her off. “You’re going to get sick,” you said.

She stared at you with enormous, glittering eyes. There was raspberry jam on her cheek. “But they’re so good,” she complained.

“I’ll get you some more,” you promised, “but later. When you’ve actually digested what you just ate.”

She pouted, but slouched back into her seat. You leaned over and swiped at her cheek with your thumb, removing the jam.

Okara stared at you. The gesture had been unexpectedly intimate and you found your face growing red. “Thanks,” she said after a second. Her voice was soft and it made something in your chest tighten. You smiled.

“You’re welcome. Uh. So. Anyway. Let’s get back to the book.” You pulled it closer to you and found Okara leaning in. Her hair brushed against your shoulder. Your heart pounded against your ribs.

Time slipped away as you sat together. Eventually, you noticed how much the light from the windows had dimmed. “It’s getting late,” you said, nudging Okara. She started and glanced at the window. “We should probably get you back to the ocean.”

She nodded, sitting up. “Marcessa is probably looking for me,” she said.

You gathered up the books and started to head back to the shelves, then hesitated. “You liked these books, right?”      

“Yeah?”

“It’ll probably be good for you to learn how to read,” you said. “And these books might help. I’ll buy them for you.”

Okara’s eyes went wide. “Really? You don’t have to-”

“Sure. It’s no problem.” You took the books up to the counter and paid, Okara thanking you the entire time.

“You’ll have to keep them out of the water, but I can find a good place for you to leave them,” you said as you headed out to the car. Okara nodded eagerly.

The drive back to the beach was quiet. Okara stared out the window, as if trying to drink in the scenery with her eyes.

The beach was still quiet when you got back to the alcove. “Thanks for today,” Okara said as she stepped into the water. “It was really fun.”

“We should do it again some time,” you said. “Uh. If you’re still interested, that is.

Okara stepped back out of the water and cupped your cheek with her hand. Before you realized what was happening, she had leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Sure,” she said. “But next time I want you to visit me.”

She vanished under the surf. You sat on the beach for a while, staring out over the waves with a smile on your face.

[himbowelsh]

Kiss prompt 6 for winnix?

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy  💋 (accepting!)  6.  lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

It was yet another late night, though Lewis would hardly call himself proud of it. Blanche had been fixated on Christmas in July recently. Another of her flights of fancy, which swooped in and out as eagerly as when she was a little girl... except now she had the means to indulge her whims. It would be a grave insult, she declared, for her brother to skip out on her party, when she was holding it so close to home. Blanche took things like that personally. If Lewis didn’t go,  he’d still be hearing about it come actual Christmastime. 

So, reluctantly, he suited up and left Dick to his work around sundown. Dick saw him off with an appreciative survey of his tux, asking if he should wait up; no need, Lewis told him, since Blanche’s parties always ran late. Dick returned to his desk, and a daunting stack of paperwork, calling a goodbye as Lewis stepped out the door.

When he stumbled back home, sometime after two, Dick was still right where he’d left him. The size of his workload had decreased; the crick in Dick’s neck hadn’t, given the awkward angle he was slumped over the desk, drooling onto a Manila folder.

Leaning against the doorframe, Lewis cleared his throat. When it failed to rouse him, he spoke his lover’s name gently.

“Dick. Hey.”

Dick didn’t stir. His only acknowledgement was a soft exhale, ruffling the papers on his desk.

A fond smile pulled at his lips as Lewis stepped further into the room. He couldn’t resist the urge to admire for a moment. Dick always looked so peaceful when he was asleep — tranquil, carefree, like a different man altogether. Christ, Lewis would have given fifty years off his life if Dick could look like that all the time. If he could just run a hand across his brow and wipe away the worries there forever, like those radio pastors who claim to heal terminal illness with just a touch...

His face was slack, giving nothing away. Was he dreaming? Lewis couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts could be drifting through his head... and, on that gentle note, how long Dick had been dozing here, if he was deep enough asleep to dream.

Having Dick wake up tomorrow aching was just unacceptable. Breaking the spell, Lewis stepped forward, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder to shake him gently. “Alright, you. Rise and shine. This isn’t a bed at the Ritz Carlton, you’re gonna feel it in the morning. Come on, Dick.”

His lover stirred, just enough to shift against the desk’s surface. His face smushed up against the folder, brow scrunching. It was so endearing, so utterly un-Dicklike, that Lewis couldn’t help grinning. Even as he leaned down to press a kiss to Dick’s pouting lips, his touch was light. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, mouth shifting to hover near his ear. “Wake up.”

Dick hummed, turning his face just enough to see him with hazy, half-opened eyes. “Lew?” he murmured.

“Good morning.” Lewis knee he was smiling like the cat who got the cream, but it couldn’t be helped. Fondness hummed within him like the buzz of champagne, overriding any other emotion. How did he become the luckiest man in the world? Blanche got to go home to her townhouse and her dogs; he came home every night to the best man in the world.

Groggily, Dick shifted, slowly taking stock of himself. When he realized where he was, his brow furrowed. Lewis chuckled at his wince as he straightened up, spine crackling with the unwilling movement. Maybe they were getting old after all. “How was the party?” Dick murmured, rubbing at his jaw.

“Terrible. You weren’t there.” Before Dick could see it coming, Lewis gave in to that terrible, overwhelming fondness. His mouth caught Dick’s in an easy swoop. For just a moment, Dick tensed against him, taken by surprise at it all… but then his hand came up, cupping the back of Lewis’s neck. As always, he was impossibly tender. When Dick smiled into the kiss, Lewis ran a hand through his already-sleep-rumpled hair, practically worshipping him.

“Mmm,” Dick sighed, after they broke apart to regard each other. “Keep doing that, and I could stay here forever.”

“Come to bed with me,” is all Lewis said, running a hand along his lover’s shoulders.

The next morning — well, that dawn, considering it was already early morning when they made it to bed — rose bright and clear. As always, Dick was up with the sun. He slipped out of bed, only a little sore from his awkward position the night before, and started his morning routine. By ten o’clock, he’d already had his morning coffee, started breakfast, and settled on plans for a lazy Sunday at home.

The omelets were ready and waiting in the kitchen. He stepped into their shared bedroom, feet silent against the carpeted floor. As he approached the bedside, he could just make out Lewis’s face under a mess of stubble and unruly bed head.

“Lew,” he chimed, laying a hand on his back. All he got for his trouble was a low moan. Smiling, Dick leaned in, fitting his lips easily to Lewis’s own.

They lingered for a moment, Lewis kissing back without really comprehending what was going on. When Dick pulled away, he found a set of dark eyes, half-lidded and blinking up at him.

“Now we’re even,” he declared, giving his lover’s shoulder a light pat. “Come on. Rise and shine.”

“Mmm,” Lewis muttered. “Don’t wanna.”

“Breakfast is ready.”

That got him to perk up, quick as a whip… but when Dick smirked at him, Lewis sunk back against the pillow once again, a hint of slyness creeping over his face.

“I don’t know,” he mused. “I might need a little more encouragement.”

With a tolerant huff, Dick swept back in once again, and their lips found each other like muscle memory.

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 22

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing

Words: 3,372

A/N: Again, special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for beta-reading this chapter and her encouragement! All the love goes to her!

It was hard for Arthur to fathom that he was backstage at his idol's show. Being there in the dressing room, sitting in front of the vanity mirror with all its lights, was incredible. If he hadn't been able to feel the bristles of the brush when he put foundation on, the cool of the water as he drank it out of the fancy glass they'd provided, or perceive the way the warm smoke from his cigarette filled his lungs with every drag, he would have been sure this was all make-believe.

The nearby table had a set of bowls with various snacks. He wasn't hungry, but he tried them anyway, wanting to keep himself busy. The round, beige nuts, a variety had hadn't eaten before, had a buttery flavor he liked - he'd have to ask Y/N what kind they were when she got there. And there were individually wrapped pieces of chocolate with a gooey center - he stuck a few of those in his pocket for later. There was also a gelatin pyramid with fruit and marshmallows suspended in it; he stayed away from that completely.

Bouncing up and down on his feet, he hung onto the open front of his suit jacket, pulling at the soft, red fabric. He cocked his head and looked in the mirror. His hair was slicked back more neatly than at the open-mic night. The skin of his face was a bit smoother, the lines in it softened by make-up and the gentle lighting of the room. He'd done a good job with his appearance, he thought as he fixed the collar of his white shirt. Now he just had to get through his material.

He sat in the chair before the vanity and started paging through his notebook, chuckling to himself. It had been impossible to memorize everything he'd written the past few days, though he knew one or two jokes by heart. He sometimes had difficulty with retention, anyway. Reading his set would be sufficient if his delivery was correct. If he could get the words out, it would work.

There was a knock at the door, then it suddenly opened. More emotion than expected filled Arthur when he turned to see Murray Franklin, the man he'd fantasized of being loved and accepted by ever since he was a little boy. His chest tightened, and he didn't try to hide the watering of his eyes, rising from his chair excitedly and taking the man's hand. "I feel like I know you," Arthur said. "My mother and I have been watching you forever."

Murray simply smiled, nodded, and delivered instructions: nothing too edgy, no dirty jokes, and no cursing. Arthur would be right on after Dr. Sally. "Didn't you have a guest?"

"She's not here yet. But she will be," Arthur answered, nodding to convince himself Y/N would run into the room any minute.

"Good. Someone will come get you, okay? Good luck," Murray said.

"Thanks, Murray."

