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thoughtsfromaclutteredbrain · 5 years ago

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Hope [Handon Fanfiction]

SUMMARY: "He knows her.

It's a gut feeling, an illogical thought that passes through his brain the second their eyes interlock. She looks surprised, or even shocked, but also pained, as if she may recognize him too, but he's never been good at reading people.

It's those eyes, he can't help but think. Bright blue and striking, full of chaos and calm and love and pain and so many other juxtapositions that he can't even count them all. All he knows is that her features look sad and fragile and vulnerable and all his brain can say is that he knows her..."

[Landon trying to remember Hope, then remembering her, and then finding his way back to her, all told through Ladon's POV, all canon compliant]

WORD COUNT: 4,364 words

Now available on AO3! Enjoy!

[Feedback is welcome. Hate will be blocked. Thank you!]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her when he dreams.

On the edges of his mind; a vision so distant and blurry that he couldn't distinguish if it was a memory or a figment of his imagination. He wakes up feeling empty, like he's left a piece of himself back in his subconscious, trapped there and unable to escape when he opens his eyes.

She came in snapshots.

A laugh, echoing so far away in his that he could barely hear it, but that makes his heart race.

Soft blue irises, too blurry to distinguish, but clear enough for him to see the pain in them.

A voice calling his name, with so much passion and love in the syllables, in a way he has never heard before, in a way that was so familiar yet foreign that it drives him mad.

The gentle curve of lips, upturned in a smirk, amused by something he can never remember.

When he wakes up, he can feel the images haunting him, etched into his brain but impossible for him to figure out. While he sleeps, the images feel like home, but when he's awake, it feels like solving a puzzle with the wrong pieces. He can get the pieces to fit, but they never make the correct picture.

He feels like it's slowing driving him mad.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her when he dies.

When he stands on the pier, he can't help but wonder why. Why he does this so often, almost like a ritual he's created with himself. Rafael would hate him if he knew, but he was thankful that this wasn't part of the paths he knew him to travel. In his wolf form, he stuck closer to the trees, hidden under the cover of leaves and night.

He tells himself he does it to silence his thoughts. To get a reprieve from pretending that he was the great savior who destroyed Malivore, from the frustration of not being able to fix Rafael yet, from the loneliness that settled into his gut, making him feel emptier than ever before.

But if he's honest with himself, he knew he was doing it because of her.

When he dies, she's clearer. As he jumps off the pier into the dark water, she came in visions.

He hears her voice. Not just his name, but sentences. The voice was just far enough away for him to not be able to make out the words, just far away enough that it's out of reach, that it drives him crazy.

He sees her smile. Not just a smirk, but a full, genuine smile.

He sees her eyes light up, full of happiness and love and beauty.

He sees a shaky hand brush hair behind her ear,

But when he dies, he feels her, too.

He feels the heat of a soft hand cupping his face. He feels the coolness of rings around the fingers, pressing lightly into the skin of his cheeks. He feels her gentle touch grazing over his skin, making him ache for more.

He feels the ghost of those soft lips pressing against his own. Carefully, cautiously, electrically.

As his consciousness starts to drift away from him, more comes. He smells her scent, soft and feminine and so painfully familiar that he swears he could recognize it if only he had a little more time.

As he sinks deeper, with the weight of the cinder block tied around his waist pulling him down and down, he feels the pressure of the rope replaced. Instead of the tight and unrelenting feeling of rope, he feels her arms wrapping around him, strongly but lovingly. Desperately, as if she's scared he's going to disappear if she dares to let go.

But it's not him that disappears. It's her.

When he rises from the ashes, flames dancing on the surface of the water, he can't help but wish for a second that he could die again, if only to spend a little more time with the visions.

But she stays trapped in his mind, stays submerged below the dark water, and he remains unable to figure out why these visions feel like the closest thing he's ever felt to belonging.

Maybe he's going crazy from stress. Maybe she's nothing. Or maybe she's the key to everything.

He's not sure, but he's sure that he will die again, whether it was by way of werewolf, vampire, witch, monster or even his own hand. But he was okay with it, if only to get another glimpse of her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her the moment he sees her.

He's alone with his thoughts, which is his least favorite type of lonely. He's had his headphones in, trying to use his music to drown out all the chaos in his mind about Josie and their date and the way she was acting and the fact that he felt even more alone now than ever.

It was only when the embers started to fall that he looks up.

He thought he was the only one out in the park at this hour. He hadn't seen anyone else around, and surely no other phoenix's were out rising from the ashes in the middle of Mystic Falls. But as he sat there, embers started to float around him, igniting the sky with tiny flames. It was odd, yes, but he was used to odd. Odd had quickly become his new normal since he stepped through the doors of the Salvatore school.

He feels himself stand up and turn around, his body moving on its own accord, and it's then that he sees her.

She's staring back at him, not at all concerned by the flames falling down all around her. Her hair falls over her shoulders, messily framing her face. Her expression is unreadable, full of too many conflicting emotions for him to even try to decipher them

But he knows her.

God, she looks so familiar that it hurts him. Maybe she just has one of those faces, or maybe she's what he's been looking for his entire life. He can't tell. All that he knows is that he can't find the strength to look away.

She's the first to break eye contact, walking away quickly with her head down, not looking back,, and the moment is over way too quickly.

And Landon is left figuring out why it feels like a piece of him was just ripped out of his chest when she leaves.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her, instinctively, when he sees her again later that night.

He's on a walk, the pale light of the streetlights illuminating his way in the dark. He's coming from the Mystic Grill when he spots her.

Or, her hair rather, cascading over her shoulders in long ribbons. She's crouched over, her elbows on her knees as she leans down to reach her bag, laying on the grass next to her. She's facing away from him, not allowing him to see her face, but he knows it's her. He can feel it. He can feel her presence calling out to him.

She's unaware he's there, that much he can tell, but seeing her stops him dead in his tracks. He feet are rooted to the ground, unable to move until he finally decides to call out to her.

"Hey," he starts, unable to think of anything else, and mentally kicking himself for not thinking of anything better. He doesn't know why he cares so much.

She sits up straight, turning to face him, greeting him with the same expression as last time, a look full of so many different emotions bleeding into each other. Shock and surprise are prevalent in her wide eyes, and he's pretty sure he sees recognition there as well.

If only he could figure out why he knows her. Why she feels so important. Why that look makes his heart crack in his chest, ever so slightly.

"Hey," she replies weakly. The word hangs in the air between them.

"We saw each other earlier," he states. He can't help but feel like this is insane, that he feels so drawn to this girl that his feet are moving without his intent, bringing him closer and closer to her. And he can't help but fear that he's wrong, that she's not the girl he thinks she is, even though he can feel in his bones that she is. "Right?"

She nods slowly, her mouth still open ever so slightly in shock. After a second, she composes herself, nodding quickly and making a face.

"Yeah," she confirms as she tears her eyes away from his for a second. When her eyes meet his again, Landon can't help but feel that her expression is softer. More vulnerable.

"Um," she starts, and he hears the shakiness in the syllable. "I was just out on a walk to clear my head."

"Rough night?"

She seems thrown by the question for a moment, but answers before he has a chance to backtrack.

"Yeah actually," she replies.

"Uh..." She seems to wonder if she should elaborate, making a face before she shrugs and simply states, "Relationship trouble."

Landon nods once, looking down at his shoes as he mutters, almost to himself. "Must be contagious."

He didn't mean to say the words out loud, but he looks up at her when he does, a smile naturally forming on his face, and it's weird how comfortable this conversation feels. He's never made friends easily, especially not with beautiful mystery women. He can't explain the ease he feels around her, the magnetism she seems to have.

"Why? You too?" She asks, and normally he wouldn't open up to a stranger, but he finds himself answering anyway.

"Yeah."

By this point, he's already approached the stone bench she's sitting at, his feet having carried him towards her of their own accord as he talks with her. He sits down next to her, and he feels an overwhelming urge to sit closer than he does.

"I met this really amazing girl, but all of a sudden, everything's super complicated."

"Huh," is all she says to that.

Sitting closer to her, he can feel his memory stirring. He knows her. He just can't figure out why. It's as if his subconscious is refusing to let his brain in on the mystery of who is she?

When he looks back at her, her gaze has dropped from his. She looks sad when she does that, he notes, and lost in her thoughts. The sight gives him deja vu so hard that his head spins.

"You?" He asks, and once again, she seems caught off guard by the question.

"Oh, uh..." She begins, bringing her gaze to his and away again as she shakes her head once quickly, tearing herself out of her thoughts, if only for a moment. He can't help but notice how in her head she seems to be, carefully thinking through every word she says before she says it.

And he can't help but notice the pain in her eyes, pain that seems to amplify whenever her gaze locks on his for too long.

She chuckles, but there's no humor in the sound. It sounds so familiar, he thinks.

"Old story, I guess." She rolls her eyes as she says it, as if she thinks the whole thing is stupid. "Fell for a guy who doesn't even know I exist."

She smiles as she says the last part, but Landon has been through enough trauma in his life to know a fake smile when he sees one, and the facade she wears can't hide the tremble in her voice, anyway.

"Huh," he says, and as he keeps watching her, the mask drops instantly. Her face scrunches up, and she makes a motion as if to say what can you do? But he can see her lost in her thoughts again, the voices in her head too loud to allow her to hide her emotions.

"That's classic," he tells her, not knowing what else to say that won't add to her evident heartbreak. He can't help but briefly think that the guy she's talking about would be lucky to be loved by her, but the thought is gone as soon as it crosses his mind.

She smiles again as she nods once, and he thinks it may actually be real this time as she lets out a small "yeah." But her eyes fall to her hands, and the sadness returns. He feels an unexplainable instinct to hug her, to bring her close and try to comfort her, and if he could only keep her talking, maybe he could figure out why it feels like he's known her his entire life, and why he feels the urge to open up to her, as if she had cast a truth spell like one he would learn at the Salvatore School.

He can't explain it. He wants to be able to explain it. He wants to know her. But he doesn't. The feelings of closeness and familiarity does nothing to change the fact that she's still a stranger, even if his gut is telling at him to rethink it.

"She is really great," he says instead, giving into the urge to share about himself to her. She nods slowly, like she's processing the information, like she knows what he means. He finds himself lost in his thoughts this time as he speaks, remembering why he was out for a walk in the first place, to try to sort through the mess in his head about his situation with Josie.

"I just feel like... i want it to be perfect. And I want to be the perfect boyfriend, and shes trying to be the perfect girlfriend." He shifts his focus back to her, and she makes a face as if to show him that she's listening, or to make it look like she is. He continues anyway.

"And it was really effortless, but now it feels... Off. I don't know."

The softness returns to her eyes, like his words are making her feel vulnerable. He doesn't know why.

"Sorry," he mumbles, not quite knowing what he's apologizing for. For throwing all of his problems onto her, or for saying something that could cause the emotions swirling around in her eyes. Or for not being able to figure out why those eyes look so familiar.

He looks away, looking at the milkshake in his hands instead of at her and her sad eyes that seem to break his heart. He mentally kicks himself for telling her all those things.

"No," she tells him, seeming to understand the awkwardness he's starting to feel about opening up in that way. Landon can't figure out how she seems to be able to read him so well.

"You know, um," she continues. "A very smart boy once taught me that sometimes, you have to be brave enough to be imperfect with people."

He nods slowly, taking in her words, and seeing the way that her eyes start to fill with tears as she speaks. She smiles though, and this time it's a genuine one, a real smile that lights up all her features for the briefest of seconds. Even her tear filled eyes seem to get brighter when she smiles.

"Even if it's scary," she adds, and he can't help but feels like she's reading his mind.

"Yeah," he laughs out, shaking his head at himself. It was good advice for someone he barely knew, advice that she should probably try to take to heart. The thought still terrified him, though. He blew out air and rubbed at his eyes as he lets his mind wonder about how being imperfect with Josie Saltzman would feel.

"Of course, you're gonna have to take your own advice, and tell that boy of yours that you exist."

The words come out on instinct, coming straight from his heart without giving his brain a second to process it. He usually wouldn't be giving a stranger advice, and especially not in such a forward way, but he usually wouldn't be opening up to one, either. And ashes didn't usually rain down from the sky, and he usually didn't have a girlfriend he wanted to impress, and he usually didn't even order this milkshake. The whole night was unusual.

And he didn't usually feel such a sense of complete peace around anybody, let alone a stranger.

I know her, his brain screams at him.

When he looks back at her, he sees a tear slide down her face. It hurts him, he feels it in his chest, as if her tears were laced with acid. It hurts to see her like that. His follows it down her face.

Her eyes widen a bit when she realizes, and she brings her hand up to wipe it away quickly, looking away from him as she does that, not letting him see any of her emotions. It's crazy how she can be so unreadable, yet so open at the same time. It makes his head spin.

"Oh," she says. She laughs again, but it's devoid of humor. When she turns, her hair is covering her face more than before. She shrugs her shoulder, hiding her face behind the curtain of hair and her jean jacket. "I don't know about that." She can't hide her sniffle, trying her best to keep any other tears contained.

They fall into silence, and despite him wanting to stay there forever, Landon knows he has to make it back to the Salvatore School before curfew. He wasn't planning on getting on the new headmaster's bad side so soon.

"I hope your night gets better," he tells her, and he truly means it. Whoever she is, she doesn't deserve the heartache she's feeling.

She nods once, muttering out a "thanks" and giving him a quick smile.

He can't help but feel like something's missing. He's suddenly aware of the milkshake in his hands. He still doesn't even know why he ordered it in the first place. It's not much, but it'll have to do.

"This'll help," he states, dropping the milkshake onto the bench between them. "Peanut butter blast, whipped cream on the bottom. It's probably all melted by now."

"Oh." She reaches out slowly, carefully grabbing the cup and tilting it so she can see it as he stands up. Even as he turns away from her, he feels the urge to keep talking.

And so he does.

"I don't even know why I ordered it," he says. "I didn't have any of it. I didn't want a milkshake. It just seemed..."

He doesn't know how to end that thought, still mildly confused. So he doesn't, shrugging softly at her instead. She gives a sad smile and shrugs back, seeming to understand something in the silence he doesn't even understand himself.

He starts to walk away, but not before making sure to tell her "thanks for listening." She gives him a face back, one that he can't tell if it's positive or not.

If it's negative, he doesn't want to know. So he walks away instead, and he can't explain why it feels like he's walking away from something important.

Or someone important.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her as soon as she steps off the bus.

She looks different in the daylight, without the streetlights illuminating her blue eyes.

She looks younger, he thinks, with her hair in the braids instead of falling around her shoulders. And there's a feeling in his gut, seeing her in the black and red Timberwolf uniform; a feeling like she doesn't belong in it.

Her eyes lock onto his instantly, and her gaze traps him in place. He can't do anything but stare back at her, his mind frantically searching through his every thought trying to make sense of her. Her stare has him paralyzed in a way he's never felt before, captivated so completely that there's nothing he can do but be completely at the mercy of her beautiful sad eyes.

It's both thrilling and terrifying.

Josie snaps him out of it. Her voice cuts through his head easily, centering him and bringing him back down to reality.

"Do you know that girl?"

He doesn't know how to answer. No, wants to leave his lips. The simple answer. The true answer. But every cell in his body responds with a yes, so loud that he almost feels like he's shaking.

"Not really," he says, a happy medium between his brain and his body. "Just, uh, we shared a milkshake once."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her, again and again; the sight of her feeling new and entirely familiar every time.

He remembers her when he feels Josie's jealousy, and sees how her presence is bringing out the worst parts of her.

When he finds out she's both a werewolf and a witch. He knows that's something he should be more freaked out about; it's not that he's not freaked out about it, but it feels way more normal than it should.

When he realizes Rafael has feelings for her, and he feels the strongest, most unexplained sense of deja vu he's ever had in his life

He remembers her when he rises from Lizzie stabbing him, fresh off his death and with her face right in front of him. He can finally connect the mystery girl from his dreams and deaths as her, but still can't place how or why he was getting visions of her if he hadn't met her until just a couple weeks ago. He asks her, but all she tells him is for him to get back return to Josie.

And then it finally happens.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers her. Really, truly, with every fiber of his being.

He remembers serving her milkshakes at the Mystic Grill. Dancing in the nighttime. Kissing her for the first time in the cell. He remembers singing to her in her room. He remembers making out with her in the motel. He remembers loving her, and the feeling that she gave him every time he was in her presence. A feeling that he's decided must be what home feels like.

But most of all, he remembers her sacrificing herself. He remembers her killing him, knowing that he would never let her throw herself into the Malivore pit if he was alive to try to stop her. He remembers waking up alone, and feeling a indescribable feeling of loneliness ever since.

He can't help but be mad at her. It's an instinct, and a feeling so strong, he feels like it might consume him. Not only at the fact that she had sacrificed herself and left him alone, but at the fact that she had been back and hadn't come to find him. Come back to find anyone. He thought she was past the lone wolf mentality., but he should've known she was more stubborn than that,

He can't find it in himself to speak to her about it after initially confronting her. The whole situation is hard, messy and unbelievably complicated, not only with the fact that she had disappeared, but that he had started dating Josie while she was away. He knows in his mind that there was no malicious intent behind it; it can't be considered cheating if he didn't know Hope existed, but he can't escape the guilt that seems to be running through his veins.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He remembers his love for her.

Once the anger dissipates and his brain is working normally again, that's the only conclusion he can come to. He's loved her since the moment he laid his eyes on her. Since the moment he spoke to her. And impossibly, he loved her when he didn't even know she existed.

When she was just a vision, a flash of features in his mind. When she was just the faintest, distant memory in the deepest recesses of his mind. When all that he had was the empty blackness of death, his love for her remained. He loved her even when he was dead, and with that realization, he knew that love was the only emotion he would be able to feel for her as long as he was alive, or dead.

As long and he exists, so does his love for her.

And so he comes back to the school when Lizzie asks him to, even if that means having to break Josie's heart, and he feels his heart break a little too, because this just doesn't feel fair to her, to him, to anyone. She doesn't deserve the heartbreak, he knows that, but he also knows that she doesn't deserve to be lied to, and any second he spent trying to pretend that his feelings for Hope were gone would've just been a second where he was lying to one of the best girls he had ever meant.

He's terrified when he goes to meet Hope, because that's what happens when he confronts things. He may have phoenix resurrection powers that gave him a newfound confidence in battles, but it does nothing to help him work up his nerve for confronting his feelings. And worse, he just really doesn't wanna lose Hope. He can't lose her, not after he just got her back.

So when everything is resolved, and he sees that sunshine smile under the Christmas lights, and he kisses her lips under the mistletoe, Landon can't help but think that if he ever does actually die, the feeling of Heaven would surely pale in comparison to the feeling of kissing Hope Mikaelson.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I really can't believe there's not more Handon fanfic around, so I had to contribute to the cause. I've been watching Legacies since ep 1, but I really have fallen head over heels in love with Handon this season. I think they've entered my Holy Trinity of ships with Karamel and Malex now, and I'm not hating it at all. Hello! This has been sitting in my drafts for so long, so I thought I'd finally finish it and have it be my first fic back. I’m so sorry I haven’t written in so long. There’s more info in the AO3 notes as to why if you care to know. Anyway, I love Handon so much, and I had so much fun writing this fic.

[Feedback is welcome. Hate will be blocked. Thank you!]

#legacies #legacies fanfic #legacies fanfiction #hope mikaelson #landon kirby #handon #hope mikaelson fanfic #hope mikaelson fanfiction #landon kirby fanfic #landon kirby fanfiction #hope x landon #landon x hope #landon pov #hope #ao3 #fanfiction

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nicolemagolan · 5 years ago

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Two Cities, One Galaxy: How Star Wars Connects And Divides Us

Early in 2019, I wrote a personal essay about Star Wars. It centered around SWCC (Star Wars Celebration Chicago) and my experience of watching the live stream in my living room at 4am, when the episode IX teaser and title was unveiled.

It’s about fandom, the internet, and isolation. It’s about how Star Wars impacted my life, and about my relationship with my brother.

