#he is what they’ve run from their whole life. he is the destiny they refused to seize. nothing scares them worse. but still

[trevisos]

i need to finish this durge run because i’m slowly going more and more insane about durge!xar/gortash

[heliads]

everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Five: A Treacherous Road to Safety

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

series spotify playlist

previous / series masterlist / next

The ground is shaking, and it takes Connor far longer than it should to realize that he isn’t going to die. He’s jumpier than he was a few days ago, already, and he can only assume it will get worse as time goes on. Connor will shed whatever innocence he had left before his parents signed him up to die a thousand painful ways all at once, and he will become a twitchy skeleton, the nervous bones of what was once lively flesh and blood.

The source of the disturbance isn’t the disaster he’d envisioned. A loud rumbling had split the air, and Connor had flinched like he’d been slapped, picturing the land beneath him crumbling to dust, or the ship cracking at the seams. Instead, they’d started to move, and Connor realized belatedly that they were only just now taking off. It’s okay. They’re starting on their journey, the destination unknown but at last somewhere they can be safe.

He glances down at Risa, who’s somehow still asleep by his side. Growing up in a State Home, she must be used to sleeping through all sorts of sound and commotion. He envies her for it now. What a blessing it must be, to close your eyes and let the world slip away. Every time Connor so much as thinks about taking a break, his brain goes into high alert and refuses to let him rest. After so many close calls, he’s certain that one more will ruin them both, and Connor cannot have that after how far they’ve come.

Still, Risa seems to think it’s okay to rest, so maybe he can too. Not enough to sleep, just enough to take the edge off his already frazzled nerves. Connor does his best to relax along with her, let his breathing ease in unison with hers. They’ll do everything together until they get wherever Sonia wanted them to go, and even past that too, no doubt about that. They’ll survive together, run from the Juveys together, and yes, even breathe together in the underbelly of a massive shipping cruiser, curled away like rats in a cellar. Well, Connor’s already a pest in the eyes of the Collective. He might as well sink his jaws into the brightest parts of life around him while he’s at it.

So he sits perfectly still, careful not to so much as topple a stack of tools lest they somehow be heard over the distant clanging of the superspeed engine and the roaring of the ship around him, and he waits for their destiny to ship them off to somewhere farther beyond the stars. There are no windows in this glorified storage closet, so Connor can’t see where they’re going nor how far they’ve already come. 

He swears he should be able to feel it in his bones when he officially crosses the boundary dividing the OH-10 star system from empty, nameless connective space, but instead they just keep going, paying no mind to the total terror that is leaving one’s home for the first time. The next time Connor looks up at the sun, it won’t be his. There might even be more than one. The stars will no longer be the ones that shone down on him, not in the same order, not the same way. Connor is away without leave in every sense of the word. Homeless, groundsless, purposeless. All he has is the infinity of stars somewhere around him.

Risa wakes at some point; Connor has no way of telling when. She comes to gradually, wrinkling first her brow and then her fingers, moving the digits together in her lap. Risa straightens up from where she’d started to slouch against Connor’s shoulder, both of them pointedly not bringing up the fact that her face had been so close to his, and to cover up for the mistake she asks, voice still groggy, “How long was I out?”

“No idea,” Connor answers truthfully. There’s no way of sensing anything here. Hours could have passed or mere minutes. They just keep going.

She frowns. “Still too long, though.”

Connor lifts a shoulder. “What else would we do?” He’s careful to keep his voice quiet, just in case.

Risa follows suit, her eyes flicking around the empty space before she continues in a whisper. “Do you really think there will be someone waiting for us?”

“Other than Juvey-cops, you mean?” Connor asks, then sighs. “Who knows? I’d like to think so. Sonia seemed like she had her stuff together. If she wanted to turn us in, she would have let Lev do it while we were at the boundary checkpoint. Would’ve been much more efficient for both of them.”

He’s unable to hide a slight snarl in his voice when he mentions Lev. Sure, he’d kind of kidnapped the kid, but he’d only stolen him from an early death. It’s not like his family was taking him on a fun vacation or something, unless you count the wild sendoff to a surgeon’s knife as an exciting thrill ride. Lev should be grateful for his second chance at life; Connor had to fight for his, and he gave it to Lev free of charge, yet the little bugbait ran off and sold him out, too. 

Next to him, Risa arches a brow, evidently able to tell where his mind is headed. “Still mad at our favorite runaway tithe?”

“How could I not be?” Connor protests. “He stabbed us in the back.”

“After we kidnapped him,” Risa muses, and at Connor’s wordless but energetic protests she rolls her eyes and admits, “Yeah, I’m mad too, obviously, but you’ve got to think about it from his end. He’s probably been trained to accept this all his life. Just when he’s about to fulfill his divine destiny or whatever, we swoop in on a stolen cruiser and don’t even give him a chance to say his goodbyes. He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”

This saps some of Connor’s anger from him. At least when he ran away, it had been on his own terms. He’d decided what night to leave, and he’d treated his parents accordingly. He might not have been stupid enough to say goodbye outright, but he could still let that shape what conversations he had with them. Lev may have been ready to die, but he might not have been ready to let go quite yet.

“D’you think he’s already in a harvest colony somewhere?” Connor asks after a pause. “Last time I saw him, he was raring to go under the knife, but I can’t help but wonder…”

He lets his voice trail off, not sure what he’s wondering at all anymore. It’s easier not to ask questions about what happens to fiery tithes after they sentence themselves to death. Same way no one at home will ever talk about him again unless they physically have to. Thinking about someone who has seen you before, someone who remembers your name and spoke to you, having those same eyes and vocal chords ripped away on a remote lunar outpost is too disturbing to consider.

Risa gets what he’s trying to say, though. “If he changed his mind or something? If he did, Sonia could have found him. Maybe we’ll see him wherever we’re going.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, not entirely convinced, “Maybe we will.”

He’s not entirely sure that he believes it, but it’s a better thought than most, so Connor lets himself accept it for now. The two of them drift into a silence that’s slightly more paranoid than companionable, letting the roaring of the ship around them do the talking for them.

Some time later, the ship touches down. His hands are clenched into fists the entire time, terrified of a bad landing doing them in. However, they’re still alive when the dust clears, so Connor counts that as a win. After so long stuck inside the noisy, clanging behemoth, it’s strange to carefully climb out of it in complete silence. The absence of sound makes him uneasy, and causes him to be extra aware of the quiet shuffle of their footsteps as they head away from the shipping hauler.

Once they’re a safe distance away, Connor gestures for Risa to follow him into a darker, quieter hallway. “What do we do now?” He asks.

Risa shrugs. “Try to find that man Sonia told us about, I guess. What did she say his name was? Cleaver?”

Connor can’t help a wry smile. “That totally sounds like the kind of guy I want to see right now.”

Risa nods solemnly. “All the most trustworthy people go by Cleaver, I’m sure. Any idea of how we’ll find him?”

Connor shakes his head. “No clue. Do you think we should have stayed on the ship? Maybe he was supposed to come to us first.”

Risa tosses a nervous glance over her shoulder towards the ship, which is now swarmed with workers anxious to unpack the cargo. “If we stayed, we would have gotten caught. I think our best bet is to lay low and see if we see anyone else hanging around.”

It’s not like they have any other options, so Connor nods his agreement and they do their best to blend into the shadows of the corridor. The area is busy with disembarking passengers and ground control all bustling around. A few times, they have to duck into a closet to avoid overeager sec-officers patrolling the area, but everyone stays moving long enough for them to come back out soon enough.

The flow of workers starts to slow, but no one’s found them yet. Connor can’t be sure if that’s a good thing or not. Even if Cleaver doesn’t show, they’re still out of OH-10. It’ll be tricky to make their way out of here and find a regular source of food and shelter without a single grounds license between them, but they’d surely figure something out.

He’s about to suggest to Risa that they start to make their way out of the spaceport when she gently nudges him with her elbow, her eyes on something behind him. “This guy’s been staring at us for a while.”

Connor casually fakes a cough, using the motion of twisting and covering his mouth to glance behind him. Sure enough, there’s some guy in dark clothes loitering down the hall. A datapad is open in front of him, but the guy’s not doing much more than that to keep up the pretense of work. Instead, he’s eyeing Connor and Risa with an expression almost akin to hunger.

“Let’s get moving,” Connor suggests.

“What if it’s our guy?” Risa asks.

Connor gives her a sarcastic look. “Do you really want to go up to that guy and ask if he’s looking for two groundsless who look like us?”

Risa winces. “Good point.”

They turn and head down the corridor. The guy watches them go, and starts to follow a few paces behind them. Connor starts to pick up his pace, but the man just speeds up accordingly. They take a few random lefts and rights to shake their stalker only to find themselves at a dead end. Connor meets Risa’s wide eyes, and slowly turns back around to face the man who’s been following them. He shifts forward a little to step in front of Risa, but the guy doesn’t strike. Not yet.

Instead, he glances one last time at the open datapad before eyeing Connor. “You two are Sonia’s latest kids?”

Connor swallows hard. “How about you tell me who you are first?”

The guy stares at him as if Connor has just asked the most useless question in the world, then sighs. “I’m Cleaver. Sonia sent me, obviously.”

“It’s not obvious,” Risa remarks from behind Connor’s left elbow, “You’re a stranger. We have no idea of knowing who you are at all.”

Cleaver shrugs one muscular shoulder. “Can’t argue with that. Now come on, we need to get moving before someone else notices you. The two of you stand out like a sore thumb.”

Connor and Risa frown at each other. Connor had thought they’d done a pretty good job of hiding, but apparently not. Cleaver gives them one more look of vague disgust before turning and walking back down the corridor with long, purposeful strides. He’s moving fast enough to make it clear that he doesn’t want to talk to either of them, but Connor has more questions and he’ll be damned if they don’t get answered. 

Hurrying to catch up, Connor presses on as they round a corner and head down a long hallway lined with doors to other sectors of the spaceport. “Is that how you knew it was us? We were too obvious?”

Cleaver grunts in reply. It takes Connor intentionally matching his strides for half the length of the hallway before the man finally caves and answers him. “That was hard to ignore. Other stuff too, though.”

Paranoid, Connor glances back behind them, but anyone passing through is too intent on their own destination to pay much attention to the three of them. “What else?”

A snide side glance from Cleaver; Connor returns his stare as intensely as he can while still speed walking down the hall at a breakneck pace. They make a few quick turns and Connor is forced to break his gaze so he doesn’t head directly into a wall. 

When he looks back, Cleaver is facing ahead again, but this time he condescends to explain himself. “You two did look mighty suspicious, but I was helped by this.”

Cleaver tilts his datapad so Connor can see the image on the holoscreen. Immediately, he tenses up. Emblazoned in big, bold letters beneath a picture of him are the words WANTED: CONNOR LASSITER, ESCAPED GROUNDSLESS. TREAT WITH CAUTION. There’s another image right below it, a photo of Risa with a similar caption. 

Connor wants to throw up. “When were these released?”

“About twenty-four standard hours ago,” is Cleaver’s guttural reply. 

Connor blows out a low breath. So his parents had noticed his absence about the next morning, which makes sense, and the state home would have seen that Risa was gone when they checked the kids in the shuttle. 

She’s told him by now of her escape attempt, and he’s got to admire her guts for pulling a stunt like that. Sneaking off the shuttle that was supposed to take her to a harvest colony after everyone on board nearly all died from the meteor shower? Crazy stuff. Connor’s down with crazy, though, so long as it keeps both of them alive. They’re a package deal by now. Can’t split them up, no one without the other. Like the twin braces of Connor’s ribs inside his chest, that’s them; no breaking them up until the end. Till death do us part.

Connor shoves his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. “So that’s how you knew it was us? You searched up our wanted posters?”

Cleaver blows out a breath, and Connor swears he almost looks impressed. “Not for you, actually. I’d already heard of you even before Sonia said she’d managed to send you on my way.”

Connor frowns. “How’d you manage that? Do you monitor every AWOL out of Sonia’s star system?”

Cleaver guides them down a narrow hall out of the main thoroughfare. It seems as if they’re headed towards a smaller hangar bay, probably where Cleaver keeps his ship. It would explain why Cleaver feels confident enough to stop lowering his voice when he tells Connor, “I didn’t have to look you up. The two of you are already famous.”

Risa has joined them by now; Cleaver’s relentless pace slowed when they left the central sector of the spaceport. She eyes the man cautiously. “What do you mean, we’re famous?”

Cleaver opens his mouth to answer, but another, younger, brasher voice beats him to it. “He means that you two made quite a name for yourselves when you shot a Juvey-cop and stole his ship.” 

Connor looks past Cleaver to see a tall, muscular boy looming out of the darkness of the poorly lit corridor. His grin is sharp, and his teeth flash like fangs when he says, “Or, just Connor, I should say. He’s the one who did it.”

Cleaver huffs out a frustrated breath. “Roland, I told you to stay on the ship.”

The boy– Roland– doesn’t seem to care what Cleaver thinks he should or shouldn’t do. “I got bored. No one’s here, anyway. If they did, I’d shut ‘em up, no worries.”

Ah, Connor thinks. So he’s setting himself up as a threat. Classic move. Whenever new kids impede on your territory, you’ve got to decide whether they’ll be friends or foes. How lucky that Roland has already made that decision for him. Now he knows for certain that the only ones he can trust are Risa and maybe Cleaver. Roland will ‘shut him up’ just like anyone else to cross his path.

Connor’s met boys like Roland before, enough of them to already have a plan of how to handle him. Step one is not to give up or show a sign of hesitation. Step two is to get into a fight, but judging by Roland’s cocky stature and impressive physique, that might not be one he’d win.

Step one’s good for now, though. Connor squares his shoulders and looks Roland dead in the eyes. “I’m glad you’ve heard of me. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

Roland scoffs. “Don’t take it personally. The story’s better than the real deal anyway. They failed to mention that you’d be this short face to face.”

Connor rolls his eyes, making Roland flash him another saber-toothed grin. Clearly eager to get back to his ship, Cleaver urges them both onwards. Roland stalks back into the dim lighting, giving Connor a good look as what he had thought was just a shadow on the boy’s right arm manifests itself as a tattoo of a shark. Suns, everything about this guy just gets better and better.

Roland leads the way back to Cleaver’s ship with obvious familiarity, making Connor wonder how long he’s been stuck here, waiting to move on. Cleaver checks for unwanted guests around his ship, and unlocks it once he’s sure the coast is clear. This starship is more haphazard even than the Juvey-cop’s shuttle; it looks completely patched together and it’s even missing an entry ramp, so they have to awkwardly climb up into the thing. 

Roland acts the proper gentleman by offering Risa his hand so she has an easier time getting up, but judging by the way he doesn’t let go of her immediately afterwards, he’s not just doing it out of the pure kindness of his heart. Connor approaches the ship next, leading Roland to sneer in his face that he won’t be helping him up. Connor says something snappy and stupid in return, then climbs up, Roland right after him. Cleaver goes last, and walls them up inside after checking around one last time.

After that, they’re all left standing uncomfortably in the belly of the ship. Cleaver claps his hands together suddenly, making Connor and Risa jump. “Alright, then,” he says, “We’ll take off tonight, and probably make it over bright and early next morning. Give me a few hours to get everything in order and we can leave this junkyard behind.”

Roland’s face twists. “We’re not waiting for anyone else? I’ve been here for a fuckin’ week and the second these two show up, we drop everything and go?”

Cleaver, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye at Roland’s protests. “As you so helpfully pointed out earlier, Connor and Risa are far more recognizable than you are. I can’t take the risk of someone stumbling across the ship and finding the Akron AWOL.”

Connor has no idea what that nickname means, but he can only assume it refers to him. Roland looks like he wants to argue, but Connor interjects so Cleaver can head to the cockpit and get travel preparations started. “It’s the fame, Roland. You have to understand. It’s exhausting having this sort of legacy, but–”

Roland cuts him off with a sound bordering on a snarl. “Watch it, starspawn. I don’t take kindly to upstarts running their mouths. That’s not how it goes around here.”

Connor wants to argue with this, but Risa lays a hand on his shoulder and says, “I think we’d all like to minimize fights, if possible.” 

Roland folds his arms across his chest, daring Connor to contradict this. Risa looks at Connor accusingly, and– sunfire– they are on the same side, so he’s not going to undermine her by starting something, even if he really, really wants to. “I agree,” he says simply, and walks past Roland to the dingy common area in the center of the ship. There are maybe four chairs, one of them broken, but it’s good enough for now.

Risa follows him. “Excellent temper control,” she says, one eyebrow quirked up.

Connor sighs. “Don’t you start, too.”

“I’m not,” she replies, hands raised in mock surrender. “I just want you to remember that Roland is not the biggest of our worries right now.”