Once the the host left and the door closed behind him, Arthur eased into the make-up chair and let out a long breath. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. The airing of the show was going to start in ten minutes. She'll be here. She wouldn't miss this. She wouldn't do that to you. He turned to the news playing on television. All he could do was wait and hope she'd show up soon.

~~~~~

Getting into the building had been straightforward. The doorman had asked for Y/N's name, she'd said it was "Melissa Treble," and, after finding her on the guest list, he'd let her through the backstage entrance. He hadn't even asked for an ID. It left her wondering if they were always lax, or her still being dressed in her office clothes had helped. Despite the ease of entry, her heart was hammering in her chest. She held her handbag to her as if some invisible force might rip it away. Straightening the visitor badge clipped to her blouse, she tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible, searching for a map of the building.

When she found the elevators, she read the directory hanging between them carefully. NCB news studios were on the fourth floor, and the offices for it were on the fifth. She wasn't going to try to run into the studio while they were in the middle of a broadcast and get arrested for trespassing. That wouldn't do. She decided to look for the stairwell and walk to the offices' floor. The stairs would be less crowded, she assumed, making it unlikely she'd be seen.

As she climbed, her steps growing slower with every floor, she took off her heels. The concrete was cold on her nylon-stockinged toes. But the discomfort kept her focused on the task at hand instead of allowing her to fixate on being nervous. The anxiousness she felt wasn't only for herself, but also for Arthur. She knew what she was doing was a desperate, last ditch attempt at making a difference. That even if she succeeded in getting her information to someone, it didn't mean anything would be done with it.

But Arthur was putting himself out there, against her advice, on the show of the asshole who'd made fun of his disability. Though she hadn't seen him have an attack since last week, she hoped he wouldn't start laughing uncontrollably. And that his new stand-up wasn't only filled with cute jokes, which would invite unkind snickers. She simply wanted him to succeed. Perhaps that would help him shed the insecurity she knew he still carried, and he'd be free to display the grace she'd seen glimpses of when he dared to trust himself. Maybe he'd finally realize how terrific he was.

She rested against the railing when she reached the fifth floor, then opened the metal door leading out of the stairwell. Sticking her head into the hallway, she looked each way, relief filling her when she saw the emptiness of the perpendicular corridors. She snuck out and held her breath as she shut the door behind her. So far so good.

It was impossible for her to know which way to turn - it was a fifty/fifty chance either way - so she picked the way with the fewest illuminated office lights. Keeping her shoes in her hand, she walked quietly along the wall, reaching into her purse and grabbing the envelope with "NCB News" typed on the front. She needed to find a door labeled "reports" or "tips" or something, anything that sounded vaguely like they'd look at her notes instead of throwing them away.

"What do you mean you didn't receive the finance report? I faxed it over this afternoon," a man's voice said, coming from one of the nearby offices. Y/N slunk back, creeping into the door of an open, presently unoccupied office behind her. The sound of papers being shuffled echoed against the linoleum floor. She closed her eyes, trying hear his movements over the pounding pulse in her ears. "Hold on, hold on. I'll bring it down to you," the man continued.

At the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, she moved to crouch behind a desk. She bit her knuckle to stop a chuckle at the ridiculousness of a grown woman playing hide-and-seek in an office building. The man walked by, grumbling to himself the whole time. When she heard the distant ding of the elevator, she tip-toed to the door and looked into the hallway.

Y/N considered the best option. The man's office door was open. He had mentioned reports. This was as good a chance as any. She darted across the corridor, dropped the envelope on his desk, and scurried back towards the exit. Heading back to the stairwell, she broke into silent sprint as she got closer. She tried to stop before slamming into the door. But her slippery nylons caused her to slide and bang into it as it opened. Ignoring the possibility that she'd just given herself away, she started booking it down to the second floor so she could see Arthur.

The show was already being aired as she walked to his dressing room, trying to catch her breath. Monitors in the hallway were playing Dr. Sally's latest advice and Franklin's stupid quip about how he would try her tips with his next wife. When she reached the door labeled "Arthur Fleck," she didn't knock before opening it.

"Y/N..." Arthur sprang up from his chair and went to her, taking her hand in his. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

Smiling, she leaned back against the door and exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry," she said, giggling, trying to expel the stress in her body. "There were a lot of stairs. But, thanks to you, I did it." She laughed lightly, and started rummaging in her purse. "It's out of my hands now. Here," she said, pulling out a black-eyed Susan. She stuck it in his jacket pocket and gave it a light pat. Then she took a few seconds to look him over, appreciating how his suit accentuated the lankiness of his physique. "You look great. Are you nervous?"

The corner of his mouth crooked uncertainly as he angled his head to look down at the flower. "A little. But you're here." He gave a small shrug. "Maybe everything will be okay."

She only had a few moments to tighten his red and gold tie before a producer came to get him. The peck she gave Arthur was quicker than she would have liked, but he was already half out the door. With a grasp of his hand, she was able to stop him for a split second. "Be yourself and don't let them mock you."

~~~~~

Arthur closed his eyes as he waited behind the curtain to go on stage, a hint of ire joining the strains of anxious excitement in his frame. They were playing that terrible Pogo's tape again, and Murray was telling Dr. Sally he thought Arthur had problems. He needed to focus in order to do the entrance he'd practiced.

He stretched an arm in front of him, then circled his closed fists, one over the other, until an open hand was held over his head as he breathed out. Then he extended his arms, one in front of him and one back, as far as he could, before bringing his hand back to smooth down his chest and stomach. Arthur could sense the producer next to him staring his way as he performed his strange ballet, then stepping back from him. But Arthur didn't care. The movements would soothe and, he hoped, center him enough so he could get out onto that stage and say what wanted.

As the multi-color curtain was opened for him, he was struck by how blinding and hot the stage lights were. And the spotlight was a hell of a lot brighter than the one at Pogo's. Still, he stepped out with polish, gave the audience a confident nod and wave, and went to Murray's desk. After firmly shaking Murray's hand, he approached Dr. Sally. Compelling himself to be brave, he took her offered hand, kissed her cheek sweetly, and whispered a soft, "Thanks." She looked a bit confused, but he thought he detected amusement, too. Then he wiped off the yellow chair next to Murray's desk and sat down, adjusting himself and crossing his legs, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

His breath caught as he looked up into the audience. This was it. This was real. This was the culmination of a dream. There were hundreds of people sitting there, cheering for and seeing him. And there were even more at home watching him on television. His lips parted as his gaze roved over the crowd. He'd barely heard Murray speaking when his question broke through the haze he was in, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Arthur said quietly, nodding. "This is exactly how I imagined it."

"Well, that makes once of us," Murray quipped.

That and the audience's laughter brought Arthur back. He forced himself to smile and remember he wasn't there only as a guest. But also as a prop.

"So," Murray started. "I know you're a comedian. You live here in Gotham. Backstage you said you grew up watching this show with your mother?"

Turning to him, Arthur nodded, loosening his shoulders, trying to be self-assured. "That's right, Murray."

Murray gestured towards the camera almost directly in front of them. "Is she watching tonight? Do you want to say hi?"

Arthur knew greeting his mother would be the usual thing to do. But, apart from brief asides, he hadn't been able to think about Penny without angrily tearing up. He clenched his jaw and waved the suggestion away. "No."

After a pause, Murray continued. "Well, have you been working on any new material? You wanna tell us a joke?"

The throng in the studio roared, applause filling Arthur's ears. He didn't answer immediately, reveling in their attention. "Yeah?" he asked them, his beam becoming genuine. His throat clenched as he straightened his legs and put his hands on his knee. It was hard to believe, but they actually seemed to want to listen to him. "Okay." Flashing Murray a grin, he pulled his journal from the waistband of the back of his trousers.

Murray started in on Arthur as he soon as he began flipping through the pages. "He's got a book. A book of jokes." As Arthur searched, Murray continued to badger. "Take your time. We've got all night."

Arthur gave Murray side-eye and chuckled to himself as he found what he was looking for. "Okay, okay. Here's one." He swallowed, then took a deep breath. "Knock knock"

Murray pointed at the book. "And you had to look that up?"

At the sound of everyone laughing at him, Arthur’s face became serious. Murray was already making the effort to be mean to him. Arthur looked at Murray's co-host, seated next to Dr. Sally on the couch. His guffaws were the loudest. "I wanna get it right," Arthur said earnestly. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Murray answered exaggeratedly.

"It's the police, ma'am. Your son jumped off of Wayne Tower." Arthur started to snicker. "He's dead."

"Oh, no, no, no." Dr. Sally rounded on him as the audience groaned. "No. You cannot joke about that!"

Murray sounded annoyed. "Yeah, that's not funny, Arthur." He tapped his cue cards against his desk, addressing the crowd as he admonished him. "That's not the kind of humor we do on this show."

"Okay. I'm-" Nodding furiously, Arthur continued. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just, you know..." He tightened his mouth. "It's been a rough few days, Murray." Sniffling, he tried to smile though the pain welling in him. "My mother having a stroke, finding out I was abused as a kid, trying to meet my father."

Murray pressed his lips together before seemingly deciding to try to save the segment. "It sounds like you had a tough week." Arthur flinched when Murray nudge his arm with his elbow. "Come on, tell us another wisecrack. But a family one, this time." he said, pasting on a showbiz smile.

Arthur rolled his eyes and closed his book. "Why is everyone so upset about my joke?" he asked.

Murray began to scold him. "Because that's too serious to kid about. People who would try that are sick. We should-"

"I've been that person," Arthur said, throwing his forearm down on his leg. "And if it was me dying on the sidewalk, you'd walk right over me." He drew his brows together, turning more fully in his seat. "You think it's funny to play my video, to invite me here to make fun of me, but I can't joke about what I know?"

There was disbelief in Murray's face, as if he couldn't believe Arthur was calling him on his bullshit. "That video got you here. On the biggest TV show in Gotham." The crowd cheered. They seemed to be taking Murray's side.

Fury grew in Arthur as they brushed off his words. "Comedy is subjective, Murray. Isn't that what they say?” Didn't the people of this city know the harm they'd caused him over the years? That tape had tormented him. And they didn’t even realize they were laughing because of his condition. “All of you," he said straight to the audience, "the system that knows so much, decides what's right or wrong. The same way you decide what's funny," he pointed at himself, "or not." Giggling, he indicated Murray.

Murray was looking over Arthur's shoulder as he spoke. "Look, Arthur, if you're not careful, we're going to have to stop this interview."

Arthur felt like he was being ignored, again. They thought what he had to say wasn't worth the air it took to speak it. He tried to take a deep breath, reminding himself Y/N was watching backstage. That he could finally look forward to the weeks ahead because, at last, someone loved him.

But as much as her affection had improved his life, helped him get through every day, it wasn't enough to erase his hurt and anger. And now that he had this platform and was being seen, now that he'd opened his mouth, he couldn't stop talking. His volume rose as he continued. "Have you seen what it's like out there, Mur-ray? Do you ever actually leave the studio? I've been in enough observation rooms to make a few observations."

The wetness in his eyes distracted him for only a moment before he continued. "Nobody’s civil anymore!” he yelled. But then his voice got quiet, cracking on his next words. “Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy."

He thought of the possibility of being thrown out of his apartment, and Mr. Wayne socking him in the face when all he wanted to do was talk. "You think men like Thomas Wayne ever think what it's like to be someone like me? To be somebody but themselves? They don't. They just think we'll sit there and take it."

Murray scoffed at him. "There's so much self-pity, Arthur. I'll tell you-"

"And you're awful, Murray."

“Me? I’m awful?” Murray sounded incensed. “Oh, yeah? How am I awful?”

The skin of Arthur's chin trembled as he tried to hold himself together. "I never had a father growing up. I always wished he was you. I loved you. But you're just like the rest of 'em."

Murray folded his arms and leaned on his desk, narrowing his eyes at him. “You don’t know the first thing about me, pal. I invited you on here and all you're doing is insulting me.”

Arthur swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together. "How about another joke, Mur-ray?"

"I think we've heard enough of your jokes," Murray said sternly.

If he was about to get kicked off, Arthur wanted to end with a zinger. "What's the worst part of having a mental illness?" he started, feeling tears start despite his efforts to hold them back.

Murray nodded towards someone in the back. "Gene, cut to commerci-"

Arthur interrupted, his voice breaking. "People expect you to behave as if you don't."

It got quiet, then. Arthur decided no one knew how to respond to the reality in the joke he'd just told. As the silence from the audience, the other guests, and Murray lingered, he started chuckling. He placed his hand on the arm of the chair and squeezed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm as his body shook and he bent forward with laughter.