It also, eerily, foreshadows the disappointment I would eventually feel about The Rise of Skywalker. So here it is, under the cut. Please give it a read, and let me know your thoughts!

***

My phone blinks 3:30am, April 13th, 2019. In Chicago it’s 10:30am, yesterday. I should be asleep. I should stay present in Auckland, where no one else is awake except the moths gathering on the kitchen window.

My brother is slumped beside me, eyes closed, lost somewhere between sleep and boredom. We sit in the darkness of our living room, outlined by the grey glaze of the television. I’m wearing pyjama pants and yesterday’s T-shirt. An empty bag of chips is screwed up on the carpet, a half-drunk can of Lift Plus sits on the mantelpiece.

I stare at the TV. Waiting. My knee bobs up and down. I glance at my phone, and refresh Twitter. The tweets are coming in a blur: people yelling in caps lock, streaming without punctuation, some of it indecipherable, some of it from me. It’s happening kids / MERRY IXMAS, EVERYONE / I'm trying to remember it's called Star Wars Celebration not Star Wars oh my god I'm so stressed-ebration / I AM READY TO BE EPISODE IXed. The world around me is asleep, but the world under my thumb has never been more alive.

I take another sip of Lift Plus and feel its energy tingle through my bloodstream. Or maybe that sensation is the force.

When I was in class earlier in the day, wearing a Star Wars tee, writing in a Star Wars notebook and drinking from a Star Wars bottle, I was already stewing in anticipation. My mind was in another galaxy; speculation ran through me like shooting stars. My dedication to the Star Wars universe is fuelled not by the incessant marketing or the cheap merchandise, but by the passion I have for stories, space wizards, and the cute-yet-creepy alien bird race known as the Porgs.

Star Wars Celebration Chicago is set to begin livestreaming on YouTube in just a few minutes. A countdown slowly ticks on screen. This will be the first big panel of Celebration, and the one I am most eager to see. The panel is for Star Wars: Episode IX, consisting of a Q&A session with cast members. Our first real, palpable look at the film, at beloved returning characters, and the new additions, to hear from returning Director J.J. Abrams what his vision for IX is.

But the real reason anyone is staying up all night to watch the livestream isn’t to see Abrams dodge spoilery questions. It’s to be amongst the first to witness the Episode IX trailer. The very first teaser trailer. Imagine a choir singing angelic sounds behind that one word and maybe you’ll begin to understand. What I really want is to catch a glimpse of the upcoming film, to learn the title—oh my goodness, the title—along with thousands of far, far away fans; some watching live in the dead of night or crack of dawn. The lucky few are crowded into the panel room itself. I swipe through pixelated and blurry selfies posted with #SWCC. It’s a big auditorium, packed with media, families, and cosplayers, and many are swinging lightsabers above the crowd’s heads. Purple, blue, green, and red beams of light. The stage itself is lit up with a bright blue backdrop.

When I told my parents I was going to camp out in the living room to watch the livestream of Star Wars Celebration, they rolled their eyes. When I asked my brother if he wanted to join me, he cried, ‘Whyyy,’ before revealing his true colours when he showed up on the couch at 2am.

He was all too keen to eat my snacks, but now as time crawls forward, he seems to have come to the conclusion that it is ridiculous to stay up for something you can watch on your phone, from your bed, when you wake up. I have come to the conclusion that he is lying to himself. On the path to the dark side, perhaps.

He’s always joined me on my silly adventures, making fun of me along the way. But the fact that he’s willing to be there is enough, as he is now. Star Wars has been a part of his life as much as mine; we grew up roaring Chewbacca impressions and fighting with cardboard lightsabers; He’d be Darth Maul and I’d be Obi-Wan (so I got to chop him in half every time). Kids would tell me I was a weirdo for liking Star Wars, for playing with Barbies and Darth Vader figurines, blurring the lines between allocated girls’ or boys’ toys. But my brother and I knew: Star Wars is a fun space adventure for whoever wants to enjoy it.

We got older and the movies lost a touch of their magic: the internet revealed the intense hatred shovelled at the prequel trilogy. Little-me had loved the ridiculous Jar Jar Binks, but the middle-aged fans who grew up with the original trilogy saw him as an offence to their childhood obsession. (JUSTICE FOR JAR JAR is the hill I will die on.)

Then Disney bought Lucasfilm and ushered in a new era. I have a series of selfies from midnight premieres—me grinning from ear to ear, my brother with eyes closed and discontented frown (his go-to photo pose)—in the blurry light of the Imax screen on Queen Street. But one glance at his smiling face during the film and you know he loves this galaxy as much as the next fan.

Sometimes that’s the problem: our love for this story is so great and so ingrained, that it can bubble over into endless online debates. Debates become heated, become personal, become hateful. In this era of social media, everyone has a voice, but the ones who spit poison are the loudest. We struggle to find common ground sometimes. But it’s always there, beneath out feet and on our TV screens. We love Star Wars. We love to watch it, re-enact it, dissect it, wear it, read it, and write about it. Whether the common ground we stand on looks like the sands of Tatooine or the lake country of Naboo, it’s all the same galaxy. Even though the galaxy-shattering film The Last Jedi threatened to destroy us, we can find a way to stand together. Because when the fans unite, at movie premieres, or conventions, the fandom can become something worth celebrating.

Like today, right now, 3:59am in my living room.

I look up from my phone. The countdown reaches zero. I hold my breath. A soft echo of music trickles through the speakers, and John Williams’ familiar score wraps around me like a blanket. Goose bumps pop up on my skin.

The Star Wars logo vanishes and the screen cuts to black. I snap up and nudge my sleeping brother’s arm with my toe. He jolts awake, looks at the black screen and scowls.

‘Nothing’s hap—’

He’s cut off by a roaring applause as the blue-lit panel stage lights up the screen. The room around me fades. I’m in Auckland with my brain fuzzy, and I’m transported to Chicago with heart thumping.

My brother jumps up and stands in front of the screen. ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’

I babble, ‘butthepanelisabouttostart,’ craning my neck around his legs.

‘Oh well,’ he says. He walks off.

Stephen Colbert is pacing around the stage, babbling on about Dagobah and S-foils, trying to work the crowd up—unnecessary, since we are all waiting for the cast and crew.

I’m leaning forward, straining my eyes, and wondering if anyone actually finds his ‘jokes’ funny. Twitter tells me, yes, they do. The excitement level is high, making everything fresh and exciting, even if it’s a Star Wars pun heard years ago. I almost feel like I could twist my neck and hear people whispering behind me, instead of tweeting alongside me.

The closest thing to this feeling in my own city is Armageddon Expo, the annual convention at the ASB Showgrounds in Greenlane. Nerds I’ve never met become my best friends. We jam the halls like squashed-up skittles. I don’t know their names but I know who they are. When I’m dressed in Rey’s dusty scavenger outfit, with staff in hand and hair bunched in three bobbles, young girls point and giggle. I wave at them, their eyes wide with wonder, and my heart is full.

The internet fandom space is a mix of tweet-before-thinking garbage and fun bite-sized meta. The real-world fandom spaces, such as Armageddon, are a big geeky party; no one hiding behind an anonymous wall, and no one left out.

This livestream is somewhere in between. I am connected online from where I sit in Auckland. Reading tweets and writing tweets and liking gifs. Yet I am in Chicago, oblivious to the sleeping city around me.

Stephen Colbert brings out Director J.J. Abrams and head of Lucasfilm Kathleen Kennedy, and the content we’re all waiting for finally begins. I take in every detail, every non-answer. I enjoy it. I loathe it. Stephen Colbert asks unanswerable questions, like the fate of Daisy Ridley’s character, or how the relationships develop. No word is uttered more than ‘spoilers’.

The cast members are introduced onto the stage; first is Anthony Daniels who plays C-3PO—one of the remaining few original cast members from 1977. He waves hello to the crowd before looking for the cameras. In his charming British accent, he says, ‘On tweets today people were, all over the world, saying “wish I could be here”. And I know we’re on camera, so I don’t know where the camera is, but whoever is in Australia or…’ He pauses for a flicker of a second, ‘…all the other countries around the planet; I wanna give you a big wave, and you are here in spirit. Okay?’

I grin a little wider. Of course he would mention our neighbour, Australia. So close, and yet so far.

In New Zealand, despite the growing connections through social media, I feel isolated. Even in the vast Auckland city, where I easily get lost in the busy roads and busy people. New Zealand is separate. And that’s part of what makes it special.

But the isolation is also part of what makes being part the Star Wars fandom special.

It’s a larger world. Out there in space; out there in the world wide web. Legendary or anonymous, you can be a part of something. You can tell your story; you can make one up. After movie premieres, there is a sense of privilege and power in that none of my fellow fans in America have yet seen the movie. The Last Jedi came here a few days early, and I knew all the things before anyone else. We were isolated again. And it felt so good.

Did I go and post spoilers? No, because I’m not an asshole (you know who you are). But I told people they’re gonna love it. I told them the film is exciting and unexpected and dabbles deliciously in subtext in a way that’s fresh for Star Wars. I sign off with eagerness for the upcoming dissection and discussion of the film.

The next day I’m shocked to learn that many many many people felt it was a ‘betrayal’ of Star Wars. A disaster of a movie. A cluttered mess of a story, an anti-climactic sequel that instead of building on what came before, tore the past to shreds. My brother is one of them.

And the fandom split in two.

But not today. Not tonight. I refuse, and so does everyone on my Twitter feed, because we’re tired of defending Rey, who is not a Mary Sue; and Vice Admiral Holdo, whose purple hair does not make her a lesser fighter; and Rose Tico, who fell victim to dude-bros saying she’s the worst character ever, she ruined their childhood, and Asians don’t belong in Star Wars; until eventually the actress, Kelly Marie Tran, deleted all her social media.

When Kelly walks onto the panel stage, she gets a standing ovation. There are tears in her eyes, and there are tears in mine.

They introduce the new cast members, and display behind the scenes photos, and babble on about the brilliant practical effects. There’s a touching tribute to Carrie Fisher, an awkward bit about Adam Driver’s chest, and the introduction of new droid D-O. When the duck-inspired droid rolls onto the stage, you can hear cash registers ring.

My brother comes back in the room as the panel is winding up. He flops into the chair and sighs. ‘So, did I miss anything?’

‘You missed everything.’

‘So I didn’t miss anything then,’ he smirks.

Stephen Colbert asks J.J. Abrams if there’s anything he wants to leave with the fans. I lean forward. ‘This is it,’ I screech.

This is it. It boils down to this simple, repeated moment in time: the day, or night, or very-early-morning that a Star Wars trailer is about to debut. I am alone, and yet so very not alone, united in a nerdy passion that doesn’t call for such depth of devotion. But here we all are. Here I am. And here’s Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (omg).

I switch off the TV. The darkness eats my eyeballs.

‘How am I supposed to sleep after that!?’ I yell. ‘Palpatine. Freaking Pal-pa-tine! NO! YES! Why?!’

Silence.

My brother is asleep.

I throw a pillow at him. ‘DUDE! Palpatine is back!’

He mumbles, ‘Haha, lame.’ His eyes don’t open.

I slide down the couch until I hit the hard floor. The Rise of Skywalker. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. I sit there in the lonely living room, and let my thoughts trail off into the dark.

#star wars #writing #my writing #the rise of skywalker #swcc #star wars celebration #star wars essay #personal essay #creative nonfiction #tros #writeblr #sw

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voidsentprinces · 5 years ago

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📜 (For each)

Each of the Voidsent Princes are translated from my creation of them in my mind back in 2010, 2011. All of them have kept a few of these details necessary to their characters when translated to Final Fantasy XIV.

📜 - Envy’s overwritten existence was a happenstance in that the Catholic belief each sin is represented by a corresponding demon. Meant that the Leviathan is associated with Envy. Since, there always exists a Leviathan in Eorzea, this meant that Envy would be overwritten even if he was the Leviathan of his world. Envy’s spite initially came from being forced into a humanoid form and keeping only his tail to forever remain nostalgic and bitter over, what he once was rather than what he could grow to be.

By this same vein, I added the aspect of him keeping his eye color, hair color, and tail to remind him of this. To drive him forever to begrudge the Sahagin and the Eorzeans. Which motivates him to commit atrocities out of spite.

As it stands, I am still trying to work in how Envy got his start in creation lore. As in his original back story, he was literally placed in a Goddess without her knowing. Feeding on her divinity and driving her mad with the newfound feeling of jealousy, spite, envy, and pettiness. Which slowly turned him from a simple snake, into a great draconic serpentine.

This event he clings onto as his peak and why he is arrogant in that he is greater than any being. Wishing to reobtain such a place and corrupt all hearts. Feeding on many more essences. But alas, he remains anchored to trying to reobtain that lost former glory. Rather than using, his powers for any good. Reminded daily of his current state, forever chasing a dream he will never reobtain.

📜 - In their origin and repeated in their back story. Only Wrath and Sloth began as demons. Which had been changed for their translations into FFXIV. Initially; Envy was a Primordeal force, Lust was human once, Gluttony was an angel, Greed was a human made deity, Sloth was a demon, Wrath was a demon, and Pride was an angel. To reflect this, Envy was a Primal in his world, Lust was a mortal, Gluttony was a Warrior of Light, Greed was an Elder Primal, Sloth is a homunculus, Wrath was an Xaela Au Ra, and Pride was also a Warrior of Light.

I, explain this, due to keeping with the translations of things that stayed over other than the obvious (i.e. eyes, hair, manner of speaking, dress). Lust maintains his backstory of prostatuting himself to make enough money. To hire, his sick sister a life-time doctor for her non-specific illness. Then the tragedy following, where his memories and beings are stripped away. Forever doomed to only vaguely remember his sister. Ever searching for her, but centuries have past and she was mortal. Whereas, he isn’t anymore.

This was my attempts to make Lust more than a simple overtly sexual force. Giving him meaning, a passion and something to lust forever outside the obvious. He wants to remember his sister, he wants to be there to protect her, watch over her, as a big brother does. See her grow, see what choices she made, etc. Alas, he might never have that chance as his shard of origin was consumed by one of the Ascian’s ploys.

📜 - Gluttony has always been together with Pride. As it is written that Beelzebub was lieutenant to Lucifer in his uprising. This follows suit, in both interations of my translations of the sins, the two are separated. Gluttony takes up hunting in a hellscape. Eventually consumes corrupted meat which drives him mad with hunger.

Unfortunately, there is far too much green, I associate with the Seven Deadly Sins. Got Envy, Gluttony, and Greed all which could be associated with various shades of the color. So, I couldn’t decide whether or not Gluttony’s eyes should be an acidic yellow or a bile green. In the end, I felt it better to learn on this angelic figure twisted into monster. When full hog on the eldritch monstrosity. His eye deforming into a compact insectoid ocular. Carapace, translucent wings, etc.

Beelzebub was shown to favor the bow in some scriptures and drawings. So, he kept a hunting aspect about him. Though I might change him, to be more approachable in the near future.

📜 - Greed was always to be a welcoming being. As he was worshipped in both previous lives in both iterations of him. He is more than happy to welcome mortals. Share a drink, buy them food, etc.

One of the few sins to actually grow, after his downfall from the throne of divinity and being outwritten as a faux deity. Mammon found to value less material things and more people in general. Though he still wishes to collect various objects, now that he has found himself in a new world. He also wishes to collect people. Relationships, memories, experiences, stories, and the like.

This turns Greed away like Lust from the simple path of corporate greed to one of more character. Always broad shouldered, hair and eyes the color of fresh minted dollar bills. Dressing in suits like a romanticized prohibition mob boss. But, with genuine hospitality. Greed was probably the easiest to translate story wise.

📜 - Sloth is probably the least touched on Sin, I’ve worked on. They follow the troupe of being lazy and unmotivated. But, in a logical way. Yes, Sloth does tend to sleep and prefer to be undisturbed. But, in my research, I came upon an interesting bit of lore from the Belphagor myth, Belphagor is sent out into the world by Hades to measure humanity. Though his findings are uninteresting, the folklore of Belphagor offering up unimaginable inventions for people to patent and claim as their own to incite Sloth. Had some sort of impact on me.

Absolutely brilliant, able to invent things on the spot, but the laziest being in the universe. Whenever awoken, Sloth would offer up someone a genuine good idea or invention which would see themselves prosper. If, they’d just let Sloth roll over and go back to sleep.

Another aspect of Sloth kept in both iterations, they are either unfathomably lucky or unlucky depending on where you look at it. As they get around purely by chance. By never moving and always sleeping, Sloth is often farried around without their knowing. Appearing in odd places all due to random chance.

For example, Sloth went from the Great Gubal Library steps to Ul’dah by; being swept by one of Matoya’s brooms off the beaten path, rolling down a hill into the river below, floating through Coerthas onto the oceans near La Noscea, where they were subsequently eaten by an over size fish, said fish washed up on the harbor of Horizon, where it was split up only for them to come tumbling out of its belly, into a cart, which was then farried to Ul’dah, whereby they rolled off it onto the streets.

📜 - Amon is one of 72 demons written about in the Goetia of Soloman. He is a marquis of Hell and bears an owl’s head with wolves teeth, a man’s body, with a serpent tail. He is sinfully summoned by scholars to foresee the future or help them obtain knowledge. This is an aspect translated into Wrath, once a great oracle of the Xaela. He predicted an outcome which bode ill for the current Khagan. Ill respecting of this prediction, that Khagan killed Amon’s tribe and tried to force fate to bring about a new revelation which served the ruling tribe before Nadaam.

To this end, they tortured, Amon for many moons. Until at last, fate intervened in a way that was unexpected. Infusing Amon with the rage of all those unlawfully killed in his tribe. He began a beast of Wrath. Still maintaining his ability to see the future, as indicated by his ring patterned eyes. Always prone to anger and irrational thinking, going as far as to destroy a marking place because of some pineapples. Sloth developed a system of stealing piercings.

Wrath’s body is covered in piercings that pentrate through Wrath’s abdomen, fore and upper arms, his ears, nose, and lips. When ever, he gets angry. The piercings attempt to seal in the rage and when they are close to expiring, they glow molten white. This way, Wrath can maintain proper thought and function without going berserk at a moment’s notice.

The piercings can double as explosives, as Wrath can remove them and throw the heated piercings to erupt releasing the fiery energy in the designated area.

📜 - Pride, Lucifer. One of the most iconic sins and in a handful of religion, the first sin and sometimes to root of it all. Vanity, narcassism, and glory seeking. Pride is another one I hadn’t touched on alot and currently sits in an amnesiac state.

Though, his form is that of a Warrior of Light, who did his best and was awarded nothing for it. He started out seeking adventure, gathering friends and allies along the way, battling everything the troubles of the world put forth and in the end, he and his Warriors of Light. Couldn’t stop of the Ascians from consuming, his world in Calamity.

His last act was to protect, what he thought, was the last remaining member of his group from the flood of darkness. That would go on to consume his form.

Once golden in hair and eye, his fair hair turning black and the shine of his gaze fading.

Now Pride is going to be acting as a Project of mine. Balmung is going to shape him into what he becomes. Will he return to being a Voidsent Prince? Become an adventurer? Or something else? We’ll see....when I get to courage to throw him at the Balmung community again.

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thezodiaczone · 6 years ago

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August Forecast for Scorpio

You’re not here to make friends this month, Scorpio—not when you’re on a mission like this. The Sun is making its annual climb through Leo and your ambitious tenth house until August 23, putting you in full #boss mode. While others scamper off on carefree holidays, your steely gaze is trained on a rather specific set of goals, if not one singular target.

Your tunnel vision may be interrupted though because Mercury—the planet of communication, technology and travel—will be retrograde in Leo and this career-driven zone of your chart. Professional plans could get waylaid or delayed since Mercury retrograde can bring red tape and unanticipated curveballs that distract you from your well-crafted agenda. A client could go MIA, or a decision maker might not get you the needed materials in time for you to meet a deadline.