Connor looks past her to where Roland still lingers near the starship’s entrance. They’re far enough away that Roland can’t hear them, but the older boy still glances towards Connor as if he can sense the topic of conversation. Roland grins predatorily, and Connor’s eyes are again dragged towards the shark tattoo on his right arm. 

Getting tattoos is rebellious, especially in the age of distribution. Either you’re confident enough that you won’t get distributed that you don’t mind damaging the goods, i.e. your own skin, or you know for a fact that you will be so you want to make sure that whoever gets your bits and pieces will be unable to ignore the source. No matter where they go, they’ll see your ink and they’ll be reminded of what they did to you. It’s like taking a stand, you refuse to protect your body such that someone else could use it. The way Roland acts, though, makes Connor think that it’s not just a promise that he’ll destroy himself, but anyone around him as well. He would drag them all down with him if he got the chance.

“No,” Connor muses, “but he’s certainly not something to forget about.”

They end up sitting around for what must be a couple of standard hours before Cleaver remembers that he was supposed to be leaving and they finally take off. In that time, Connor sits down for a while, stands up, sits again, walks around the ship a few times, peers at the cockpit instrument panel before Cleaver chases him out, and pokes around in a few crates. Risa stares at the wall. Roland stands with his hands on his hips, looking out the window as if daring anyone to come near. Every now and then, he cracks his knuckles menacingly, but only when he’s certain that Connor is nearby.

At last, when Cleaver comes out of the cockpit and announces that they’re on the move, Connor thinks they’ll finally have something to do. Maybe he can ask him for some flying lessons, or better yet, learn something about their mysterious destination.

Cleaver immediately shuts down the flying tutorial idea, not that Connor was really expecting that to go anywhere, but he is a little more forthcoming about where they’re headed. Apparently, one of the Collective’s higher-level officers recently developed a conscience and couldn’t live with his guilt about all of the kids getting distributed. He borrowed a massive cruiser and has been using it to house any groundsless he or his associates come across.

It sounds like a fairytale to Connor. Can’t be real. Of course there’s just, like, a massive star cruiser full of Unwinds orbiting some moon somewhere, because that’s the most realistic option here. When Connor looks at Cleaver to wait for him to start laughing at how gullible they are, though, the release never comes. Cleaver stays cold and stalwart, and at last Connor realizes that stars above, it’s real. It’s real, and they’re going directly to it.

Connor leans back on his heels, shaking his head slowly. “That’s crazy.”

“It is,” Cleaver says impassively, “And crazier still is how protective we have to be. No one can know about it. No one can leave unless they turn eighteen. It’s our best kept secret. That’s why you three are going to be traveling a little less comfortably than you’d like.”

Connor freezes. Even Roland looks uneasy. “What does that mean?” Risa asks slowly.

Cleaver meets all of their eyes in turn. “We can’t afford for any of you to get picked up on scanners while we travel between star systems, nor are any of you allowed to see where we’re going. This ship was jerry-rigged as an illegal transport vessel a long time ago. There are storage compartments in the walls that don’t let scanner beams through. You’ll be hiding in those until we dock.”

Connor stares at the walls around them. They don’t seem all that thick, even by junker starship standards. There must be hardly any space for them at all. 

“It won’t be pleasant,” Cleaver says in agreement with Connor’s unspoken thoughts, “But I think you’ll find distribution far less appetizing. Unless you’d like me to let you off at the nearest harvest colony, of course. That would save us time and trouble.”

It’s an unnecessary threat, but it gets the point across. Cleaver walks over to the wall and begins to methodically unlock and pull away sections of the metal surface. Sure enough, he reveals storage compartments curving down the hall. They’re extremely shallow and not too tall, either. It’ll be like a coffin in there. In escaping death, Connor has seemingly sentenced himself to an early grave.

Cleaver extends a hand towards the hollows. “Well, take your pick. Time’s a wastin’.”

They all stand there for a moment, unable to move, and then Roland goes first, making an exaggerated show of scoffing like he couldn’t care less about how he makes the trip. Connor sees his eyes just before Cleaver closes the wall back over him, though. He knows Roland is just as terrified as they all are.

Two empty areas await, looming like eye sockets in the smooth metal wall. Risa climbs into one cavity, but when Connor moves to get into the next one over, she reaches out and grabs his hand. He looks over at her, and sees Roland’s horror reflected in her gaze. Which is worse, to have even less space than before or to go through this trial alone?

He climbs in after her. There’s just enough room for them to stand side by side, backs pressed up against the metal wall. Cleaver looms up before them, silhouetted by the light of the corridor outside. Strangely, Connor feels as if he’s on the other side of an airlock, about to be shut out into space, and then the metal casing slams down and they’re locked inside.

Immediately, Connor feels as if he cannot breathe. He’s never counted himself as claustrophobic before, but he’s never been locked inside a narrow storage compartment before, either. The darkness is overwhelming; Connor swears it presses against his skin like water. He thinks he might drown in it, and takes deep breaths to compensate. He never gets enough air, though. His lungs are never full.

He tries again, gasping for more, but it’s not enough. The blackness around him seems to get closer, and Connor is a few seconds from fully freaking out until he feels a tapping on his right arm. It comes again, a moment later– tap tap, two motions against his forearm. It’s Risa, reminding him that he’s not alone in this endless darkness. She’s here with him. They’re going to be alright, because they have each other, that’s all they’ve ever had, and if they managed to survive everything else, surely they can live through this, too.

Connor feels his heart rate start to slow down. He reaches his right hand to tap twice against her left arm, returning the message. A couple of minutes later, when Connor can feel her starting to shuffle around too much, she taps twice, and he does the same, like a prolonged heartbeat stretching between the both of them. Eventually, they both calm down enough that the beats have more and more time between repetitions, and then they stop entirely.

Connor focuses on his breathing, on not thinking about anything. He closes his eyes, even though it doesn’t entirely matter, just because having his eyes open to the stuffy blackness makes him feel even more uncomfortable than before. His knees start to cramp, but he can’t straighten them, so he just tries to think about something, anything else. 

He moves the fingers of his left hand one by one. He curls his toes inside his shoes. He listens to the soft rise and fall of Risa’s breathing somewhere to his right. Connor leans a little closer to her, just to be sure that she’s still there and hasn’t somehow been ripped apart from him. He’d never known unless she shouted; it’s too dark in here, and his eyes refuse to adjust. He would have no idea at all that she was gone if he ever let go, and so he won’t.

There’s a scratching sound on the metal somewhere above and to the side. Connor wonders if it’s Roland, trying to carve his way through the barriers of his storage compartment into theirs. He shivers, and Risa, evidently having heard the same thing, presses closer to him. The sound carries on for some time before falling off in disappointment. They won’t be reached by anyone, shark or boy or Juvey-cop. Nothing can touch them.

Neither of them pull away, though, and Connor doesn’t want to. He’s only aware of one sensation anymore, and that is the crescents of his skin pressed against her. They are here in this unmarked grave, somewhere in the vast expanses of space, and when they come out of this, they will be safe. They will be whole. Someone out there is looking for them, waiting for them to arrive, and then none of this will ever happen again.

And if they die here, let the worlds find their brittle bones together, hand in hand, spine against spine. Let them never be separated again, even in death. When their blood congeals, when their muscles atrophy, let all that dust of what was once flesh and bone intermix until no one can tell the difference between the two. Let Connor and Risa, Risa and Connor, never, ever end.

Connor learns to sense the passage of time by the alternating rumbles of the starship’s engines. Twice, Connor thinks Cleaver docks the ship, and twice he gets his hopes up only for the ship to start up again without ever letting them go. Cleaver had passed out food and drink rations before forcing them into the storage compartments along the walls, so he’s not immediately hungry or thirsty, but he has no idea how long they can keep this up. When he starts thinking too much about it, he taps his right hand twice, and waits until Risa taps twice back. Only then can he force himself to relax and move on to other, braver topics.

He compels his mind to stay busy. Mentally, Connor runs through every flight tip he’s ever heard. He thinks through the routes he would walk or bike to school, how he’d return from his destination. He used to sneak over to his friend’s houses all the time, and in his mind Connor imagines that he’s back there again, hopping fences or running low down the road so cars couldn’t spot him. He goes to his friends’ houses and he completes the trip back, but he always stops his mental picture just before he turns down his driveway. Home is not a place Connor can return to, even in the illusion of his own head.

More, a desperate need for more; Connor thinks of homework assignments he procrastinated, TV shows he’d binged. Every girl he’d ever met. Every boy he’d ever fought. There was this one field trip when he was a kid where everyone in his class got to go to a science museum across town; they’d shown up in one big, writhing mass and immediately been shepherded from exhibit to exhibit by exasperated teachers. He had been small then, barely able to tie his shoes, and when they passed dioramas of monstrous animals with huge jaws, Connor had hidden his face in his hands. One had been a tiger shark.

There’s a clamor outside the metal wall of their storage compartment. Lost in memories, Connor thinks it’s his dad working on the junker of a car they’d found abandoned on the side of the road one day. The engine had needed some work, it hardly even ran on substellar batteries, let alone a normal fuel like power cells. 

Still, they’d worked on that thing day and night. He can still remember his dad looking at him proudly the first time they took it on a trip across the neighborhood; Connor can’t imagine why his dad would let him die when he was so happy that day, they both were, but maybe he just hadn’t done a good enough job on it, maybe that was why his dad had been okay letting him go.

The clanging persists. Connor opens his mouth to tell his dad to stop it, he’ll be out in a minute, but then the door of the storage compartment rips open, letting in blinding waves of light, and Connor remembers. He remembers where he is– not at home, not heading out to the garage, but on a run down starship somewhere in the vast expanse of the galaxy.

Cleaver is peering down at him. “You two haven’t died in there yet, have you?”

“No, unfortunately,” Connor grumbles out through chapped lips and a dry tongue.

Cleaver grunts in sympathy. “You look it, though.” 

He helps both of them out, then hands them each a water ration. Roland is already idling somewhere in the back, and although his back is tall and straight, he’s got this look in his eyes that even the best of his bravado can’t hide. None of them will forget what it took to get here. In a way, Connor thinks that was done on purpose. You can’t run a secret safe haven if the kids inside believe they can just leave without a care. This sort of terrible journey teaches them the price of their safety.

Cleaver nods, as if sensing that Connor finally gets it. “Well, you survived,” he says matter-of-factly. “Welcome to the Graveyard.”

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @locke-writes, @sirofreak

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[charlie-minion]

Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.  

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.  

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye). 

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).  

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

 The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.  

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

[gentrychild]

adlhfahdkjfh so this’ll likely be really Long which is why I’m submitting instead of sending an ask but I just read through your Suspected Traitor!Izuku AU and I have some Thoughts. I’m sorry for the rambely-ness this’ll likely be ahead of time.

—

So as much as I love the whole ‘Izuku gets away from UA and tries to heal from all the betrayal’ thing y'all have going on I can’t help but think about what would happen if he didn’t. So this’ll be more an 'au of a au’ thing.

Izuku is a child who has been betrayed all his life. From his classmates and teachers to his childhood friend to the very society itself turning it’s back on him, Izuku has been beaten down again and again. And he’s been told that it’s his own fault. He’s the one that’s quirkless, after all, right? He’s the one that was born into a society where this power you’re born with is everything and he was born with nothing.

And everyone around him only reinforces this mindset, he is bullied relentlessly, his is told he’s a 'deku’ - something worthless, something mindless, useless, a dud in a society of fireworks. He is small and skinny so very weak in everyone’s eyes and they all claim that it is his own fault. The most vocal of them do, at least. Bakugou even uses his quirk on him- something that could very easily cause lasting damage- that could kill Izuku if Bakugou lost even a little bit of restraint.

And gods do I refuse to believe that Bakugou and other bullies haven’t left scars on Izuku- it’s so easy, after all, for someone in the heat of the moment to forget that their quirks can be dangerous, deadly.

And here’s the thing: how many times do you have to be told by everyone, everything, in the world you live in that you are worthless before you start to believe it, just a little bit? How many times do you have to call a child a freak, creepy, a stalker before they start to believe that? 

How many times do you have to tell a child that it is all their own fault before they begin to believe that that is the truth?

Everyone says it, afterall, so it must be true.

right?

And this, this right here, is where I believe All Might comes in. All Might, who sees this small, weak, quirkless child(just like him, a part of him may whisper, I was just like him) and wants to stop him, beg him to not choose a career in which everyone around him will want to tear him apart.

And so he does. No, he says, sad and desperate and constantly in pain, no, you cannot be a hero.

And he is tired, and he is sad, and he leaves. He thinks that is the end of it. He will never see that small, weak, quirkless child again.

But the Sludge Villain has escaped and he does- he sees that boy again, he sees that charging in to save another, with no regards to what he should be doing(staying back and quiet and let the heroes watch as a child suffocates and dies because none of them have the right quirks to get him out) and he actually manages to make a difference.

And Izuku reminds All Might of himself, all the way down to how he just wants to protect people, even when they’ve done nothing to protect him, and so All Might, after taking care of the villain, goes and finds this boy and he says, with full confidence, you can be a hero.

And it’s a breath of fresh air for Izuku, for this young boy who has been told all his life that he will amount to nothing, that his destiny as nothing is set in stone. It’s someone, for once in life, telling him that his dream, his desire to help, can come true.

And so they start training, and All Might keeps coming back to him, and he finds himself thinking maybe things can change, maybe things can be different. Maybe I can be a hero.

Izuku gets into UA, he proves himself. He gets his Provisional Licence. His class gets attacked by villains, sure, and they get hurt, Izuku gets hurt, breaks his bones over and over again until he risks losing the ability to use his arms, but in the end? When all is said and done? All Izuku can think is that it’s so damn worth it. 

Even if he’s stuck in class with Bakugou, who’s getting better and Izuku will never stop being grateful for that, it’s still worth it because he’s going to be a hero. His teacher is strict but he’s just, he gets to see All Might on a regular basis, and he has friends.

It’s different, everything is so very different, and Izuku is so so happy.

And then Izuku forgets one of his notebooks in the classroom.

He doesn’t think anything of it. It’s the weekend- he’ll just get back on Monday. It wasn’t like he was planning on doing any analysis anyway- this weekend was time for him to relax, time to put away his hobby and training for just a little bit and relax with the few people still in the dorms for the weekend. 

Surely Aizawa-sensei won’t mind?

(but he does, and he sees what’s in that notebook, and his blood runs cold.

He’s found their traitor.)

Monday comes and while Izuku thinks he left his notebook in the classroom it’s not there when he looks, so maybe he put it somewhere else? He’s not too worried, long having relaxed in UA, but a part of him does claw and hiss at the idea of someone getting their hands on it- after all, what if they destroy it? He’s had that happen to him far too often for him to ever fully relax when he doesn’t know exactly where they are.

The week passes as normal and he’s starting to get nervous, because his notebook hasn’t popped up yet, he can't find it and what if someone took it? What if someone took it and set it on fire or flushed it down the toilet or tore it up or-

Friday comes and Izuku is held back from class.

He thinks nothing of it because it happens often- happens to all them ever since the villain attacks and while nothing has happened this week, Izuku guesses that sensei must have noticed how distracted he’s been and maybe he wants to talk about that? He’s nervous, because he’s never been good with teachers, but he makes sure to not hunch his shoulders or pick at his hands or anything like that.

He’s nervous, but he’s going to be a hero and heroes work to not show their nerves.

But then he’s lead to the interrogation rooms. Rooms he only knows exist because of the sheer amount of times he’s been attacked and had to debrief on UA grounds.

His hands don’t shake, not yet, but it’s close.

They begin asking questions, questions that make his chest freeze over and his insides to squirm but he answers them truthfully. As truthfully as he can.

It’s twenty minutes in that he realizes why he’s there.

They think he’s a traitor- the traitor? He hasn’t figured out yet, if there would likely be more than one.

They think he’s a villain.

His world is spinning and spinning and spinning and suddenly it’s all coming crashing down.

Oh, he thinks, a numb sort of detachment flowing through. It was never real, was it?

The world could never really change.

But he doesn’t want to believe it, he really really doesn’t, so he tries to ignore it- to shove it away into the corner with all the other emotions and thoughts he doesn’t like to deal with. He keeps answering their questions, remains truthful through the entire thing even though all a part of him wants to do is scream, and he doesn’t let himself believe his thoughts.

Until they bring out his notebook.

Izuku lurches forward, he can’t help it. the handcuffs on the table don’t let him get far, but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter in the face of his gut-wrenching relief.

He hadn’t lost it.

I thought I’d lost that, and where was it, and thank you so much for finding it Sensei, all spill from his lips and he can’t help his small, relieved smile because his notebook was right there and not at all damaged and he opens his mouth, ready to release a torrent of apologies and thank you’s but-

Aizawa-sensei’s eyes are still cold.