After a minute, he heard the click of high-heels approaching. When Y/N knelt in front of him, he met her gaze and let out a breath of relief. "Y/N," he said, swiping at his nose. She'd put her hand on his knee. He reached to cover it with his fingers, holding tight. "You're still here," he whispered.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she nodded, her eyes rimmed red. She squeezed gently as she addressed him with a shaky voice. "Let's go home."

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​@invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss​ @gruffle1​

[iamanartichoke]

It's Loki's birthday!!!!!!!! Can you write something about Valkyrie celebrating Loki's birthday? Massive valki shipper here 💚💚💚

Actual footage of Loki on his birthday: 

But he’s just gonna have to deal with it. Thank you for this fun prompt. I wanted to write it first so I could post as close to Loki’s birthday as possible. 

(Word count: 1957)

_____

Birthdays, as far as Loki was concerned, were completely arbitrary celebrations. A year on Midgard was simply a measurement of a miniscule solar cycle, the amount of time it took for the earth to spin around its sun. They were hardly long enough to merit keeping count. 

Yet the humans not only kept count, they celebrated the anniversary of the day one was born. Each solar cycle was an achievement; they celebrated being alive one more year than the last. 

It was rather silly, in Loki’s opinion. 

Deciding that his birthday was December 17 seemed even sillier; yet, when Loki came into the kitchen that morning, Thor cheerfully told him, “Happy birthday!” 

“What?” 

“Happy birthday,” Thor repeated. “Today’s yours. By my estimation, you’re about … one thousand fifty-nine Earth years old. I got you a hat.” 

Loki edged toward his seat at the table, watching warily as Thor produced a ridiculous cone of a thing. It was green and sparkly, and the words Happy Birthday! were splashed across it in bright yellow letters. There was a string attached to keep the hat in place. 

“Get that thing away from me,” Loki protested when Thor came at him with the hat. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Thor warned. 

“Thor -” 

Thor struck. Loki blocked. They tumbled to the floor together in a tangle of flailing limbs, Thor’s laughter punctuated only by Loki’s yelps. 

Unfortunately, Thor had sheer, brute strength on his side, just as he always had. A few minutes later when they broke apart, sweaty and out of breath, the hat was resting snug on Loki’s head. 

“I hate you,” Loki declared. He and Thor were now laying side-by-side on the floor, neither one quite willing to stand just yet. “Why have you chosen today to be my birthday?” 

“I didn’t choose it,” Thor corrected. “Not all of it.” 

“Please, enlighten me on how you came to your conclusion, then.” 

“I looked it up once. When I was here - on Midgard - before, with Jane, I learned about birthdays. The tradition is not so different from a naming-day ceremony, I suppose, though the humans celebrate every single year as opposed to every century or so.” 

“That’s because they don’t live long enough for the latter,” Loki reminded him with a roll of his eyes. Honestly. 

“Right. Well, anyway, when I found out what a birthday was, I tried to figure out what ours would be. Mine, simply out of curiosity. Yours, because … well, I still thought you dead then, and … I don’t know, I just wanted to.” 

An awkward pause fell between them. Then Thor cleared his throat. “I know I was born prior to the last war with Jotunheim, whereas you were born during the end. The humans’ official historical records don’t go that far back, but their stories do.

“After some digging, I found a record of a story of the frost giants’ invasion - passed off as myth, of course. The story started being told somewhere around the humans’ year 950. If I was born not long before that, and you were born at the end,” Thor went on, “then, mathematically, given our ages, I was probably born around the humans’ year 850 and you were born around 960.” 

It made a fair amount of sense. “I didn’t know you could add and subtract,” was Loki’s only response, however. 

“Shut up, Loki.” 

“So then why December?” 

Thor flashed Loki a sheepish smile as he got to his feet. “That’s the part I did choose. December 17 is close to when Yule occurs on Midgard, and I know you like Yule.” 

“And when is your birthday?” Loki asked. He pushed himself up on his palms, lifting an eyebrow at Thor. 

“June 17,” Thor said proudly. “Exactly six months before yours, in the summertime, because I like summer.” He extended a hand to help Loki to his feet. Loki accepted it begrudgingly, and made a show of dusting himself off. He could feel the hat’s little string digging into the skin behind his ears. 

“So, is this how we’re celebrating my birthday?” he asked. “With a ridiculous hat?” 

“Shut up, the hat is cool. And you just wait. This is your first real Midgardian birthday celebration!” Thor was excited enough for both of them and even though it was highly irritating, Loki had to admit it was somewhat endearing, too. “We’re going to go all out.” 

Loki sighed loudly. He reached up to adjust the hat on his head, angling it slightly to the side. “Yay,” he said, in the most flat monotone he could muster. 

* * * 

There was cake. And gifts. And balloons. And a large banner that hung across the dining room entryway that read Happy Birthday, Loki! There was also a disturbing amount of sparkle. Sparkling letters on the banner, sparkling confetti, sparkling glitter on the cake that rested in the middle of the party table. 

“Why is there so much glitter?” Loki asked. He had given up protesting the celebration, but he was making it clear that all of this silliness was beneath him and he was tolerating it merely for Thor and Brunnhilde’s sake. 

Yes, Thor had somehow recruited Brunnhilde to help celebrate this ridiculous birthday idea. Loki had been somewhat surprised to see how enthusiastic she was about it, but now he was only resigned. 

“Because you sparkle and shine,” Brunnhilde informed him, kissing his cheek. “Your birthday should sparkle and shine, too.” She was sitting on his lap, wearing a cone-shaped hat like Loki’s (which Thor had refused to allow Loki to remove all day). Hers was pink and decorated with little balloons. She also had something called a “party horn,” which was a little paper-and-plastic trinket that made noise when one blew into it. 

It was Loki’s opinion, upon observing this, that perhaps Midgard would not be such a backwater realm if they focused less on inventing things like party horns and more on developing means of interspace travel. No one asked for his opinion, however. 

Brunnhilde blew into her party horn. The paper at the end uncurled and then curled back up again. “I love that,” she said with a laugh. She’d been blowing the horn excessively for at least twenty minutes.

“Yes, I’ve heard simple minds are easily amused,” Loki remarked. 

Brunnhilde’s response was to blow the horn so that the paper uncurled and tapped Loki gently in the face. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. At least you have a birthday.” 

That made him soften a bit. He tugged on one of her loose curls. “You can have one, too,” he told her. “This one, if you want it.” 

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes. “Nice try, but this one’s yours. We can worry about mine later.” She blew her party horn yet again, which - while somewhat endearing - was getting on Loki’s nerves. 

“What’ll it take for you to stop doing that?” he asked, nodding toward the horn. 

“Mm.” Brunnhilde tapped her chin as she thought about it. “Not sure. But this might be a step in the right direction.” She set aside the party horn and took Loki’s face in her hands, bringing her mouth to his. 

It took a few stubborn moments but, finally, Loki leaned into her kiss. He heard himself let out a small sigh as he pulled her closer, licking into her mouth. Her tongue tasted sweet and tangy, an echo of the candy she’d been eating that evening.

When they broke apart, Loki admittedly felt a little better. At least, until Brunnhilde picked up the party horn and blew it again, giggling at his expression. 

“Brunnhilde,” he groaned, dropping his forehead against hers, “I don’t like you very much right now.” 

“I know, but I can live with it.” Brunnhilde pressed a kiss to his temple and disentangled herself from his arms. She got up, scooping another handful of the candy - Sweet Tarts, Thor had called them - from the little dish on the party table and popping it into her mouth. 

“Where’s Thor?” she went on, around the mouthful of candy. Loki sat back in his seat, finding her both absolutely adorable and also somewhat appalling. “Shouldn’t he have been back by now?” 

“I don’t know. With any luck, he got kidnapped or captured,” Loki responded. She held the candy dish out to him, and he selected a single Sweet Tart.  “It’s an awfully dangerous mission, buying ice cream.” 

“If we have to rescue him, it doesn’t mean we’re not celebrating your birthday,” she told him. She wandered over to the front windows, peeking through the curtains. No sign of Thor yet. “We’ll just reschedule it.” 

Loki got to his feet and went over to her. He came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. Brunnhilde clasped her hands over his, leaning into him. “Why are you - and Thor - so insistent about this?” he asked. 

“You need to have some fun,” she said simply. “Why are you so opposed to it?” 

“I don’t suppose I have a good reason,” Loki admitted, after thinking about it for a few minutes. Considering birthdays and birthday parties silly wasn’t really a good reason.

“Then why don’t you relax and let yourself enjoy something, for once?” Brunnhilde twisted her body around so that she was facing him. She draped her arms over his shoulders, looking up at him plaintively. “You do deserve to have fun sometimes, you know.” 

“I know.” But did he, really? Loki sighed and brought his mouth to hers. He lingered there, making no moves to either deepen the kiss or pull away from it. They brushed their lips together, moving softly and unhurriedly, Loki closing his eyes. 

Brunnhilde drew back first. “Come on,” she said, against his cheek. “I have something for you.” 

“It’s not another hat, is it?” 

“No, but the hat is a good look for you.” She grinned and laced her fingers through his. They went into the kitchen, and Brunnhilde ducked into the refrigerator, reappearing a moment later with a small pink box. She set the box on the counter and retrieved a small birthday candle and a lighter from a drawer. 

“I was going to give it to you later, after the party,” Brunnhilde said, “but I think you could use it now.” 

Loki leaned against the refrigerator, lifting an eyebrow. “A surprise? For me?” 

“Imagine that.” She flicked the lighter and opened the box to extract a very large cupcake - chocolate, from what Loki could tell. It had an obscene amount of icing on it, along with colorful little sprinkles, some of which fell off and scattered to the floor as Brunnhilde stuck the candle into the top. 

When the candle was lit, Brunnhilde dimmed the lights in the kitchen and moved over to Loki, holding the cupcake in both of her palms. “You have to blow it out,” she said softly, “and make a wish. But you can’t speak your wish aloud, or else it won’t come true.” 

Her features flickered in the soft light of the candle. Inexplicably, Loki felt a lump in his throat. “I don’t think wishes work that way,” he said, even as he moved closer to her and to the cupcake. 

“On birthdays they do.” 

Loki felt a smile tugging at his lips. He pondered for a moment and then, when he’d thought of a wish, he leaned in and blew the candle out. Then he kissed Brunnhilde. “Thank you,” he murmured against her lips. “For gifting me a wish.” 

Brunnhilde smiled. She set the cupcake down on the counter so that she could free her arms. She slid them around his waist, pressing in close. “Happy birthday, Loki.” 

___

Author’s Notes: 

1. I completely made up Thor’s logic on how Loki ended up with a birthday. I couldn’t find an official one for Thor, so I just made up his, too. 

2. Loki’s wish is anything. He could have wished for happiness with Brunnhilde forever, or he could have wished for Thor to spend eternity stepping on Legos. 