Relax, Scorpio, and go with the flow as best you can, even if you want to scream. Believe it or not, there’s a method to this madness. The crucial plot twist could be revealed around August 11, when a potent Leo solar (new moon) eclipse sweeps through your tenth house and brings an unexpected job offer, a leadership opportunity or a changing of the guard. The tenth house rules men and fathers, so an important guy in your life, possibly your dad, may play a role in this eclipse’s surprising events.

Solar and lunar eclipses occur four to six times a year and shake up business as usual. This is the second-to-last in a series that’s been striking the Leo/Aquarius axis since February 2017, bringing waves of change to your home and career. By now, your living situation, family structure or work life might look wildly different than they did a couple years ago. The grand finale, a total lunar (full moon) eclipse, will land in Leo and your career zone on January 21, 2019. Seeds planted today will reach their peak early next year, then you won’t experience eclipses here again until 2026. That means you might FINALLY settle into a steady career path or put down stable roots soon. Whew!

This year has certainly been one of transformation in all the major areas of your life. Expansive Jupiter has been in Scorpio all year (and will be until November 8), altering everything from your appearance to your self-esteem to your personal passions. And on May 15, changemaker Uranus began a wild eight-year ride through your opposite sign of Taurus, throwing curveballs at your closest relationships. Dynamics have changed with colleagues, romantic partners and your tightest friendships—sometimes without much notice!

On August 7, Uranus will begin its annual five-month retrograde, which could slow down some of the modifications in your partnerships. This may come as a relief, but it’s also possible that an old issue could flare up, creating unsettling energy. Counting on others for consistency will be challenging, and there may be some on-again-off-again activity with certain people.

Domestic drama may also have colored your summer, but that will start to ease off in the second half of the month. Stressful Mars has been retrograde in Aquarius since June 26, ratcheting up the tension in your domestic sector and intensifying your living situation. While Mars will remain retrograde until August 27, it will back out of Aquarius on August 12, lessening the pressure in your personal life. If you’ve been on pins and needles waiting to hear about a move, a home sale or a sticky family situation, you could finally get the answers you need. On August 12, Mars will reverse into Capricorn and your communication sector for the remainder of its pivot, so watch those caustic comments, especially since Mercury is also retrograde. You don’t need to spend the rest of your summer repairing a rift because of one snarky remark that was taken the wrong way!

Lightness prevails once again during the last week of the month, when the Sun starts a monthlong visit to Virgo on August 23 and heats up your eleventh house of group activity, teamwork and technology. Step away from all that work stress and let your hair down. A brilliant moment to do that arrives on August 25, when a rare and harmonizing grand trine forms between the Virgo Sun, structured Saturn in your communication house and unconventional Uranus in your relationship sector. This is a golden moment for collaborations and meeting kindred spirits.

Now that Mercury retrograde is in the rearview, you could move powerfully ahead with a partnership, whether business or romantic. And you’ll do it on YOUR terms, as trailblazer Uranus and the bold Sun prompt you to follow your own authentic script rather than copy someone else’s. Solidifying Saturn helps you make things official and ensures that anything you embark on has integrity and the potential for longevity. Since Saturn and Uranus are both retrograde and oriented toward the past, this grand trine goodness could involve someone you’ve known for a long time or a surprisingly rich reunion with an old friend, colleague or even an ex. Maybe the second (or third) time around will be the charm!

The month ends with some well-deserved pleasure as the year’s only Pisces full moon heats up your fifth house of romance, passion and play on August 26. A budding romance could consummate, or you might find the spotlight shining directly on you. A pregnancy, or news of one, is possible with la luna in your fertility sector. You might just be ripe with inspiration: If you’ve been hiding your talents or working behind the scenes on a creative project, this full moon could mark your big debut. Lights, camera, Scorpio!

Love & Romance

Dream lover or just an illusion? On August 6, idealistic Venus enters Libra and your fantasy-laced twelfth house for the first of two trips this year. You may not be dealing with hard-boiled reality with the amorous planet here—not that this is a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s nice to put someone on a pedestal, as long as you can promise not to demonize them if they veer to the other extreme or fail to live up to any idealized standards you’ve set.

For some Scorpios, if you do take an unblinking look at life, you might be forced to acknowledge that a certain relationship is not the fairy tale you’d like it to be, and that to move forward, you will need to deal with a few key issues. If things slow down—or stop altogether—take time to assess the situation clearly, bearing in mind that it might take a while for the truth to come out. While you might not enjoy cleaning the smudges off those rose-colored Ray-Bans, the longevity of a relationship depends on striking the right balance between magic and matter-of-factness.

A good day to hash things out is August 7, the date of a rare, harmonizing Venus-Mars trine in some of the most sensitive parts of your chart. Forget about trying to control things; just keep an open mind and receptive heart. Let your love interest do most of the talking while you practice the art of active listening. Or, just reconnect through touch and allow the loving feelings to flow before you dive into a diatribe. Compassion is the magic ingredient now.

Mars has been retrograde since June 26 in Aquarius and your sentimental fourth house, churning up some strong emotions. You may have experienced intense mood swings or family drama, whether from meddling relatives or a needy and demanding child. Settling into your skin or feeling at home under your own roof has been hard during this stressful phase. On August 1, the red planet will back into Capricorn and your communication corner for the duration of the retrograde (through August 27). While things may simmer down at home, you could still have a short fuse and be argument-prone.

If you’ve been biting your tongue, you won’t be able to hold back from speaking your truth—but stay mindful because you could be extra combative and not the most benevolent person now. Single Scorpios might reconnect with an old friend and feel sexy sparks, but don’t rush into anything. A night or two of passion isn’t worth destroying a longtime bond over.

Key Dates

August 2: Mars-Uranus Square The second of three squares between these volatile planets (the first was May 16; the next is September 18) could send your temper through the roof. Watch for knee-jerk emotional reactions because they can destabilize a relationship and send people running for the hills. If you’re angry or hurt, find a healthy way to express it. Is it time to get serious about commitment…or starting a family? Maybe—but you certainly won’t take well to being backed into any corners today.

Money & Career

It’s a big month for your career, Scorpio, so don’t drift into that summer haze just yet. Opportunity could come knocking, and you don’t want to be asleep in a hammock when it does! The Sun is in Leo and your ambitious tenth house until August 23, and August 11 brings a catalyzing Leo solar eclipse. You might receive an offer out of the blue or have an epiphany about a key area of your career that you want to change. Whether you embark on a new project, scout other options or completely change your line of work, August could recalibrate your professional path.

One thing’s for sure: “Business as usual” won’t cut it anymore. With expansive Jupiter in Scorpio from October 10, 2017, until November 8, 2018, the stars have sent you on a radical reinvention tour this year, and you’ve been discovering new passions and interests. You may find that you simply can’t force yourself to soldier through some part of your job anymore—you’re just D-O-N-E, and there’s no more faking it! But summoning the courage to let go and try something new isn’t easy for most Scorpios, who like a baseline amount of control. You’ve been learning to leap without a parachute or safety net.

All that practice could pay off now as the Leo eclipse delivers an exciting chance to flaunt your expertise or leave a lasting mark on your industry. Rumors are swirling that iconic Scorpio fashion editor Anna Wintour will leave her hallowed post at Vogue after the September issue. The mere suggestion of that possibility has Jupiter and the eclipses’ fingerprints all over it!

But take any big career moves slowly, Scorpio, since mindful Mercury is retrograde in Leo from July 26 to August 19, which could delay decisions and scramble signals, especially at work. Since Mercury retrograde is notorious for foiling technology, back up your data and hold off on any major electronics upgrades until after this cycle. Most astrologers caution against signing contracts during Mercury retrograde because key details can slip past your attention. Even your eagle eye can miss ’em now, Scorpio, so have any binding documents reviewed by an attorney instead of rushing to sign on the dotted line.

Key Dates

August 10: Mercury-Jupiter Square Flattery will get ’em…everywhere? Someone could butter you up today, but watch out! They may have an ulterior motive. With retrograde Mercury butting heads with overconfident Jupiter in your sign, you might be a little too quick on the draw. Ask people to present you with a plan to back up their lofty visions. Check references—and if you’re the one pitching or applying for a job, make sure your social profiles and testimonials reflect your best work!

Love Days: 26, 4 Money Days: 11, 19 Luck Days: 9, 17 Off Days: 1, 6, 15

#scorpio #monthly forecast #astrology #horoscope #horoscopes #scorpio monthly

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sailorspazz · 6 years ago

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[Fanfic] Divine Blessing, Chapter 2 (Black/Zamasu)

It took like fuckin forever, but I finally got the second chapter done!

Title: Divine Blessing (chapter 2)

Series: Dragon Ball Super

Pairing: Black/Zamasu

Rating: M (for sex)

Words: 3,400

Summary: Black and Zamasu always celebrate the purification of planets by anointing them with their divine passion. However, this practice leads them to discover that even between kindred spirits, different bodies can lead to differences in opinions.

Can you read it at fanfiction.net? Yes!

Can you read it at ao3? Also yes!

Can you just click on the dealy below and read it here? You bet your ass!

What happened to getting another chapter done by the end of 2017? Yeah, no, that was a lie, as are all of my stated update deadlines (really didn’t expect it’d be all the way into summer before I found the time, though x_x). But I’m back now, with the chapter I thought up while on vacation last year. Was originally going to be another one-shot, but now ended up as part of a series~

Chapter completed: 2018.07.31

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Chapter 2: Hot

The day after eradicating the species Zamasu had found so vexing, Black felt that their relationship was still uncomfortably strained. He was anxious to move on to their next target as soon as possible, both because he wanted to keep their plan moving forward, but mainly because he felt there were better opportunities to smooth things over between the two of them when they were conquering planets together. However, he also did not want to further aggravate Zamasu, so he allowed his partner to take his time choosing the next location.

The night had been rather restless, as Zamasu had not come to bed with him, and though they had only been working together for a short period of time in comparison to the long lives they had already lived, he had grown accustomed to having the comforting presence of his other self nestled next to him while they slept. His counterpart’s absence had left him awake with his thoughts, unable to settle down. Even after apologizing, he could tell Zamasu had not completely forgiven him. He drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night, trying to think of a way to repair the rift between them, and woke up feeling exhausted the next morning.

Black milled around aimlessly, struggling to find something to keep himself occupied when he had neither his partner nor the progression of the Zero Mortals Plan to entertain him. Eventually, his fatigue led him to lie down on the couch, hoping he could catch a nap and perhaps calm his nerves a bit.

“I’ve decided on the next planet. Let’s go.”

Just as Black relaxed enough to doze off, Zamasu’s voice jolted him back to full alertness. He glanced up at the steely silver eyes gazing down on him. His expression was still quite cold, but Black hoped he would be able to bring back the warm affection he usually felt from his other self. He stood up and grabbed Zamasu’s hand so they could teleport together. “Ready when you are.”

They arrived instantaneously at a rather small planet that lacked a highly diverse landscape; most of the surface area was covered in tropical vegetation, with small colder climate areas near the poles. Where they were floating adjacent to a rain forest, they could feel a thick, sticky humidity in the air. Black surveyed the area, wondering what had inspired Zamasu to pick this particular planet. It seemed he had taken his time searching from something specific, but this place looked similar to plenty of others they had been to before. Perhaps after feeling so distraught at the state of the previous world they had cleansed, he just wanted a place that would be less taxing to deal with. There were not a whole lot of mortals on this planet, and their energy signals were weak, so exterminating them would be a quick and easy task. Which, Black hoped, meant the two of them could start making up all the sooner.

“All right, this shouldn’t take too long. There aren't any powerful mortals here, so we can each take separate areas and meet back here.” Black was very cautious with what he was going to say next, since he could not tell what sort of mood Zamasu was in that day. “If…if you like, I can also scope out locations for—”

“No need,” Zamasu cut him off, making Black wonder if he was dismissing the idea of performing their ritual altogether, and if that was the case, how long he was planning to deprive him. Then his other half smiled at him, though there was a thinly veiled sinister twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve already chosen the perfect place. Somewhere unlike anywhere we’ve executed our blessing before.”

Zamasu was acting far too pleased with himself for Black not to be suspicious of his motives, but nevertheless he did not think his partner wished to be questioned, so he simply nodded and they each flew off in opposite directions.

As he soared over the land sending down blasts that wiped out entire villages before they even knew what hit them, Black could not help but wonder what his partner’s so-called “perfect” location was. He started looking at the planet with a more discerning eye to try to figure out what feature was so special about it. He noted numerous mountains, from snow-capped peaks jutting up into the clouds, to active volcanoes spewing lava into the sea. There were pristine beaches, covered with a multitude of different colored sands. The thick vegetation of the many forests provided cover for sparkling streams that eventually swelled into cascading waterfalls spilling down steep cliffs. It was certainly a very pretty planet that had luckily been spared too much damage from careless humans, but Black could not figure out what was unique about it; they had already made love on mountaintops, beaches, and hanging off the edge of a waterfall, so what did this place have to offer?

The sky had turned completely dark in the part of the planet where they met up again; the only thing Black could make out clearly was the sly grin on his counterpart’s face. They typically enjoyed reveling in their own beauty as they blessed each world, so most of the time they chose sections of the planet that still had daylight. Therefore, Black assumed that whatever Zamasu had in mind would be somewhere removed from where they were, but he was making no action suggesting where they might be heading. “So…what’s the plan?” Black prompted.

“Look around you. What’s the most spectacular sight you see? Besides ourselves, of course.”

With the lack of even moonlight to illuminate the landscape, the only thing he could see clearly was the menacing glow emitting from a nearby volcano. “Over there?”

“Well, not so much over there…more like in there.”

“In…in there?” Black balked.

“Yeah. Might as well take advantage of this indestructible body, right?”

“True, but my body is destructible. Saiyans may be powerful in a fight, but their bodies are still vulnerable to the elements. I could be killed in an environment like that.”

Zamasu’s eye twitched irritably. “I’m well aware of that. But I can keep you safe.”

Black was still leery, but did not dare to question Zamasu any further, lest he accuse him of not trusting him. “I suppose danger has its own unique sort of beauty.” This answer satisfied his partner, and they flew off together.

They hovered above the gaping opening where lava was oozing out, and Black could already feel his body starting to sweat from the extreme heat. Zamasu, though, had no such issues, and marveled at the force of nature beneath them. “It destroys everything in its path, but it’s all for the greater purpose of creating something new and more beautiful.” He turned to look at Black. “Just like us. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Y-yeah…” The noxious gasses were already starting to get to him, and they had not even gotten started yet.

Zamasu took Black's hand and floated down toward a vent away from the main opening. They entered to find a space with narrow walls and visible magma glowing far below them. The intensity of the heat and fumes in this oppressive space made Black feel like his head was spinning. Before he even had time to adjust, Zamasu’s lips were all over his. And he realized immediately from the aggressive nature of the kiss that his counterpart was planning to be on top this time. It would not be the first time, but proportionally it was fairly uncommon. Typically when it did happen, it was because Zamasu became so taken with Black’s beauty in specific environments that he could not help but want to ravish him—the first occurrence had been on a beach with sand of a striking shade of black that perfectly matched his body’s hair and eyes. This time was decidedly different, though; he knew Zamasu had been upset with him while planning this, so it felt like he was taking advantage of his vulnerability in this harsh environment and would use this opportunity to get revenge on him. It honestly irked him a bit to see this petty side of his other self, but he would go along with it if it would diminish the distress he had inadvertently caused his partner.

As Zamasu continued to kiss him vigorously, he also gradually pressed Black closer and closer toward the wall of the vent. Black could feel the extreme heat threatening to burn his back, and tried to protest, but his counterpart kept his tongue occupied by entwining it with his own as he pushed against his body. “It’s fine, I can heal you,” he purred in response to an objection he had not even allowed Black to voice. His gi started to singe from the heat emanating from the wall, and he hissed as the fabric transferred that hotness directly to his skin. Zamasu smirked as he watched him cringe and pant. “You look a little hot. Shall I help you?” He did not wait for a response before ripping off Black’s gi and undershirt, tossing them down into the magma. “Is that better?” he asked smugly, still trying to push Black further toward the rock wall.

“D-don’t…” Black finally managed to sputter.

“Why not? I told you, I can easily heal you if you get burned.” He thrust one of his hands over Black’s shoulder, placing it flush against the wall. “See, it’s not so bad.” His assurance was made less assuring by the sound of his skin sizzling just behind Black’s ear, his face contorting with the deranged bliss he always experienced when demonstrating his invulnerability.

Eventually, he pulled Black away from the wall. “Fine, it seems that’s too much for you, so I won’t force you.” Black detected an unspoken “yet” lingering on the end of that sentence, but at least he was saved momentarily from his counterpart’s malice. Even without going as far as Zamasu was trying to push him, he was already absolutely drenched in sweat, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his other half. “You’re still looking a bit overheated. Perhaps removing some more clothes would help?” Of course he knew it would have little effect, but still looked quite satisfied with himself as he divested Black of his remaining clothing. He put his hands on Black’s chest, feeling the slickness of his perspiration. “It’s perplexing. I should be disgusted by the filthiness of your mortal body, but…” He licked up the sweat droplets pouring down from Black’s temple. “Somehow this musk you emit awakens something…almost primal in me. Why is that, I wonder? A god shouldn’t be susceptible to such influences. And yet…” He trailed his tongue down Black’s neck, stopping between his pecs to shoot a seductive glance up at him. “I find it positively intoxicating.” He proceeded to slide his tongue over the damp skin of Black’s chest, taking his time to give fervent attention to each nipple before moving further down his body. He reached his counterpart’s erection and continued grazing the skin lightly, not wanting to stimulate him too much. Zamasu proceeded to perform a teasing dance with his tongue until he realized he had become shamefully sidetracked from his purpose due to his lust for his other self. He promptly brought himself upright again and spun Black around so he was facing away from him.

“What are you doing?” Black inquired cautiously.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zamasu answered dismissively as he levitated some molten rocks up near where they were floating. He placed his hand on Black’s back and began sending waves of healing energy into his body, an immediate tip off that Zamasu was about to do something incredibly painful to him. Behind him, his partner was using his power to form the rocks into letters spelling their name in the language of the gods. Even though he had tried to brace himself for whatever was coming his way, Black still yelped and cursed as Zamasu slammed the rocks against his bare ass, branding his skin. The healing powers did not seem to be lessening the pain very much; apparently Zamasu was using them to ensure that the wound healed cleanly, rather than to provide any comfort to his other self.

“Wh-what did…you do?” Black asked after he finally caught his breath again, now feeling even more lightheaded than before.

“I simply marked you with our name,” Zamasu answered matter-of-factly as he turned Black around to face him again, cupping his chin in his hand, “so you never forget who you truly are.”

“That…that would never happen,” Black insisted, trying to convince Zamasu that the concerns he had brought up the previous day were unfounded.

“I’m afraid it’s already started,” Zamasu sighed. “We’re not as in sync with each other as we were when we first started this endeavor. You’re forgetting what it feels like to be me. Every day I see more evidence that you’re changing. And it pains me so.” He gazed at Black with an anguished expression.

“That’s not really a fair assessment. I’m not the only one who’s changed,” Black countered, not exactly feeling charitable towards Zamasu at the moment, considering what he was putting him through.

Zamasu looked bewildered at the accusation. “How do you figure?”

“The way you’re acting now is—”

“What, you don’t like relinquishing control to me? I’m you, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” he spat testily. “Or could it be…” Zamasu raised an eyebrow. “…you mistakenly thought your body was the source of your sadism?”

“No, I...” He was again denied the chance to finish his statement as Zamasu smothered him with a hasty kiss. Of course he realized that his counterpart was mirroring his own actions from the previous day, but he was still quite bothered by the fact that his partner was intentionally using their hallowed ritual as means to punish him. Even if Black had accidentally upset him, there had still been affection in his actions; from Zamasu, he sensed the only coldness that existed in this sweltering environment.