The interrogation continues and Izuku is forced to accept that his teachers believe him a villain.

They use his notebooks- his writings he’d scribbled out to help, because that’s all he’s ever wanted to do- and they force him to face the fact that they were creepy and stalkerish and horrible.

Izuku feels sick.

It’s hours, by the time they bring in Tsukauchi-san. He asks the same questions. Izuku answers the same answers.

He keeps a smile on his face, because he knows that Tsukauchi-san will confirm everything as truth and he can go back to the dorms and sleep. It feels shaky and fake but he smiles and Tsukauchi-san looks like he might just want to smile back.

True, the lie detector detective says at the end. He’s telling the truth.

Izuku is allowed to go back to the dorms. The teachers apologize, sort of. It was necessary, they tell him, logical. You understand, don’t you?

Izuku nods. He smiles.

They give him back his notebook.

Izuku feels sick looking at it.

When he gets back to his dorm room, he destroys all of them.

They were creepy, after all, they stalkerish and creepy and he was a creep for writing them and the teacher had said so and they were heroes so they must be right.

Right?

And a part of Izuku wants to be angry at it all, wants to be hurt and angry and betrayed but.

They’d thought he was a villain. Heroes had thought he was a villain.

So he must have been doing something wrong. Was he not working enough? Not doing enough? Was he socializing too much? Was he just too much of a freak for the hero course? 

And so, instead of getting angry, of being hurt and betrayed and getting him out of the place that hurt him, Izuku stays because it was heroes that had accused him of being a traitor, of trying to hurt his classmates, so he must of been doing something wrong.

It must have been his fault.

right?

(and so, here, instead of having their mistakes shoved back in their faces as Izuku leaves, the teachers have to realize, slowly, that what they did, the accusations they threw out in the heat of the moment, have mistakes far more damaging than they ever thought possible. 

Because Izuku is a boy that has been taught from the young age of four that everything that happens to him, everything that others do to him, is all his own fault. And so, when heroes believe he is a villain, when they accuse him of being a traitor, that must be his fault too, right?

And so the teachers have to watch, from the sidelines, as this boy they accused goes out and begins to break himself again and again, because, after all, if he doesn’t want to be seen as a villain, as creepy or stalkerish, he has to work harder.

Right?

He has to prove that he’s good, that he’ll do anything to save someone else, to protect someone else, because that’s what a hero does and all Izuku has ever wanted to be was a hero.)

[flowerflamestars]

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

[queerofthedagger]

I would love to hear your essay on why Merlin didnt own telling Morgana about his magic, because it honestly makes me mad when people say he should have since he too had magic

Ooh hey, thanks so much for the ask! And about one of my favourite pet peeves too 😂❤️ I have a lot to say on that because yeah, it makes me mad too. This got really long, so I apologize for that in advance... (I tried to put some of it under a readmore but tumblr is being a pain again.)

Obligatory disclaimer that obviously, everyone’s entitled to their opinion and I’m not aiming to change anyone’s mind.

First of all, I think it gets ignored sometimes that Merlin didn’t actually leaver her alone or didn’t try to help. He very much did so in “The Nightmare Begins,” by finding out how to get her to the Druids. This is directly after she tells him about her belief that she has magic and that she’s scared, and he does so against the explicit orders/advice from both Gaius and Kilgharrah.

When he goes to find her because Uther is executing people and she refuses to go back, he doesn’t pressure her. People are getting killed about it, and yet when she says, “I'm sorry. I'm never going back. These are my people. They're like me. I don't feel so alone here. Do you understand?” his only answer is “Better than anyone.”

But yeah, it does tell him that when it comes down to a choice between self-preservation and saving others, Morgana will choose the former. And that’s fine, to some degree! People are allowed self-preservation and putting themselves first, and Merlin and Arthur often are self-sacrificing to a truly unhealthy degree. That being said, I personally find it questionable if accepting the death of innocent, also at least under-privileged if not oppressed people for your own sake is the morally “right” choice but as I don’t want to start a philosophical rant here, let’s leave it at that.

There’s—imo—more than one reason why Merlin didn’t owe her anything; first of all, I personally don’t think you ever owe anything of this kind to anyone, ever. Just because someone tells me a huge secret, doesn’t mean I have to do the same, especially if it’s a life-threatening one; all you “owe” is kindness, understanding, and keeping the secret that was entrusted to you. All of which Merlin did.

Then there’s the whole axis of power to their relationship; Morgana might be nice and treat Gwen and Merlin with respect, but that doesn’t erase the huge difference of station between them. Since the first week Merlin arrived in Camelot, he saw that the word of a servant, his word, meant absolutely nothing against a knight, noble, or actual royal.

Morgana didn’t hand him any power over herself when she revealed her secret. Merlin, on the other hand, would’ve handed her complete power over his life or death. I’m not saying Merlin would’ve ever revealed her secret under any circumstances—I actually think if he had told Arthur in season 3, Arthur would’ve believed him; he’s proven he would, more than once. But it wasn’t only about being believed, it was also, still, about not giving her away. (Though to be fair here—what it was also about was that she threatened to reveal that he poisoned her. Which, obviously, fair to some degree but if she did that, I doubt she would’ve revealed why he did, which ultimately only plays back into my point that Morgana’s loyalty is conditional. Which, again, is a valid stance to have, but not that of a person I’d trust with such a secret.)

Anyway. Just because Merlin never would’ve revealed her secret, doesn’t mean that the difference in their potential power over each other wasn’t there, and it’s important. Especially if you look back to the start of season 2 where—even before she turned her back on Camelot—Morgana made it clear that for her, self-preservation prevails when it comes right down to it.

Well, and thirdly, there’s also the matter of destiny and responsibility if Merlin’s own safety and well-being isn’t already enough (which it is, just in case there was any doubt about my opinion on that matter.) Of course, in season 2, Merlin’s not yet as fixated on Arthur as he is later, not even on destiny, as his intention to leave Camelot shows (if he had stayed away is another question altogether but I digress.) Still, Kilgharrah made it pretty clear that this was about more than Merlin, and while Merlin definitely didn’t always listen to him, the threat was immense.

And it wasn’t only about Arthur either, I’d even say that in the great scheme of things, Arthur played relatively little into this decision; it was about his people as a whole, and it was about Gaius because if Merlin had been revealed, Gaius had already proven that he’d try taking the fall if not get accused of harbouring a sorcerer. I don’t think this alone would’ve been enough, but taken together with the other points, I think it did have some weight in Merlin’s decision and I also think that it was a valid choice to make even beyond the “you don’t have to reveal anything to anyone even if it’s only because you don’t want to.”

Last but not least, I also think it’s important to keep in mind how long they’ve known each other which, at that point, were maybe two years. Merlin’s been most likely told from the day he could understand it to never reveal himself to anyone. Until Freya, Merlin never tells anyone on his own volition (except maybe Will, we don’t know, but they’ve known each other their whole lives), and it’s impossible to compare the circumstances. Just because Morgana told him in what she herself calls a moment of weakness does not mean Merlin has any obligation to do the same.

I want to reiterate that he did try to help her, actively with the Druids, and also passively by reassuring her that there’s nothing wrong with her and that he will keep her secret. This is already more than he would have to do—the whole thing with the Druids put Merlin at risk too, arguably much more than her. Of course, that has never stopped him which is what we love about him, but I think that it’s more than enough. Merlin is not responsible for fixing every little thing in Camelot, he’s not responsible for other people’s actions and decisions, and he did more than could be expected of him.

Which is also why I think that if he had told her about his magic, it wouldn’t have changed anything in the long run, but as this is already way too long, let’s leave that can of worms for another time...

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH17

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 17: Journey (Second Half)

Even when the moon had reached the middle of the sky, the excitement of the Valentine tribe in the distance remained the same, and the joy continued.

But it was a joy that some people avoided.

A petite figure walked through the stone forest. It had gotten dark, and the moon overhead couldn't bring enough lighting. The shadows of the stone pillars made one unable to see the ground beneath them. When there came the sound of an eagle crying overhead, she lost her guard and knocked her head on a stone, groaning and singing in pain.

She was a human girl, maybe a Valentine.

The traveler jumped off the wind-eroded column and walked up to her. She retreated in fear, her back pressing tightly against the rock wall, and shouted, "Don't capture me! Please, let me escape! Don't tell the patriarch and the high priest!"

"Who are you?" asked the traveler.

The girl's panic was quelled by this question and this voice. She summoned the courage to look up at the stranger. In the moonlight, the handsome traveler made her unconsciously open her mouth: "I... My name is Aya, a member of the Valentines."

"Where are you going?" asked the traveler.

"Ant City... I want to go to the Ant City!" Aya whispered at first, but suddenly she said it out loud.

"You should go before dawn. The desert at night is very dangerous," the traveler warned.

Was he concerned about her? Aya looked at the stranger in astonishment. He was very tall, fair-skinned—very different from the short brown Valentines—and handsome.

Aya suddenly looked back and gazed at the bonfire in the distance. She suddenly had an idea in her heart.

She stood up from the ground, dusted the dust and gravel from her skirt, and looked at the traveler with trepidation. He stood in front of her as quiet as the moonlight, as determined as a desert poplar that refused to fall. She was nervous, but she was forced by her inner anxiety.

"You… Do you want to ask me to dance? We can dance all night!" Aya got up the courage and rushed out an invitation that was implicitly out of line.

If people from the Valentine tribe were here, they would understand her. Aya was afraid that he couldn't understand, and boldly squeezed a sentence from her throat: "I’ve grown up, I can do more intimate things than dancing, I can do it!"

When she finished speaking, she quickly bowed her head, afraid to see contempt from the traveler's eyes. This shame, mixed with fear, made her red-eyed and so sad that she almost cried.

"I’m sorry, I’m a monk," the traveler answered her.

Aya's heart retreated. Even a girl like her who lived in a remote tribe knew what this meant—he would not rush to get close to a girl, and would not do anything more than the moment before entering marriage. She should apologize and run away in shame.

But the fear of the future was forcing her. Her lips trembled and she desperately begged: "We could get married, I don't want gifts, I don't want rings... We could get married tonight, and you wouldn't have to visit me after tomorrow. Please, I don't want to... I don't want to..."

The traveler replied, "I’m sorry, I have a lover."

Aya began to cry, shaking with tears. She was jealous of the lucky girls in the tribe who could dance with their favorite boy on this beautiful night while she was locked in her room, waiting for fate. She had escaped, but where could she escape to? She couldn't cross the vast Sea of Tranquility desert, and could only go to the Underground Ant City—the hell on earth that frightened her. She doesn't have the strength of a bear, the sharpness of an eagle, or the agility of a monkey. How could an ordinary human girl survive there?

Everywhere was a dead end, and there was no glimmer of hope. She finally despaired, wiped her tears, and turned to walk towards the village. She had escaped on impulse, but now that she thought about it, there was nowhere to go. Why shouldn't she go back and accept her own destiny?

But the traveler stopped her: "Do you have some difficulties? Do you need my help?"

Aya stopped and turned to look at him. The traveler stood in the bright moonlight and watched her with gentle blue eyes. This stranger cared about her and worried about her pain. This thought makes Aya burst into tears. She couldn't wait to tell the whole of her grievances, but when she was stared at by such a pair of eyes, she couldn't say anything, she could only shed tears silently.

"Thank you... Sir... Thank you."

Amidst the joyful celebration, this tribal girl with honey skin told her story intermittently.

The Valentine tribe was a tribe that had migrated here from somewhere else. Unlike the aborigines with high noses, deep eyes, and white skin, they had a darker skin color and were not very tall. In addition, since they had come later, their relationship with other tribes was not harmonious and they even suffered from discrimination.

Demons always liked pure human girls. As the Dragon Ant Queen aged, she asked for more sacrifices. The secret of her bloody cruelty was circulated in the Sea of Tranquility desert—she drank great amounts of the blood of virgins in an attempt to stop the traces left by time. Aya, who had just become an adult, was chosen as the Valentine tribe’s tribute this year, and would be sent to the Dragon Ant Queen’s palace in the Underground Ant City. She didn't know if she would really face a bloodthirsty tyrant, but she knew that all the girls who were sent there had never come back.

Aya's mother died young and her father had been bewitched by a trader and became a believer in Utopia, leaving the tribe to pursue this dreamlike land of perfection. Left alone, Aya was brought up by the tribe on the condition that she would be a tribute for the tribe when she grew up.

Aya, who had no choice, grew up in fear. In order to keep her pure, the patriarch and the high priest had forbidden her from having contact with the opposite sex. She felt sincere envy and deep fear when she watched her peers walk into marriage one by one.

Finally, in this unattended bonfire festival, she was moved by the joy and excitement. She quietly escaped from the village and wanted to mix into the Underground Ant City to live out the rest of her days. Then she met someone who changed her life.

Now, she and this man were sitting on a low and easy-to-climb wind-eroded column, looking out over the bonfire in the distance.

She confided intermittently, confused for a while, self-pitying for a while, and sometimes even felt guilty: "Maybe I shouldn't have run away. If I leave, another girl will be sent there instead of me, and they don't want to do that... They should have a better life."

The traveler who had been silent until now told her: "No one should bear this pain, and neither should you."

Tears flowed from her dry eyes again and Aya choked: "But everyone doesn't think so. Since I’ve accepted the tribe’s support, I should repay them. This is a matter of course."

"It is an obligation to raise a child. It is unjust to ask her to repay this obligation with her life," said the traveler.

"It's not my fault? Isn't it because I’m too selfish?" Aya asked hopefully.

The traveler shook his head. "It's not your fault, nor is it anyone's fault."

"Whose fault is it then?" Aya was confused.

The traveler couldn't answer, and he was also thinking, if the world forced a warm and kind ethnic group to sell their own kind in exchange for surviving, whose fault was it?

"It's the Devils’ fault," the traveler said. "So we must destroy them and drive them back to the underworld, so that they will never come to this world."

"That's good. In this case, daddy wouldn't believe in any Utopia anymore? A world without demons itself is so beautiful. It’s a Utopia already. I want to live in such a world. Everything is good, perfect and the best," Aya said. Her poor vocabulary couldn't express the world in her heart. She can only describe it as "the best".

"What kind of world is it?" the traveler asked.

Aya thought hard and described the Utopia in her heart: "It must be an equal world. Besides human beings, there can also be demons that don't harm people... I heard that there are such demons in the Underground Ant City, and some even marry humans. If they don't harm us, I can accept their existence. No matter what kind of skin colour, like you or me, or whether we’re men or women, whether we have a faith or not, as long as we’re willing to be peaceful and friendly and not hurt each other, we should be equal and should be happy."

The traveler was surprised. He didn't expect an uneducated tribal girl to have such a mind and ideal, which made his heart that was blindly hostile to all demons ashamed.

Aya couldn't help but smile when she thought about such a world: "It would be great if I could live in a world like that."

With that, she smiled again and sighed softly: "What’s the point in dreaming of such ideals? We don't even know if we can survive the next evil tide... There will always be some demons fleeing to the surface each month during those days. Last month, they ate five sheep that belonged to the patriarch's family and they’ve eaten people before."

Aya asked, "I heard that monks like you can do magic spells. Can you do that?"

"I don't have that kind of power, but I have the Lord in my heart." The traveler replied that he had faith even though he had been exiled.

"Would believing in the Lord make me as smart and powerful as you? Can I also believe?" Aya asked uneasily.

The traveler handed her a heavy book as an answer.

Aya held the book carefully, for fear that her hands would ruin the precious book. She looked at the words on the cover and sounded it out with difficulty: "The Canon, is that how you read it?"

She only knew some simple words and feared that she would remember wrong. After flipping through the pages, she was embarrassed to find that she couldn't read even half of the contents.

"This is what my mother left me, and now I will give it to you," said the traveler.

Aya closed the book in a panic, threw it back, and hit the traveler in the waist with it. He groaned and his face suddenly turned pale.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Sorry, I’m sorry!" Aya apologized fearfully, and she was so anxious that her tears fell down.

"It doesn't matter, it's a previous injury." Although the traveler looked haggard, he had a calm expression, as if the wound on his body was really just a minor injury. He put the book back in Aya's hands. "It doesn't matter. I memorized this book very young. If it can help you, it has value."

He didn't think it was a pity to give the Canon to a girl who couldn't even recognize its words. Moreover, the place where he was going was dangerous, and the result of going was that he might be left sleeping in the ground forever. If he let her go back with this Canon, at least the tribe wouldn't blame her for her escape.

There was a kind seed in her heart. Whether she believed it or not, she should be treated well.

"Thank you, really thank you." Aya thanked him repeatedly and was overwhelmed with joy when she held the book.