3. If anyone with artistic talent wants to draw Loki and Brunn in their birthday hats, I’d give you my first-born. 

4. This is not the Sanctuary ‘verse (bc I have a different birthday celebration for Loki planned in Sea). 

[ranger-report]

Review: THE WITCHER 2: ASSASSINS OF KINGS (2011)

With the first Witcher game under my belt, I decided to plunge straightaway into the second game in the series: The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings. Expecting little beyond improvements in graphics and controls, I was very curious to see how the game delivered on the cliffhanger ending of the first game, in which Geralt of Rivia defended King Foltest of Temeria from a would-be assassin, only to reveal that the killer was also a witcher. I’d had a decent time with The Witcher: Enhanced Edition, particularly in the storytelling aspects and the choose- your-own-adventure narrative, but had found myself frustrated by dated game design and graphics and lackluster combat. Still, it was, by the end, an arresting experience that had captured my intrigue enough to make me want to go back and replay it to see what paths I could have chosen. Choice is truly the number one aspect of The Witcher, in that Geralt generally chooses not to choose sides, but is often found forced into doing so. Choice is also the highlight of The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, so much so that by the end of the game I was nearly horrified with how all of my decisions, ambient though some of them were, had stacked into a neat pile of awful fuckery. If you want to feel good about what you’ve done by the end of a game, The Witcher series might not be for you. But if moral ambiguity and robust, branching paths are what you seek, then read on dear reader, because things are about to get immediately messy in what is some ways a vastly superior sequel to the first game, but in other ways falls short of the narrative potential established by its predecessor.

From the start, Witcher 2 is once again a big game of Choose Your Own Adventure. Opening with a prologue establishing Geralt’s involvement in a political assassination, the player is continually given agency over where Geralt is going, what he wants to do, and how he is going to do it. This is at once the game’s biggest strength. Just as in the first game, Geralt’s choices have domino effects that tumble down the slippery slope of lesser evil decision making, affecting what characters do and whether or not they might appear elsewhere in the game. And, furthering the CYOA aspects, certain portions of the grander story are hidden from sight should Geralt choose to go down a different path. Maybe some characters will have happier endings than we see them get if Geralt decides to help them instead of quest elsewhere -- maybe not. Perhaps the biggest departure from the previous game’s style is that the entire second chapter of Witcher 2 is different depending on which side of a conflict you choose to enable. This, of course, is also all based on whom you’ve sided with previously, with deft moments of quick situational judgements, some of them timed. Give the elven rebel his sword so he can defend himself, or push him to the side so you can leap into the fray yourself? Not every decision is placed in front of the player as a monumental choice; some of them are as simple and clean as whether or not you pick up an object in front of you, knowingly saving someone’s life. This makes the world -- and the story -- feel surprisingly alive, vibrant, always on edge as though the lightest touch in any direction will spell consequences for some and reward for others. This does, however, create a shorter gameplay experience overall. Where my full playthrough of the first game was close to fifty hours, I clocked in just over thirty hours here, but this is partially because the full content of the game cannot be seen in only one playthrough. There’s a massive amount of game to be held, but the unfortunate reality is that it can only be seen piecemeal. It’s like getting to the end of an actual Choose Your Own Adventure novel, only to realize there’s a vast amount of pages left unread because you didn’t take the roads less traveled...or simply traveled differently. For better or for worse, the first time through this game will leave the player with the sensation that there is a lot that they didn’t get to see, despite the freedom of branching paths being thrilling and adventurous. And the story itself isn’t nearly as investing as the previous game. Geralt’s adventure in clearing his name of wrongdoing and tracking down his memories are at the forefront of his story, but in the background is a complex, political plot that simultaneously is and isn’t important to follow. Decisions made by Geralt heavily affect what’s going on, even as Geralt himself is constantly growling about how he wants to track the kingslayer and a missing friend. But the game and the characters populating it continually drag him back to the fray because they need him, dammit, and if he wants the means to his ends then he’ll have to endure everyone else’s shit. Perhaps that’s the point: Geralt’s actions continually change the entire world around him, whether he wants to be a part of it or not. That said, the straightforward narrative is defiantly strong here, partly because the branching system demands it need be. This is a Story with a Purpose, the Purpose being to establish a series of unfortunate events happening around Geralt, if not to Geralt. But when it’s as bland as it is -- save for the bits where Geralt is trying to clear his name -- it can be difficult at times to maintain a steady pace. And the entire third act takes place in a ruined elven city which is a chore to navigate, nearly ruining the momentum and the whole of the game’s experience; there’s two disasterously difficult combat engagements to wade through as well as a grating boss battle with a large beast, not to mention a magical puzzle which demands navigating the labyrinthine ruins if you want to discover what it is. And yet, by the end, the house of cards comes tumbling down into the awful realization that everything behind the scenes has been doing its utmost to raise the stakes high enough to win the whole pot, and depending on Geralt’s actions, it does so to varying degrees. I sincerely doubt there is anything close to a happy ending in one of the alleged 16 conclusions the game contains; if anything, it can only go from shitfucked to fucked-with-hope-on-the-horizon. And, despite the sometimes slog, that’s effective.

Gameplay has seen a heavy upgrade. Gone are the original title’s point and click controls, replaced with a more intuitive interface that relies heavily on action and exploration. Similar to Arkham Asylum’s Detective Vision, Geralt can use his medallion to scan the world around him for interactive elements or objects to search through. Neat in concept, but oftentimes the execution is lacking; it can be incredibly difficult to find objects on the ground left by corpses without always using the medallion, as they can get lost in the surrounding scenery. Upgraded, too, is the combat, which is thankfully no long a boring fucking exercise in clicking at the right time to string together combos. Geralt rolls, swings, magics at the click of a button, using the WASD and mouse camera to keep an eye on the action. The triple division of combat styles -- fast, strong, and group -- are replaced with a fast and strong attack bound to the two mouse keys, and upgrades can make it so Geralt’s attacks can hit multiple people. Blocking is integral, but Geralt needs vitality for a block to be effective, or it will chip away his health. I both enjoyed and did not enjoy the new combat system. It’s functional, but I couldn’t help but feel out of control in tense moments, attempting to roll or dodge or block or use signs between sword strikes. Geralt only swings at whoever he is targeting, not simply in front of him, so if you accidentally turn the camera to the wrong angle while trying to attack he will swiftly turn and swing at someone else entirely, leaving him open to devastating counterattacks from behind. Frustration can mount quickly, as it seems that Geralt is a whole hell of a lot squishier this time around than in the first game. Sure, the first Witcher had plenty of moments where getting overwhelmed could happen in the blink of an eye and Geralt would turn into fresh meat, but Witcher 2 makes every sword fight feel like an exercise in dodging just to stay alive. Maybe I wasn’t playing with enough patience, but it felt like I spent more time rolling and running to regain health than I did connecting with satisfying blows. Sometimes, quicktime events pop up during major boss encounters, which are devastatingly difficult in needless ways. Just like in the first game, Witcher 2 will absolutely dial up the volume on the difficulty knob without warning and around an unseen corner, to an extent where I found myself pained by exhaustion and anger at yet another GAME OVER scene. This is compounded by the strenuous camera, which is awkward at best in outdoors environments, frustratingly awful in close quarters hallways. Making things even worse is the game’s departure from the previous healing methods in The Witcher: where potions could be downed on the fly, and food eaten to regain mild portions of health, now the only way to heal is potions while meditating, or simply by meditating. Without the ability to heal in the middle of combat the thoroughly aggressive enemies will stymie even seasoned players as they watch their health bar helpless disappear with no respite.

Graphically speaking, this is leaps and bounds better than the original. High-detail, crisp textures, far draw distances, I very rarely had any stuttering or framerate issues. At worst, there was minor pop-in and fade in, some seams showing where textures were laid out, and jittery models here and there. Also, motion blur and bloom were turned on by default. Never fun. It was an absolute job to take in the world on hand, with the variety of monsters and humanoid characters to encounter, lovingly rendered with tons of color and flair. Outside of the story, this is where the game truly shines. Before there had been low-res models being reused left and right, but here nearly every character model (outside of factory-line soldiers) feels unique enough to recognize in and out of combat. It’s really a fucking wonder to behold. It felt the same as the graphical leap between Uncharted and Uncharted 2, with nearly an overwhelming amount of detail in the world to take in, dizzingly put together in a way that is breathing and living.

That said, is the game actually an improvement over the first title? Well, yes and no. Graphically, interactively, yes, to an extent. The branching narrative is bold, but feels like there is so much you’re missing out on once you’ve chosen a particular path. For example, there’s a dragon that exists in the game, and its origins are shrouded in mystery. I only discovered them based on a trophy I got at the end of the game, which felt like a huge cheat to learn that way. If the game had told me something about the dragon’s nature, even down the path I took which actively led me away from the dragon, then I wouldn’t have felt disappointed, but it didn’t. I learned the answer through a trophy. And in many ways, while this game does things better than the first game, it’s only to slight degrees, and while I do want to go back and play this again, it’s difficult to do so after a somewhat disappointing first run. Geralt’s story was excellent, and kept me on the edge of my seat whenever it came around, but everything else that happened felt largely disconnected from what was driving Geralt this time around, and ultimately only served as setup for the third game in the series. Again, perhaps that’s the point: perhaps Geralt will have to face the weight of his decisions, that which defines the world at large whilst he maintains a selfish lean towards his personal goals. Geralt of Rivia both is and is not the most important person in this story -- he is but one man who is forging a path towards his wants and needs, but maybe he’s crumbling kingdoms along the way, intentionally or no. While I’ve heard nothing but Game Of The Year praise for The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, I’m keeping my expectations tempered based on this sequel, which is fun and daunting and clever, but the drawbacks are hefty, saved only by the draw of the lead character and the living story itself.

Final Score: 7.5/10

[swearwolf-writes]

The Paradox - Previously...

991 AD

"Jemima get back here!" The young mother yelled at her second youngest to get back in line. "Come on love, be a lady-" "But I'm only 10; why do I have to-" Short hair obscured her vision, green eyes glaring moodily at the ground in front of her boots. "Because she said so. Listen to your mum Jemmie." Her father ruffled her chestnut hair, smiling kindly. "We've got to show these people that we can live with them and cause no problems, eh?" He leaned down with a twinkle in his eyes, "after they let us in we can be annoying, hmm?" He winked, making his children giggle and his wife lightly cuff him on the arm. "Erik-" The young lady glared playfully at her husband, shaking her head a little. "Mary." He smiles cheekily in return.

"Are we there yet?" A soft voice spoke up from behind the married couple. "Not yet Alley Cat," Edmund Erikson, the eldest of the four children, replied, "but we should be there soon", he added with a soft smile at the youngest of his siblings. Alice Erikson shuffled alongside her parents, the seven year old being the apple of everyone's eye, as she hummed a tune in boredom.