As he continued pressing his lips to Black's in a distinctly affection free manner, Zamasu gradually removed all of his own clothes. With his gaze locked on Black, he brought his own fingers to his mouth and suggestively licked them, before sliding his hand down to his counterpart's ass and slipping one digit inside of him. After working him for awhile he added another, then a third, all the while gleefully watching Black as he struggled to deal with this added stimulation when he was already gasping for breath before.

When Zamasu started lifting Black's legs and repositioning their bodies to where he could easily enter him, Black felt a sense of relief that this ordeal was coming to an end soon. And it was a disheartening realization to make; their ritualistic blessing was supposed to be noble and beautiful, an experience so euphoric they should never want it to end. Zamasu was deliberately making it so unpleasant that Black could not wait for it to be over.

Black spread his legs and Zamasu pushed forward and jammed his erection into him. He winced at the rough entry; Zamasu could have used more lubrication to make this easier, but chose not to. His expression looked malevolent as he thrust in and out of his other self, a stark contrast to the usual adoring glances exchanged between them as they united in this way. Black could feel that Zamasu was moving them closer to the wall again, but he had been so taxed by the environment already that he had no fight left in him to stop what was going to happen. He felt a slight stream of healing energy coming from Zamasu's hands again, and his breath quickened as he tried to prepare himself for the pain that was soon to come his way.

Zamasu hovered near the wall briefly before shoving Black's back flat against it. His partner writhed in agony, his tortured screams nearly drowning out the sound of his skin seering against the rocks. Zamasu was getting a perverse satisfaction out of this scene, until Black abruptly went silent and slumped over as his body went limp. Zamasu's stomach dropped and he began to frantically shake his other self. “Zamasu? Hey, Zamasu!” He called out their shared name in a panicked tone, feeling immense relief when Black emitted a low groan, though he was still clearly passed out.

“Shit. Maybe I went too far,” Zamasu muttered as he flew up out of the vent hole, moving away from the noxious smoke and blazing heat. He chose a beach that was a safe distance from the volcano and gently floated down to a shallow spot in the waves. He kept Black positioned on top of his lap and submerged the lower halves of their bodies into the ocean to help cool down. He put his mouth over Black's and sucked the toxic fumes out of his lungs, all the while increasing the level of his healing powers to soothe his partner's burns.

Black quickly regained consciousness and started coughing. Zamasu smiled at him. “Oh, good. Do you feel all right? I can heal you more if you need it.”

“I'm...fine.” He could still feel the brand on his ass, but obviously Zamasu had meant for that to be permanent. He also felt a sensation of pressure, and asked incredulously, “Are you...still inside me?”

“Well, I was so worried about your condition that I flew out of there without thinking.” Though he knew what Zamasu was telling him was true, he could also tell that he was omitting a piece of his thought process. “And since you're clearly doing just fine now, that means...” He paused as his face broke into a lewd grin, “...there's no reason we can't finish, right?”

He moved them closer to the shoreline where Black could lie down flat on the sand and Zamasu recommenced pumping his hips. Even though he was making it slightly more pleasant now by conjuring up more lubrication than before, at this point Black was wholly uninterested, and was just waiting patiently for him to finish. Once he stopped thrusting, Black immediately got out from under him. “I'm ready to go back,” he said tersely.

“Already? But you didn't even come yet. How can we call the ritual complete if one of us hasn't—”

“Forget it. You ruined the mood.” Before his partner could defend himself, Black continued, “So either come with me now or get left behind. Your choice.”

“O-of course I'll come with you,” Zamasu looked at him with apologetic eyes, but was answered with an unforgiving glare as Black grabbed onto his shoulder and teleported them back to the realm of the gods.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ohhh, dear...there's trouble in paradise for my boys ;_; I don't like leaving off at a point where they haven't made up, but the resolution will likely take a full chapter on its own, so alas I have to stop here for now. Next chapter should theoretically take less time than this one, but I never know what's going to come up. But for this one my goal was to finish it by the end of Zamasu Day celebrations (which I kinda did, kinda didn't, depending on time zones lol). In October there's supposed to another celebration period for Black/Zamasu, so I'll do my best to get the next one out around then. Until next time, keep dreaming those BlaZama dreams everyone!

#fanfic #dragon ball super #goku black #zamasu

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pseudonymfox · 7 years ago

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Hope

Sebastian Stan x reader

Summary: Starting a family was harder than you thought.

Warnings: ANGST, fluff

Request by anon

Hey, I really love your imagines, would u write something where the reader is with Seb and is diagnosed with PCOS ? ❤

A/N: Thanks for Request and your nice comment! I hope you like it and I hope I got this right and have fun y'all :) Btw wanted to write Smut here but it just didn't fit and had to think about Deadpool all the time.lol.

Polycystic ovary syndrome is a problem in which a woman's hormones are out of balance. It can cause problems with your periods and make it difficult to get pregnant.

Masterlist

Not pregnant.

After 8 months of trying to make baby with your boyfriend Sebastian all of the tests were negative. Every time you tried it you've had new hope. This hope was also every damn time destroyed after 3 minutes waiting for this damn test.

"We just trying again ok babe we can do this" He told you hugging you from behind in your shared bed.

"What if something is wrong with me seb? What if i can't give us what we want or what if the damn universe thinks I am not worth it or something like this"

You replied to him with a shaky voice and watering eyes as you turned around to face him.

"No stop to think like that ok! We're are going to be great parents and I could be the problem ok so what about we taking a doctor appointment tomorrow?"

You smiled at him and hugged him tightly. You stayed like that until you felt asleep with new hope.

~Next Day~

"Stan and (Y/L/N), room 4 please"

You were really nervous and thank god that Sebastian noticed because you couldn't do it without him. He was your anchor.

"Everything is going to be fine (Y/N)"

He gave a comforting smile and took your hand in his.

"Hello Miss (Y/L/N) and Mister Stan so we are just going to do some tests and a few questions ok"

After the Test and all of the other things you went back home and just could wait and hope that nothing is wrong.

~2 Days later~

It's nothing wrong. It's nothing wrong. It's nothing wrong.

You replied that over and over again in your head and after 2 days of waiting for the test results what felt like an eternity your names were called again.

"So Mister Stan I have to say your results are perfect. Miss (Y/L/N) I have to tell you that you have PCOS.It is a problem in which a woman's hormones are out of balance. It can cause problems with your periods and make it difficult to get pregnant. I am so sorry but we have different kind of therapys, maybe a few surgerys and...."

You saw black. Everything felt different after what she just told you. It was your fault that you could't start a family with the man you love but you tried again. You did everything you can, everything she told you and every medication that exist.

It was a hard and long path full tears, pain and stress but didn't wanted to lose Hope neither did Sebastian. He gave what he can and tried to make you feel better in every way he could.

After almost a whole year of therapy the doctor told you it was the perfect timing to try it again so it has to be happening tonight. You had a great day at work, Sebastian came back from a short trip, you have your ovulation and a very good feeling.

After Dinner and a movie with Seb. It started to get heated.

"Babe I just want you to let you know that first if all I have good feeling today and I want you to let you know that I love you no matter what ok?"

"Yeah I have good feeling too and I love you too but I want you to make me pregnant.NOW."

He laughed at your comment and after a amazing and passionate night you tried again.

"How long?"

"3 minutes and I peed on 5 test each one of another brand just to make sure"

You sat on your couch together in silence as you watched the tests.

"I love you (Y/N) and I am going to love this Baby either its yours or we adopt one ok and I know we had to go through a lot of problems and pain but I really really really love you"

"I love you too Sebastian"

He turned to you and saw that you were crying. He hated it and he saw it to often in the last time.

The timer went off and you just stared at each other.

"Ok we turning each one of them one ok..one by one"

He took your hand again. As you took the first one.

Negative.

"We still have four left ok."

You tried not cry but its hard. Sebastian took the next one.

Negative.

You could feel how your heart broke each time you saw one test and you saw how his face fell every time.

Next one its your turn again.

Positiv.

"Babe?"

You just stared and didn't say a word. You didn't know what to say.

"Ok well maybe I am pregnant ok? but maybe I am not because this was a cheap one"

Negative.

and again

Negative.

"Babe I know that could mean that your not pregnant but I think we should see the doctor ok? Just to make sure"

~Doctors office~

"So let's take a look!"

As you laid their on the stool you had a million thoughts running in your hand but you were interrupted.

"Miss (Y/L/N) I have to say that your results at your first time here were not good looking but that makes me even happier to tell you that you are finally pregnant. Congratulations!”

Silence. Neither of you said a word until you heard the heartbeat of your baby.Your Baby!

Both of couldn't speak at this moment you just held hands and cried with happy faces and it make you even more happier that you saw the the happiness in Sebastian's face.

And finally after one year and 9 months you could finally welcome your daughter with your beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes and brown hair just like Sebastian.

"Welcome Hope in our family. We love you so much and we waited really long for you."

You were so thankful that both of you didn't gave up and you couldn't be happier that you believed in Hope.

Feedback appreciated! :)

xoxo Sophie

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #request #fox imagine #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan

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thepelagoislands · 7 years ago

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New Island: Mokupuni o ke Ahi (Island of Fire)

This island was written by Rachel-mun!

@gun-nun | @violinsnotheanswer | @jake-out-the-humans | @lannathepopstar

One must sail for hours upon hours before finding this island. As the voyagers draw closer to the island, they will see that it is a volcanic island and is currently active. As a matter of fact, it’s always been active and has never ceased spewing its molten rock. There are lava flows that fall off of the edge of the water, raising its temperature to dangerous levels, so be sure not to fall into the ocean. Steam rises from the water surrounding the island, giving it a sort of mist that shrouds the outskirts. There is a black stone port in which you can dock your boat.

As you venture through the island to go inland, you will see several glowing flows of lava headed towards the edges of the island. It moves much like a river of molasses. There is no explicit path for the voyagers to follow, so it’s up to them to navigate the way towards the center of the island. As the voyagers travel closer to said island’s center, they will come across a village that has been burned down. The insides and outsides of the stone buildings are covered in a black char and some of the roofs have collapsed in. In one of the houses, if one was able to pry open the drawer to the desk, they will find 2,000g. There is nothing else to be found in the village, as everything else has been burned to ash.

At the base of the volcano there will be a temple decorated in red and gold, but the stone that makes its walls is pitch black. Hot lava runs in a river on either side of the temple, but seems to have naturally (or unnaturally?) avoided it. The temple is raised up on black stone pillars and can only be reached by ascending a long, narrow staircase with no railings. A pretty dangerous architectural move, actually. Once you reach the top, you’ll see that the floor is made from beautifully smooth obsidian, gold specks throughout it. The temple doors are heavy black stone, though, and are hard to open on your own. Enter the temple and you will be in the main prayer room.

Main Prayer Room: This room is the largest in the temple, the floors of obsidian continuing throughout here and the rest of the temple. However, there is something amiss in the room. The altar that is at the back of the room has been desecrated. The offerings of gold coins and rubies have been thrown off of the altar and are sprawled about the floor. Gather up the gold and it will come to 1,000g. Gather up the rubies and you’ll find eight. Nothing of consequence will come from taking these items. There is nothing else to be found in the main prayer room, but there are four doors: one to the left, one to the right, one with a gold door to the left of the altar, and one with a red door to the right of the altar.

Left Door (Dining Room): Enter this room and you’ll come to the dining area. There is a table that previously had a meal set up on it, but everything is once again destroyed and thrown about the table and the floor. The paintings that hang on the wall are ripped to ribbons and scraps of them lay on the floor. The kitchen has been torn through as well, all of the pots and pans and utensils on the floor and counters. There is some broken glass there, too. The knives from the block are thrown at the wall across the room, sticking out like someone was playing a game with them. If you look closely, you’ll find that one is missing from the set.

Right Door (Bedroom): This room appears to be a bedroom of sorts, but for only one person. The bed in the center of the room is regal, tall beams on every corner that hold up a red canopy made of silk. It’s comfortable but ashy. No ash can be found in the room besides on the bed, though. In the bedside tables you will find some love letters signed from a woman named Aredhel. One of the letters has some tear stains on it, and reads:

Dearest Dominic,

While we remain apart in land I know that we come together every night in our dreams. My heart aches for your touch every minute that we are separated, but I know that we will be reunited someday.

Our plan to remain in the sky is proving to be most wise, as we have gone undetected for some time now. However, one of the lookouts noticed something pass by in the clouds. We are unsure of what it could be. A scout? A dragon? We haven’t the slightest idea. All I know is that we are on alert, but feel that we remain safe up here.

I wish dearly that I could descend down once again and be with you on your island. To live among the molten earth whose heat could rival our passion; how exciting it must be! I pray daily that we will soon be together and I can rejoice in being within your grasp. I dream nightly of the night we shared when we first met and how your whispered affections never leave my ears. I fear I’ve become distracted again whilst thinking about it…

Dominic, I hope that you are living well and have prospered in your new position as the temple’s leader. I know that you will make the other fire mages proud of you, as I am. Be a good leader, and remember that your power does not define who you are. Only you have the power to define yourself.

With as much love as the Sun has light, your beloved Aredhel.

There are a few other letters, all from the same woman and the dates on the letters span over the course of a year. Also in the bedside table is a ring with silver metal and an obsidian gem in the center. Perhaps it’s an engagement ring? There are some clothes in the closet, but otherwise there isn’t much else to be found in the bedroom.

Gold Door (Library): Enter this room and you’ll come into the library where there are rows of shelves, all stacked full with books. It appears that ancient information has been re-recorded into these books for better storage. The language is all in an indecipherable language, but there are a few books that have pictures of people using moves that involve fire magic. Some books are records of the people who have lived on the island. According to the most recent records, there should have been around twenty people living on the island of varying ages. There lies the question: where are they? The burned village obviously doesn’t bode well with this information. At the back of the library you’ll find a spell book that looks ancient as ancient can be. It’s large, far too large actually. It looks impossible to carry and annoyingly and cartoonishly big. Open it and you’ll find pages upon pages of the same indecipherable language as in other books. There are maps, however, and some descriptions of the small sections of map. It all details other islands and there are four islands in particular who have symbols next to them. One that resembles flowing water is by one island, one that depicts a flower growing from soil next to another, some squiggly lines next to another that looks like wind, and finally one that has a flame drawn next to it. The only thing that is readable to the voyagers is a word written down, but with no island to name: Exire. There is nothing else to be found in the Library.

Red Door (Long Hallway to the Balcony): Enter this room and you’ll be taken down a long, narrow hallway. There is nothing on the walls and only a few torches to light the way, the light of them reflecting off of the shiny obsidian floor. You can hear someone… sobbing? It’s coming from the end of the hall. Continue down the hallway and you’ll come to the balcony.

Balcony: Open the door at the end of the hallway to come onto the balcony that face the spewing volcano. The glow of the lava lights the scene (at night) and you’ll see a man in official-looking priest robes standing at the end of the balcony. He’s holding the missing knife from the balcony and is about to stab himself in the heart when the voyagers come onto the balcony. He’s a tall man with black, long hair and there are two wolf ears that sit atop his head. When he notices the voyagers enter, he snaps his head towards them with bared, fanged teeth. He begins to speak.

“Who are you?! Why have you come here?!”

The voyagers can attempt to explain that they are from the islands and just happened upon the island, but the priest will hear none of it. He doesn’t hold the knife to his chest anymore, but he still holds it in one hand as he faces the voyagers.

“If you’ve come to tell me she’s dead, I already know. I learned long ago…”

It seems he won’t listen to what the voyagers are saying. He’s stuck in his own world of hurt and grief.

“I couldn’t be the man she wanted me to be… The people who lived here, those fire mages I was supposed to protect and teach… I was the one who killed them in the end. How could I have done such a thing in my anger at the gods for taking her away from me?”

So it turns out he was the one who burned down the village. The voyagers can determine how they feel with that information. He will still continue talking.

“What did she do to deserve such a fate?” He looks at the voyagers wildly, tears falling again and voice on the verge of hysteria. “Why couldn’t they have sent that dragon here to kill us all instead?! At least we’d have had a chance to survive! And now, look!” He gestures wildly to the volcano. “The Gods are furious with me! I’ve been the most foul, murderous, awful priest! I don’t deserve this!”

At this point, he will procure a flame and hold his hand to his own neck, burning himself. He lets out a scream of pain and drops to his knees. If the voyagers attempt to come close to him, he will use his fire magic against you to keep you away. He burns his throat until it is charred and bleeding and he speaks again, his voice a strained scream.

“I’ll be with her again! I must! I’d rather die like this than live another day on this fucking planet without her!”

After that, the priest will grab the knife and stab himself in the heart, screaming in anguish once again before collapsing to the ground and dying. The voyagers can do nothing to stop his death, but his last word uttered before he finally stops breathing is his lover’s name in a gargled whisper.

Once the priest has died, the ground begins to shake with the power of the volcano. It seems like it’s about to erupt violently and you have only a short head start to make it back to the boat. There is a boom like thunder as the voyagers run back to the port, the volcano shooting molten rocks into the air. The voyagers must dodge the falling hot rocks and escape the fury of the volcano as it erupts. The ground shakes and the voyagers must tread carefully so as not to fall into any lava.

Once you get to the boat, you’ll be safe to escape but you will see the violent eruption spew molten lava across the island, the explosion as it does so deafening and can be heard even on Leuda and Arcadia. The island’s volcano will become dormant as soon as the final eruption is completed, eruption possible in the rune sphere is ever removed, but will remain dormant until then.

The rune sphere of the island is buried deep in the volcano’s side, impossible to retrieve.

#pi:newisland #pi:mokopuni o ke ahi

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ebaeschnbliah · 7 years ago

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I666 - THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST - 666I

________________________________________________________________

It'a a funny thing to persue the path of a DEVILISH BEAST to finally find a sparklig RAINBOW in the end. :))))

Not long ago I wrote abut the idea that in Sherlock BBC the City of London and England are used as metaphors for Sherlock's body (x). The 'red cross flag' of Saint George, who's the patron saint of England, provides a stunning connection between England, London, Georgia and even the old Kingdom of Jerusalem. Lions are displayed in the coat of arms of Engalnd, dragons in the coat of arms of London. Sherlock is called several times the 'dragon slayer', which leads not only back to Saint George but also into the realm of psychoanalysis and C.G.Jung. ( @sagestreet wrote a wonderful piece of work about this here and @shawleyleres here )

The idea that London/England could represents Sherlock's body awoke quite some time ago and was first triggered by this short piece of text in TEH (x):

Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.

With all the 'fiery, burning, inflammable and blazing' ideas going round lately, a connectdion to DEVIL and HELLwasn't that far off. What's more, the number 666, which is two times mentioned in TST, refused stubbornly to go out of my head ever since I heard it. My first interpretation of the 'number of the beast' is included in a post about Rosie as the 'Elephant in the room' (x). Recently @sagestreet wrote another stunning piece of work about that topic here.

And now .... onto some new ideas and new connections. What might come to the light of day if one mingles some of the above mentioned themes into a pot, stirring it thoroughly and with passion?

SHERLOCK * LONDON * ENGLAND * FIRE&HEAT * DEVIL&HELL * 666 THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST * LITTLE ROSIE * APPLES&ROSES

Results under the cut ....

The Great Fire of London in 1666

This fiery hell swept through the central parts of London for three days. From Sunday, 2 September to Wednesday, 5 September 1666. It destroyed 13,200 houses, 87 churches, St Paul's Cathedral and most of the buildings of the City authorities. Hell indeed. But not hellish enough ...

Plague had killed over 68,000 people in the previous two years. Although Charles II had returned to Whitehall in February 1666, London remained unsafe, with death carts still commonplace. What worried inhabitants most was the strong east wind. This, combined with the dry, dusty air, was known to be particularly effective in carrying plague. Thus by September 1666, all that was required was a spark. ( x x )

The anniversary of the Great Fire

2016: To mark the 350th anniversary of the Great Fire of London a 120m long model of the 17th century London skyline is burned to ashes on the Thames between Blackriears and Waterloo Bridge.