During this bonfire festival that she wasn’t allowed to attend, she had still received a gift. Maybe the traveler didn't know the meaning of the gift, but it still made her jump secretly. There was a happy bird singing in her heart, almost flying out of her chest.

But he had a lover. Aya bowed her head sadly, trying to hide her sour mood. With her head bowed, she opened the book and read the words by the moonlight, secretly blushing: "Love is... is..."

"Love is patient, love is kind," the traveler told her the pronunciation.

This heartfelt statement made her emotion surge. She seemed to be inspired by fate and bravely continued to read: "Love does not... what?"

The traveler told her slowly, "Love does not envy."

Aya's hand stroking the pages froze, and her foolish longing turned into full loss and self-mockery, which finally made her thoughtful.

Love is not envy. Aya silently read this sentence in her mind. Don't be envious of the girls who can dance with their sweethearts, and don't be envious of strangers who care about their loved ones. It was not her love.

The bonfire in the distance had become faint, the voice of celebration had gradually lowered, and the festival had come to an end.

Aya held the book and whispered, "I want to go home."

The traveler said, "I can take you to the Ant City and help you settle down."

"No, I’m willing to go back. Thank you," Aya said. "But before you go, can I talk to you for a while? We can talk about anything."

The traveler promised her.

Aya talked happily about the past, and stopped talking about the fear that made her feel miserable and helpless. Instead, she talked about the interesting things she’d encountered. She had been so angry when the bucket was pushed into the well by the sheep when she had been fetching water that she’d chased after the sheep. She had burned her hand when she was making naan and the neighbour's boy had helped her fetch water to cool it down. After listening to the traders talking about the outside world, she had learned that there was a place called the Vatican. She was excited to talk about all these interesting things, because she didn't think the traveler was happy. She wanted him to be happy, and she also wanted to know about his past, even if it was just his name.

But the traveler was always a silent listener, and he had no intention of telling his own story.

She didn't know where he came from, what kind of pain and despair he had experienced, why there was such a gentle sadness in his body, and what kind of person he carefully sheltered in his heart.

But the traveler didn't say anything. He didn't say anything.

Late at night, the young girl was very tired and sleepy. She murmured and asked, "Where is your lover? Where did she go?"*

*{E/N: he and she are pronounced the same in Chinese}

The traveler replied, "He is always in my heart."

Aya couldn't tell whether this is what the traveler said or what she dreamed. She fell asleep with the book as her pillow, and the traveler took the liberty of taking the strange girl back to the village. He covered her with a blanket, sat next to her to watch over her, and went nearby to find some dry wood to raise the fire and warm her.

The traveler himself didn't sleep. He waited for the rising sun and then quietly left to continue his journey.

Before the start of this journey, he actually hadn't had many opportunities to watch the sunrise, as he couldn't see it in the Village of Dusk. When he’d moved to Neverland, he had spent half a year under the eternally starry sky. When he was on tasks outside, he was in a hurry and didn't have the mind to wait for a sunrise. In fact, he didn't have any attachment to the sunrise. If his lover was still there, it would be beautiful for them to watch the sunset together. The sunset never fell in the land of Dusk. They could sit side by side on the beach, holding hands and watching the end of time.

He wanted to take him to the snow-capped mountains to see if the snow leopard he had once treated still occupied the mountains, where there was a beautiful waterfall and ice lake and the frozen blue-green water amidst the ice and snow made the mountain as beautiful as a fairy tale. He also wanted to take him to the polar regions to see penguins. They could even adopt an abandoned baby penguin, feed it, and watch it stagger on the ice until it was strong enough to return to the colony.

He had many, many things he wanted to do with him. Maybe he didn't want to do these things. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.

When people who love each other are together, they can feel each other's hearts even if they don't say a word.

But if the distance was between life and death, could these thoughts reach the other side of the Styx?

The traveler watched the sun rising over the horizon, and his heart was at peace. He was like a boat drifting from one port to another. He may encounter storms along the way, but when the boat arrived at the harbor, he would still feel lucky and never feel dismayed.

He never felt that he should take happiness for granted. His decision with his faith was not to seek happiness, but to let his heart find peace, even if he was punished for it.

It was better to suffer frankly than to live falsely. He knew that he wouldn't run away. He had made a mistake and did not repent, so he should be punished. For him, such punishment was not pain, but atonement. All the sufferings in this world were to redeem the original sin that he was born with, and he had to pay for it with his whole life.

At dawn, Aya woke up from her sleep. She was covered with a blanket and didn't know when the bonfire before her had been lit. There were still faint flames swaying in the wind, but the traveler had left.

Aya grabbed the blanket, picked up the book, and ran to the village in a hurry. The rocks and thorns along the way made her run too fast, and she accidentally fell to the ground.

She couldn't care less about herself and picked up the Canon, only to find that a piece of paper had fallen from its pages.

She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a hand-painted portrait of a handsome young man smiling at her.

There was a name in the corner, which should be the name of the person in the portrait. It was very simple, and she could easily read it out even if she couldn't read much. She gently said: "Qi Leren."

It was just an ordinary name, but the tender brushwork on the portrait made her voice go soft unconsciously. She wanted to take a closer look and feel the overflowing tenderness, but a gust of wind blew from the desert, violently and rapidly, and took the portrait from her unsuspecting hand, blowing it into the clear sky above the vast yellow sand.

The sand flying in the wind overwhelmed Aya's eyes. She waved her arms wildly in confusion, but she could only grasp the yellow sand in her hands. When she opened her misty eyes again, the portrait had been brought to the sky by the wind, fluttering and rootless, and was about to disappear into the heavens.

Aya chased it without thinking, racing the wind all the way. A great sadness filled her heart and a voice in her heart made her run, run, run desperately... She lost her shoes, her feet stepped on stones, and blood flowed, but the pain of her body could not overcome her inner sadness and she still dared not stop, she wanted to catch what was about to be lost—until she tripped over thorns and fell heavily to the earth.

She fell in such pain that she fell to her knees and cried. Her feet had already been cut bloody, her knees were scraped open, and she was bleeding. Even her hands were full of cuts. She shrank back and wanted to give up, but she looked up and looked into the distance unwillingly.

The wind was blowing again, and a gust of wind sent that thin piece of paper to an unknown distance. Such a large desert, such a small piece of paper. In an instant there was no trace of it, only the vast yellow sand and blue sky.

Who was the man in that picture? Aya would never know.

It was doomed to be unknown, impossible to find and impossible to obtain.

And how could the emotion carried on the delicate paper withstand the relentless sand in the desert?

It would eventually be destroyed, buried and forgotten.

Aya was stupefied and kneeling in the hot sun, with mottled blood all the way behind her showing that she had made an almost crazy effort for a story with no answer. Her eyes, which were filled with the wind and sand, kept shedding tears, but they couldn't wash away the hard sand in her soft eyes. It seemed that something sharp was stuck in her heart, so sharp and painful, but she didn't know what it was.

She didn't know anything.

Sadness and melancholy suddenly welled up in the girl's heart and she burst into tears on this barren land, for a stranger whose name she didn’t know, for a stranger who only knew her name.

-----

Editor’s Notes: After checking three different mtls (my number has gone up again oh dear), I’ve determined that BMBL calls the book the Bible in the original Chinese. I’ve chosen to translate it as Canon in order to distinguish it, as BMBL has stated previously (and will again later) that, despite being very similar, the religion in this series is not Christianity.

I think this chapter is the first time I’ve cried a bit while editing. I encourage everyone to come back and read this little interlude again once you’ve finished all of Part II, there’s quite a bit that hits differently.

I’m going to be taking a one week break while we’re between arcs in order to do some catching up, so the next chapter will be up on June 18th.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[setsuntamew]

So, Persona 5 Royal, huh?

Full disclosure: I had gotten about halfway through November on Wednesday and finished it out Saturday night, which took uhhh about 65-70 hours? Some of that was sitting there waiting for the PS4 controller to recharge or listening to music in the Thieves Den while eating, but I still feel like I need to own up to how extremely bad I am at making good decisions with my life XD

MOVING ON, THOUGH, HOLY SHIT. P5 was a very good game, but Royal’s additions & changes made it incredible. I like the ending way more; I think it’s more emotionally fulfilling and meaningful, especially with everyone’s more defined future plans. Definitely felt like everyone had more growth in the end!! Which is something I’d always thought P5 was lacking.

Snip snip for spoilers and the fact that this post ended up being too damn long, oops! the last third is basically Akechi feels and analyzing his ending, so......yeah XD

Part of why I plowed through SO much of Royal in so little time is....Akechi XD Like okay, this is my stupid fandom blog, I can be excited about him all I want!!! I got to Sae’s Palace and just....I couldn’t put it down. @dragonofeternal​ and I ordered an embarrassing amount of takeout instead of cooking because we just had to see how everything with Maruki and the third semester was gonna go down. I’d already been dying along the way because Akechi’s confidant dates are so good, I just. Fuck!!!

Also, look, for the entirity of Shido’s boss fight and the depths of Mementos/Yaldabaoth/etc, we’d look at each other every few minutes and just be like AKECHI SHOULD BE HERE WITH US, HE DESERVES TO GET HIS VENGEANCE ON HIS SHITTY DAD AND FORCED DESTINY!!!!!

December 24th had to be the longest god damn day in Akira’s life because like. Final exam grades are posted in the morning! He goes to school and then dives into hell, crawls his way back out, briefly dies by fading from human cognition, fights an actual fucking god, and then....ends up dissociating in Shibuya until Sae shows up and is like “oh hey thanks for everything you did, please sign up for being arrested now.” And while he’s still reeling from that, Akechi walks up to take his place, like some kind of bullshit knight in shining armor schtick, and leaves no room for conversation.

AND THEN WE HAVE TO GO ON A DATE

I romanced Hifumi this time around, because I wanted Akria to bang a girl who is just so incredibly out of his league, but....it’s not necessarily that I forgot I was dating someone, more that it had been *so many hours of plot* that I was emotionally exhausted. Like, Hifumi texted me and I was just like. Right. RIGHT. It’s still Christmas Eve, somehow. I was at *school* this morning. The whole world merged with Mementos briefly in the middle of this, Akechi is somehow alive, and I guess I’m going on a date now????

I do appreciate how many “god I’m just dissociating my way through this” conversation options there were for the date, tbh. I feel bad though, I really like Hifumi, but I feel like Akira is not giving a date his full emotional attention at that specific time. It feels a bit like emotional whiplash, more so than I remember it being in P5? Maybe it’s because I played it 4 years ago and there wasn’t the added emotional weight of Akechi’s reappearance, but it was just like....a lot, in Royal.

AND THEN THE NEW YEAR HAPPENED. I’d been spoiled on large parts of the third semester, mostly because Royal’s been out for a year already and I’m too curious for my own good. I’d also somehow lied to myself, saying I didn’t have time to play another Persona game right now, and yet here I am, 171 hours of game play within exactly a month, kicking myself for not knowing how deep in Persona hell I would get XD

Which is to say, as soon as the new year started, it felt I was drowning in anxiety. I knew something was wrong, I knew they were in a false reality, but knowing that sure as fuck didn’t make it easier to go through. If anything, it was somehow worse, knowing that it was all gonna come crumbling down, but I didn’t yet know the exact details, only the broad strokes of it. Just. Every time someone talked about something that was wrong, my heart would clench.

God, I’m so fucking tired, I pulled an all-nighter on Friday so I could get through Royal before having to work on Sunday, and I am feeling it right now. Life tips: don’t do what I do XD

Every moment with Akechi felt like borrowed time, at least for me, because I knew what was coming. I spent so much time in Mementos with him; I ended up putting just him and Akira in my party and plowing through everything, including trouncing the Reaper over and over just for the hell of it. I got his ultimate weapons, I spent so many nights in the jazz club with him that he ran out of dialogue options, and I still took him back for more. I accidentally failed to EVER trigger Sumire’s Showtime because every fight was just Akira and Akechi against the world, because fuck it, I’m playing this for fun!! If I want to play with them in stupid costumes and no one else in the party, I’m gonna. Royal did such an incredible job giving Akechi more depth and development: it was all I could hope for, and it made it that much fucking worse to know what was in store for him.

Somehow, I thought it would be harder for me to make the decision to refuse Maruki’s deal, since fuck, fuck what I wouldn’t give for Akechi to be alive???? But I barely hesitated, only really stopping because I had to emotionally brace myself for it, because a reality where he can’t carve out his own fate would be a disrespect to everything their relationship is built on.

I have a whole shit ton of feelings about post-beating Maruki but they’re basically all Akechi related meta so somehow they ended up at the end of this post, I’m sorry XD

I understand that they had to keep the going to jail bit because 1) Akechi didn’t turn himself in, Akira did and 2) it leads to the final events of the game, but let me just say....the emotional roller coaster of fighting Maruki, almost failing multiple times, waking up in jail, the Phantom Thieves & friends getting Akira out of jail, celebrating that, and then getting thrown into Valentines Day was a LOT for my heart to take. Once again, didn’t forget I had a girlfriend, just got too invested in the plot to really be thinking about her. It’s less than two weeks after the fight with Maruki and somehow, everything is supposed to be okay????

The scene with everyone talking about their future plans is such good character growth, though. Everyone feels like they’ve truly grown and are making decisions that, even though they might be painful or hard at times, are ultimately very important to them. It’s a really good contrast to the “almost everyone goes to Shujin and they all stay in Tokyo forever without doing anything for themselves” Maruki’s perfect reality bad end.

Standing in the Underground Mall on White Day, being told I had to get flowers but finally being able to have control of Akira again was....so bittersweet. The fact that the location of the date is the aquarium is a low fucking blow, and I almost threw the controller across the room I was so upset. Like. THE AQUARIUM IS UNLOCKED BECAUSE AKECHI HAS TICKETS HOW FUCKING DARE SOJIRO SUGGEST IT LIKE MY HEART ISN’T STILL ACHING????? God, speaking of that: The fucking god damn Featherman video game tore my heart out because I ended up playing it WHILE WORKING ON SHIDO’S PALACE and I cried a ton about Gray Pigeon because of course they had to dig the emotional knife in even deeper!! Just fuck me up, it’s fine, I’m just dying!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ended up scrolling through his texts to find the group chats that still had Akechi in them, and fuck, it was a LOT. Like. Maybe it’s because I’m too invested in the two of them, but it was probably the worst emotional whiplash of the whole game. Like, how am I supposed to go play happy with anyone while staring at texts from a reality built of lies? It wasn’t real but the proof lives on in his phone and his heart, and I’m still fucked up over it.

HOWEVER. FUCKING. I SPENT LIKE HALF AN HOUR BEING EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED ABOUT ALL THIS AND THEN DISCOVERED THE BASTARD STILL HAD ALL HIS EQUIPMENT, INCLUDING THE ULTIMATE MALE ARMOR!!! He returned his shit after Sae’s Palace even though he thought Akira was dead, but this time it didn’t get fucking returned to my inventory, so he must have fucking run off with all his shit!!!!!!! Why the hell did none of it get returned if he was never alive in the true reality? Like I know it'll be returned for a new game+ but I like to nitpick game mechanics for story reasons, because one of the things I love most about video games is the experience of them as another layer to the story. The texts from the third semester shouldn’t exist anymore, since they never really existed, but there they are. Akechi insisted that he has a gap in his memory after Shido’s Palace up until seeing Akira on Christmas Eve, but who can say that wasn’t related to Maruki tampering with reality or some other Persona-related reason?

I mean. I got the full and complete True Ending; I saw him in the train station. If that’s not Akechi, then who the fuck is it? Atlus made sure to put the work in to make him a part of not just the main story but also, especially, the third semester, and for what....to have his final time on screen be as the butt of the joke, squished underneath everyone in the Mona-copter? As much as it hurts, his end in Shido’s Palace matters; it fits his character and he gets to go out fighting- carving his own path, really. In Royal, barring the tiny glimpse of someone who’s probably him in the train station, the last we see of him is when he watches Joker let go of the rope to finish off Maruki. I know we got the heart to heart where Akira agrees to reject Maruki’s deal and Akechi insists that he’d rather be dead than live in a false reality, but.....no one even says goodbye to him. It’s tragic, it’s painfully lonely, but it doesn’t feel right for such a major character.

Also, as undignified as it is, for the first time ever, Akechi looks like he actually belongs in the Phantom Thieves in that final moment. He’s never been the butt of their jokes before; they always kept him at arms’ reach and he took himself too seriously to be included, but for that brief moment, it really felt like he was part of their group. He stopped lying about himself for their last month together, and so even if they don’t all like him, they can make that decision based on the truth, instead of layers of lies. His death is all the more tragic for this; a life cut short just when he’s finally finding a place he belongs. But his death was already painful; why make it so, so much worse?