The group arrived abruptly, the site of the town not fifty paces from them seeming daunting. "Here already? We should be another ten minutes or so to my reckoning." Edmund rolled his eyes at his sister. If he continues at the rate he rolls his eyes, they'll fall out of his head. "Don't try to act so smart Jemima Alexandra. Mother and Father took a short cut and we all just followed along." "He's right. This is definitely the place." He looked at her, gratified that one of his sisters wasn't arguing with him. "Thank you Fran," he said, pointedly staring at the youngest twin. "Oh! So she's Fran and I'm Jemima Alexandra?" she huffs, hands on her hips, "and you Francesca Elizabeth Erikson, what happened to twin solidarity?" She pouted. The eldest of the arguing three simply sighed and looked up to the skies and heavens as if asking God 'What did I do to deserve this?'. "Fine Jemima." "I think you mean Jem." "Fine Jem." He rolled his eyes once more, making the younger giggle and run next to her sister, linking their arms. "Honestly that was betrayal." "Was not." "Was too." "Was n-"

"They're funny.", a small voice whispered, a smile slipping on the little girl's face.

Unbeknownst to the new family who were absorbed in each other's conversations, they were being watched from within the town borders, now not twenty paces from them.

A man stood there: tall with cruel eyes and a harsh smile. He scoffed, "yes. Very amusing: children squabbling." "Mikael,", a woman's voice sounded, "they're just children and new to this environment. They were simply arguing as children do. It does not do to scold them in such a manner when we know not their names nor their reason for being here."

The Eriksons looked in the direction of the voices and saw them all standing there, listening to the woman's words.

She was a pretty lady, dressed in the traditional pale green of heretics of England. A witch. Like them.

The couple were surrounded by five children, four boys and a girl.

The eldest was maybe a year older than the eldest Erikson child with the pale eyes of his father and dark hair like the bark of an old tree.

Next to him was a boy roughly the same age as Edmund, a friendly smile on his face as brown eyes welcomed the family from behind a curtain of dark untamed hair. His hand rested on a blond boy's shoulder, a shy smile on his lips as he fiddled with a small lump of what appeared to be wood. His pale eyes glanced over the new people's faces before moving back down to study that which was in hands.

The youngest boy smiled brightly, a mischievous grin spread across his face as dark eyes twinkled at them, a short nod in greeting sent in their direction, brown hair bobbing in the mild breeze of early autumn. He appeared to be around the twins' age.

The youngest, the girl who spoke up earlier, brushed her pale hair from her eyes, a sweet smile dressing her face, her age almost aligning with Alice's.

"Apologies." He spoke up, this time directing himself towards the new family. "How about we start again, hmm?", Mikael spoke. "I am Mikael. This is my wife Esther." He gestured to the witch by his side. "And these are my children: Finn," the eldest, "Elijah," the boy the same age as Ed, "Niklaus," the fair haired boy, "Kol," the child the same age as Jem and Fran, "and Rebekah.", the girl of roughly Alice's age.

The children smiled curiously at each other while further greetings were exchanged between the adults.

Upon realising who the family were, Esther smiled sympathetically. "The travel over from the Angles must not have been easy." Esther said, hugging Mary loosely, "welcome to Mystic Falls."

The children looked at one another and waved hello, Elijah amiably striking up a conversation with Finn and Edmund as Rebekah introduced the girls to herself, Kol and Niklaus. They had a feeling they were going to be fast friends.

1001 AD

They were right. From that day on they were thick as thieves, together through thick and thin for a decade. When anyone received any beatings (more often than not Niklaus) they would comfort each other. When the youngest Mikaelson, Henrik, was born, they all helped to looked after him. When they left their childhoods behind, they all celebrated together. It was how they were and how they wished always to be.

----------

On this particular night, the Erikson twins were sound asleep in their homes, when a scream tore away the silence. They woke with a start, worried beyond compare as they left the hut and set off towards were the noise had come from.

There was already a small crowd gathered, their whispers muffling the loud sobbing coming the centre. They pushed their way through the people and stopped abruptly, the sight knocking the breath from their lungs. Niklaus. He cradled a small body that hung in his arms, still and unmoving. Henrik. A sob escaped them as they held on to each other, stumbling back and bumping into Edmund who was on patrol. The two were covered in crimson, the flames of the torches illumating the true colour of the liquid as the rest laid black on the ground in the moonlight. The Mikaelsons ran past the siblings, mere seconds after their own arrival. Their lips moved and formed words, cries for their fallen one, but Jemima could hear nothing. Silent tears streamed down her face as she held her sobbing sister, for Henrik, the sweetest little boy in all of Mystic Falls, was gone.

----------

Over the next year, Esther had become withdrawn from the loss her child, frequently working till the early hours on a mysterious project the other witches knew only mere elements of, the whole picture becoming no clearer as the days went by. Except one day, everything was perfectly clear. Who were witches to say no such an proposition? If Esther was right, and her equations made perfect sense, they could grant eternal youth along with endowments of strength and speed to whomever they wished. Esther laid down her terms: the spell would be tested on the Erikson children first to ensure it was safe (without the concent of their mother who was to be kept naive about the situation) and then it would be bestowed upon her children and husband. If things went wrong with the Eriksons then her children would remain unscathed and it could all be written off as a tragic accident - if all went well, her family would have an eternity to spend together with those they love.

Things however don't always go exactly to plan.

The spell worked and it was a success - to a degree.

All that was expected occurred and more. All magic comes with a cost and apparently theirs was to be the loss of true humanity. They could no longer walk in the sun or bask in its warmth; some herbs burnt them; a weapon made of the wood from a white oak tree could kill them - immortality it seemed did not also include invulnerability. Worst of all was that in order to survive they would have to feed of the blood of the living. The hunger they felt was indescribable. As if that was not enough, they also looked different should their inhuman tendencies get the better of them. If their blood lust overcame then for even a moment, their eyes because dark, red veins surrounding the eye, with sharp, fang-like canines protruding from their gums. Even that which they were born with they lost - Finn, Kol, Francesca, Jemima and Alice all appeared to lose their ability to do magic.

The town feared them.

They were known as abominations.

Esther turned them into monsters. She turned them into vampires.

----------

Jemima was sat on her bed, avoiding both the sun, upon Rebekah's advise, and the other villagers when a loud knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. Kol's voice rang though the door, "Jemma, I have a gift for you which you will only get once you open this door." She said nothing, only rolled her eyes at his words, thinking back to the last time he had a 'gift'. He bribed her with a sugar sweet only to sling her over his shoulder and throw her in the lake. "Look," he sighed. "You and I both know I can come in whenever I want but, being the benevolent person I am, I will not. Please just open the door." She had kept quiet for long enough. "Why should I? Because you have a gift? The last gift I was given took my humanity from me - from us. We can no longer do magic or have children or walk in the sun or-" He walked in, cutting her off by hugging her tight."Some things are easier to fix than others." They broke from their embrace. "Now," he said, wiping away her tears, "I wasn't lying when I said I had a gift." He produced a ring, set with a sparkling blue stone engraved with the Erikson family crest. "Our rivalry to the sun was fixed by a simple daylight ring - a ring fit with an enchanted stone, the enchantment an adaptation of werewolves' moonlight ring spells." He explained, gently lifting her right hand and slipping the ring onto her finger. "There we go. Fits like a glove." He smiled and pat her hand. "As for the magic - I can't change much on that but maybe you can; you always were different." "You mean wrong." "I mean different." "All I could do was steal magic - I never had any of my own, not truly." A fact she was bitterly reminded of every time she attended her magic classes. "Well therefore you can't lost what you never had and your siphoning is a skill so try it on me. We were reborn by magic so it should work-" Kol babbled on about the details as he did when I came to magic, not noticing her other hand resting upon his. She closed her eyes and took a short breath, the two of them gasping in shock as she slowly siphoned off some of his magic. She lifted her hand into the air and breathed out a quiet spell. All of a sudden a small spark linked at her palm, growing in size and brightness till a ball of fire hovered in the air, its flames dancing in the air before slowly blinking out.

They sat in silence for a moment, in shock of everything. "My brilliant paradox." He smiled but his expression quickly became grave and fearful. "Look we don't have much time now. Father found out Mother had an affair with a werewolf and forced Mother to curse Nik with a suppression of his werewolf side before he killed her. We believe Mikael wishes to kill us too so we are running away from here; to where? - even we don't know. Nik has gone to give Fran her ring and Rebekah to Ed and Elijah to Alice. After saying our goodbyes we are to find Finn and leave for good." "You're all leaving us?" Kol looked at her as if she was insane. "My mother is dead, my father murdered her and is now trying to kill us and that was all that you got? That we're leaving? Woman you need to get your priorities sorted out." he stated, shaking his head at her. Tears sprung to her eyes as she wrung her wrists. "You're my best friend you numbskull, even closer to me than Rebekah believe it or not and I will always be upset when you leave us.", she explained, pulling the boy into a hug, "will you ever return?" "Maybe one day we will however I must leave soon my dear paradox but remember that we'll find you all again someday."

They sat in silence in each other's embrace, tense as they listened for the other Mikaelsons, stealing as much time as they could before the friends would be torn apart.

"Are they really doing a bloody sibling pact without two of their siblings-?" Kol muttered humorously, his eyes however tired and hurt. "Is that Eli?" Jem mumbled back, trying to discern whose voice it was. "With Niklaus and Rebekah," he confirmed sitting up properly. "I can hear them calling for me: I've got to go now. Goodbye Jemmie." he said, kissing her forehead before leaving her home and Mystic Fall with the rest of her family for around a millennium.

[stusbunker]

Featuring: MoC!Dean x Demon!reader, Original Female Character, Castiel, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena

Summary: Our reader’s back and there’s gonna be trouble! Charlie brings back the Book of the Damned and CC asks Castiel for something he doesn’t want to give.

Warnings: This is super long, possession, show level violence, rough sex, face fucking, oral sex (male and female), hair pulling, dirty talk, dub!con smut.

Series Masterlist

*^*

March 30, 2015

Munich, Germany

           The city was old, streets wrapping around buildings at harsh angles and in varying stone. But that was what you needed, age, wisdom, answers. At your sendoff, Crowley had given you a name, occupation, and a proverbial pat on the head. You didn’t know why you complied so easily; until you heard the first peal of laughter from a stranger on the sidewalk. Humanity. To be surrounded by life was worth the mission. Language and social niceties came back quickly, adjusting from vessel to vessel as you navigated the foreign byways.

           It was easy to forget your time with Dean here; to imagine yourself something newly minted in this different world. The power you found during your initial escape in that lonesome field painted with bull’s blood, was nothing compared to the possibility of redemption. It taunted and teased you with that naïve hope only Crowley’s goading could coax from your battered mind. He hadn’t mentioned your previous time running his errands, nor the Winchesters, but he didn’t have to. He had your number, and once you started stacking the clues together; you had his.

           The shop was warded to the nines, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t watch from the café across the street. You handed the server a fifty Euro banknote and asked to be left alone, freeing your table for the lunch hour and beyond. Hell, the teacher of eternal patience had left you with nothing to do but absorb and endure. So, you did what you knew; you waited. Eventually, the shopkeepers eased from the side door, their business hours long faded into the setting sun.