Fire-projections on the dome of St Paul's Cathedral. ( x Video x )

King Charles II of Engalnd

Charles was one of the most popular and beloved kings of England, known as the Merry Monarch. His father - King Charles I - had been executed at the climax of the English Civil War. After a lost battle Charles II fled to the continent where he spent the next 9 years in exile. Oliver Cromwell became dictator of Engand, Scotland and Ireland. (x)

Musgrave Ritual and two kings named Charles

Charles I and Charles II ... appear in ACDs story of 'The Musgrave Ritual'. The riddle, Sherlock Holmes has to solve, starts with these lines:

Whose was it? .... His who is gone. (Charles I)

Who shall have it?.... He who will come. (Charles II)

In the story the words refer to the golden crown of King Charles I, that had been left behind when Charles II had to flee the country. Since that day the crown had been guarded by generations of Musgraves. But eventually the true meaning of the riddle got lost ....

Real history: When Charles II was on the run from Cromwell's men, he found shelter at Moseley Old Hall (north Wolverhampton, West Midlands). Owner of that estate back then was Thomas Whitgreave. Only some hours after the king's arrival (cold and wet, disguised in workman's clothing, ill-fitting shoes and with bleeding feet) parlamentarians knocked at the door and the king had to hide in the priest hole. Successfully. After a further two days of rest Charles II contiuned his flight to the coast and then to the continent.

I wouldn't be much surprised if ACD knew about that historical event. What if he took the names 'Moseley Old Hall' and 'Whitgreave' ... mingled them a little bit and thus created 'MUSGRAVE'? :)))

Sir Isaak Newton

Mathematician, astronomer, theologian and natural philosopher (today that's a physicist). One of the most influential scientists of all time and a key figure in the scientific revolution. In short: a genius. (x)

Solar System and Gravity

He removed the last doubts about the validity of the heliocentric model of the Solar System (the one Sherlock 'deleted'). Newton used the Latin word gravitas (weight) for the effect that would become known as gravity and defined the law of universal gravitation.

And what Sherlock once 'deleted', because it wasn't important then, suddenly becomes of supreme importance in TAB:

HOLMES: This is a matter of supreme importance .... The obliquity of the ecliptic. I have to understand it. (TAB)

And 'gravity' reminds me also of somthing longsnowsmoon5 posted months ago:

Big G ... is the universal Gravitational Constant and part of the equation which calculates the Escape Velocity ... tha's the minimum speed needed for an object to escape from the gravitational influence of a massive body. (x)

The Apple Incident

Newton himself often (and obviously differently) told the story that he was inspired to formulate his theory of gravitation by watching the fall of an apple from a tree. Newton's assistant, John Conduitt, also described that famous event in a letter:

In the year 1666 he retired again from Cambridge to his mother in Lincolnshire. Whilst he was pensively meandering in a garden it came into his thought that the power of gravity (which brought an apple from a tree to the ground) ..... (x)

Apples are also a very important topic in Sherlock BBC

A bowl with red apples can be seen in the living room of 221b. Jim carves his I.O.U. in one of those. Beside Eurus (at the end of TLD) another bowl of red apples is located. At Appledore a single apple appears as a piece of art. Rosies room is decorated with an apple tree and red apples. John has a green apple for breakfast. A bowl of pomgranates turns up in Morocco. But those don't belong to the same family as apples. Definitely related to apples though are .... roses. I wrote more about apples and their symbolism here.

The Deconstruction of Light

In 1666, Sir Isaac Newton conducted a famous experiment that has been widely considered as a landmark discovery in the study of optics and color theory. Using a glass prism, Newton deconstructed a white beam of light through a prism, resulting in a full colour spectrum. He thus discovered that white light is an amalgamation of different wavelengths of colour.

Artificially generated for the first time ... in 1666 ... by using a PRISM ...

Newtons prism experiment on Youtube (x)

During setlock S4 director Benjamin Caron posted these two PRISMA pics (bottom corner right) on Instagram. (Source @constancecream x x )

The ship and the well? Pirate Sherlock and drowned Redbeard?

Benjamin Caron also made this statement: (x)

I666 ... the same year London (Sherlock?) was ravaged by a massive fire (love?), the colors of the rainbow have been artificially generated for the first time by Newton, the man who confirmed the heliocentric model of the Solar System ... (Eurus is described as an incandescent mind beyond Newton)

666 - the number of the beast - baby Rosie, who is called the elephant in the womb/room and - according to Mary - had 'a little 666 on her forhead when she was born'.

666 - the number of the beast - plays on the radio immediately before 221b is hit by a massive explosion, caused by something that is called 'Patience Grenade' .... which sounds very much like 'Passions Greande'.

666 - the number of the beast - how high are the chances that the number of 'the beast' is the number of BURNING LOVE ... of LOVE & RAINBOWS .....

Or everything is just .... coincidence .... :)))))

I leave you to your own deductions.:)))) Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

December, 2017

@gosherlocked @loveismyrevolution @sherlockshadow @possiblyimbiassed @sagestreet @monikakrasnorada @sarahthecoat @raggedyblue @kateis-cakeis @darlingtonsubstitution @tjlcisthenewsexy @tendergingergirl

#666 the number of the beast #prism #rainbow #London=sherlock #london burning #1666 #newton #apples #solar system #colours of the rainbow

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kimberlycook95 · 4 years ago

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Save Relationship Reddit Wonderful Cool Ideas

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#Save Relationship Reddit Wonderful Cool Ideas #Can The Government Prevent Divorce

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radientwings · 7 years ago

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A Vulnerable Side (Nessian Fluff)

Inspired by this prompt from @thebluemartini: ‘Cassian refuses to let Nesta go into the bathroom because he has a bathtub and fears Nesta will get Hybern flashbacks if she sees it… in the end he gets a shower installed for her instead.’

They didn’t talk about it. The fact that she was afraid of water now. In fact, Nesta would have preferred that he had never even realized she had this fear in the first place. She hated that he so often saw at her most vulnerable, at her weakest… Nesta had never been an emotive person; even in immortality, she found she’d rather hide her true feelings (passionate and never-ending though they were) behind a carefully crafted mask of indifference. Back when she’d still been human, been mortal, her mask had given her power… and that feeling of security stayed with her, despite the fact that she had real power at her fingertips now.

(But beyond that, she loathed burdening Cassian with this. Loathed causing him even more trouble, even more pain. Nesta had never considered someone such as Cassian would walk into her life and rearrange the order of it so completely. She hated him for it. And yet she also loved him for it.)

Sometimes Nesta also hated that power though. How often had she wished her voice had mattered more as a human? How often had she wanted to make others hear her? She had that power now, and more besides. But it was a power – a dark, wild creature – that she stole from the Cauldron… the very same Cauldron whose murky waters now haunted her every step.

The fact of the matter was water frightened her. She’d never forget drowning in the black depths of the Cauldron, so soon after Elain (who had always been everything to Nesta) had been sent in there to die or be reborn. She’d never forget water snaking into her mouth, her ears, her eyes, until she couldn’t escape it, not even as she thrashed as hard as she could. And she’d never forget the voice that had seemed to come from the blackness, that ancient, terrifying power that threatened to destroy her forever.

She’d won against it in the end, had torn some of its terrible power from its very being and risen again into something entirely new. Nesta had earned her victory with nothing more than her pure, iron will.

But now… now she could barely stand the feel of water. Bathing was the worst of it. Every time she forced herself in the tub, her entire body locked up in helpless fear. And she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air, her mind tricking her into thinking that the water was rising up, that it would drown her all over again.

It was pathetic. She was pathetic.

All of this power and I can’t even take a bath.

That was how Cassian found out about it, actually. He’d walked into the bathroom one day, only to find Nesta unable to catch her breath as she soaked in shallow water, her frail, naked shoulders shaking. Her eyes had been far, far away, he’d told her, her pupils dilated in absolute, unforgiving terror. Cassian had tugged her out of the bath with out a thought, wrapping his body completely around hers until she’d finally felt safe enough to be pulled back to the present.

They hadn’t talked about it after. Nor any day since. Nesta was relieved about that – relieved that Cassian knew her well enough to let her gather herself in silence. Though not in solitude either. No, he’d made sure that he was close at hand any other time decided she couldn’t avoid the tub any longer. He didn’t come into the room though, seeming to know she wouldn’t have responded well to him seeing her like that again. She was ashamed of her weakness, ashamed that she could not seem to conquer this as she had the Cauldron. But, at the very least, Cassian’s presence just outside the door was a comfort.

And then… and then there was this.

She’d walked to the home she shared with Cassian slowly, the dread of the tub already preying on her under her skin. None of it showed on her face, of course. After all, Nesta had long ago learned to hide stupid fears like these – but no one could blame her for taking her time until she finally entered the bathing room. Only, when she finally did, there was no tub waiting to haunt her. There was no tub at all. Instead, in it’s place, stood another… contraption entirely. The floor where the tub once stood was now tiled and surrounded by cloudy glass walls on two sides. Nesta found herself walking through the open entrance between them curiously, immediately seeing what she could only describe as a faucet now attached to the back wall a foot or so above her head.

Nesta blinked in surprise, her indifferent mask dropping completely, her fingers clenching in the soft material of the towel she had wrapped around her. Water would fall from that faucet, she realized dumbly, still staring at this new contraption. Water to bathe with.

Her throat went tight as she finally understood what this meant. She wouldn’t feel enclosed by the tub any longer, wouldn’t feel like she would drown again at any second. She wouldn’t have to panic anytime she wanted to get clean. She wouldn’t have to feel so vulnerable and weak all the time, because of this stupid, stupid fear of hers.

Suddenly, she felt a familiar presence approach from behind, the heat of his chest warming her bare back as calloused hands gently dropped on her shoulders.

“You did this,” Nesta told Cassian in a deceptively even voice.

He ran his thumbs over her skin, his voice a rumble behind her. “Yes,” he said.

Nesta could stop herself no longer, she twisted slightly so she could look at him and meet his hazel eyes, always so full of emotion. “You did this. For me?”

Cassian stared at her for a long moment. “We all have our wounds, Nesta. Physical or not, they shouldn’t have to be borne in silence… Nor should they have to be borne alone.”

Her stuttered in her chest at the sheer sincerity of the statement, at the fact that he arranged all this for her without her even realizing. Somehow Cassian had known how to help her without having to ask, without cloying her with questions that would only make her retreat. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. No one had known her well enough.

“I don’t… I can’t…” Nesta grew frustrated as words escaped her, but Cassian just nodded, his fingers trailing a path down her arms.

“I understand,” he said. “Now come on.”

He walked around her, reaching to turn on the faucet until warm water very gently showered from it. Cassian gestured for her to go ahead but Nesta hesitated.

What if it didn’t matter how she bathed? What if she still panicked at the feel of water on her skin? What if, after all Cassian had done for her, she still froze?

I don’t want to fail him, she thought, or myself.

Cassian, as always seemed to be able to read her. He held out his hand to her. “Together?” he asked.

Nesta nodded, relieved, and took it, lacing their fingers tightly together. After relinquishing her towel, Cassian stripped as well as he could one-handed and even when he had to let go of her hand for a brief moment, he kept himself pressed against her, reassuring them both. Finally, he urged her forward slowly, his wings a cradle around her as held both of her hands from behind.

Nesta couldn’t stop from squeezing his fingers as tightly as she could, her nerves getting to her, but when the water eventually hit them, she felt nothing but warm, pleasant comfort. She relaxed almost immediately under the spray – there was no inevitable feeling of drowning here, no, instead it was like standing under the most peaceful of waterfalls. Nesta’s thoughts remained blissfully clear, no crippling fear rising under her skin.

Cassian seemed to realize this but still he did not stop touching her for a moment. He held her ever so softly, her comfort and ease his sole intention. There was no want in his touch right now, only love and patience and everything else that so often passed between them unspoken. (How had she ever thought him a brute? Cassian could be boorish perhaps, but never a brute. No, he was far more than that, more than she deserved.)

Nesta turned so she could wrap herself completely in him, pressing her ear against his heartbeat, which thudded with a warrior’s steadiness as always. (Still, she had also noticed that it always jumped the slightest bit at her touch as well. The thought frightened and awed her in equal measure.) His skin was so warm against her, so alive that she couldn’t get lost in her memories, even with the water beating at her back.

“Thank you. Thank you for this,” she told him quietly, her voice muffled by his chest.

But Cassian’s arms tightened around her anyways, as if he couldn’t get close enough. “For you, Nesta, always,” he said. “Always.”

She smiled into his skin and took the promise to heart. The sentiment was returned, of course, but she would tell him that later when the darkness of night and the softness of their bed gave her the courage to. For now, she let herself be coaxed further into the spray of the water, Cassian beginning the long process of soothing soap into her skin and hair, his touch a constant thing she knew she could always depend on.

He’d been right. She didn’t need to be alone to get through this. But then, she never really was. Not anymore.

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years ago

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35 please? :D

This got really long and really angsty. I don’t know what happened. (also on ao3)

35. “Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving.”

Castiel had always been deathly afraid of fire. In any form, no matter how big or small.

It all went back to when he was just a little kid, barely seven years old, the youngest in a ridiculously huge family consisting of an absentee writer of a father and the eldest siblings trying to make sure no one died.

Michael was the oldest. He was the Good Son. The one that sang their father's praises while he was off on a bender god knows where, drowning himself in whiskey as he agonized over his latest book.

He was stern and almost militant in his rearing of the younger siblings, orderly to the point of obsession. In the mornings, he would instruct all of the younger children to brush their teeth, make their beds, and get themselves ready for school.

The younger siblings were his little drones, little soldiers ready to dive into battle the moment he told them to. He barked orders and preached Bible verses from memory, fire and brimstone in his voice.

There was an odd sort of affection he held for his siblings. He had cared for them, but he was ultimately selfish and nothing would ever be more important than himself.

After joining the Air Force when he turned eighteen, he worked as a local police officer. He mostly just wrote parking tickets but the badge gave him power that he so fervently craved.

Raphael was the second eldest. If Michael was the heir, he was the spare. And he seemed to be rather content with his lot in life.

He let the others handle most of the child rearing, occasionally stepping in for discipline purposes. But unlike Michael's punishments of jumping jacks or pushups or scrubbing the bathroom tiles clean with their toothbrushes, Raphael preferred timeouts and corner time.

His favorite game to play was the quiet game. His second favorite was hide and seek though he was often very hard pressed to do any actual seeking.

He chose medicine for his career path. He became a specialist working with terminal patients, easing their pain when he could.

Many thought it was because he was compassionate, even courageous, so wonderful that such a fine young man would devote himself to such a noble cause. But his siblings knew it was only because he preferred the silence of those who were not long for the world, the only sound their breath as it came slower and slower and slower.

Gabriel was the third. The trickster. The one who saw life and their family itself for what it was: a joke.

He would spend his days lounging on the couch watching any television show that aired, from cartoons to cop dramas to country western classics. He liked to compare his siblings to archetypes and tropes, laughing all the while.

He had a predilection for sweets and women, especially those who could crush him in one blow if they so chose. Some speculated it was because the woman he dated for the longest time's name was Candy. In truth, her name was Kali and she would destroy anyone who dared to call her Candy.

He found work as a porn star slash porn director, much to the displeasure of his older siblings. But when they criticized him, he just claimed they were jealous. Not about the sex but about the fact that he could do what they could never dream of: not conform to their father's dreams for them and feel no trace of guilt.

Of all the brothers, he was the real caregiver, a god of mischief more than happy to raise mere mortals. His methods were unorthodox and oftentimes unheard of but so were many grand, amazing things and the time he spent with his younger siblings was the time that they most felt loved.

Then, there was Lucifer. The black sheep of the family. Rebellious to their father's plan.

He did not care about any of his siblings, save for the ones who themselves had raised him. He did not care about many things, adrift in a life of alcoholism and apathy. In that way, he was more like their father than he ever wanted to be.

He barely interacted with the younger children, hating them with an undeserved passion, almost as much as he despised their father. Most believed it was simply an extension of his own self-hatred, like an injured animal lashing out at those that tried to help it.

He moved out shortly after he turned eighteen. On one of the rare occasions their father had been home, he had started an argument which had blossomed like a poisonous flower into a knock down drag out that had lasted all night.

In the morning, both he and their father stormed out of the house, neither to return for a long time. He started a rock band shortly afterward, diving headfirst into a life of drugs and sin.

The younger siblings were too numerous to mention by name with a few notable exceptions.

There was Balthazar, an art dealer who followed in Gabriel's footsteps of hedonism and the pleasures of the flesh. There was Anael, who insisted on being called Anna, a love crazy chef who specialized in aphrodisiac dishes.

There was Muriel, a zookeeper who preferred the company of animals over anyone else. There was a Hannah, a sociologist who investigated what made people tick.

And then there was Castiel. The youngest. The one who became a writer. Like their father in many ways yet vastly different in others.

But before that, before he left their overcrowded house in Pontiac, Illinois and flew to the East Coast to attend Columbia, before he published his own books, before he moved into his cozy little apartment in Kansas, he was just Castiel. The youngest. The one terrified of fire.

When he was seven, already reading at a fifth-grade level and devouring every book he was given, his older brother Nathaniel had found a niche of his own. In a book of matches that Gabriel had left lying around after a night of smoking pot with his girlfriend.

Nathaniel was older, half a decade older than his baby brother yet no wiser for it, and while Castiel preferred solitude to the chaos of their home, Nathaniel reveled in it. He basked in the tension, the anger and resentment, the burning rage that simmered just under the surface.

The matches gave him control of it. That kind of power corrupts quickly. It was no different that time. Castiel just happened to be collateral damage.

Nathaniel was playing with his matches in the long upstairs hallway, flanked on either side with countless doors to countless bedrooms belonging to countless siblings. He smiled widely as the flames sparked at the red phosphorus tip, a buzz igniting within his own body.

With unadulterated delight, he watched as the flames engulfed the rest of the match until they singed his fingers and he dropped them. They went out before they landed on the carpet. Until one didn't.

The smell of burnt carpet filled the air as the fire danced before his eyes, spreading across the floor towards the door of the bedroom at the end of the hall. Castiel's bedroom where he was taking a nap, curled up in bed with his favorite stuffed animal, a gray cat.

The flames crept silently under the door, stalking into Castiel's room like a dragon hunting its prey. It had spread like wildfire, fast and fierce and fatal.

Nathaniel had sat, cross-legged on the hallway floor, and watched. Just watched. But then just watching got boring and he was moved to action.

He lit more matches and, before the fire could travel down the matchstick, he tossed them at Castiel's bedroom door. He had just thrown the last match, dark smoke filling the air, when the screaming had started.

The fire had advanced over the carpet like a legion of soldiers marching onto enemy land, declaring war with no mercy, surrounding Castiel's bed. The edges of his blanket caught fire first and a moment later his entire duvet had been alight and with it, Castiel.

He had always been a heavy sleeper. Dead to the world once his head hit the pillow. He hadn't smelled the smoke, hadn't had enough time to startle awake choking on its fumes. Instead, he awoke to pain.

The most excruciating pain he had ever experienced. Every nerve ending had been in agony, exposed and singed so severely that he didn't even feel the heat. It was cold. A stinging avalanche of gut wrenching, nauseating pain.

The flames had leapt from the comforter to his shirt and the skin lying under the fabric, burning away both without any mercy. He had been burnt alive, roasted like a rotisserie pig, sacrificed for consumption, for the delight of others.

Not knowing what else to do, he had screamed. Thrown his head back and screamed. Screamed for Gabriel, for Balthazar, for Michael, for his father.

He screamed until he was hoarse with it. Until his lungs burned like his skin did. Until he nearly passed out in the fiery ruins of his bedroom, his only sanctuary.

It was Gabriel who came to his rescue, fire extinguisher in hand. Like some kind of Shakespearean, Arthurian hero he had slain the fire breathing dragon with his monoammonium phosphate spewing sword.

But the agony had only begun.

The car ride to the hospital had jostled his fresh injuries as he sobbed into his brother's shoulder, clutching the fabric of Balthazar's shirt in his little fist. Every pothole in the road, every abrupt stop when cars in front of them failed to use their turn signals, every moment they sped down the highway was pure torture.