Final thing: I’m gonna be spending a ton of time in the Thieves Den trying to find Akechi’s opinions on everything, but also....hey. HEY. What do those six stars that Jose (probably?) painted on the wall mean? Is it just a reference to Persona 6???? LIKE????? I HAVE QUESTIONS. SO, SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!

Anyway, I’ve gotta go cry into my Starbucks and desperately try to focus on actually doing my job at work, but I loved Royal deeply and cannot wait to drown in it ;w;

[wangxiandecoded]

Episode 9

Previous Episode | Next Episode

(Spoilers for the whole show ahead!)

Lan Zhan remembers what Wei Ying had mentioned about the puppets the first night at Cloud Recesses showing he remembers quite a lot about him, he just doesn’t let on.

NHS is a big mood in this scene, an absolutely useless gay depending on two warrior gays to save his life. But he’s hindering their flawless team work so Lan Zhan uses the silencing spell on him.

This dialogue is so uncalled for and delivered in a way that makes you think Wei Ying just wants to see Lan Zhan have an outburst, kick back and admire how hot that is.

Wei Ying’s “you can go ahead and blame me for everything that is wrong with this world but my man has done nothing wrong in his life ever” smile.

You didn’t have to expose him like that but thank you, Jiang Cheng.

Wei Ying’s “sorry I accidentally did a hetero thing, let us please not remember this for the sake of my clean conscience” smile.

Yet Another Plot Device To Show Off Wangxian’s Chemistry

The Dire Owl subplot is one of the dreamiest scenes on the show and a fight sequence that proves Wangxian own the patent for words like soulmates, symmetry, equilibrium, balance, yin and yang, mirrors and their derivatives.

Here’s something that’s bothered me : Wei Ying calls for Lan Zhan twice and he doesn’t answer him the first time even though he looks searchingly in his direction. It is only when they knock into each other the second time that he explains the fog is a hallucination caused by the Dire Owl. (But of course Lan Zhan doesn’t need to answer him, the red string of fate will inevitably help them find the other.) 

Clear-headed as he is, did he for a second believe that the Dire Owl was making him hallucinate Wei Ying’s voice the first time, and is that why he ignored him? Because Lan Zhan’s mind could be the spotless sea of tranquillity it is, but Wei Ying has now become the shrillest thought that breaks through and demands his attention. He doesn’t respond though, so he must have been sure Wei Ying is safe.

For Lan Zhan, Wei Ying will do even the impossible. He’ll try his best to seal off all his senses and mute his head that’s forever brimming with thoughts. 

Ok, pause. I cried when I watched this for the first time and let me tell you why. The implications of this fight scene are astounding. We all know Wangxian are soulmates who can confront anything together but did we know that they could feel and find their way to each other even when their senses are completely shut? I mean, how attuned to someone’s existence do you have to be to achieve that? They are hyper focusing on nothing but the Dire Owl and yet moving perfectly with eyes closed in an outrageously impressive synchrony. They can feel the other’s presence and have utmost trust in each other to shield their direction. They move as if they’ve spent infinite lifetimes by the other’s side mastering this skill; they leap, spin and swerve like they think with the same mind. The way they fit together is to die for, nearly impossible and the legendary stuff from stories that we all wish we could have with someone in this existence. If I was whatever that stood in Wangxian’s way, I’d be terrified and call it a day. They are not just soulmates, they are The Original Formidable Soulmates™. 

Wangxian Are Here To Kick Queerbaiters In The Ass

This fantastic display of battle prowess by the two heroes fighting back-to-back is one of the many things that convinced me The Untamed is not like the other stories out there. Simply because every stop of their journey is too romantic and the others don’t come close enough. It is an injustice to compare or group their relationship with the ‘dude bro, no homo’ chemistry that bromances usually sell. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are two people who are so passionately devoted to and absolutely belong with each other, they are soulmates not just in the minds of the audience or because the creators were afraid to make them something more, but soulmates by their own admission. There are other factors that strengthen their already supergay case like the absence of a female love interest in their lives and their flirty interactions being genuinely adorable as heck, as opposed to just isolated instances of b(romance). And it really, really, helps our case that the novel is canonically gay but it is also remarkable that a show that’s teeming with gay subtext can exist at all and go on to become one that is widely embraced by everyone, casual watchers and shippers alike. 

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying's chemistry gives all the Western superheroes a run for their money. We no longer have to wonder what it looks like when two queer heroes who are in love get to kick ass together. See, this is what happens when you have the guts to invest in a gay romance. This show looked censorship in the eye and said gay rights anyway. (I’m going to digress from this show for a sec and just plainly weep for all the queer pairings on mainstream media that we shipped but couldn’t see the light of day because of the homophobic people behind them. It is great that the truth still lives in our hearts and the millions of words on ao3. But life feels a lot sweeter to know with certainty that our heroes are in love this time and celebrate the fact that the people who made this show knew and honoured that very well, that they honoured the audience. In my eyes, CQL is the unparalleled forefather of gay romance from now on. Because reading these epic queer stories is one thing but watching Wangxian’s story unfold along with the entire world means believing in the power of gay love. And seeing our favorite heroes in action makes the characters we look up to so much more real.)

Lan Zhan comes flying like the Prince Charming he is to break the shackles of heteronormativity trying to kill his soulmate! Hell yeah, king! Save us from that straight trope that’s been choking us since time immemorial.

We did not just see Wei Ying pretend to be dead so he can outsmart the bird and simultaneously get Lan Zhan to save him just because he likes that sort of thing. Nope, totally didn’t happen. 

Oh, hello Ah Yuan! Details like this prove the show is well worth multiple rewatches.

There is nothing more uniquely Wangxian than the million thoughts they share with each other through mere glances, the frequency of which steadily increases. Who knew you could speak with zero articulation? Not having a soulmate sure sucks for the rest of us mortals. I doubt the audience can truly grasp the depth of their communication but I’m pretty sure it goes like this most of the time. 

Wei Ying teasing Lan Zhan that the Goddess Statue tried to kill him because she had a crush on him is all kinds of hilarious. Lan Zhan looks somewhere in between “Wei Ying, we’re talking about the fate of the universe, stop being gay for 2 seconds please,” and "STFU, just because I can find my way to you blind doesn't mean I will hesitate to Silence you again."

Wei Ying Is Crumbling All Of Lan Zhan’s Walls

Most people maintain their distance from Hanguang-Jun, the Noblest Of Them All, he whose robes command respect and inspire fear. There is hence something very sweetly domestic about Wei Ying latching on to his silk tassel while subtext-whining, "Where are you going Lan Zhan, I refuse to live without you", and "Ugh Lan Zhan, you're so lost without me, ok fine, I'll help you.” It’s like he granted himself the lifetime entitlement of being Lan Zhan’s nuisance-companion the night they met, and thank goodness for that because Lan Zhan wasn’t going to let anyone into his life. Wei Ying is the exception who managed to charm his way into his heart and dissolve his barriers.

Notice Wei Ying even turns down free alcohol for Lan Zhan. And the sheer undisguised panic on his face that Lan Zhan is going to leave him alone after all the bonding activities he made sure they went through is endearing comedy at its peak. 

We see Lan Zhan no longer believes resolutely in His Ways and lets Wei Ying persuade him to believe there is a better one. This is a great 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙥𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 for them because they’re communicating.

Lan Zhan doesn’t fight him anymore, period. 

The Yin Iron starts acting up and Wei Ying is immediately there for Lan Zhan, gently grounding him. He can feel the horror and pain Lan Zhan has seen in the vision because of course he can. But does Lan Zhan see how much Wei Ying loves him and hurts for him? He has to. In moments like this, Wei Ying’s presence shows how wrong Lan Zhan is in wanting to do everything alone. We all need a friend in life. And it was destiny that led them to each other because their lives would’ve evidently been a lot lonelier without the other in it. 

Episode 9 shows Lan Zhan warming up to Wei Ying some more : he has stopped being antagonistic altogether, lets Wei Ying pull him around, freely accepts his help, shares many glances with him and is ready to blast anything that lays a finger on Wei Ying sky high. (Of course we see that Wei Ying exaggerates needing his help most of the time. He plays the “I’m a frail man desperately in need of Hanguang-Jun’s protection” card because swooning into the arms of his lover is one of his favorite things. And not even Lan Zhan calls him out for it. They’re just so whipped for each other.)

[monicawoe]

spn fic masterlist

(updated 5/29/21)

I’ve written over 100 spn fics (ranging from ficlets to 70k big-bangs). Most of them are Sam-centric, largely featuring powers!Sam. The whole collection can be found here on AO3

newest fics:

Between Hell and the Hunt - Dean's deal is due, but Sam has found a way to save him. He's made a deal with someone else - someone Lilith can't touch. (2k words, Wild Hunt season 3 AU)

Closer Than You Think - Five times Sam’s eyes were demonic, and one time they weren’t. (3k words, boyKingSam AUs of multiple eps)

Behold the Beast, Behold the Lamb - Season 4 AU.  Sam tried to free Dean from Hell, but angels intervened and took Dean for their own purposes. Sam is determined to get Dean back and will do whatever it takes, embracing his abilities fully. The more demon blood Sam drinks, the more demons he kills, the more he changes inside and out until it’s impossible to hide his monstrous side. Ruby, Uriel and Castiel push Sam to fulfill his destiny and become his true self—the Beast of the Revelation. (gen, Sam/Ruby, 20k words; featuring art by @quickreaver​)

Prayers Answered - written for the boy king Sam discord server prompt: Sam has grown up in a very religious environment. He's devoted, he goes to church, he prays. He knows that God is with him, because he listens to his prayers. But as Sam grows older, he realizes it's not God that's been listening. And he realizes that he's not asking - he's been ordering, and his loyal servants would never deny their King. (2k words; gen)

Sin Eater - Sam has a different plan to cure demon Dean, but Dean doesn't want to be cured. (Sam drinking blood from demon!Dean, written for @quickreaver​ for her artwork Bitumen Kiss)

On His Head a Crown - written for the 2019-2020 SWBB, art by @slytherkins​ Hunters drug Sam, force-feed him demon blood, and bring him to where they’ve captured Brady. Brady tells Sam he knows how to stop the Apocalypse, and Sam, despite his better judgment, hears him out: Sam himself is the horsemen Conquest—aka the Antichrist—and he alone can bring Lucifer’s apocalypse to a grinding halt. Sam resists, but when he discovers the good he can do with his new powers, he decides to use them to atone for all his past mistakes.   (21k, Sam/Brady, gen, AU of 5x03-5x04)

Many more under the cut

Best Self - written for @alyndra9​​  for the prompt: King of Hell Sam meets Kale!Sam and they have many differences of opinion to work out. (aka the only one who knows what Sam really wants is Sam.) words by monicawoe banner by @quickreaver​​! (~4k words, Sam/Sam)

All You Have Is Your Fire - written for @quickreaver​ for the 2020 Supernatural Spring Fling Dean has known fire all his life. Sometimes it sounds like his brother. (~2k words; gen)

Tear You Apart - written for @wetsammywinchester​ who wanted Soulless!Sam/Brady & Soulless!Sam taking on the mantle of King of Hell:  Sam doesn��t want his soul back. He resurrects Brady who helps him figure out a way to outsmart Death: by damaging his soul so it can’t be reintegrated. With Brady’s help, Sam reclaims his power, and takes his soul apart one piece at a time. (8k words; Soulless!Sam/Brady)

Hellbound - Sam is in Hell, and then he isn't. He's standing on a sidewalk with a stranger looking back at him—a stranger that has his face. My 2020 spn-summergen fic! Featuring soulless!Sam, disembodied soul-Sam and amnesiac Dean. (gen, 8k)

Lakeside Fishing - written for @denugis​ - After defeating Famine, after days of suffering through demon blood withdrawal in the panic room, Sam needs time to clear his head. Early in the morning, he heads to a small lake seeking solitude, but instead finds an unexpected ally. (4k words; Sam/Patrick; set after My Bloody Valentine; witch!Sam)

His Soul to Keep - art by @sketchydean​​ - written for the SPN Eldritch Bang horror event - Dean’s deal is coming due soon. When he finds out from Ruby that Hell will turn him into a demon, he refuses to accept it, even though he can already feel pieces of his soul starting to crumble away. Sam is his only anchor to the world, and Dean finds it harder and harder to leave his side.    After Broward County, after watching Dean die a thousand deaths, Sam decides he’s not going to let Dean go to Hell. He’ll do whatever it takes, even if that means allying himself with Ruby and using the darkness inside of him. Sam casts a soul-binding spell on Dean; they might not be able to break the deal, but they can change who Dean’s soul belongs to. (13k, Sam/Dean, hard-gen, AU of season 3))

Last Drop - art by @quickreaver​ -written for the Twisted Tropes event - Sam/Brady AU set while Sam’s at Stanford:  Sam is slowly adjusting to his new life at Stanford University. He’s left his life of hunting behind, and traded it for endless studying and tests, but he’s plagued by dreams of Dean and Dad in danger, dreams of blood and violence. Then he meets Tyson Brady, who’s always there with a smile and a cup of coffee to get Sam through all-nighters. Sam’s dreams start to fade, but just as he’s getting used to a nice normal life, he starts to develop abilities—powers he can’t control. Brady thinks they’re great, but Sam knows power never comes without a cost. (14k, Sam/Brady)

Make Angels of Us All - art by @amberdreams1960​  - Sam has a guardian angel. It’s been with him his whole life, trying to keep him safe. The angel gives Sam power he can’t control: power to move things with his mind, power over fire, and wings that nobody else can see—bony and jagged with scaly feathers. Dean says monsters aren't real, but Dad thinks they are. Sam's power scares him, and he’s not always sure what's real, but what he does know is people keep trying to kill the three of them, and he won't let that happen. (~20K, gen)

Burdens, Doublefold - cowritten with @quickreaver​, art by ileliberte What if Dean left Sam at Stanford after the fire, hoping it would keep his little brother safe and make things better? Somehow, 'better' never seems to be in the Winchester Family cards. Sam gets tangled up with his ex-roommate Brady, tracking psychics, but dealing with demons is never honest business. Dean carries on until his father is put in grave danger. He is left on his own to deal, stumbling into Harvelle's Roadhouse for help, where Dean gets just a little more than he bargained for. Eventually, the brothers’ paths twist and turn their way back to each other, but the results could mean the End of Days. (67k, gen, AU of seasons 1-2)

Before the One You Serve When Dean comes to get Sam at Stanford, he finds him living with Brady. And Dean doesn't trust Brady, even though he can't quite put his finger on why. Not at first. (5k, Sam/Brady)

He Who Fights Monsters - cowritten with nwspaprtaxis, art by @quickreaver​ AU of the summer between Seasons 3 and 4. Dean's dead, dragged down kicking and screaming to Hell. Sam's not dealing well. And Ruby’s got her work cut out for her. (52K, Sam/Ruby)

John Winchester is Dead They say those Winchester boys're crazy. Drive around in a big black beast and drink too much and laugh about mean things. They say their daddy's worse, but you never see him. He's just a voice on the other end of the phone or a darker shape in the back seat of their dark car. They say John Winchester died two years ago. (2k, gen, horror)

Breathing, Talking, Dead Man Walking   -  John Doe, male, approximately thirty-seven years old. Subject was found by EMTs in close proximity to the site of a sizable explosion in Lebanon, Kansas. (2k, gen, Sam & Dean)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - featuring art by @quickreaver​ When Sam opened Lucifer’s Cage, the only thing he found inside was Lucifer’s grace – his grace. With the return of his grace, Sam remembered his past – his war against the Host, his Fall, and his plans to bring about the End. The thing is…he doesn’t want the Apocalypse anymore. He likes things the way they are, and tries everything to keep his identity a secret- especially from Dean. Of course, the four Horsemen, Hell and Heaven have other ideas. (13K, gen)

The Last Days in the Land of Nod - comic adaptation by @quickreaver​ The year is 2014. The Devil is wearing his finest, the Angel is human, and the Brother protects the survivors at Camp Chitaqua.