           They each cast a hasty glamour once they spotted you. Too late; you had their scent now. Carefully you rounded the building the opposite way they had headed, the alleys were dark and narrow so much more inconvenient for the humans you tailed. Their hurried footfalls remained unmasked, up and over the next embankment. You didn’t flinch as they separated, trying to confuse you further. They only managed to spread their magic too thin and soon you had gained on the rasping breaths of the one that had decided to go north.

“I’m not after you, you know. I’m looking for someone else,” you said in blunt German.

“I know who you work for,” the rough voice answered in accented English.

“Then you know it is easier to give me the information than wait for the consequences.”

His middle-aged face appeared as he dropped his last barrier from your shining black eyes. He pushed off the brick wall and squared his stance, hands dangling and fingers working in distracting movements. You pulled the handgun from your waistband and met his bluff. No one expects a cowboy duel in the Fatherland, but nothing about your afterlife made sense.

“You want to draw a little more attention to yourself there? Bullets don’t scare me, demon,” he spat out the last word as if he was some holy man, some saint worthy of a judgement.

“Witch killing bullets might slow you down a tick though, yeah? Witch.” You said it how it felt best on your tongue. You spoke over your shoulder to the one who had rounded back, failing to trap you, “thanks for joining us. All I need is for one of you to talk and then we can all go home. Easy peasy.”

“What does it want?” The one still hidden from sight demanded from the one staring down the barrel of your gun.

“Information,” you answered evenly.

“On who?”

The man shook his head at his partner; the name in your head reaped more fear in the witch than Crowley. The silent conversation dragged between them and you decided incentive was necessary at this point. If Crowley’s reputation wasn’t enough, enforcement needed to make up for it. You pulled the hammer back and aimed.

“Alright, alright, what do you need to know?”

“Give me everything you have on Rowena MacLeod.”

*^*^*^*^

April 1, 2015

Inside Man

           If Dean was avoiding CC, then he was. If CC was avoiding him, he had no idea. It was almost too easy to be with her in the quiet library or even the cavernous garage, now. Maybe it was the non-human thing, but Dean didn’t really notice her anymore. A chameleon in any room, there, only when she wanted to make her presence known, otherwise she had become as peripheral as furniture. So, it was with the same regard as to a bookcase that Dean called Rudy, begging to be his back up on a case. Sam had his mime movie thing and Dean had his cabin fever. Bupkis it was.

           He slipped into the driver’s seat and headed to nowhere in particular, the purples and greens of twilight kept at bay with Baby’s headlights. Dean needed something normal, something expected, something as easy as his hands on the wheel and his cassettes in the deck. This was where he belonged, where he was himself and how he could make sense of things. Now with what the Mark and the world had done to him, he needed it more than ever. Without Sam’s constant vigilance and CC’s over accommodating methods; Dean needed to feel like Dean again, even if it was just for the forty-mile drive to a douche filled sports’ bar.

           He switched to the radio about twenty minutes down the road, letting a familiar snare walk and bass line fill the car. He started singing along, drumming his fingers on the downbeats. Dean let himself sink into the music, the carefree joy of belting out crescendo after crescendo. His voice cracked on a lyric and he stopped to swallow as it all hit him. He missed her. He fucking missed the demon. He finished the song, words hitting him harder on the other side. He ignored the tightness in his chest and the shake to his hands. Thinking it made it real and the reality of longing for something, someone like that made his stomach pitch. But it wasn’t disgust, it was grief.

           Dean yanked his thoughts out of the depths and brought them back to surface survival as he pulled into the parking lot. The faux neon signs reflected on the Impala’s freshly waxed hood. The meager groups were congregated around the pool tables and Dean decided to try his luck.

           A few beers and a pool hustle later; Dean realized he should have stayed in for the night. Rowena had set a pack of rabid frat boys on him and he had to reign in every ounce of his control to stop from gutting them all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean had the tiny woman pinned to the bar after her spell failed to even give him a nosebleed.

“Saving my son!”

Dean’s confusion was dwarfed only by his surprise. “Your son?”

“Crowley,” she challenged him, adding another shock to the moment.

“Crowley Crowley?!”

“My son is a king! A god, or he would be if you didn’t—You snap your fingers and he comes running like a wee lapdog.”

Dean started to back away, missing whatever blame he held in this scenario. “Lady I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a good influence on him. That’s why you need to die!”

“Well, sorry your little light show didn’t work,” Dean held her fast, he wasn’t going to underestimate her now.

“Oh, I’ll try again,” she whispered the promise that sent a chill down his spine.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you walk outta here?” Dean matched her menacing smirk.

“I think, you’re a hero. You could have killed those men, but you didn’t. Because they’re innocent.” She winks at him then, taunting him even with the knife to her very pale throat. “Cuz, you’re the good guy and you want them to live. But the spell I cast will DEVOUR them from the inside out, just like it did that girl.” She knew exactly how to use her powers and wiles against him. “I’m the only that can save them. What’s it going to be, HERO?”

Dean recoiled, releasing Rowena as he stepped back to allow her the chance to reverse the damage she had caused. “Fix ‘em up and go.”

“So civil, aren’t you?”

“Lady, I think I’m being the, bigger person here? You did just try and kill me.”

“Well, bigger isn’t always stronger, is it? Brains are a muscle you might want to, strengthen?”

Dean rolled his eyes behind her back. Lithely, Rowena whispered into each of the dude bro’s ears, pulling hexbags from their pockets.

Another bar, another drink with another MacLeod

           “Who’s the liar now?” Crowley looked at Dean a little too knowingly. Dean scoffed and took a drink. “She says I’ve gone soft.”

           Dean chuckled, because damn if the red head isn’t right, “you have. What? Yeah, maybe it’s all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, you know? Maybe it’s, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know. But the old Crowley, he would have come in here with hell hounds and demons and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn’t want to fight. You wanted to talk. And maybe I’ve changed too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming.”

           “Maybe we’re getting old,” Crowley waxed mortally.

           “Never saw that coming either,” Dean agreed.

           Dean let go with Crowley, explaining the backbone of who he is and how he had made it this far. Family. Then he shoved the piss poor example of a mother Crowley was clinging to, back into the demon’s face. “Does that sound like your mother?”

           Crowley knew better, but he was feeling generous. Dean had become his Achilles’ heel after all. “You know I may have seen it coming. Might have had someone digging up all her years of indiscretions since I’d last seen her.”

           “Well, good, can’t be too careful,” Dean takes the last pull from his glass, smacking his lips together.

           “She’s kind of a wildcard, but I think she’ll get the job done. Who knows, maybe it’s just me getting soft. But I do love an underdog,” Crowley’s eye sparkled back at Dean as the suspicion creeped through the man’s features.

           “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “Dunno,” Crowley stood. “Just, uh, let me know if you want her number? Might be worth the dime.” With little segue, he vanished. Dean groaned and slid Crowley’s drink over, holding back the fruit and ice before taking the leftovers as payment for not offing the guy’s mom.

April 16, 2015

Book of the Damned

The Bunker after the Cabin

           “Whoa,” CC muttered just as she felt Castiel arrive. She looked across the War Room table to Sam who just walked in from whatever he had stashed in his room. “We’ve got company.”

           “Hello, Sam, CC.” Castiel joined them, filling in the details of their plan to get information out of Metatron on the Mark behind Dean’s back. Castiel explained in guilt-laden detail how his original grace had been restored. CC felt an ease in the Angel’s eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Sam did his best to placate Cas, while CC started guessing how a being like Metatron on the loose was going to come back to bite them all in the ass. A stone started to worry in her gut over the words of a never forgotten dream.

           “You did the right thing. That book needed to be destroyed,” Castiel’s reassurance brought CC back to the present. “We will find another way, Sam.”

           The creaking of the entry door turned everyone’s head skyward.

“We’re back bitches!” Charlie’s spunky return continued to brighten the mood as the evening moved forward with genuine ease in the air. CC never saw Dean smile as much as he did when the red head was around. Something about her tenacity and unabashed nerdiness brought out the teddy bear in him, which CC liked to see, even from a distance. The hacker had become part of the family in a way she never had, despite living with them for this long. Thoughts of a lonely childhood and her looming solitary eternity caused CC to call an early night, leaving only a weary Sam to notice her exit.

April 18, 2015

Manhattan, KS

A summons.

Though the hope had betrayingly crossed your mind, more than once, you never thought he would actually do it. Now that you stood before Dean Winchester once more, you weren’t sure if it was to kill you properly or to fuck you senseless. His glare was that gloriously intense. You welcomed either outcome, if it was at his hand.

“You rang?” You smirked in greeting, hoping the vessel was moderately appealing. The timing of the spell didn’t really give you many options, she was a petite Latina in her early forties, though her genetics hid her age well. You weren’t in the Bunker, but what appeared to be the storage area of an old basement. Mildew and old masonry evident as you gathered any detail that held potential of his intentions. Secrecy abound; you were very much alone.

“Y/N?” Dean didn’t break eye contact, his voice cracking as your eyes misted at his acknowledgement. You only nodded, the emotion of seeing him again began to break through.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” a whispered confession.

Dean looked down, shame falling over his usually steadfast features, “Yeah, well I had to do some digging.”

“So, you still don’t know who I am?” Realization knocking you down a peg once more. Geez, drag a girl across the world and you still can’t put the pieces together, some great love he was. And yet he was, damnit.

“I don’t think I know anyone the way I know you.” Dean chided himself, biting at his lip and tsking his tongue. He stepped closer, eyes searching yours. You unconsciously mirrored his movements, taking you to the rim of the red spray paint on the cellar floor.

“I suppose that is the best I could ask for.” Your arms longed to be around him, to feel the weight of him against you, to feel his heart beat. You didn’t know what he wanted from you, but you knew it was your last chance at honesty. You answered his call and raised him with your shared history.

A heavy breath escaped your chest and you let your eyes go black. “I first met you, centuries ago. Before I was a Demon and before you were the infamous Dean Winchester. When you were just some kid who sold his soul for his much more promising brother. Before you knew of your destinies and long before you gave Heaven and Hell the finger.”

Dean’s shoulders straightened, one hand in his pocket as his head cocked with mild amusement.

“I remember the first day Alastair strapped you to his table, the way you screamed and challenged him. I still heard it some nights back home: your voice in agony and me powerless to stop him just outside the door to his favorite torture room.” You began to pace inside the trap, working through the memories both cherished and painful.

“How long did he leave you there?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest now, brow furrowed.

“I was left outside your sessions until the day you took the deal,” you stepped forward as he shook his head in disbelief. “I heard him, every day, ask you and I heard you every day, even after hours of anguish, refuse. I begged him for the same opportunity, but I wasn’t special. I wasn’t you. And then I finally saw you face-to-face.”

“The First Seal.” Dean closed his eyes as it all came crashing back and into focus.