Luckily, he hadn't had to suffer through a long stay in the waiting room, the only mercy he had received that day. He had been taken directly to the burn unit of Saint Jude's Emergency Hospital where he was subjected to even more pain.

Despite the painkillers they had pumped him full of, he had felt every second of the debridement process as doctors cut away the non-viable skin surrounding the burns. Face buried in his arms, he had cried and wailed and begged for relief from the pain.

They concluded that twenty percent of his body had been burned but they had opted not to perform any skin grafts. They claimed that the burns would just have to heal on their own and with them, Castiel himself.

They had assured him that because some of his nerve endings were dead, he would feel less pain.

He hadn’t believed them.

He was kept at the hospital for three weeks before he was allowed to return home, an IV supplying him with the necessary fluids and electrolytes. Every few hours, a nurse would come in to change his bandages and apply an antibiotic ointment, Castiel wincing in pain.

Only a few of his numerous siblings visited him. Gabriel and Balthazar were his most frequent visitors, smuggling in his favorite candy and telling him jokes that he only half understand yet made him laugh. Hannah visited once or twice, bringing him bouquets of sunflowers and other brightly colored flowers.

He tried to convince himself that his other siblings were too busy to visit him. That Michael was working an important case. That Raphael was developing a cure for some disease that would save millions of lives.

But he had never been a very good liar.

His father had never visited. He had never even called. He was too busy writing the next book in his series. Apparently, Castiel's misfortune had inspired a new character: Claude Maloret.

After his lonely three weeks in the hospital with too rough nurses and food so bland he couldn't taste it enough to really dislike it, Gabriel had driven him back home. Back to the scene of the crime. Back to the burned out husk of what was once his bedroom, the room no longer uninhabitable.

At least not to him.

Michael had cleared out all of the scorched carpet and the burnt remains of most of Castiel's belongings, had scrubbed the ash stains off the walls. He had shoved an air mattress into his room along with a few lumpy pillows and threadbare blankets and declared it ready for Castiel to return to.

But Castiel had been petrified of the mere thought of setting foot in that room. He had cried and begged Gabriel to let him sleep in his room, even if it was just on the floor.

Gabriel, god bless his soul, had readily invited him to share his room, moving the air mattress into his own bedroom. For the next three years, he had bounced between sharing a room with Gabriel and Balthazar, other times sleeping on the couch in the living room.

Then, as he neared his twelfth birthday, he had been forced to return to his bedroom that had laid vacant for years. It was Michael's orders.

It had sparked an argument of epic proportions between Michael and Gabriel. Michael had insisted that enough time had passed, claiming that they weren't paying so much money to live in such a big house with so many rooms for Castiel to not use his room. Gabriel had defended Castiel, pointing out that he was still traumatized by the fact that he had almost been killed in that room.

Unfortunately, in their house Michael's word was law and no matter how vehemently Gabriel argued, he lost the argument and Castiel was moved back into his bedroom.

Every night, he had laid in his new bed, tucked into his new sheets, in his old room where he had almost been burned to death. No matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, he saw the flames. No matter how soft and cool his sheets were, he felt the heat. No matter how many times they repainted, the room still smelled of smoke and burnt flesh.

Nathaniel had never been punished. Apart from Balthazar threatening him if he ever came close to Castiel again and Gabriel smacking him upside the head.

Michael, and Raphael, had never punished him. Had never reprimanded him. Had never even confronted him.

He was more willing to accept that it was a case of spontaneous combustion than admit that he was a bad, negligent older brother. Denial seemed to run in their family.

But Castiel had been punished. He had been punished with his suffering.

He had been punished for taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon when he knew that it meant he wouldn't be able to sleep later. He had been punished for being such a deep sleeper, his siblings always joking that he could sleep through the apocalypse.

He had been punished for not immediately smelling the smoke. For not reminding his older brothers to check the batteries in the smoke detectors. For the fact that Nathaniel had been snooping in Gabriel's bedroom and found the matches.

And he had been left with a gruesome souvenir of all that he had done wrong, of the horrible events of that day: large swathes of burn scars on his back, pale and ugly and slightly contractured.

As he had gotten older, the scars had paled, less red and angry looking as they had been in the beginning. But they never became any less ugly. His siblings and the other kids at school made sure that he knew that.

In junior high and high school, gym class had become the bane of his existence for the sole fact that it meant he had to change in front of the other boys. As if it wasn't bad enough that he often got pushed around because of his big glasses and his awkwardness and the overly formal manner in which he spoke, bigger, stronger kids suddenly had a new reason to pick on him.

They called him awful names that he tried to forget. Shoved him to the ground when they played football or soccer. Threw his clean clothes into the showers so he was stuck in his gym shorts in the middle of the winter.

Once he had been duct taped to a bench in the locker room and left there for hours, none of the gym teachers hearing his cries for help. When his brothers had found out, Balthazar had kicked the kid who did it's ass while Gabriel had raised hell with the principal.

Fortunately, he hadn't been in high school very long. He graduated early and the day before he turned sixteen he was accepted into Columbia on a full scholarship.

With a beacon of hope beckoning to him eastward, he bought a one-way plane ticket with some money Gabriel gave him and fled to New York City. He fled the only home he had ever known, his scores of siblings, and the room that smelled like smoke.

Four years later, he graduated top of his class, summa cum laude, valedictorian with an impeccable GPA. He had even been asked to give a speech at the graduation ceremony, which he had stumbled his way through, falling back on his awkwardness when humor failed.

Gabriel and Balthazar had been the only ones out of all his siblings to bother attending his graduation. They had thoroughly embarrassed him by cheering raucously when his name had been announced and he had accepted his diploma.

He stayed in New York for a couple years, working in a bakery down the block from his tiny apartment and starting his first novel. After those two years, when he found himself lost and lonely in the big city where he was almost painfully anonymous, he decided to take his brothers up on their invitation to move to Lawrence, Kansas where they had both relocated shortly after Castiel had moved out.

Years later, things seemed to be going rather perfectly for him.

He had a decent sized apartment in a residential part of town with all of the amenities he could have ever wished for including a dishwasher, washer and dryer, and central air. Plus, he had a lovely view of the Lawrence skyline, getting to watch the sunrise every morning.

He had already written and published twelve full-length novels, three of which had actually made it onto the bestsellers list. A few bookstores in the area had actually contacted him to inquire about him possibly doing book signings.

He and his brothers had a standing bi-weekly get together where they would either have dinner out at some swanky restaurant Balthazar picked out or play drunk Scrabble at Gabriel's. It was the most normal sibling experience any of them ever had.

His life in Lawrence, for that matter, was the most normal part. He had done some casual dating, casual because the relationships had only lasted a few months but it was dating nonetheless. He had even adopted a cat, a silver tabby Maine Coon he had named Seraph.

Yet at thirty two, over two decades having passed since the incident with the matches, he still suffered from a debilitating fear of fire. And the anxiety, that ever-present dread that another fire was looming just over the horizon, had taken over his life.

It had affected him when he had gone apartment hunting after moving to Lawrence, crashing on Balthazar's couch for a few weeks. He had made a checklist of requirements for an apartment that included hardwood floors instead of carpeting and an electric stove rather than a gas one. Plus, it had to be directly adjacent to the stairwell if it wasn't on the ground floor.

After a few weeks of searching for the perfect place, he finally found it at the Cedarwood Apartments building. A two bedroom, one bathroom apartment had just gone on the market for only six hundred dollars a month.

It had been perfect, with dark hardwood floors and a stainless steel electric stove, nestled right beside the stairwell. He had moved in a few days after finding it, putting down some money as a down payment.

But while the apartment itself was perfect, he still obsessed over fire and the prevention of it.

He checked the batteries in his various smoke detectors every month even when he knew that they were still full of juice, just to ensure that they were still working. He kept fire extinguishers in every room of the apartment, even the bathroom where he kept the extinguisher on the back of the door.

He held his breath every time he pumped his own gas, his palm clammy around the handle of the pump as he toyed with the idea of upgrading to an electric car. But he loved his old Continental too much.

He winced anytime he saw someone smoking, the dark embers making his heart race. He jolted as though he had been smacked whenever he heard the hiss of a lighter or the sound of a match being struck.

He couldn't bear to be around candles, even when they were unlit and undeniably harmless. Just looking at them flooded his mind with visions of what could go wrong.

He couldn't even listen to songs that had the word 'fire' or anything similar in them. And he had never written a single sentence that had anything to do with heat or fire.

Once a week, he cleaned his apartment, meticulously checking for fire hazards, constantly consulting the Kansas Building Fire Safety Handbook. He unplugged all of his appliances and electronics when they weren't in use and obsessively cleaned the lint trap in his dryer.

He did everything within his power to avoid even the most minor cooking fire so when he woke up in the middle of the night to the shrill blare of his smoke detectors and the taste of ash on his tongue, something in him snapped.

He bolted upright, jumping out of bed and onto his feet, the hardwood floor cool against the soles of his feet. Trying to fight back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, he yanked the fire extinguisher off the wall by his bed.

He fumbled with it, pulling the pin and crossing his bedroom to the doorway, seeing the warm glow of flames emanating from the hallway. He was dangerously close to freezing at the sight of flames creeping closer down the hallway, covering the stark white walls and turning them black.

Close to being completely paralyzed with fear, he aimed the nozzle at the approaching flames and tried to summon up visions of King Arthur or MacDuff. Then, he squeezed the handle, waiting for the monoammonium phosphate to save the day again.

But nothing happened. Nothing.

He tried again but still, nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

"No," he whimpered, trying again. It didn't work. Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

He dropped the fire extinguisher by his feet as he reeled backwards. His breath came in rough pants as he buried his hands in his hair. "No, no, no, no, no."

His mind raced. If the flames were already encroaching on his bedroom that meant the rest of his apartment must already be ablaze. He couldn't get to another fire extinguisher.

He was on the third floor so an escape through the bedroom window wasn't a viable option. There was no fire escape which should have been on his list of requirements for an apartment.

He charged his phone overnight in the living room so he wouldn't be tempted to go on a Wikipedia binge at two a.m. So he couldn't call anyone, not his brothers or the fire department.

He could hear the sirens of a fire engine over the cacophony of the smoke detectors, blue and red lights flashing on the glass of his bedroom window. But the small shred of hope that fact gave him was quickly burnt away as panic settled in, realization along with it.

He was trapped in his deathtrap of an apartment with no way out, no recourse, no hope. The fire was quickly making its way into his bedroom, the heat making him break out in a terrified sweat.

No one would know that he was in his apartment. Not until they found his remains, charred and blackened like a hunk of overcooked meat.

He wondered if anyone would mourn him. Gabriel and Balthazar would but what about their other siblings? Michael? Anna? Uriel? Inias?

What about their estranged aunts and uncles? Zachariah, with his huge company? Joshua, with his sprawling greenhouse? Naomi, with her own enterprise? Amara, with her string of lovers half her age?

What about their father? Would he mourn the loss of his youngest? Would he cry? Visit his grave? Would he even care?

A nasty little voice in the back of his mind growled out the answer that he already knew. No. No. No! No! No!

Resignation took root in his bone marrow, weighing him down until he was doing the only thing he could think of. He pulled his cat into his arms, curled up on the foot of his bed, and started to cry.

When he was younger, his older siblings used to call him cry baby because of how easily tears had come to him, whether he was happy or sad. He spent much of his adult life fighting the habit but now he accepted it wholeheartedly.

As tears rolled down his cheeks, he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight of the orange flames creeping closer and closer and closer. His breath grew faster and more ragged with each passing second, well aware that the life he had built for himself in Kansas was being burned away to nothingness.

He clutched Seraph tight to his chest, stroking a shaky hand down her spine. The weight of her in his arms, mewling miserably in palpable fear, anchored him.

The only mercy that he would be given this time was that he wouldn't be alone. That he wouldn't die alone.

He hoped his brothers would let her be buried with whatever would be left of him. She deserved a headstone of her own.

More tears wetting his cheeks, he prayed. Harder than he ever had before. Harder than the first time he had been engulfed in a hellish inferno.

He prayed for a miracle. For divine intervention. For his father whom he still loved for no other reason than obligation and the longing of a boy who had never even met his father.

He prayed for his brothers to come save him again. For Gabriel to burst in like some sort of white knight and save the day again.

He prayed for God. For an angel.

But his prayers fell on deaf ears and he was left to die of either smoke inhalation or the flames themselves. Either way, there would be pain and he didn’t know whether he should dread it or eagerly await it.

Just as resigned acceptance began to sink in, something made him open his eyes and look up. Through his tears, he saw an angel standing above him.

In the bulky jumpsuit and helmet, a breathing mask obscuring their face, the conflagration in the doorway formed a halo of light around them.

There was a buzzing sound in Castiel's ears, like a hive of bees flitting around with a numbing drone. Spots danced behind his eyelids as his throat tightened, smoke filling his lungs as his tears continued to fall.

As he sight began to blur, tears and smoke threatening to blot out everything else, the ringing in his ears subsided enough for him to make out what the firefighter standing in front of him was saying. "Here, take my hand. Everything's fine, just hold onto me and keep moving. Okay?"

Sniffling, Castiel nodded frantically. Tightening his grip on Seraph, who dug her claws into Castiel's t-shirt, he took the firefighter's proffered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.

The faceless firefighter squeezed his hand reassuringly, the leather of his gloves smooth and cool against his palm. Voice low and urgent, the firefighter instructed, "Stay close to me. I'm gonna get you outta here."

Castiel nodded again, squeezing the firefighter's hand and shifting closer. He took a deep, steeling breath as he was led towards the doorway where the fire was spreading into his bedroom the way it had all those years ago.

He half expected to see Nathaniel sitting cross legged in the hall among the flames, an empty book of matches in his hand. Of course, Nathaniel wasn't there. He was back in Illinois with his wife and kids and his perfect white picket fence life while Castiel faced the fear that had overrun his life because of his older brother.

His breath came faster as saw the bright, flickering flames that were engulfing his apartment. The hallway was rather short so from the doorway of his bedroom he could see the rest of his apartment and the huge fire that was destroying it.

The sight of his living room, full of towering flames that dwarfed him and devoured all of his earthly belongings, choked him up. His apartment, his home, was the only place where he could relax and write and forget about the rest of the world if only for a few hours. It was the only place where he felt completely safe.

And it was all going up in smoke. Again. The most morbid deja-vu in his life.

The couch, an old battered sofa where he ate his dinners and listened to music to unwind, was little more than a pile of flames, the stench of burning upholstery filling the room. The desk in the corner where he wrote all of his novels and short stories was aflame, the dark wood home to bright flames.

But the worst thing, the sight of which nearly made him curl into a ball and give up trying to make it out alive, was his bookshelf. On its shelves was every book he had ever written, every short story, every collection of poetry.

It held all of his life's work. And it was completely enveloped by the blaze.

With a choked sob, he pressed his face against the firefighter's arm, clenching his eyes shut to shield himself from the devastating sight. He was overwhelmed, he was terrified, he was lost.

He heard the firefighter beside him curse, the sound of the expletive making him tense and tighten his grip on the firefighter's hand. Why was the firefighter cursing? Was the floor about to fall away? Was the fire too big, too hot? Were they going to die?

Before he could utter a single question aloud, he was suddenly being hoisted up into the firefighter's arms. He let out a squeak of surprise as he was cradled bridal style, curling his arms more securely around Seraph who let out a shocked mewl of her own.

The next several minutes passed in a blur of panicked fear and searing flames that licked at the exposed soles of his feet as he was carried through the burning ruins his apartment. With quick, precise steps, the firefighter toted him out of his apartment and into a tunnel of heat and fire that was once the hallway.

Castiel was rushed down the stairwell that was mercifully free of any trace of fire. He started coughing as they made their way down the flights of stairs, having the presence of mind to politely turn his head away so he didn't cough on the man who was carrying him to safety.

He was pretty sure he heard a host of angels sing when they burst out of the apartment building, away from the nightmare that had unfolded on the third floor. Out of the inferno and into the cool night air of the parking lot where a crowd of people was gathered. Castiel assumed they were other residents.

Three fire engines were parked as close as possible to the building, their lights flashing as clusters of firefighters aimed hoses at the fire. Castiel found himself sighing in relief when he saw that the fire was only on the third floor, his sigh triggering another fit of coughing.

An ambulance was parked by the large crowd of people in the center of the parking lot, its back doors open as the paramedics talked to a few people in the throng. The firefighter made a beeline to the ambulance, setting Castiel down on the stainless steel footboard at the back of the ambulance.

He desperately clutched at the firefighter's sleeve, nodding his head at the building as he blurted, "You have to go help them! Other people, trapped inside! Need to save them!"

"Whoa, easy there, buddy," the firefighter's voice soothed, a bit muffled by his oxygen mask. He laid a gloved hand on Castiel's shoulder, squeezing gently as he explained, "You were the only one stuck inside. Everyone else is accounted for, I promise."

Castiel let out a sigh then promptly coughed throatily, feeling like he was going to hock up a lung, turning his head to cough into his elbow. The cool night air helped but he knew that he was suffering from smoke inhalation, same as the day of the first fire.

"Yo, Benny! Need some oxygen over here!" The firefighter's gruff voice called, making Castiel jump and jerk his head up. By his side, the firefighter who had rescued him was removing his helmet while waving another firefighter over.

He had already taken off his oxygen mask, revealing a gorgeous face that would have been better suited for a model than a firefighter. His jaw was sharp and well-defined, dusted with just a tiny hint of stubble.

His cheeks, and the bridge of his straight nose for that matter, were scattered with freckles, constellations spread across his skin. His eyes were such a brilliant shade of green that Castiel was momentarily taken aback, wondering how exactly someone could possibly have eyes that green.

The firefighter, who was thus far nameless, set his helmet down beside Castiel's hip and pushed back his black hood to show off his slightly tousled hair. He had an Ivy League haircut but Castiel couldn't tell if his hair was dark blonde or brown.

Castiel was distracted from how beautiful his savior was when another firefighter appeared in front of him with two oxygen tanks. He was a large, broad shouldered man who was a bit intimidating, Castiel nervously leaning closer to the firefighter who had carried him out of the building.

But the bright smile the other man sent him vanquished any apprehension he might have had. He handed the green eyed firefighter one of the oxygen tanks and the attached masks before reaching over to take Seraph out of Castiel's arms, assuring him, "Just gonna give this little lady some oxygen. Make sure she's doin' alright."

Castiel reluctantly loosened his grip enough for the other firefighter to scoop up Seraph. He watched as Seraph was carried over to a nearby stretcher where the firefighter, apparently named Benny, held the oxygen mask up to her sooty muzzle.

"Your turn, dude."

Castiel turned his head, tearing his eyes away from Seraph, to look up at the sandy haired firefighter who was holding out an oxygen mask. Castiel nodded and gratefully accepted the mask, holding it up to his mouth and taking in a deep breath.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the light breeze that chilled the night air and dried the tears on his cheeks. He evened out his breath, trying to remember as many breathing exercises as he could from his Saturday morning yoga class.

"I'm Dean, by the way," a voice that was quickly becoming familiar announced. When he opened his eyes the gorgeous firefighter was beaming at him, the corners of his bright green eyes crinkling. He held out his hand to Castiel who noticed that he had taken off his gloves. "Dean Winchester."

"Castiel," he returned, reaching over shake Dean's hand. "Castiel Novak."

"So, Cas, I kinda doubt they're gonna be letting people back in tonight," Dean claimed with a wince, gesturing to the apartment where the fire was still raging. His eyes sliding back to Castiel, he tipped his head to the side and asked, "So, uh, do you need to call anyone?"

"Oh," he mumbled, his hand going to where his pocket would have been if he wasn't wearing a pair of sweatpants. His brows drew together as he quietly stated the obvious, "I don't have my phone."