The Two Ravens - art by @quickreaver​ Your brother he is, and heir to my throne. He’ll feed on the damned and he'll turn them to bone. (4k; fairy-tale)

Counteroffer About two weeks after Sam gutted a hellhound, completing the first trial, he started acting weird. (5k, psychological horror, gore)

Pattern Recognition: A Hannibal/Supernatural fusion AU  -  Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them. (33k, Sam Winchester/Will Graham)

Impala's Run - cowritten with @quickreaver, art by adrenalineshots Sam and Dean Singer (aka Winchester) aren’t your average young Kansas farmers. Their home is very, very far from Kansas, in fact. Many light-years worth of ‘far’. The boys may look human, but certain talents set them apart: Dean speaks the language of machines, and Sam can heal through manipulating energy. Hidden on Earth by their father, their agricultural lifestyle gets rocked when warring alien races discover where they’ve landed, and Sam and Dean are forced to make the run of their lives. (23k, gen)

All Our Wrath and Cutting Beauty - art by @quickreaver - Sam killed Alistair, but not before Alistair reminded Dean of who and what he’d become in Hell. Dean knows Sam can take down Lilith, and he’ll make damn sure Sam gets strong enough to do just that. They’ll stop the Apocalypse – together, no matter how many bodies stack up, or how much blood is spilt.(11k, horror) 

Diary of a Madman -Lydia’s newest patient, Sam Winchester, suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and regular bouts of insomnia. He also thought he was Lucifer. (4k, gen, horror)

Some other bundled links, for your convenience

Demon-blood Sam

King of Hell Sam

Powers!Sam

Horror

Crossovers & Fusion ‘verses

Hannibal|SPN

SPN/Preacher

SPN/Hannibal/MCU

[phoebehalliwell]

how would you rank the seasons from least to most favourite?

alright okay right off the bat worst season season 7. for starters i think this season has no staying power i mean like since i’ve been running this blog 4 so long now my knowledge of charmed is encyclopedic and insanely vast more than like it ever need be but for the longest time. i could not remember season 7. like wtf even happened there?? evidently leo became human??? cole returned? the avatars??? like all of it was just. it’s not even necessarily forgettable it’s just i straight up could not remember it for the longest time. and i’ve said it before the concept of utopia was way to advanced for a show like charmed to tackle i am not watching charmed for moral philosophy i am watching bc i love these girls ♥ hee hee hoo hoo magic adventure ✨ tho if i am to offer a single comment on utopia: it’s awfully rich for a show to go on about destiny and fate and then take a stand against utopia in the name of free will. but w/e. i don’t like leo in the avatars i don’t like his dynamic with piper in this season i don’t like whatever phoebe’s doing this season there’s like leslie?? maybe there’s someone else? boring & flavorless they should have been setting up her endgame instead of puttering around. and kyle. zoo wee mama. could have been a great antihero. morally gray. duplicitous. self serving. but no. they gave him all those traits and called him hero/love interest. s7 left a lot to be desired out of the characters and their relationships also gave us phat L’s such as the charmed ones are werewolves don’t worry about it and feminism peaked with naked women. shout out to zankou: demon, dilf, dub & the noir episode.

you know what? fuck it i’ll say it second worse season 5 genuinely fuck season five. this is probably a Very Specific beef 2 me But. i hate what they did to the charmed universe. this was the season that marked the transition of charmed from supernatural drama to campy soap which like. i love camp! i do! but fr. fuck this season and what it did to the worldbuilding. the early season have Such A Vibe to them man with warlocks and witches and just a couple niche monsters from assorted lore that the show took and made their own. season five opens with mermaids goes directly into fairytales then gives us superheros whatever the fuck was going on in that mummy episode the sandman leprechauns and nymphs. and i hate it for that. it takes away from this urban fantasy things that go bump in the night what lurks in the shadows of the back alleys of san francisco in favor of the ugliest cinderella dress ever put to television and an onslaught of horrible irish accents for a full episode. other issues with season five: cole’s still here? why? they don’t know and neither will you! we’re not redeeming him! phoebe’s not getting back together with him! yes he died we just refuse to let him go! the cherry on top of course being a cole-centric 100th episode. shout out to. hmm. lemme think about what i actually liked about this season. i like jason dean as a love interest i don’t remember what he did in s5 but i know he was there. the season finale i’ve talked about how stupid & shitty it was but idc i still love that episode and then shout out to bacarra the only original villain this season that was a proper serve. the crone gets second place.

next on this come on we all saw it coming season 8. it’s a bad season! and i get bts there was a whole lot happening budget cuts missing actor etc. but it goes beyond that. it was a bad season. billie and christie were bad. and i’ve said this before but billie in herself is not an inherently bad character. she was just the literal worst for the show. she was a dollar store buffy blonde confident cocky skilled and ready 2 fight evil But. we are not following her like we followed buffy we are following her mentors. it’s like if we had a show called giles that aired for seven seasons And Then buffy showed up. billie was insanely irritating to watch from our perspective and in general wasn’t like. well written. attempts to humanize her / give her more depth often fell flat. and then christy. oh nelly. oh my god. barely a character. not well acted but hey it would have been a miracle if she was. negatives include dumain who was a mess omg bringing back the triad bringing back the source billie & christy obvi and also involving homeland security. which is season 7′s fault which is why it’s the worst. dubs on the other hand include both coop and henry i really liked them the shoehorned love interests weren’t great but i like their characters i though the way the got rid of leo to save on the budget was really creative and gave us a great piper episode and of course the sugary sweet finale i love it i do what can i say.

yet another controversial choice aptly coming in fourth is season 4. i respect what season 4 set out to do. i think it was a good idea. long form narratives, keeping a darker tone, focusing on character-driven drama and growth. too bad it fucking failed miserably at all of this. cole as the source and phoebe as the queen of hell was just so so botched. they had a very unique opportunity following the death of prue to explore these characters and what it means to them to be charmed, to be witches. they saved the world but the cost is insanely high. they’ve lost an older sister. they’ve gained a new sister. how do you even begin to cope with all this? episodes such as hell hath no fury and brain drain fuck so hard because they work with exactly that. had the whole season been like those episode season four would sit at number one with flying colors absolutely no competition. but alas. we can’t have nice things. the show got so bogged down with phoebe & cole, in a way that was just so, so messy. for starters, whether you loved cole or hated him before, we can all agree source!cole sucked. he was such a strong 180 from what we had seen that the show had to make the source some type of possession to justify half the shit they were trying to pull. and then to pit phoebe and paige against one another over a man was just. disgusting. and the ending of course felt rushed because it was! they wrapped up that entire issue in a nice little bow much faster than they reasonably should have been able to. it could have been a great season. it was definitely not. shout out to the seer an iconic mastermind on barbas levels, as previously stated brain drain and hell hath no fury Specific shout out to piper’s scene at prue’s grave shout out to paige as a character i like what they did with her and um. yeah that’s it.

okay we’re exiting the shit tier in favorite of the good tier welcome to the upper half. kicking us off is season 6. season 6 did what season 4 could not in that it gave us a long form plot that still left plenty of room for like. normal demon of the week episodes. i love phoebe early in this season with her faboo haircut her brand new empathy power and her relationship with jason dean. obvious strikes against for whatever the fuck that baby crazy stint was and also the mata hari episode. yikes. i love paige’s hair color in this season nothing paige as a character necessarily stands out to me however i like how they seem to have hit the blend of work-magic with paige where she wants a life and career outside of magic however she still loves the craft and embraces is with an open heart and mind. season six also gives us chris who was a very fun male lead imo we really didn’t have many like him he’s bitchy. he whines and bitches a lot he’s got an agenda he’s a bit secretive but at the end of the day he just wants a family i like him. i like the character growth we see out of piper i like seeing her try to move on from leo i love seeing her get back together with leo i like her dynamic with chris and her fears about motherhood. i also liked richard but that one takes a lot of justification. L’s are witchstock hyde school reunion used karma off the top of my head also the paige/richard/addiction plotline was so tone deaf. also the girls were mean to darryl : ( he deserved so much better. dubs were chris as a character, tbh the episode little monsters, phoebe with empathy specifically saying i love you too to jason i could write a dissertation on that line alone also the courtship of wyatt’s father and i thought the reveals of evil wyatt and chris being piper and leo’s son were both fun and interesting plot twists.

coming in third is actually season 2 a season i really do love it’s just. it lacks structure. imo there is a lot to love about season 2 morality bites and pardon my past are both delightful time travel episodes we get jack sheridan and bane jessup two of my personal favorite prue love interests we get p3 h2o and a great prue plotline regarding the death of patty we get the super cute cupid episode it’s a great. collection of episodes. it’s not a great season. there’s just imo not a strong enough thread connecting the stories together it’s mainly held together by having the same characters in it over and over again i really liked dan personally but like. i knew we were wasting time there. he was just an obstacle. a super cute loving and caring obstacle who’s great with kids but lbr piper and leo were always endgame. wasting our time on dan was stupid. i do love the sister dynamics in season two “gotta hand it to those pesky little demons they sure have brought us closer together” but again. this season could have benefitted from a rex and hannah type or even like a cole or zankou. this season is less of a season and more of just like a handful of episodes, and while there are some fat dubs, there are also some definite swings & misses. shout out to the time travel episodes the prue centric episodes phoebe’s character growth and maturity throughout this season (e.g. her going back to college) and i also think the fashion got a lot more fun this season.

second place i’m saying season one season one was a really strong start and gave us these really compelling characters with interesting relationships between one another But. a lot of it just kinda falls flat. and credit where credit is due it was a brand new show getting its feet under it but the fourth sister feats of clay which prue is it anyway they just simply aren’t dubs imo. also i don’t like that 70′s episode bc again i am an asshole concerned about The Lore i can’t believe one bitch ass warlock caused the Charmed Ones to grow up without powers. it just really bugs me. all in all the plots as a whole like aren’t great imo they’re nothing to write home about (save for from fear to eternity) it’s really the characters that make this season so goddamn good.

first place congratulations to the one the only season three. this is just because it kinda hits all my requirements in that it has some banger one offs (e.g. all halliwell’s eve, the good, the bad, and the cursed) it has an overarching plot at the exact same time as the source becomes more prominent and obvi cole is also there with murderous intent i like the character growth we see especially from prue i like piper and leo finally get married overall i really like the aesthetic of this season that blends a darker urban fantasy tone with still some charmed fashion and whimsy. strikes against tbh phoebe and cole’s relationship i am insanely picky with my enemies to lovers and the do not come remotely close to cutting the mustard in fact they are almost immediately disqualified however from afar i can see and respect The Drama. shout out to recasting victor prue with pistols death as a character and shannen directing episodes

[shebeafancyflapjack]

What She Needs

Quick EOTB (not a) drabble for @cecret-with-c . This should make up for me clearly not finishing my other whump fic by the weekend as I’d hoped.

This stinks!

For that matter, when did the waves outside get so rough and loud? It’s as if every sound in this little corner of paradise he created has been amplified for his annoyance, right down to the mice scurrying around in the walls who only came out to help carry a lost remote or dropped earring.

No matter how what position he lays in, no matter how much he tosses and turns, he can’t seem to get himself comfy. It makes no sense! He made sure to summon the most desirable sofa, specifically for human napping, as he knew it would be used as Eleanor’s second bed as much as sitting to watch TV. Neither of them had any issues with it before so why was it so hard for him to get to sleep now?! Why did the pillows suddenly feel so damn lumpy?

Maybe sleeping on the couch was always this difficult. He can’t say he ever did it before. Ever since he learned how to sleep, it was always with Eleanor, in her bed. Sometimes they would take the occasional nap on the sofa together, curled up in front of a movie or spent after a day of simulated adventures. She took many a snooze on here during those early weeks, where she’d be buried underneath a blanket, clinging to one of the cushions like a shield while Michael pottered around her, trying to create as calm and normal an atmosphere as possible. Perhaps she found it as awkward as he did now, but was too frightened (and mute) to complain?

Oh, stop it, Mikey. Stop trying to rationalise this. 

He knew the reason he was truly so alert. The same reason he had been exiled to the couch in the first place.

“Are you just not gonna talk to me for the whole weekend then?” He asks once they’ve made it through the threshold and she’s still storming ahead.

He makes sure to scan the area, ensure the soundproofing is on, never too careful if one of his coworkers has followed to spy on them.

“Yep!” Eleanor snaps back before realising her mistake; “Oh...fork, that didn’t count!”

“Oh, c’mon, I said ‘my bad’! What more do you want?”

“Cockroaches, dude! You called me and my friends ‘cockroaches’ - you really don’t get why that pisses me off?!” She turns and rounds on him.

Maybe she, too, had been waiting until they were out of demon-sight to rage at him.

Michael raises his hands; “I did not say that!”

“Oh so your exact words weren’t ‘you guys are like cockroaches’?!” She quotes him, lowering her voice to badly imitate him.

He waves his hand.

“Yes, but I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to insult you. Chidi asked me a straight question, I gave him a straight answer...Which happened to be a metaphor!” He tried to defend, stepping through the foyer of the beach house.

Eleanor was already on her way into the kitchen to grab a can of J.D and coke.

“Look, he asked me if I knew why I was struggling with understanding some of the things in his class and I was just trying to say, as an immortal being, I am technically superior to the rest of you...Your species!” He corrects himself as soon as she turns to scowl at him; “And I tried to put that into perspective for him! How it feels for me, a creature with unfathomable abilities and has been around since the dawn of time, to have to be taught lessons from a creature like him - a tiny, fragile, mortal species whose only existed for a tiny blink in all eternity.”

“And the first thing that came to mind...was a cockroach?!” 

Oh, she really is pissed about this.

He took a breath and tried to move closer, his hands out.

“Babe, c’mon now. You know I’d never mean to call you anything like that. It was just a force of habit, it’s how they would explain our jobs to use in Torturing 101.” He tries to tell her, his palm hovering near her elbow as she swigged her drink; “Old habits die hard but I’m trying my best, you know that, right?”

She meets his eyes, the sternness in her brow weakening a little, he can see. There’s a twinge in her lips as she refuses to melt.

“Old habits seem to be alive and well this week, man. Especially when you made Chidi’s writing come off the wall and attack him, just because he corrected you on Consequentialism!”

“Come on! You laughed at that!”

“No, Jason did! I...wanted to but resisted, which is what you should be learning to do! Stop lashing out at Chidi whenever he gives you the slightest bit of negative feedback, he’s only trying to help - which he keeps doing even though you can be such a nightmare student that you make me look like a teacher’s pet!” Eleanor cringes, putting down her can and stepping back; “Oh, what the fork have you turned me into?!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’ve become a total nerd! That’s on you.” Michael deflected as he hung up his jacket and removed his bowtie, snapping his fingers to turn his trousers to jeans. 

“Actually, ding dong, only reason I even asked Chidi to help me be a better person was because you tricked me into believing I wasn’t good enough to get into Heaven!”

“That wasn’t a trick, that’s a fact of the Universe.”

“You know what I mean! This is all your fault! We’re having to put up with these stupid fake tortures every day and when I’m not pretending to be miserable about that, I gotta babysit my demon boyfriend to try and stop him from actually torturing one of my best friends!” Eleanor raises her tone as she rounds on him; “And even when I finally get a chance to escape it all, I end up having a fight with said stupid demon boyfriend who’s too much of a jerkash to admit when he’s crossed the line!”

He watches her get closer, inch by inch, doing his best not to dismiss her comments and only focus on how cute she looks when she’s angry, as well as how hot it is for her to be so fearless shouting down an all-powerful immortal being.

Michael blinks as he realises she’s waiting for a response.

“Oh, you mean me?”

Eleanor groans again, moving back to the fridge. She grabbed as many J.D cans as she could carry before pushing past Michael and heading towards their bedroom.

He watches her go with a frown; “What you taking all those in there for?”

“Because I am gonna spend my torture-free night alone, in my room, drinking, eating crab and watching Real Housewives until I pass out.” She mutters as she turns the knob.

“Sounds good, count me in.” He went to follow.

“Alone!” 

That sounded less good. Michael stops in his tracks, watching her slam the door. He scoffs. She’ll be back out soon. What’s she gonna do, just leave him to sleep alone on the couch?

-

Yes, apparently.

Were he a true demon, he’d be hoping that Eleanor was having as much trouble getting to sleep as him. That she was regretting starting a fight on what was supposed to be their monthly getaway together and was going to appear any second to apologise and agree to forget it ever happened.

But he doesn’t, because he’s already passed failing at being evil, try as his natural instincts might try to rear their ugly tentacles again. He can’t wish anything bad upon her, the woman who changed his life, who shone a light in the darkness. He doesn’t even enjoy torturing her friends, not really. Chidi, a little, as an outlet, but only for an instant high that quickly wore off when he had to deal with the consequences. Which was mostly Eleanor being pissed at him.

He wondered how close she was coming to being tempted to turn a steak knife on him again? He probably deserved it.

It was...tough, being part of a team. Bonding with Eleanor on her own, two of them here isolated away from everyone else, had run so smoothly, as if it were destiny if he dared to entertain such a lame concept. But having to share her with others, taking classes with them, sometimes it was fun but other times...Ugh, he could gladly wish for retirement. He didn’t enjoy feeling dumb or small or...so clearly inferior to the kind, ethical human who got to spend way more time with his girlfriend than he did.