“I never blamed you,” your voice fell, hand raised trying to comfort him. He stood just beyond the barrier of his own devising. “Of course, I would have done the same, had I been given the chance. But it wasn’t until your Castiel rescued you, did I feel Alastair’s final torment.”

“Just stop, okay?!” Dean pleaded suddenly; he thumbed the Mark of Cain which seemed to be throbbing over all of the blood he had shed in Hell. The hunger that threatened his humanity once more. You flinched at his words, your stories had brought you back to that vulnerable human soul who had witnessed her schoolgirl crush and torturer ripped from her plane of existence. “You’ve only ever seen the worst of me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

He kept his eyes down, but you saw how perplexed he felt; you were not a predictable demon and bless him for trying to understand. Your face softened, the endearment you felt catching him off guard. “I was just getting to that part, dumbass. Love. Alastair’s final torment for me was an unwavering and unrequited love, for you.”

“We had very different experiences with Alastair.” Dean’s face broke into a smile, the slight blush on his features. He was such a dork, it hurt to watch him like this.

“Yeah, well, according to Crowley, it wasn’t Alastair at all. He wasn’t ‘that sophisticated with the emotional aspects of the job’.” You shrugged.

“He has a point,” Dean relaxed, walking a bit as you continued to speak.

“Where’s Chloe?” You asked nervously, “And Sam?”

“Chloe? She’s still kicking ‘round the Bunker, but, well, too much water under the bridge.”

“That’s our girl.” You knew she would move beyond this ordeal better than most, yet somehow you still worried for her wellbeing, even after she extradited you. Fucking symbiotic relationships.

“And Sam’s fine. Ornery and trying too hard to make me listen to reason–”

“A lost cause if there ever was one.” You teased, Dean smirked, toeing the line that separated you.

“I’m done fighting the Mark, Y/N.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not strong enough, either I go hermit-style like Cain for as long as I can, and people die. Or I just give in.”

“That seems a very narrow list of solutions to a very new problem.”

Dean’s whole torso twitched at your candor, “Well, the Book of the Damned was our last lead and that’s toast. Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

You stepped closer; tips of your pointed shoes frozen against the magical wall of the Devil’s Trap. “I’m what you would call an ‘entry-level demon’. I got out on sheer dumb luck the first time, Dean. They don’t share the great mysteries with the cesspool. Honestly, I think Crowley has been honest with you about the Mark since you became his trusty Knight in Shining Plaid.”

“Yeah, well, worth a shot.” Dean tried and fell just below gracious. He was truly desperate. It carved at you to see him so defeated.

“Is that the only thing you wanted from me?” The pain you couldn’t hide from your words, returned to you in his aching glance.

“It’s not like that.” Dean swallowed. “You know it’s—”

“It’s better left unsaid.” You nodded, trying for the stiff upper lip, sniffling against his stubbornness. “But tell me something else?”

Dean head shot up, waiting for your next question.

“If you’re done, if you’re giving in to the Mark. Why the trap? Afraid I’d get out or just afraid I’d touch you? And you’d really turn? If there’s really nothing to lose, why don’t you—”

Then he was kissing you, Dean Winchester had stepped inside your cage and welcomed your darkness as if it was his only salvation. Though you couldn’t save him; you needed to show him everything words were unable to convey. How you wished he could see how perfect in his imperfection he was, how his self-sacrifice never ceased to take your breath away, how with just the sound of his voice you could withstand a hundred years in the Pit. How much he was loved and needed and how he deserved so much more than a worthless hell-spawned wretch could offer him.

The height difference sent you spinning, he was everywhere, broad shoulders and strong hands, clutching at your now smaller body. The danger Dean accepted by stepping into the circle gave you a rush, your core tightening as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly, you were weightless, he lifted you up, your legs quickly opening to lock around his waist and before you knew it you had tugged open half the buttons of his shirt. When you pulled the tee shirt up from where your thighs had pinned it to his sides, Dean broke the kiss, with heavy breaths he rested his forehead against yours. It had been years since you had tasted him and never with this tongue, but somehow, he still knew how to kiss you.

*^*

Dean could have stayed in that moment forever; the oasis of Y/N’s arms was something he hadn’t known he had missed until he found his way back home. Her hands were now delicate and soft, her legs shorter and waist impossibly narrow, but she still moved the same, with Y/N it felt right. His cock twitched against both his jeans and her impossibly sheer leggings. She rolled her hips against the movement, causing him to groan before leaving a fierce trail of nibbles down her jaw, her skin spiced and smooth beneath his chapped lips.

*^*

The heat growing in your belly intensified as Dean’s mouth wandered lower, his teeth tearing at the lowcut top, you pulled down the shirt and lace covered bra, freeing your aching nipples for his hungered mouth. Balancing one hand tightly on your back, Dean’s free hand kneaded your left breast before teasing the puckered flesh with the warmth of his tongue. You clamped down against the emptiness inside, overwhelmed with each affection Dean gave you.

You grinded harder against him, whimpering, letting your hands snake through his hair, your fake nails digging in as he switched to the opposite tit, pulling that nipple between his straight teeth. He watched you grow needier beneath his every touch, the desire in his eyes making you more desperate. You pulled yourself up, flush against him as you worked off his shirt. The anti-possession tattoo utterly elementary compared to the ancient curse on his arm.

You took over, your kiss demanding his submission as he backed you against the invisible concave wall. The barrier, though intangible was strong, and you used it to rest against as you slid down Dean’s body to remove the clothing restricting you from taking him fully. You wiggled the trim hips from the thin material, tossing the drenched lace to the side among the bunched pant legs. Dean had kicked off his boots, thumbing his shorts and jeans off with a swift dip. He was simply gorgeous, solid and bowlegged, but stunning all the same. Lust battled the emotional appreciation of his nudity and all too soon you were sinking to your knees. Tiny fingers raked up his calves and over his sturdy quads, heavy lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you waited for his impatience to get the best of him. Your face so close you could smell the tang of his heavy balls, eyes lingering on the drop of want leaking from his menacing tip.

Every inch of him seemed larger than before, perspective was in the eye of the beholder and for this vessel Dean’s cock was downright intimidating. The trim legs held you up, the abundant chest brushed against his leg as you silently dared him to make the next move. His hand came down hard on the crown of your head, thick fingers lacing in the dense black locks, he slid through until yanking at the nape of your neck. As he snapped your head up your mouth opened automatically from the jarring tug. In his other hand Dean fisted himself, “You don’t get to tease me, or I’ll send you back. You understand?”

You nodded, tears forming from the intensity of his grip on the base of your neck.

“Sorry?” Dean tilted his head, dramatically inviting you to speak up.

“Yes. Yes, Dean, I understand.”

He sucked air through his teeth, green eyes darkening as he released his hold on your hair, his rough thumb dragged down your jaw to circle lazily around your pouting lips. Instinctively, you licked them before he paused. “No teeth, Y/N. I know that was you and I mean it.”

“Whatever, you liked it,” you hissed before taking him into your smart mouth. Dean’s hand fell away from the base of his shaft as you worked him deeper and deeper with each test of this mouth. The lips were fuller, plush against the veiny length of him. He repeatedly tucked your hair back, keeping your face on full display as you sucked and mewled over him. As your tongue lapped from underneath, your core clenched, once again, over nothing. The gagging girth of him quickly made you lightheaded.

“You want it so bad you’re gonna choke on it, aren’t cha?” Dean crooned down at you as you looked back up at him, his fat bottom lip clenched between his perfectly white teeth. You slid back to lock eyes with him completely, delicate fingers massaged his balls as he called out into the night. “That’s it, that’s my dirty little demon slut. Hmmm,” Dean huffed and suddenly the Mark took over. His massive hands planted themselves on either side of your fragile skull and suddenly he was thrusting back into you. His dick deepened to puncturing your throat, your stomach rolled, saliva building as he growled with the fierce snap of his hips.

The pressure on your temples increased alongside his speed, delicious and terrifying. Then you began to cough, Dean finally slowed, which allowed you to swallow against the thick mucus that had gathered in your esophagus, tender and stretched wide. You dragged her nails back down his legs before letting him go with an audible pop. Then Dean did the hottest thing you had ever seen, he crouched with those damned bowlegs, lowering his pulsing cock to the generous cleavage in front of you. In a frantic whimper, you tugged your breasts apart for him, tips of your fingers teasing the dark areolas before holding the fleshy globes tight against his spit-slicked cock. Once again, his strong digits weaved into your hair as he fucked your tits. His every muscle worked to dominate you, the Mark of Cain ragged against his pale forearm, his abdomen tense behind the soft layer his other vices supplied, all overloading your senses with his power, his lust for you and just how far you would push each other.

You teased the ruddy head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, his salty juices seeping out to aid in the rough friction. Your nipples ached as your pussy sopped with emptiness.

“On you back, Y/N. I need to eat some of that before I am done with you.” Dean growled, tugging as his cock as he tried to step back from the brink. “Fucking smell you from here, you know that?” ­­

You didn’t reply, just slowly sat back on your bare ass, the cold floor sent shockwaves through your overheated thighs and straight to your folds. Your nipples puckered impossibly smaller. Dean spread out his large shirt behind you, before leaving a tantalizing kiss on your shoulder. Then his lips took over, he sucked and nibbled and decimated the teak colored skin. When his hot breath hovered over your nipples you thought you were going to cum on the spot. Each sensation barreled into the next, your legs were shaking by the time Dean spread your knees wide.

“Now this view, Y/N? I have got to hand it to you, hmmmm, nice choice,” Dean’s eyes glinted as his thick tongue found your swollen bud. It gave a dizzying jostle before licking broad strokes up and down your lips. Spreading you wide, Dean gathered your juices with his skilled fingers. You half laughed and half moaned when, at long last, your trembling cunt earned its fill. Dean’s fingers worked into you as he sucked gently on your bursting clit.

“Is it sweet enough,” you teased back, watching him lavish you, drunk on your sex. His scruff shown with your arousal, his whiskers adding roughness along your tender apex, further blurring the lines of pain and pleasure.

“You know what’s the most messed up part?” Dean whispered, sliding back to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “I don’t know this chick and I don’t care. I am just fucking you. Not Chloe, not anyone else. Right now, it’s only us. And I should care and I’m sure I am going to hate myself tomorrow. But that feeling of not caring?”

“I’d call it freedom. Best kind of bittersweet.” You sighed, reaching up to stroke his temple. His closed his eyes and you finally saw how bone-tired he was.

“I hate being this scared, Y/N. It’s not who I am.” His fingers never stopped; his mouth ghosted over every sensitive crease as if the act alone was penance for his confession.

“Dean?” Your voice hitched.

“Yeah?” Dean placed tiny pecks along the inside of your thigh, his voice impressively soft.

“I really need to cum. You make me feel so good, but I can’t—” you broke off into a gasp as he added a third finger inside you, his tongue pressed wide and forceful against you. You didn’t know if it was his admission or the added effort once you begged for it, but less than two minutes later and your climax overcame you. Waves of heat flooded your system as everything contracted. Then the break and you fell: unwinding with the stuttering pulses. Dean pulled you through it, his fingers’ pace slowed in calculated increments. Just as he slipped from your clutches, he made sure to nuzzle your mound before easing up to his knees.