It was then that the numb shock ebbed away and realization of the gravity of the situation finally sunk in, for a second time that evening. Biting his lips as his eyes filled with more tears, he softly sobbed, "I don't have anything. Oh, god. I don't have anything. Everything I had... Everything I've worked for... It's just...gone."

Like a dam bursting, he felt a deluge of tears cascading down his cheeks as he whimpered. He raised his other hand, burying his face in it as he lifted his legs, curling in on himself.

The past sixteen years of his life spent running away from that horrible day, from the dark embers of his past, had ended up culminating in ash and ruin. All the work he had put into building a new life for himself in the town where no one knew him as the weird little burned kid was all for naught.

All of the sleepless nights he had spent hunched over his computer, painstakingly typing out every word of every piece of work he had ever written hadn't meant anything. Every precaution he had made to protect himself from another tragedy had been meaningless.

He couldn't even live out of his car for awhile since he didn't have his car keys.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," Dean assured him, taking a seat beside Castiel on the footboard and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He gently tugged Castiel closer, shushing him as he curled his other arm around Castiel's waist. "It's gonna be okay, man."

Castiel tilted his head to the side to hide his face in Dean's chest, too miserable and overwhelmed to be embarrassment by how forward and desperate he was being. He held the oxygen mask to his face as he sniffled, forcing himself to keep his breathing even despite the whirlwind of emotion he was experiencing.

Curiosity that could only be described as morbid goaded him into asking his next question. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his free hand as he inquired, "What caused the fire?"

"Uh, apparently your neighbor fell asleep with a cigarette," Dean explained, giving Castiel's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Set off a whole book of matches."

Castiel couldn't help the watery, bordering on hysterical laugh that bubbled up out of his throat at Dean's words. Of course, it was a book of matches that started the fire.

Mopping at his cheeks, he straightened up with a sniffle, shaking his head at himself. Dean offered him a wide smile, squeezing his shoulder again as he offered, "How 'bout I go grab my phone? You can call whoever you need to."

He nodded, returning Dean's smile with a small one of his own. He waited patiently as Dean dropped his arms from where they were curled around Castiel before standing and jogging over to one of the fire engines.

While waiting, Castiel glanced over at the stretcher where the other firefighter, Benny, was gently stroking his hand down Seraph's back. The Maine Coon seemed perfectly content, lying down on her stomach with her front paws stretched out in front of her.

Dean returned a few minutes later, cell phone in hand and a light flush on his high cheekbones. Plopping back down beside Castiel, he unlocked his phone and pulled up the dial pad to place a call, explaining, "You can just tell me the number. Might be a little hard to understand you through the mask so I'll put it on speaker. That okay?"

Castiel just nodded and rattled off Gabriel's number, infinitely glad that he had memorized it. The phone rang a couple times before Gabriel finally picked up, greeting, "Yo."

It was Dean who spoke first, to Castiel's surprise. Clearing his throat, Dean began, "This is Dean Winchester, I'm with the—"

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," Gabriel asserted, cutting Dean off. Castiel could perfectly envision his brother's eye roll. "So, buh-bye—"

"Gabriel, it's me," Castiel interjected, raising his voice enough so that it wasn't muffled by the oxygen mask.

"Cassie?" Gabriel asked, using the nickname he had saddled Castiel with decades ago. Then, he whistled, following it up with a low chuckle as he teased, "Ooh, did you hook up with someone? Now I'm all jealous."

While Castiel would have liked to have been amused by his older brother's ribbing, he found himself extremely nervous. He chewed his lip before he sighed and blurted, "Gabriel. Dean's a firefighter.There... There was a fire."

"What?!" Gabriel practically screeched over the line, Dean wincing at the loud, stringent squawk. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Again?! Jesus Christ! Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Dean raised a brow at the word 'again', but Castiel ignored it in favor of answering his brother's series of rapid fire questions. "No, I'm not kidding. Yes, again. I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital. But I—"

He was cut off by a hiccuping sob, overwhelmed again by the bleak reality of his situation. His eyes stung but he doubted that he could actually produce any more tears.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to compose himself. With a shaky sigh, he forced himself to continue, "But, Gabriel, everything's gone. Everything. Even my laptop. How am I gonna meet my deadline if my whole novel's gone? I don't have my wallet or my car keys or any of my papers. It's all just gone."

Dean curled a comforting arm around his waist, running his hand up and down Castiel's side. He leaned into the soothing touch, eternally grateful for both the firefighter's presence and his patience.

"Alright, here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna come pick you up, you can stay with me for as long as you need to," Gabriel announced. "We're gonna call your publisher and get a copy of your rough draft. I have a spare for the Continental, we'll pick it up tomorrow. And I'll make some calls, get you a new social security, new birth certificate, whatever you need."

Castiel sniffed and nodded even though he knew that Gabriel couldn't see him. His brother's voice sounded again as he claimed, "I'll be there in a few minutes. Oh, and Castiel?"

"Yeah?" He answered, rubbing a few tears out of his eyes.

"You're alive," Gabriel said simply. "Just remember that, okay? You're alive."

Castiel let out a breathy huff of incredulous laughter as his brother's words sank in. He was alive. Against all odds, in spite of two separate fire that quite possibly could have killed him, he was alive.

A wave of disbelieving relief crashed over him as Gabriel hung up. He wanted to sing and dance and run naked through the streets he was so elated. He felt at least thirty pounds lighter, like he could walk on air, like any minute he was going to sprout wings and take to the cool night sky.

He was alive! And he was giddy with it. So overcome with giddiness that the next thing he knew, he was pulling off his oxygen mask and wrapping his arms around Dean's neck to lay an overjoyed, life-affirming kiss on his plush pink lips.

It was a quick, chaste kiss, little more than a peck really. It only lasted a few blissful moments before Castiel pulled back and gushed, "Thank you, Dean. You saved my life. And Seraph's!"

He set down his oxygen mask and hopped off the ambulance's footboard to greet Benny as he carried Seraph over. Her thunderous purr was audible even at a distance, her yellow eyes narrowed as Benny scratched under her chin.

Buzzing with adrenaline, Castiel bounced on the balls of his feet as Benny handed him Seraph who immediately nuzzled under Castiel's chin. When Castiel raised his head to ask Benny if she was going to be alright, he found the burly firefighter laughing heartily, a huge grin on his face.

"Oh, she'll be fine, brother. Just needs a bath," Benny informed him between laughs. With a wide smirk, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and tacked on, "Looks like she's not the only one who needs to take a cold shower."

Castiel hummed in confirmation as he looked at the blotches of soot on Seraph's silver coat, sure that he himself was probably covered in the black powdery. He wrinkled his nose when he thought about the fact that he would probably be clawed to hell when he gave Seraph her bath, but it was a small price to pay for being alive. "Yes, I suppose I'm a mess as well."

For some reason that sent Benny into a fit of renewed laughter, the firefighter throwing his head back and practically howling. Dean, whose face was suddenly flushed with color, elbowed the other man in the ribs and grumbled, "Shut up, Benny."

Castiel ignored the hushed bickering that ensued between the two firefighters, cuddling Seraph close and peppering kisses over the top of her head. He still couldn't believe they had made it out alive, that the flames hadn't devoured them both.

The elated feeling that had taken root in his chest only seemed to intensify when a pair of headlights cut through the dark of the night and a car pulled up beside the ambulance. Castiel immediately recognized it as Balthazar's sleek silver Porsche, his older brother a fan of the finer things in life whether it be vintage wines or exorbitantly priced sports cars.

The mere sight of the silver paint job made him smile, reminding him that he was still alive to be annoyed by his brother's over-indulgence. That he was still alive to spend the holidays with his brothers and put up with their constant teasing about everything and anything and help settle the prank wars that Gabriel started at least once every few months.

Gabriel burst out of the car and rushed over to Castiel, Balthazar hot on his heels. Before he could say a word, he was being swept up into Gabriel's arms despite the fact that his older brother was four inches shorter than him.

Gabriel actually spun him around a few times, squeezing him so tightly that it almost hurt, Seraph meowing loudly from where she was sandwiched between them. By the time Gabriel set him down, Castiel was a bit, laughing a bit hysterically as his brother leaned up to scatter kisses over his cheeks.

Balthazar hugged him next, letting him keep his feet on the ground as he pressed a single kiss to Castiel's temple. He slipped an arm around Castiel's shoulders, tugging him close with a grin.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Gabriel demanded as he started fussing over Castiel, fiddling with the collar of his t-shirt. He licked the pad of his thumb before rubbing at a spot of soot on Castiel's cheek.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel swatted his brother's hand away. "I'm fine, Gabriel. A little shaken up and more afraid of fire than I was before but I'm fine."

"Is that even possible?" Balthazar inquired with a raised brow. "The being even more afraid of fire part, I mean."

"Well, I'm definitely not more of a fan," Castiel returned with a small smile, shifting to hold Seraph more comfortably. She was growing a bit restless.

Castiel looked back over at Gabriel who was clearly tense, his worry palpable. Voice soft, he assured his older brother, "Gabriel, I'm fine. I promise."

Letting out a long exhale through his nose, Gabriel nodded, mustering up a tiny grin of his own. Nodding his head towards the Porsche, he suggested, "Let's get you back to my place and tucked into bed."

"Just give me a second," Castiel requested, handing Seraph to Balthazar who scratched her behind her right ear until she purred contentedly. "I need to thank Dean."

He ignored the equal parts amused and critical raise of Gabriel's brow in favor of turning back to Dean and Benny. On pure impulse, he looped his arms around Dean's shoulders and hugged him again, murmuring, "Thank you for saving me."

He hugged Benny next, the big burly man returning the embrace with a low chuckle. As Castiel pulled back, he thanked the firefighter, "Thank you, too."

With a final wave to the two firefighters and a glance up at the charred tensions of the third floor, he hurried over to his brothers' side, Gabriel wrapping an arm around him. It wasn't until he was seated in the passenger seat of the Porsche, Balthazar climbing into the backseat with Seraph in his arms, that he abruptly realized he had kissed Dean in his euphoric daze.

As they drove off, Castiel's face flushed hotter than the fire he had been rescued from.

The days following the fire were full of adjustments, of changes to his carefully mapped out routine that left him anxious and itchy.

Gabriel's apartment was on the other side of town, swanky and ostentatious where Castiel's had been cozy and warm. It was a stark contrast, Gabriel's apartment more suited to the life of an eligible bachelor while Castiel's had been perfect for an asocial writer.

Gabriel lived in the penthouse apartment of some luxurious building that catered specifically to the rich and occasionally famous. His many awards for adult entertainment films and the fat paycheck that went with them were enough to qualify Gabriel as both.

Floor to ceiling windows in the living room allowed a fantastic view of the Lawrence skyline, allowing for a semblance of familiarity for Castiel who was extremely glad that he didn't have a fear of heights. At night, the lights from downtown illuminated the room like twinkling Christmas lights.

The kitchen was fit for a professional chef, completely wasted on Gabriel who had the wondrous ability to burn water anytime he tried to cook. Stainless steel appliances and all sorts of other amenities, including a gorgeous electric stove, glistened in the kitchen, practically untouched.

Castiel had taken to cooking for his brother in return for Gabriel letting him stay there. He knew that it wasn't necessary but going through the motions of making French toast or chili helped him feel more like a guest and less like a freeloader.

He had been given Gabriel's guest room which had only been used once or twice before, usually after one of his wild parties ended up with people too inebriated to drive home. It was comfortable enough, the bed firmer than Castiel would have preferred but there were no fire hazards in the room so he couldn't find any cause for complaint.

The day after the fire, Castiel discovered it had made the morning news on several different local stations, residents and rubberneckers alike interviewed by reporters. The news anchors reported on the cause of the fire, Castiel's next door neighbor garnering the ire of the entire apartment building.

Luckily, no one had been injured apart from a few cases of smoke inhalation that hadn't required any more treatment beyond some oxygen. And, as a too-cheery blonde news anchor announced, only one person had been trapped inside the building: none other than Castiel himself.

He had been shocked when a grainy video had appeared on the wide screen of Gabriel's insanely huge television, showing Dean carrying Castiel out of the building. After they had run the short, fifteen second video a few times, the anchor had moved on to talk about Castiel's career, listing off a couple titles of his as a copy of the picture he used on the dust jackets of his books popped up in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

After a miserable attempt at humor from the other anchor who made a comment about the fire potentially igniting some new ideas for a novel, they had moved on to a different story. Beside him on the plush white sofa, Gabriel had nearly spit out his coffee.

"Those fucking bastards," Gabriel had hissed under his breath with all of the righteous indignation of both an overprotective brother and a publicist who hadn't been made aware that his client was going to be given some sort of publicity. Stalking away, he had gotten on his cell phone and started making calls, the hushed growl of his voice echoing through the apartment.

While Gabriel raised hell with the news stations, screeching about invasions of privacy and the legality of the video itself, Castiel decided to call his editor slash publisher.

Fergus 'Crowley' MacLeod was an old associate of Gabriel's, a former publisher of their father's who quit after getting tired of the quote 'mindless drivel' he wrote under his pseudonym, Carver Edlund. He had a reputation for being ruthless, a harsh editor who didn't mince words and wasn't afraid of being brutally honest with his authors.

Fortunately, Crowley agreed to mail him a copy of the chapters he had already finished after Castiel explained the fact that there had been a fire. Crowley may have been nicknamed the 'King of Hell' by those in the publishing profession but he wasn't completely heartless.

The day after that, he begrudgingly returned to the apartment building to pick up his Continental while Gabriel and Balthazar braved the ruins of his apartment to see what they could salvage. They only managed to recover a few things — his wallet, his car keys, his important paperwork, and a bag of clothes — but it was enough to make him feel less destitute.

He had already started looking for a new place to live, this time contemplating investing in a house rather than an apartment. He liked the idea of having a real home, with a backyard and a front porch, maybe even a beehive of his own.

And he had to admit he found it rather attractive that living on his own would make it less likely for him to suffer through a fire caused by someone else.

The only thing left for him to worry about was finishing his next novel. And making it up to Dean for that thoughtless kiss.

Over the past few days, he had been wracked with guilt. He had practically assaulted the firefighter for god's sake!

The incessant teasing from both of his brothers after he had confessed that in his frenzied euphoria he had kissed the man who had saved him didn't help. In true older brother fashion, they constantly teasing him about having the hots for the firefighter, asking him if he used tongue, if Dean had returned the kiss.

Castiel felt like an idiot. Yes, Dean was a gorgeous man and yes, he was definitely attracted to him but he had never been that forward before in his entire life.

His approach to flirting had always been practically nonexistent. Even when drunk and uninhibited, he was shy and somewhat awkward at best and embarrassingly awkward and nearly mute at worst.

How he had ever lost his virginity still baffled his brothers and sometimes even himself.

In total, he had only had three relationships, apart from a few one night stands, and all three had been initiated by the other person. He had a tendency to be attracted to bolder, more assertive people.

In college, he had dated a woman named Daphne. She had been smart and pretty, president of the student government with an impressive GPA of her own.

He had met her in his English Literature class junior year when they had been grouped together for a project. She had flirted with him for weeks before he had finally realized that her odd comments and compliments were flirtations.

They had dated throughout the rest of his junior year and midway through senior year when they'd had an amicable breakup. She had been Castiel's first in many ways: his first kiss, his first date, his first girlfriend, his first time.

She had contacted him a few years back, just to see how he was doing after recognizing his face on the back of one of his books. They had talked for a little bit over an hour, about what they had done after college and their families.

Daphne had gotten married to a nice, religious man named Emmanuel and had two children with another on the way. She had sounded perfectly content as she claimed that they would have to talk again sometime.

During Castiel's last year in New York, he had met a woman named Meg. She had blatantly flirted with him, her eyes running down his body salaciously as she bit her blood red lip.

Their relationship had taken on a distinctively different theme than the one he'd had with Daphne. He and Meg's relationship had been based purely on sex and little more.

They would meet up a few times a week for dinner at Castiel's apartment, followed by sex. He had been too naive to realize that Meg was essentially using him for sex and free food.

They broke up shortly after Castiel decided to move out of the city, Meg simply shrugging. Apparently, as she explained it to him, she had never seen him as anything more than a friend with benefits.

Her words had stung but Castiel hadn't been too broken up about it. After all, Meg had been right. It wasn't as though they had been in love.

A few years after moving to Lawrence, he had met a charming man named Mick at the local bookstore. Mick had struck up a conversation with Castiel in the mystery section, enchanting Castiel with his handsome smirk and Irish brogue.

When Mick had invited him out for drinks later that evening, Castiel had been helpless to refuse. They had spent the night getting to know each other over cocktails, Mick's hand warm on Castiel's knee.

They had taken things slow, Mick extremely supportive after Castiel explained what had happened between him and Meg, sharing only chaste goodnight kisses at the door until after they had been dating for a month.

Castiel had been deliriously happy, Mick a perfect gentleman and an even more perfect boyfriend. He had even invited Mick to dinner with Gabriel and Balthazar so his boyfriend could meet his brothers.

After interrogating him over glasses of expensive champagne, both Gabriel and Balthazar had given Mick their seal of brotherly approval. Castiel had been extremely grateful for that, beaming at Mick after Gabriel sent him a discreet nod.

They had dated for over a year and a half before Mick had sat Castiel down and explained that he had been given a promotion and would have to move back to England. As much as it had hurt Castiel, who was pretty sure that he was following in love with Mick, he hadn't wanted to hold him back, giving Mick his blessing and one last kiss goodbye.

He hadn't been involved with anyone since aside from a few one night stands and even then, he had never been the one to initiate anything. So, his bold, impulsive decision to kiss Dean out of the blue surprised no one more than himself.

He knew that he had only kissed Dean because he had been so overwhelmed with relief that he was alive but he also knew that was no excuse. And he had to make up to Dean somehow.

Which is how he found himself pulling into the Lawrence Fire Department's in his Continental, two trays of cupcakes and a pie in the passenger seat.

He had woken up earlier than usual, itching with the need to make himself useful in some way. After a quick shower, he had wandered into the kitchen to make breakfast.

A towering stack of chocolate chip pancakes and a fed older brother later, Castiel still had the urge to cook. With Gabriel's enthusiastic permission, Castiel had started a batch of vanilla cupcakes.

As he was whipping up some honey buttercream frosting, he realized that he could bring some cupcakes down to the fire station to thank Dean. It was foolproof. Who didn't like receiving baked goods?

Of course, Castiel had then over-thought things and decided to make a second batch of cupcakes, chocolate with a hint of chili. He figured the firefighters would appreciate the joke.

Then, because Castiel almost always got carried away when he baked, he ended up making one of his famous caramel apple pies. Pie was never unwelcome, right?

Before he could lose his nerve, he had packed up all of the food he had made and carried it down to his car, for once opting to take the elevator rather than the stairs. Carrying three trays of baked goods down twenty flights of stairs was not all that appealing to him.

In the ten minutes it took him to drive to the fire station, doubt settled firmly within him. As he put his car into park, he found himself muttering, "What am I doing? This was stupid. I should just send a card or something."

He dropped his forehead down onto the steering wheel and let out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut. But he had made it that far and he would hate to waste perfectly good cupcakes.

Trying to muster up some confidence, Castiel climbed out of his car, rounding the nose of the Lincoln to grab the trays of cupcakes, leaving the pie on the passenger seat. He took a deep, steeling breath before making his way to the front door of the station.

There was a redheaded woman sitting behind the front desk, typing away on a computer. Bobble heads and various other action figures littered the top of the desk, multiple characters that Castiel recognized from Harry Potter and Game of Thrones.

The woman radiated an air of cheerfulness, from the bright smile on her face to the vivid shade of her hair, even the vibrant yellow of her t-shirt. And if he wasn't mistaken, she had a Dungeons and Dragons tattoo on her inner wrist, a line of rainbow colored polyhedrons.

She looked up at Castiel as he walked closer to the desk, offering him an even wider grin in response to his own shy smile. Turning to face him fully, she greeted, "Hey, what can I help you with?"

"Hi. Uh, I'm looking for Dean Winchester," Castiel replied, feeling his cheeks heat with a light blush. He felt ridiculous, the urge to run coursing through him. "Is he here?"