Not that Michael would ever bring that up. He’d sound as bad as Ross in Season Three when he was being possessive of Rachel with that Mark guy. What a tool.

Don’t be a Ross, Mikey. That’s Ethics for Dummies right there. 

He sighs, heavily, imagining losing Eleanor forever because of being like that doofus was with Rachel. He was better than that. He understood how important this was to her. He tried to respect her friends and what it meant for her to have all of them as a group; the family she’d been denied...that they’d all been denied in some way or another.

It’s on you to make this right, he tells himself. 

He hit his pillow before groaning again. Fine! First thing in the morning, he’ll wake her up with a nice breakfast, he’ll say sorry, he’ll let her know how frustrated he’s been with Vicky and others lately, and how he should make it up to Chidi and-

Click.

Michael freezes. That was definitely Eleanor’s bedroom door.

He closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. He doesn’t wanna try to do this now, not at this hour. Let them have a night apart to think, let her sleep, let it be a surprise to wake up to. She’s probably just coming in to grab some water from the Brita. Or some midnight shrimp from that infinite platter in the fridge. There’s a rapid thumping sound rippling through the air. He can barely hear her bare feet pad across the carpet...

On their way towards...him...

He struggles not to open his eyes when he feels the smaller body push against him, moving him back against the cushions and slipping under his arm for the lack of a blanket. He doesn’t need one and, even without his natural fiery body heat, it’s warm enough tonight. So why is she shaking all over as she curls into him-?

Oh. Oh shirt. Not again.

“You okay-?” he whispers only to find a palm pressed to his lips.

“Shut up!” her voice commands, her fierce tone trembling with fear; “M’still mad at you!”

Clearly. That’s not his main concern right now.

He nods, opening his eyes. The remnants of tears shine on her cheeks.

He carefully moves his hand to wipe them with his thumb, cradling her face as if it were the most precious object in existence.

“Just tell me what you need.” He says, softly.

They can deal with all the rest in the morning. Right here, right now, he’s to do what his role has always been since they first arrived here.

Does she want to talk about it? Can he get her anything?

He doesn’t need to ask these questions. They’ve been uttered a hundred times, over a hundred nights, throughout this house. He’s never denied her a thing and he’s hardly going to stop tonight.

Eleanor sniffs; “...Just...do the thing...”

He nods; “C’mere.” he lifts his arm again, letting her curl in close against this chest before he wraps her up tight. His fingers gently massage up and down her back as she tries to sync her breathing with his, burying her face in his chest. He whispers the same soothing words, the same promises of safety, the same tender reassurance that it will all be okay. She can never hear it enough, not after what she had to endure. It’s a miracle she ever came back from it.

Michael chances his luck a little when he feels her begin to calm by brushing his lips against her hair. She gives the smallest hum, fingers still clutching on tight.

“Still mad.” She mumbles, nuzzling into him.

“I know.” He whispers, “And I’m still here.” Always.

He’s not sure when the couch became comfortable again but he can feel his own eyes becoming heavy. He watches her face, so close to his, admiring the smoothness of her skin and each hair out of place.

“Guess I might as well stay...” Eleanor says, sleepily; “I know you need me to look after you.”

He grants her that, smiling; “We cockroaches gotta stick together, right?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Still not good?”

Her lips twitch; “Getting better. We’ll make a human outta you soon, demon babe. Now go the fork to sleep.”

[winchestersingerautorepair]

A Rift Between

A Brief(-ish) History of Dean, Cas, & Rifts

Let’s talk about rifts for a moment. And when I say rifts, I don’t mean their personal disagreements -- if I were to be discussing that, this post would be less of a brief history and more of a thesis paper. 

No, I’m talking about rift rifts. As in, actual, literal tears in the spacetime continuum. They are littered across the whole run of this show, and we’ve recently had two whole seasons devoted to them. So, the sudden reappearance of rift-adjacent plotlines carries with it a weighty load of textual relevance.

Dean and Castiel’s relationship arc, a fan favorite, began when Leviathans, the notorious fan-unfavorite, came into the picture. 

No, Maeve! Dean and Castiel’s relationship arc began in season 4, not 7! Cas was barely even in season 7! 

Well, let me explain. Season 7, the age of Sera Gamble, was a total show reset. Was it uncomfortable? Yes. Did we all hate it? Yes. But like with muscle, you’ve got to tear through the old before you can develop something new, and Season 7 did this job quite effectively. An identity crisis at that scale means either a massive change of pace or a creative death, and as the show is still on, number one it is. 

So, while we can most reliably chart the beginning of an intentional, substantive romantic undercurrent to Season 8, it is the waiting that allowed it to come to fruition-- Season 7 was a void, an unsustainable period of creative drought, a long cold winter in which seeds fell and laid dormant. And like the winter, it was necessary for rebirth.

This brings me to the first DeanCas rift: 

~~

The Purgatory Spell

Episode: 7x01

This tear in spacetime was the culmination of Castiel’s Season 6 character arc. It was the final, greatest betrayal, the irredeemable course of action which struck his relationship with the Winchesters a fatal blow-- and though his last act was to attempt to right his wrongs, the emergence of this rift meant estrangement and death for the relationship (and for Castiel.)

This incident is established as far more significant for Dean than it is for Sam, so I won’t spend much time justifying my classification of this rift as primarily DeanCas. It’s made pretty damn clear through Dean’s behavior throughout Season 7.

Castiel’s departure catalyzed the emergence of Leviathans. As the lore promised, they brought death and destruction to the whole ecosystem, purging the show and readying it for reincarnation; but I’ve already made this point.

As Destiel 1.0 dies, Destiel 2.0 is born.

~~~

The Purgatory Portal

Episode: 8x07

Let us journey back to "A Little Slice of Kevin"-- the gayest thing to happen to Supernatural up to that point. Suddenly, Dean and Cas’s ambiguity is no longer a joke. It’s no longer flippantly referenced, but Built Into The Narrative In A Noticeable Way. After Season 7, Season 8 shocked the system, earning Purgatory celebrity status as the Destiel fandom exploded back to life. 

But, more important things. The events surrounding this portal not only codified romantic subtext, but reshaped their relationship by putting it in grave peril. Lovers trapped in separate worlds. There’s only like ten thousand examples of this in other fictional, romantic(-ally coded) relationships. Sigh.

As Destiel 2.0 dies, Destiel 3.0 is born.

~~~

Seasons 9, 10, and 11 are filled with near misses. Divisions between worlds/fates test and change their bond -- Heaven and Hell exert tremendous force on both, and the gates of Heaven and the Darkness’s breach of barriers flirt pretty openly with the rift theme -- but there isn’t anything that fits the profile cut and dry, so let us leap to Season 12. Five long years of glacial shifts, five long years of a slow, steady amping up of queer subtext. An argument can be made that it had graduated from subtext in some places, but both fandom and GA were frog-boiled enough in their interpretations for this argument to be an aside.

Destiel 3.0 reaches a transitional stage, and becomes Destiel 3.0+.

Now, It’s season 12. And like goddamned CLOCKWORK, six years after Season 6, another unstable tear in spacetime appears, and terminates Castiel’s character arc.

Rift? Check. Cas dead? Check. We’ve seen this pattern. Time for shit to CHANGE. And boy, did it.

~~~

The Rift

Episode: 12x23

Oh, boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Castiel’s death in the Season 12 finale was a magnum opus of SPN’s romantically coded imagery. I could elaborate, but if you’ve read this far into this post you likely already know what I’m talking about. My point is, a hall of mirrors is the chosen space in which Destiel 3.0+ is killed. 

The relationship death lasts only a short while; their estrangement in separate realms is a five episode-long period of detachment and review. Our characters, as well as the viewers, stride through a hall of mirrors. In solitude, this DeanCas winter becomes a chance to reflect, because there is no better way to get a feel for the importance of something than to eliminate it. The crucial elements of Dean and Cas’s relationship, what they mean to each other, becomes clearer than ever before because, look! This is Dean without Cas! This is the show without Cas! Don’t you hate it?

I mean, guys. Mirrors. Cas spoke to a reflection of himself in the Empty. Literally. He addressed his greatest fears about relationships with himself. He was forced to rewatch his greatest mistakes, and what gets featured? Our first two DeanCas rifts. F*ck this show.

DreamHunter parallel! 13x10 reenacted this scene for us with Claire and Kaia. 

Then, 13x05 changes the whole game once more. You know, the episode titled Thanatology. The study of Death. Fuck this show.

As Destiel 3.0+ dies, Destiel 4.0 is born.

~~~

The intensity of the queer narrative amps up continually. Things are getting harder to write off.

Rifts between worlds, crossover and confinement, and estrangement, and the blurring of lines, and the breaking of old taboos/breach of old barriers dominates the remainder of Season 13 and Season 14. We hold this broad focus for a long time, and Dean and Castiel become the emotional equivalent of the plot arc, always there, brewing, but taking a backseat to the Big Stuff. A wall rises, and solidifies. Silver Pole of Communication Barriers, anyone?

Then? Season 15 kicks us in the Destiel balls.

Full disclosure: I didn’t see this next part coming. I dared not ask season 15 for anything this significant, so the last scene of 15x08 just about took my life. 

~~~

The Purgatory Rift

Episode(s): 15x08, 15x09

Dun dun DUN!!

This twist was my favorite Christmas present, because it communicated to me that the writers have an understanding of Dean and Cas’s history to match our own. Not only are they actively writing them utilizing the Destiel playbook, they obviously care immensely about the destiny of their relationship. I am speaking too soon to say this definitively, but this mission has all the hallmarks of a plot device designed to serve many purposes in respect to Dean and Castiel. They’ve got ALL the ingredients. There are so many things tied in here that it gets pretty damn near fanfiction territory.

Please read my reaction to the purgatory twist if you need context, as I don’t feel much like regurgitating it. This post is long enough, lol. (A bloom that grows only in one place? Fuck you, writers. You’re going to KILL me.)

~~~

So, to recap: In a universe defined by barriers and guidelines, a relationship that refuses to be defined will be under constant siege. Dean and Castiel suffer from the sheer reality of walking lines between two designated states of being-- friends and lovers, angel and human, take your pick. The current order isn’t friendly to beings who don’t fit a category. Until the barriers are stripped away, they cannot exist as they are, and rifts will continue to rip them apart. 

The Purgatory Rift of 15x08 is such a big deal because it fuses themes. The rifts of the Dabb era have merged with the gateways of the Carver era. Not only are our long-standing almost-lovers returning to their relationship’s place of origin, they are doing so by breaching physical barriers designed to keep them apart; and all the while, the most dangerous, important rift is not the one in the fabric of reality, but the one in their relationship. 

I expect this major rift to end no differently than it has in the past. Dean and Cas will be separated, and Cas will be out of reach. And then, they’ll be reunited. But, where will that take us? What will the next reincarnation look like? 

As Destiel 4.0 dies, something will be born.

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 20: Epilogue

Summary: So many unanswered questions, with a few answers.

Series Masterlist

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, fluff

A/N: Oh my god y’all, it’s here! This is the final chapter! I literally started this back in May, and it’s now basically October? Holy shitballs. A huge thank you to those who were with me from day one and to those who joined me throughout the journey. While this is the last part, I do still have little ideas running around my head. I hope that you all have enjoyed this as much as I have, and I am looking forward to exploring new works too!

    A shiver runs down your spine as you watch the fog slowly creep up the mountain path. Your fingers itch to grab for your silver sword, bracing yourself for an attack of foglets. It’s only a split second thought though, a reflex from more than half a century of hunting monsters. Then you remember that foglets don’t come this far north, and you don’t have your swords. They have been left just inside of the doorway twenty paces behind you, and have been collecting dust for the better part of a year. 

    You watch as the sun rises past the craggled summits of the mountains around you, bathing the lower valley in light. The fog rises and dissipates, revealing the lush green pasture dotted with sprigs of lavender and thyme. After almost an entire decade more of following the Path, you had given in to the occasional yearning that grew more and more constant to finally make a life of your own, by your own choosing. Your ears pick up movement to your left and you turn, smiling when you see a veritable herd of animals approaching in your direction, led by the man who claims to be the source of your sanity. 

    Eskel leads the pack with Lil’ Bleater bounding at his side, albeit a bit slower in her advancing age. He fulfilled his promise, finding a friend for her named Bellegarde. She had kids earlier in the spring, the three little bundles of energy just as taken by Eskel as their mother. Scorpion and Lady follow just behind, the latter butting her head into Scorpion’s flank as he walks. The two of them have grown closer as well, having had a foal between them. She has the same stoic air as her father, with the gentle regality of her mother. 

    You had balked when Eskel had walked through the door with a wolf pup in his arms, but he quickly provided a (still somewhat insane) reason for having brought him into the home.

    “I found him laying among a bunch of dead wolves, probably had been his pack. I couldn’t just leave him there, he’d die…” Eskel looked up at you with the biggest, saddest eyes he could muster, knowing that you’ve grown quite soft when it comes to him. 

    You sighed, turning back to the pot over the fire to give it a stir. “He’ll be your responsibility…”

    But that had not stopped the little thing from taking to you immediately. You often couldn’t walk more than two steps without him being under your feet, following your every move. You had named him Argos, after a story you had heard of a great warrior with a faithful dog that followed in his shadow. 

    Now, Argos bounds to your side, letting you run your fingers through his ever-thickening coat. Summer has passed into a chilly autumn, the trees once again turning the colors of fire before shedding their leaves. Eskel comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck and kissing lightly. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your mind settles with peace, but it is soon broken by the distant sound of approaching steps from the treeline, and the plucking of a lute. Your eyes shoot open, freezing on the spot as you stare at the place that the sound is coming from. 

    Silver hair shines in the sunlight as Geralt steps out of the cover of the trees. He looks strong, healthy, well-fed. Roach looks the same, though she always looks at least a little more well-cared for than Geralt himself. His face, twisted in his perpetual scowl, softens a bit when he spots the two of you. Eskel’s arm slips from around your waist as he walks to meet Geralt halfway, the two men wordlessly falling in a tight embrace. You move to greet him as well, but your feet still as the source of the music steps from the woods at Geralt’s back.

    He looks just as he did a decade ago, wavy chestnut hair framing a handsome face, blue eyes just on this side of too-bright. He is dressed in bright colors, a stark contrast at Geralt’s side. The lute slides into place across his back as he gestures widely in a greeting to Eskel, full of flowery words and vague insinuations. Jaskier places his hand lightly on Geralt’s shoulder as he speaks, and you can see the way that Geralt softens even further with the touch. As Jaskier turns to face him however, Geralt’s face switches back into his stern expression.

    Time freezes for everyone except you, Lil’ Bleater having been suspended in mid-air as she lept to greet her new guests. You huff, turning to see Jaskier at your side. You glance between the two identical men, wishing for the life of you that you had your swords on your back. 

    “He doesn’t know.” The Jaskier at your side speaks with a timeless tone, one that speaks of wisdom of countless years. He sighs with a smile, “Back then, I thought I was just as human as anyone else.”

    You blink, settling a bit in your boots. “So, I shouldn’t say anything to him?”

    “Unless you want to uproot this whole beautiful life that you have created with Eskel, no.”

    You nod, taking in your surroundings. A home, with a fire and a table and a bed that Eskel warms at your side every night. Countless animals, providing love and companionship. A garden in the back, spilling over with any and every plant that the two of you could think of. Your armor, tucked away under the bed. 

    “Thank you, Jaskier, for what you did all those years ago.” You don’t know what to do with your hands, flexing uncomfortably at your side. 

    Jaskier hums, stepping right up next to the frozen version of himself. You can see, even from where you stand behind Eskel, the way that Jaskier is gazing at Geralt, a twinkle in his eyes that could rival that of a star shooting across the sky.

    “You love him.” Your words are not accusatory, more so just stating a fact. Jaskier flushes a bit, biting his lip as he turns back to you. 

    “Could you…” Jaskier steps to stand at your side once more, “Could you not say anything about that either?”

    You smirk, nodding a bit before responding, “That’s not in your destiny, then?”

    Jaskier puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “No, my dear. Unfortunately, it is not.”

    The breeze picks back up as the Jaskier at your side disappears, leaving you to join the group in front of you. This Jaskier shines like a new coin, young and naive. Introductions are made as you escort everyone into the house, Argos weaving through the vines of new legs, nipping playfully at Jaskier’s fingers.

    ***

    A few days pass before Geralt and Jaskier take their leave, headed even further north towards Kaer Morhen. You had invited them to stay at your home, but Geralt had gently refused. 

    “I uh...I need to see Vesemir. I need his help.”

    Your eyebrows crinkled as Geralt explained the mess that he had created around himself, having claimed a Child of Surprise, a princess no less. As he spoke Eskel had gotten up from the table and walked out of the door, silently reliving his own tragedy around the subject. 