With a tempered swat at your knee, you caught his drift, rolling completely over you rocked back to give him another angle to admire. You arched your back and shimmied your shoulders to stretch out the tension that had settled as you braced for your orgasm. You couldn’t see him, but you knew Dean was centering himself behind you, his damp fingers coating his length as it returned to its full glory. You squared yourself, knees below hips and shoulders over splayed palms, ready for whatever he would give you.

Dean nudged your knees farther apart, causing your upper half to lower onto your elbows, the cold stone floor stiff beneath your thin joints. Ass bared and ready. “I want you to tell me, who I am.”

“Deeeeeeeeannnnnnn.” You keened as he stretched you open, even his fingers couldn’t prepare you for the heavy steel of his cock.

“And?” he slowly rolled his hips, barely hitting that secret spot, as if by accident. He was fucking vindictive.

“Dean fucking Winchester.”

“That’s more like it, Y/N.” Dean built up his rhythm.

“Hunter.” You mewed.

“What else?”

“Mark Bearer?”

“And?” His teeth were clenched now, the words strained and menacing.

“Knight of Hell!” You screamed as he smacked your ass, pounding into you with constant shallow thrusts.

“Who am I?”

“The Righteous Man!”

Dean growled at the old title, the darkness of the Mark at war with his true nature: protector of the innocent. As his other hand connected with the opposite cheek you tensed, unsure of what else he wanted to hear.

“Michael’s Sword!” your voice was high and whiny as everything that was holding you upright began to weaken. He took both of your hips in his palms now, dragging out of you slowly before popping his pelvis back in, forcing you to press back into him or crash to the floor. He hummed in appreciation as he spread you wider from behind, his thumb pressed against your puckered hole, adding to the building pressure throughout your core.

“That’s mine, just like this pussy is mine. You hear that, Y/N? You’re mine.”

“Always have been,” you replied plainly without even registering what it all meant. “My Seal Breaker.”

Dean liked that one, because he raised one knee up and began to work you over again. You tossed your head back to watch him over your shoulder, bending nearly in half. He was breath-taking, his mouth open and panting, skin dewy and tense, uncountable scars and freckles randomly yet perfectly placed to outline this impossible man.

“Come on, baby, let me see you,” Dean coaxed, your eyes burst open, the inkwell pools staring back at him as he thrust harder into your luscious depths. “Hmmm, Y/N, you know how good you feel? So. Fucking. Sweet.”

“Better than her?” You half-whispered, half-begged.

“Every ti–.” Dean broke off on a moan, your body pulling him as deep as it could, and suddenly you crested again, muscles spasming as a howl escaped your mouth. Dean gave you only two beats before slamming back into you with wild abandon, reveling in the tightness and the added slick. The slap of his balls against your clit and his strong hips against your firm ass an erotic symphony.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum so hard in that borrowed pussy, you want that?”

“God, yes, Dean. Fill this tiny little thing up,” You whined, tugging at your nipple as Dean began to add an extra roll of his hips between his thrusts. Damn, he knew just how to move, your channel quaked against him, another orgasm looming just out of reach. Dean slid one hand from your waist to palm the small bubble of one ass cheek, fingertips digging so deeply they’d leave marks in the morning. He brushed your g-spot over and over again, everything was vibrating, but it grew too loud. As soon as you felt the next wave approaching Dean froze, spilling inside your wanton cunt. Hot, thick and delicious Dean’s cum slipped from your lower lips as he eased his spent cock from your shaking walls.

He wouldn’t stop touching you, his hand on your hip as you slid down to curl on your side. He let his breathing regulate as he perched back on his heels, his well-built body on full display, the base of his multicolored pleasure trail glistened with both of your juices. His mouth a perfect pink “O” as he blew out a chilling stream against your lolling breasts. You groaned and rolled back up to all fours, biting his delicious thigh as you snaked up his body to steal another kiss. His arms encased you, pulling you in a painfully tight squeeze, the Mark of Cain, hotter than the rest of him, pressed against the lower curve of your ribcage.

He nestled his nose against yours with a satisfied hum, “Now, THAT, was not something I never thought I would do.” Gesturing to the sigils beneath your bodies.

You laughed, “Come on, not even when you were the demon?”

“Okay, maybe once, but Sam was in the room, no way he was getting a free show.” Dean winked down at you, which you eye-rolled away, letting the black slip away for effect. This was it: you felt the inevitable end approaching like a derailed train. You couldn’t look away or sidestep the onslaught, you just had to let it happen. If Dean would let go of the brakes, it would all be over soon.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” You asked softly, letting your hand rest just below his tattoo, head against his collar bone.

He shook his head, “Not a clue, but I had to see you again, in whatever way I could.”

“Well, you could have come to me,” you teased, “I’m pretty sure Knights get all access passes.”

“I’d much rather come in or on you, sweetheart.” He grinned, what an ass. You shoved him away playfully, setting these carefree moments to memory. Even if you were both shit at coping, but professional at bullshit, at slapping on a mask for everyone else’s benefit. Well, Dean the later at least. You didn’t care much for anyone other than yourself, him and CC, if you were being honest. Which you weren’t.

“I don’t think I could handle if you went back, you deserve better than Crowley’s crap-dom.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t die then.” He kissed you gently. “And won’t be going on another karaoke tour anytime soon.” There were so many things you wanted to say and none of them sounded like what he needed to hear. So, you sat there in silence, naked and blissed out upon the grimy floor of a forgotten warehouse in Dean’s arms.

***

He had fallen asleep, with his flannel as a pillow and his jeans thrown back on, unzipped and rumpled, he snored lazily at your side. It was some surrealist painting unraveled, he was raw and clammy with every spare patch of skin reaching across fictitious distance between you. He grumbled senselessly as you watched him, the vessel’s pleas growing with each passing minute. You kept your exploits from her, but she still knew she wasn’t safe there. The wrongness of losing perspective fostered the alarm churning inside your shared head. You savored every second you spent watching Dean dream, which was all the more precious because it was brief. Fleeting as a heartbeat, gone as quick as a wink. Nothing gold can stay.

Once the awe of it all wore down into undeserved contentment, she pushed harder and your willingness to ignore her thinned. You had work to do, a King to please and a vessel to free. You may have been a demon, but you weren’t cruel. CC had taught you how to be honest, even when it cost you everything. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and offer a true goodbye. You didn’t want to hurt him, and you couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t as pained as you.

Which is why you left like a thief in the night. The trap meticulously scratched through with the switchblade Dean always kept on him. Hastily, you left a note, prying a strip of vellum from the spell book he had used. Sam would have a bitchfit about it later, that you were certain. You couldn’t just disappear after experiencing an ecstasy of his choosing. Dean deserved more than you could offer, but you muddled through. With an air of melancholy that would make a Victorian widow proud, you staggered away on feet too swollen to be shoved back into her tiny boots.

*^*^*

When Dean woke up, everything hurt: his pride especially.

He hadn’t planned beyond summoning and facing her, but once he was inside her vessel with her; Dean had found what had been missing all those months. Dean saw his mirrored half: damned and deceitful, surely, but beautiful and blossoming all the same. He started to laugh when he fully came to, a deep belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes. Here he was, left half naked in a devil’s trap and somehow felt like he was the one doing the walk of shame. Either way, they both were. Figured.

He started gathering his spell materials as his phone went off.

           “Dude, where are you?!”

           “I had an errand, Sam. I’ll be home before noon.” Dean plucked a folded piece of paper from the middle of the old grimoire he had stolen from the Bunker’s collection.

           “Everything alright?”

           “I haven’t killed anybody, if that’s what you mean.” Dean read the note carefully before tucking it into his breast pocket, phone pinched between his shoulder and ear.

           “That’s not what I— You know what, forget it. I’ll see you when you get back.”

           “Not if I see you first,” Dean replied ad nauseum.

           Sam barked a forced laugh. “Nice.”

           “Yeah, well, you too.” The brothers both hung up, allowing Dean to finish clearing the basement of everything but the mangled sigils ringed in red. Before Dean started the Impala’s engine, he pulled out the thin scrap and reread the words she had left him.

           Dean-

                       I’m sorry to do this like this, but this one needs to get back to her life. I’m still on a job in Europe for the time being, but thanks for the one-night vacation. You were, as always, incredible. I hope you know you can call me; whichever way works best, anytime. Just, don’t do anything stupid. O.k.?

           Always yours,

                       Me

May 1, 2015

After Angel Heart

If Castiel had known Chloe Collins her entire life, perhaps he wouldn’t have been surprised by her request. Maybe, if he had known her without a demon’s influencing their entire history; she would have built up to this massive deceit with more finesse. Though angels were known best for being direct, unless one considered Lucifer and Gabriel, of course. Every way he regretted their tumultuous past; it still didn’t make answering her any easier.

“No.” Castiel glared at CC like she had suggested he trade the trench coat for Bermuda shorts.

“Castiel, please? This is really important and now that you’re fully you, you can show me how.” CC hated asking for favors, especially of the Angel, but this had gone too far.

“I don’t understand why you think I would do such a thing.”

“Because it is for their safety, Castiel. Sam and Dean are in danger with this hanging over us. We ALL are in danger from the truth getting out.” CC moved further from the backdoor of the Impala, drawing Cas out of earshot.

“Why?”

“Because, ‘Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.’” She huffed in exasperation, eyes locking onto his impossible blues as the warning resonated between them.

“Whose words are those?”

“Mine, or my granddad’s, I don’t know. I had to make a choice to comeback from being comatose, Cas. I chose to live with the knowledge of my birth, of what and who I am. So now; I am a target. Dean doesn’t need another cross to bear, his plate is full. And Sam? Sam’s already walking on thin ice.” She stopped before she could expose every dirty secret she had learned from her months of hiding.

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Claire. You did the right thing, even if it hurt like a sonofabitch.” CC gave him an impressed eyebrow as he took what she said as the compliment she intended.

“You trust me?” Cas looked at his hands then back to CC, who’s own were tucked into her back pockets.

“Us Heaven rejects need to stick together, right?” Her smile pulled one out of him.

“If I agree to this, when would we even be able to do it?”

“As soon as possible. I need to get back at it, especially with the Steins still out there.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety?”

“Fuck no. This is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s blood isn’t on my hands. Those assholes don’t do safe, you know that.”

Castiel nodded into a shrug, still playing at considering her offer.

She stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t care about them, Cas.”

He noted her repeated use of his nickname from Dean and the physical contact that they had never shared before. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll erase the knowledge of your lineage from Sam and Dean’s memories.”

“And Charlie’s,” CC added.

“And Charlie’s, of course.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” CC reached her opposite hand out and shook Castiel’s hand, solidifying their agreement. Cas took her hand and her anxiety in his, sensing she needed the peace of mind as much as she needed the escape.

*^*^*^*

Next Chapter: Finale: Just One of the Many