"Yup, he and the others are hanging out upstairs," she relayed, standing up. She walked out from behind the desk and started towards a staircase. She paused and glanced over at Castiel, waving a hand and urging, "C'mon, I'll take you up. I'm Charlie, by the way."

"I'm Castiel." He said shaking himself as he hurried over to join her at the foot of the stairs, obediently following her as she led him upstairs. He was careful not to jostle the trays in his hands too much, making sure none of the cupcakes tipped over.

He wanted them to be perfect for Dean. And if that thought didn't make him feel like a dorky kid with a crush.

The upstairs of the fire station clearly served as a common room for the firefighters when they had nothing else to occupy their time with. It was made up like a typical 'man cave', fitting for the stereotypically masculine setting of a fire station.

There were plush leather recliners arranged in a semi circle around a rather large TV, though not as big as Gabriel's ridiculously large television. Benny was sitting in one beside a petite blonde woman, the two of them animatedly discussing something. A German Shepherd was lying curled up at their feet.

There was a kitchenette in the opposite corner with dark wood cabinets and black soapstone countertops, a line of stools along the kitchen island. A lanky man with messy brown hair was fixing himself a sandwich, a jar of peanut butter on the countertop.

There was a foosball table by one doorway that led into a room full of bunk beds and another that Castiel assumed was to a bathroom. Three men were playing, one had his back to Castiel so he couldn't tell if it was Dean or not, the other two men were older.

One wasn't wearing a uniform, instead wearing a baseball cap and a plaid shirt over an old t-shirt. He had full beard that was gray on the sides, too full for him to be a working firefighter.

The other was younger but looked to be in his early fifties, with jet black hair and five o'clock shadow. There was something almost familiar in his features, as though Castiel had seen him before somewhere though he could not for the life of him figure where that might have been.

Not sure what else to do, Castiel just lingered by Charlie's side, biting the inside of his cheek and keeping his eyes down. He jumped a bit when she whistled loudly and called, "Yo, Dean! You got a visitor!"

Everyone in the room craned their necks to look at Charlie and therefore Castiel who felt himself start to squirm under the weight of their gaze. The third man at the foosball table straightened up and turned around, Castiel's breath catching in his throat.

It was Dean alright, in a black t-shirt that was practically skin-tight, his muscular biceps on glorious display. He was wearing heavy boots and black turnout pants, red leather suspenders holding them up while drawing Castiel's attention to both the wide breadth of Dean's shoulders and the muscles in Dean's chest, defined enough to be noticeable through the fabric of his t-shirt.

His hair, looking more dirty blonde than brown under the incandescent lights, was artfully disheveled, like Dean had been running his hands through it. Even at a distance, Castiel could see the incredible green of Dean's eyes.

The corner of Dean's mouth curled up in a smile as he strode across the room to Castiel, greeting, "Heya, Cas."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel answered, returning Dean's bright smile with a more subdued one of his own. He found himself having some trouble looking Dean in the eye, feeling his cheeks heat even more.

"What's up?" Dean asked, hooking one thumb into the waistband of his pants.

"I, uh... I just wanted to thank you properly," Castiel explained, fidgeting with the tray in his hands. A second later, he rushed to add, "And Benny, too, of course."

"I made cupcakes," he blurted, unnecessarily raising the trays in his hands. Biting his lip and lowering his eyes, he murmured, "Which I realize now is probably weird and unnecessary and stupid..."

"Nah, man," Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Like I'm gonna turn down cupcakes."

He grabbed one of the trays from Castiel before turning to the side, laying a hand between Castiel's shoulders blades as he guided him further into the room. Castiel was surprised that he wasn't more bothered by the fact that Dean was touching his scars, even if it was just through his button up and the navy cardigan he had thrown on.

He had only let a handful of people even look at his scars and even less had been permitted to touch them. But with Dean, it was oddly easy, though still a little bit disconcerting, a reminder that the scars were there in the first place.

He tried to shake off the feeling as Dean led him to the kitchenette, setting down the tray of chocolate chili cupcakes on the kitchen island. Castiel followed suit as Dean looked over his shoulder to address the others in the room, announcing, "C'mon, guys. Cas made us cupcakes!"

Like a herd of stampeding zebra, the other firefighters quickly flocked to the kitchenette, startling Castiel with their enthusiasm. He was used to just Gabriel and Balthazar bowling him over in a bid to get to whatever he baked for them, not a whole station of firefighters.

Even the German Shepherd who had been content to nap at Benny's feet galloped over with an excited bark, tail wagging vigorously. The dog came to a stop directly in front of Castiel, sniffing his thighs curiously before taking a seat on his right foot, gazing up at him with big innocent eyes.

"So, what d'ya got for us, Cas?" Dean inquired as removed the tops of the cupcake trays. He made a show of rubbing his hands together and licking his lips as he ran his eyes over the display of cupcakes.

"There are vanilla cupcakes with a honey buttercream and honey whiskey filling," Castiel explained, indicating the yellow cupcakes topped with fluffy spires of white buttercream. Then, he pointed at the chocolate cupcakes, "And chocolate chili cupcakes with a chocolate cayenne frosting and chocolate ganache filling."

"I don't care if I get diabetes, I'll die happy," Charlie declared cheerfully as she reached over to grab a chocolate cupcake. Cas noticed that her fingernails were painted pale purple as she carefully removed the cupcake wrapper.

"Chocolate chili?" Benny asked, sounding a little bit skeptical. There was a crease between his brows as he glanced between the two varieties of cupcakes.

"I thought it would be fitting for firefighters," Castiel elaborated lamely, feeling like an idiot the second the words were out of his mouth. "Oh, and I have a pie in my car if you'd like."

"Pie?!" Dean exclaimed, a radiant smile stretching across his face as he beamed over at Cas. Throwing his hands up, narrowly avoiding smacking Benny in the face, he announced, "Aww, Cas, just marry me now!"

Castiel wasn't proud of the swarm of butterflies those words set free in his stomach. He bit his lip hard enough that he was worried he might have drawn blood as he forced himself not to accept Dean's joking proposal.

He was a grown man for god's sake, he should not be blushing like a little ten year old. He was just glad his brothers weren't there to tease him.

"I can run down and grab it," Castiel volunteered. "It should still be warm."

"I'll come with ya," Dean offered, untangling himself from the throng of other firefighters who were looting the trays of cupcakes. He jogged down the stairs beside Castiel, setting his hand on the small of his back, Castiel stiffening the slightest bit at the casual contact.

Castiel fiddled with the sleeve of his cardigan as he led Dean out into the parking lot. His Continental was one of the only cars in the parking lot, the only others a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle, a couple of pickup trucks, and two classic muscle cars.

"This yours?" Dean asked as Castiel pulled his car keys out of his pocket, nodding his head towards the Continental. When Castiel nodded, Dean cocked a brow. "What are you, a pimp?"

Castiel shrugged as he unlocked the car. "I like it."

"That's my baby," Dean proclaimed, his voice brimming with audible pride as he pointed out his car. Castiel raised his head to see which vehicle Dean was pointing at.

It was one of the classic cars, jet black and clearly waxed, its paint job glistening in the morning sunshine. Like some sort of sacred, ancient monument, it sat in the parking lot, emanating an almost holy aura.

"Wow," Castiel found himself murmuring under his breath, eyes wide as he admired the beautiful car. He had never been much of a car guy, always deferring to Gabriel and Balthazar, but there was something about Dean's car that enchanted him, that made him think of home.

"C'mon," Dean said, grabbing Castiel by the hand and dragging him across the parking lot to stand beside his car. Hands on his hips, he recited, "1967 Chevy Impala. Tuxedo black with parchment interior."

"She's beautiful..." Cas whispered, his voice low with awe as he leaned over to look inside at the leather bench seats. He reverently ran the tips of his fingers over the hood, a feather light caress over the cool metal.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?" Dean hummed. "My dad gave me her on my eighteenth birthday. Best day of my life."

"Gabriel would love her," Castiel commented, straightening up and tipping his head to the side to smile at Dean. "He loves classic cars. He was the one who gave me the Continental."

Dean nodded, dropping his arms to his side. He glanced over at Castiel, venturing, "Yeah, I was gonna ask. No boyfriend today?"

"Boyfriend?" Castiel repeated, wrinkling his nose as he frowned at Dean. He was beyond confused. "What boyfriend?"

Dean blinked at him, staring like he thought Castiel was an idiot. With a frown of his own, he said, "Uh, Gabriel?"

"Dean, Gabriel isn't my boyfriend," Castiel explained slowly, wondering how exactly Dean had come to that conclusion. "Gabriel's my older brother."

"Oh." Dean kept frowning, his eyebrows drawing together. "Then what about the blond guy? The one with the British accent?"

"Balthazar," Castiel provided helpfully. Dean nodded, then gestured for Castiel to continue. "Oh. Balthazar's my older brother, as well."

"Oh," Dean repeated, his frown still in place. He scratched his chin where there was just the tiniest hint of a cleft. Glancing over at Castiel, he asked, "So... No boyfriend?"

Castiel shook his head. Then, on second thought, he tacked on, "Not for over two years now."

Dean just hummed, nodding to himself before striding back over to the Continental where he took the liberty of opening the passenger side door. He pulled the apple pie out with an ear to ear grin, licking his lips at the sight of the brown sugar crumb topping.

After locking the car and closing the door with a slam, Dean turned back to Castiel, brandishing the pie. As he began leading Castiel back into the fire station, he happily chirped, "You were right. It's still warm."

The German Shepherd greeted them when they made it to the top of the stairs, barking joyously and wiggling his entire body. Dean twisted to the side to avoid dropping the pie, nudging the dog aside as he grumbled, "Back off, Colonel."

"Oh my god, Dean!" Charlie called as he carried the pie over to the counter, a few coos greeting the appearance of the delicious looking baked good. Wiping a dollop of buttercream off her upper lip, she raved, "If you don't marry him, I will."

"Switching teams, kiddo?" Dean laughed as he rounded the kitchen island to rifle around in one of the kitchen drawers. Glancing over his shoulder, he commented, "I thought you were strictly team lesbian."

"I can make an exception for food this good," Charlie retorted, taking another bite of her vanilla honey cupcake. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she let out a theatrical moan, lauding, "Seriously, these cupcakes are better than sex."

Dean shook his head as he returned to the island with a knife to cut the pie. Disappointment saturating every word, he admonished Charlie, "Then you must not be having good enough sex."

"I have great sex, thank you very much," Charlie sniffed, taking another bite of her cupcake. Thumbing a crumb off her chin, she challenged, "But you haven't tried one of these cupcakes yet, Dean. They're freaking orgasmic."

"Yeah, man. Are you a baker or something?" The skinny guy asked, a wide smile on his face.

"I'm flattered," Castiel claimed, scratching the back of his neck. Shrugging, he continued, "But, no. I'm a writer."

"Anything we might know?" The blonde woman asked, licking a spot of chocolate frosting off her thumbnail.

"I've made the bestsellers list a few times," Castiel begrudgingly admitted, watching as everyone's eyes widened as they turned to gawk at him. He squirmed under their scrutiny, stuffing his free hand into his pocket to play with his keys, hoping the fidgeting would calm him down a bit.

"That's like big-time money, right?" Charlie demanded, drawing Castiel's attention back to her. She had finished her cupcake, a smudge of buttercream on her cheek. "Like millions of dollars, right?"

Castiel didn't know what else to do, glancing around at all of the firefighters staring at him. He felt like he had been tossed back into the flames, the same panicky feeling threatening to suffocate him.

He really didn't want to discuss his financial situation with them. Sure, they seemed like lovely people but he could barely bring himself to discuss such things with his own brothers and he was closer with them than he ever had been with anyone else.

He didn't want to discuss the fact that he had indeed made over a million dollars in royalties from the last book of his that had made it onto the bestsellers list. He didn't want to discuss that he donated most of it to various charities and sent the rest of it to his less fortunate siblings even though they barely remembered his name.

He didn't want to discuss the fact that he had paid for Lucifer to attend rehab countless times even though his older brother always relapsed. Didn't want to discuss the fact that he had single-handedly paid tuition for five of his cousins so they could go back to college.

Didn't want to discuss that he had helped cover some of his uncle Zachariah's gambling debts. Didn't want to discuss that he had bailed his aunt Naomi out prison after her various DUIs and bought her new cars after she totaled her old ones.

Didn't want to discuss that when his uncle Joshua was evicted from his home, he had bought him a new house with a yard full of flowers. He didn't want to discuss the fact that he had paid for Nathaniel and his wife to go to couples counseling, that he had covered the hospital bills after Nathaniel fell off his roof and broke his leg, that he had helped Nathaniel pay his mortgage after he lost his job.

He didn't want to discuss the fact that years after being treated like shit for years, for being taunted and tormented, burned and nearly killed by his family, he was still a slave to their whims. He didn't want to admit that he had been incapable of severing all ties when all of his siblings, besides Gabriel and Balthazar, would have no problem forgetting about him completely.

He tightened his grip on his keys, debating whether or not he should bolt. Fortunately, Dean stepped in before he could actually commit to making a desperate run for the door.

As he finished dividing the pie into eight even slices, he chastised the others. With a sigh, he pointed out, "C'mon, guys. He doesn't even know half your names. And he brought food! Cut him some slack."

When the others looked suitably chastised, looking down and pursing their lips, Dean clapped his hands together and cheerily announced, "Alright! Time for pie!"

He grabbed a stack of plates from one of the cabinets along with a pile of forks from one of the drawers while Charlie flitted over to grab some napkins. Using the knife to lift the slices of pie and carefully set them down on the plates, Dean lifted his eyes to meet Castiel's and offered, "We can eat and I'll introduce you to everyone."

Castiel waited patiently as Dean doled out the slices of pie, keeping his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigans. As they were handed their plates, the other firefighters made their way to the semi circle of recliners, settling down on the plush brown leather.

There weren't enough seats for everyone, the blonde woman taking a seat on the arm of Charlie's recliner while the lanky guy set his hip against the side of Benny's chair. After handing Cas a plate of pie and a fork, Dean claimed the last recliner for himself.

With nowhere else to sit, unless he wanted to plop down on the floor with the dog who was sitting at the oddly familiar man's feet, panting and begging for scraps, Castiel hesitated. He only moved forward when Dean patted the arm of his recliner, gesturing him over with a bob of his head.

Feeling extremely awkward, Castiel carefully perched on Dean's recliner, waiting until everyone else started to eat before he let himself relax. There was a clatter of forks as everybody dug into their slices of still-warm pie, the metallic twang almost immediately followed by a collective moan of appreciation.

Castiel smiled to himself as he took a bite of his own. The caramel was warm and gooey on his tongue, the streusel topping sweet without being saccharine, the apples perfectly tender but not mushy.

"You seriously need to open up a bakery," Charlie informed him with a grave nod. Around a mouthful of pie, she amended, "Or at the very least help us out with the annual bake sale. Jo here can't bake to save her life."

Castiel was just about to ask who Jo was when Dean cleared his throat. "That reminds me. Here, Cas, lemme introduce everyone."

He used his fork to point, caramel and streusel topping still sticking to the stainless steel tines. Using said messy fork, Dean indicated the blonde woman, announcing, "That's Jo Harvelle. She's like the little sister I never wanted. Charlie, too, for that matter."

Jo gave a polite wave as she continued chewing her mouthful of pie. Charlie rolled her eyes at Dean, fondness visible in the gesture.

"Garth Fitzgerald IV," Dean said next, moving his fork to point at the scrawny guy. Garth raised a hand to wave, as well, setting his fork down for a moment.

"You've met Benny," Dean murmured dismissively, moving on to the bearded man in the baseball. He raised his hand in a small wave as Dean declared, "Bobby Singer."

Next, he pointed to the oddly familiar man who was close enough to Castiel to hold his hand out instead of waving. Castiel extended his own hand to shake the other man's as Dean finished, "And this is my dad, John Winchester."

For whatever reason, that little tidbit of information suddenly made Castiel even more nervous than he had been when the others had been asking about how much money he made. After John released his hand, he faltered a bit, fumbling with his fork and nearly dropping it.

A piece of pie crust fell onto the floor along with some streusel. Castiel was reaching down to pick it up when the German Shepherd loped over and eagerly lapped up the crumbs.

"And that's the Colonel," Dean explained as Castiel straightened up. After licking his chops, the German Shepherd set his head down on Castiel's lap, looking up at him with big brown eyes, silently begging for more.

Laying a hand on the top of the dog's muzzle, the bare skin of his arm brushing against Castiel's stomach, warm through the thin fabric of his button, Dean proudly stated, "He's pretty much our mascot."

They fell into companionable silence after that, the only comments a few glowing compliments from Bobby and John. That ended up sparking a lively discussion about what other baked goods were on Castiel's repertoire.

Charlie and Garth were very clearly in awe as he listed off the desserts and pastries he was most well acquainted with. His list ranged from French desserts like croquembouche and mille-feuille to more traditionally American pastries like donuts and all sorts of pies.

Jo insisted that he indeed participate in the fire department's annual bake sale, Benny and John seconding and thirding her announcement. Castiel admitted that he would love to participate, more than willing to burn off some stress by baking all sorts of desserts to benefit the men and women who had saved his life.

When everyone was finished their pie and there were only a few cupcakes left, Benny turning out to be a huge fan of the chocolate chili cupcakes, Castiel announced that he should be on his way. Gathering the empty trays, he had said his goodbyes, letting out a squeak of surprise when Garth and then Benny swept him up in tight hugs.

Dean's friends were much more affectionate than most of Castiel's family altogether. It was a bit jarring, in a good way.

"I'll walk you out," Dean offered, leading Castiel towards the stairs with a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was only once they were outside that Castiel realized how long he had been at the station, the sun hanging directly overhead.

After Dean deposited the empty trays in the backseat of the Continental, he turned back to Castiel who was fidgeting with the hem of his cardigan. Chewing on his bottom lip, he glanced between Dean and his shoes, trying to muster up the nerve to apologize.

"Dean?" He murmured questioningly, tilting his head to the side. Dean smiled and nodded patiently, encouraging Castiel to go on. "I just wanted to apologize. For...kissing you the other night. I—"

"Look, Cas, you don't have to apologize," Dean assured him, cutting him off before he could keep rambling on like an idiot. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes, I'm sure it happens all the time," Castiel replied sincerely, meaning every word. He nodded to himself as he said it, still fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve.

Dean shook his head with a crooked grin. "Nope. Never."

"Oh..." Castiel whispered, feeling like an even bigger jackass. He rubbed the back of his neck, biting his lip again.

Then, before he could apologize again, there were two rough hands cupping his face and a pair of warm lips on his as Dean kissed him.

He was too shocked to do much else besides lean back against the side of the Continental as Dean deepened the kiss. His lips were smooth and just the tiniest bit wet as Dean swiped his tongue over the seam of Castiel's lips.

Throwing caution to the wind, Castiel looped his arms around Dean's neck, reeling him in even closer until their bodies were molded together from chest to knee. He eagerly returned the kiss, parting his lips to let Dean further deepen the kiss as he dropped one of his hands from Castiel's jaw, curling an arm around his waist instead.

Castiel had shared many kisses in his thirty two years. But this kiss with Dean was completely different.

There had been sweet, innocent, barely there kisses with Daphne. They were the kisses of first love, of naivete and romance.

There had been hungry, hurried, biting kisses with Meg. They were kisses with no purpose beyond progressing to sex, kisses of two young people seeking comfort in the flesh.

There had been comfortable, familiar, warm kisses with Mick. They had been Castiel's favorite up until then.

Dean's kiss was something different altogether. It was gentle and passionate and everything Castiel had ever imagined when he thought about the perfect kiss.

It ignited another fire, this time one that did not frighten Castiel. For this time, the flames flickered inside, somewhere deep in his chest.

He knew, in the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart, as warmth spread throughout every fiber of his being, this was what falling in love felt like. And that was more dangerous than any fire.

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