    Later, Geralt and Eskel had spoken. Eskel’s own past with his Child Surprise was still a rather tender subject, but Geralt was experiencing all of that anew. The two of you vowed to be of support to Geralt as he may need, and agreed that if there were any reason to break out the armor and strap the swords back on, it would be for him. Jaskier had agreed, though Geralt seemed unsure of what exactly he could do in this situation.

    “You may be surprised Geralt,” you said, probably one too many ales in, “I bet Jaskier’s got a whole lot of power.”

    You realized what you said as soon as the words fell from your lips. “I uh- I mean, his songs! He could wield a whole lot of power over the people with the stories he tells, right?”

    Jaskier brightened, launching into a whole new tangent about the songs that he will write about his journey this winter, the two witchers sequestered away in their cabin, and the ones who spend the season in a castle high in the wilderness. You tuned him out, quickly finishing your ale before retiring to bed. 

    Now, Eskel rolls over to face you on the bed, having seen the two of them off earlier in the day. “It was nice to see Geralt again...Jaskier’s an odd bird though.” His voice is teasing, light in the sanctuary of your home.

    You chuckle, thinking the same. Though, you choose to keep your mouth shut, hesitant to spill any more information about the mysterious bard. 

    “I am glad they’ve left though…” Eskel’s voice turns husky as he tucks his nose into your neck. “Couldn’t very well fool around with them in the next room.”

    Eskel’s hand finds your core atop your underthings, just barely teasing you through the fabric. You sigh into him, pressing into his touch. You lift your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waist of your shorts, pulling them down and tossing them elsewhere in the room. Eskel has already divested himself of his own smallclothes, so when you reach, you find him hard and wanting in your hand. 

    “How would you like me tonight, love?” you whisper as you turn to better face him. He kisses you sweetly, taking your lip between his teeth as he pulls back. Eskel grabs you around the waist and shifts his hips, pulling you over him so you straddle him. 

    “Like this,” he growls, leaning up to take the peak of one of your breasts between his lips. You thread your fingers through his hair, reveling in just how soft it is now that you have all of the time in the world for trivial things like special soaps to keep hair silky.

    You sink yourself down onto the length of his cock, your eyes fluttering closed with the fullness. This feeling never grows old, something familiar but oh so exhilarating with every moment that passes. As your hips meet a bolt of ecstasy shoots through your skin, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. You moan as Eskel holds your waist, his own hips beginning to thrust a languid pace. 

    Eskel’s eyes bore deep into your own as he rubs his fingertips in little circles over the bundle of nerves at the peak of your center, fresh waves of arousal soaring through you with every beat of your heart. Eskel can (and has) keep you for hours like this, perched on the precipice of a glorious climax, never letting you fall. Tonight though, he is impatient, his hips soon snapping in a fast rhythm. 

    Your muscles tense as you keen with your fast approaching pleasure, every nerve feeling like it is on fire. Eskel wraps himself completely around your form as he fucks even harder into you, notching his teeth against the soft skin on your neck. You shatter under his hands, your entire body singing with the all-encompassing euphoria that comes with your climax. You feel Eskel follow soon after, his grip tightening ever so slightly before spilling deep in your core. 

    Eskel kisses you deeply as he turns, pressing you into the cushion of the bed as he pulls out of your heat. You hum contentedly as he grabs a damp cloth, cleaning you off before doing the same to himself. You know that the both of you could go for several more rounds, but the appeal of rest is so much greater at the moment. You feel Eskel settle behind you, wrapping himself around you and pressing his mouth against the back of your neck.

    “I love you so much, my dove.”

    Your eyes well a little bit, smiling into the pillow with just how tender your life has become. This is the easiest thing you have ever done, and you can only hope that it lasts until the end of your days. The easiest words come next, just as they do every moment that they appear in your mind.

    “I love you, Eskel.”

[domesticblisss]

Näher | Pt.04

Walter x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Hase’) Mob AU! Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 1765 Warnings: Angst, fluff. Death mention, brief sex mention, jealousy, parental abuse mention. I guess that’s all? Tell me if you see something else. Summary: Walter wants to know what Hase thinks of him. Pt.01 | Pt.02 | Pt.03

After the incident with Axel, Walter has been less aggressive with everyone. He apologised to us and stayed away of our ways for a while. That following week, I only saw him at the office or at the club, when we were home, we had our meals at different times, if I was at the pool, he kept himself at the library or at his home office, he didn’t even seek me out at night, that week was the first time I properly used the bedroom he had designated for me when I first moved in.

Of course I didn’t let go so easily. That same week, on a friday, after we got home from the club, followed him to his bedroom and cornered him there, forcing him to talk to me. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hase.” “Walter, don’t play coy with me. You know what I’m talking about. You have been weird since the day Axel and I fucked.” I spoke a little too harsh with him. He sighed, rubbing his hands on his face. “I’m an idiot and I should leave you alone. You’re better off without me. You deserve to be with Axel, not an arschloch like me.” the defeated tone on his voice is just sad, I had never seen him like that. “Walter, right after Axel left the room, what did I say to you?” “That you would kill me if anything happened do Junior.” he answered in a monotone voice. “That���s not what I’m talking about, you know what I’m talking about.” I pressed on. He sighed before answering “You said we should talk, because that’s how things get solved. And that you loved me.” I smiled at him after hearing it. “Yes, yes I did. So, stop making decisions for me and talk to me when something is bothering you, okay? Now get in bed.” “Why?” “Get in bed.”

I gave him the blow job of his life.

Right now it’s 06am of a friday and the alarm is going off for another workday. This week was completely stressful, one of our fighting rings got busted and Walter has been on edge trying to restore it. I got up to turn off the alarm and get ready for the day. As soon as I sat to get up, I felt Walter’s long arms snake around me and a light kiss being pressed on the middle of my back. “Where do you think you are going?” he mumbled on the same spot where he kissed me. “It’s friday, liebling. We have to go to work.” “No, we don’t. We are getting the day off, we deserve it and everything is already taken care of. Now please, get back to bed.” So, I did, he held me close his chest, his breathing lulling me to sleep almost immediately.

I woke up to Walter nudging me a few hours later. “Schatz, wake up. C’mon.” “What time is it?” “It’s 09:02. Please sit up.” I sat on the bed and saw he had a tray filled with food. “Wait, am I getting breakfast in bed?” “Yes, breakfast in bed for meine königin.” He kissed my lips and continued “Don’t how good it all will be though. I did it all myself, so fire the chef if it’s horrible.” “I’m sure it’s all delicious.” And they were. Pancakes were fluffy, bacon crispy, the eggs just how I liked, and he even put a little cinnamon on the coffee.

We ate in silence for a while, his right hand running up and down my leg. After we finished, I asked him what he wanted to do for the day, and he said that he would love to spend the day in bed. And we did. I got a random Spotify playlist on playing soft music on the bluetooth system just as ambiance music, we climbed under the covers and just stayed there, enjoying each other’s presence.

 After a few minutes, Walter let out a question.

“What do you think of me?” I didn’t really get what he meant with it, getting up, I sat in front of him to look at him better. “What do you mean with what I think of you? You know I love you.” “Not like that. Me as a person. What you think of me as a person?” I looked at him almost panicking. “Walter... I–I just...” “It’s okay, liebe, be honest. Don’t be afraid. I really want to know.” “Look,” I sighed before continuing, “I’m not going to lie to you, I was so fucking scared when I first met you. That day on watch room at the club, I was terrified of you. My fight or flight response was on the whole time.” I let out a giggle “but somehow I was mesmerised by you. You’ve got this energy around you that sucked me in. For some reason I knew your pipe game was going to be good.” “Pipe game?” “Yeah, you know how to use your dick.” “Oh...” “Yeah, so where was I? Oh, yeah! So, you just don’t let people in. At least me, I know the guys know more about you than I do, well, of course they do, they’ve known you way longer, but anyway. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t let me in, and then something happens and you completely shut down, ignores everyone one or go on completely full rude mode. If something goes wrong or if you want to prove a point, you either make people uncomfortable, make them do something that will not sit right with them. For example, the thing with Axel and I. Yeah we’ve always had a tension going on that someday we would have had it figured out. But you thought your way was going to solve it all.” “You know you could’ve said no, right? I don’t want you do anything you don’t want to, any of you.”

“Oh, I know. I fucked Junior because I wanted and he wanted it too, he was just shocked that you came to it out of nowhere. But again, you can’t just make people do shit because you think it would be better for them, or because they did something wrong and you must prove a point to them. Talk to people. I know it’s hard for you, but sometimes just a few words go a long way.” He kept staring at me with those piercing steel eyes for a while after I finished my rant. His hand lifted up to my head, tangling his fingers on my hair, caressing my features. He sighed.

“You know, this business was my dad’s. I got it from him after he died. We had a rocky relationship and at first, I didn’t want to take over it. I hated him for most of my life. When my brother and I were kids, teenagers, if we did something wrong, he would beat the shit out us. I’ve lost count of how many scars I have because of him. I just carried this with me in all aspects of my life. I didn’t really have friends in school, people only got close to me because I would make favours for them, because I would buy them things and my life moved like this. They liked when I was angry, aggressive. They thrived on my bossing around, commanding and humiliating the people they didn’t like. To me that felt nice, felt right because I got the positive attention I never got at home. I was alone again when I refused to do something they asked me to or college got around and everyone went their separate ways. Not one call or text from them. Then I met the guys, they didn’t care about my money, didn’t care about who my family was and what we are capable of, they just accepted me for my own person. So, when my father died, after a lot of self-debate on whether or not I should accept my destiny, I asked them to join me, and here we are.” he stopped for a bit to breathe in some air and I had to look away from him to stop the tears I had been holding back from falling.

“Then you came in.” He started again. “At first I thought you were some invention from Axel’s mind because of how he talked about you. He never showed us a picture of you. That the day I saw you reading and drinking tea on your balcony, I finally understood him. I know the way I pursued wasn’t the best one, but I really don’t know better. You don’t take shit from anyone, you’re not afraid of getting on my face, that just draws me closer to you. I stand by what I’ve said to you before, if you want to get with any of the guys, you can. If I tell to do something you don’t want to, you’re more than free to deny it. If you get tired of all of this, if you don’t want to even see my face anymore, you can leave, and I’ll never go after you. I know I’m a prick, I know I’m a bastard and that I don’t deserve good things. I hate being this way.” Tears were rolling down my face by now, all I could do was hug him, hold him close to me as he did the same. We stayed like that for a little bit, me only getting up again so I could tell him what I was thinking.

“Look, you’re none of these horrible things you just said. All I see in you is a great guy that is worried about his friends, you just don’t have a conventional way of showing it. But if you are willing to change, I can help you with that, okay?”

“Okay. I love you.” “I love you too. Now, enough about this sad fest. Do you want to watch a movie or something” “Sure, you choose.”

I picked some dumb comedy on Netflix and got back to my place on his chest. His hand never left my body, caressing my skin all the time. We kept quiet, only laughing when something funny happened. It was around the second half of the third movie that I spoke up again.

“I’m gonna fuck Tim for real.” “What is it with you and this obsession for Timothy?” “Oooh, Timothy. What, you were the one that said I could fuck whomever I wanted.”

---

Translations: Arschloch: asshole Schatz: sweetheart Meine Königin: my queen

→

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Beyond a Seasonable Doubt

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 7478 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 2: Soulmate AU

Summary: Peter's been living in winter for 17 years. A single smile from his soulmate would bring him into spring. Today, he finally has a real conversation with MJ, the girl he's pretty sure is the one.

Every day, Peter Parker wakes up certain of three things: that he won’t leave himself enough time to finish his cereal, that he should dress for snow, and the (probable) identity of his soulmate.

Ok, the first one’s not a certainty per say―sometimes he has microwave oatmeal or blueberry toaster waffles―but the second one’s been true his whole life. Every single day, for the past seventeen years and change, he’s been swaddled for winter weather. Could be January when he’s three years old and his puffy snowsuit looks totally appropriate as his mom pushes him down a slushy sidewalk in his stroller. Could be August 10th just last year and he’s wearing a woolen fisherman sweater (inherited from his Uncle Ben) and two pairs of socks to his own birthday pool party. Until his soulmate is confirmed, he won’t be part of the regular changing of the seasons that, up to this point, he’s only heard about and seen pictures and video of. For all intents and purposes, in Peter’s world, it’s winter. Some people say the date they’re stuck on bothers them. Personally, he doesn’t know how it could, since he’s never known anything different. You just have to layer up and get on with it.

His arm’s deep in his backpack, feeling around for the scarf he could swear he stuffed in there yesterday, as he walks into the kitchen. It’s a rare day; both Happy and May are at the table, working from home today. With ambivalence to the inevitability that he’ll be dumping half of it in the sink, Peter starts in on his Cheerios. He’s less apathetic about watching his dining companions. They haven’t had the easiest path, so he studies them for clues. May’s first soulmate was Uncle Ben. That’s not up for debate. Within 24 hours of when they met, the seasons adjusted themselves and two more people joined the rest of the world’s matched soulmates in enjoying the proper rotation of the earth around the sun. After Ben’s death, May told Peter that the seasons continued to change for her, but they slowed. Once a couple of years passed, there was a noticeable lag. She fell out of step with the world. When Happy came on the scene, things got back on track. Voilà, soulmate number two. From what Peter’s read, it’s not that unusual to find another soulmate if you lose your first, but honestly, he’d be happy just to get one.

May and Happy are dressed for mid-spring.

“Rain today?” Peter wonders, spooning Cheerios into his mouth.

“It’s holding off for now,” his aunt informs him.

When he turns to look out the window, there’s a cottony haze of thick snowflakes, like all of Queens is having a pillow fight on the rooftops. He sighs with acceptance rather than despair. Nothing was going to change overnight. It couldn’t, not without her, whoever she is. (He thinks he knows.)

“Cool.”

He leaves in a rush, slopping milk into the sink, and pulling on a hat.

A season isn’t much of a clue, but that’s not exactly how everyone experiences their pre-soulmate life. Instead of cycling through an entire spring, for example, and then starting again, each person exists in the weather as it was on the day their soulmate was born. The universe was kinda against Peter from the first. Snow, in his mind, goes with winter, but of course, in their New York climate, snow isn’t trapped between the boundaries of December and March. It wasn’t until he got his second clue that he figured out the first. The second clue was that this one girl would never smile at him. Soulmates need to smile at each other. That’s it. Just smile and everything else falls into place. No more dressing for the same temperature every day or involuntarily shivering when they see people in shorts and t-shirts in a world they observe to be covered in snow. Most people who haven’t found their soulmate yet smile a lot, trying to catch everyone’s eye, in the hope of locating the right person, so the fact that this one girl refused to smile at him (and continues to refuse) made Peter curious―curious enough to do some research to find out her birthday. End of November. Meaning autumn, not winter. He checked the weather for the year he was born, assuming he’s got the right girl and they share a birth year. Bingo. Big cold front, unexpectedly heavy snowfall that day. Plus, this girl dresses like it’s the peak of summer, which fits with when his birthday is, and he’s never seen her wear an outfit for cooler weather or hang around with any one person in particular (soulmates, especially those his age, tend to cling).

So, the third certainty. Peter’s pretty sure he knows who his soulmate is. What he doesn’t know is why the hell Michelle Jones won’t smile at him.

―

Every day, Michelle Jones wakes up certain of three things: that the inevitable sweat patches in the armpits of her uniform shirt will aid her in bullying Coach Wilson into letting her sit out during gym, that Peter Parker is her soulmate, and that she’d really prefer that he wasn’t.

People think she’s rude, which is maybe correct in the effect she has on them but not in the intention of her actions. She doesn’t like acting a certain way because it’s how she’s supposed to act. She doesn’t like etiquette, she doesn’t like rules, and she doesn’t like soulmates. Doesn’t want one, doesn’t need one. It’s an opinion adults condescendingly informed her she’d grow out of―as if accepting that she’s being denied free will is the kind of thing she’d mature into―until she quit voicing it. People love the system as long as they believe it’s working for them. What’s childish, as far as MJ is concerned, is placing complete faith in something as pervasive as soulmates simply because it seems too big to fail. That expression always makes her think of the Titanic.

She knows it’s not the cotton candy fantasy everyone wants to believe it is, and she’s not just disillusioned because she wakes up to a heatwave every day and has to carry deodorant with her all the time. Like most people, she was born the child of two soulmates. They met, they smiled, they took the soulmate bait, hook, line, and sinker. And then, even though they loved each other and got married and made MJ, her mom became mildly depressed. Her doctor thought it was the consequence of the seasons. MJ’s dad was a late-April baby, so maybe her mom was just one of those people who took longer to get used to variations in temperature and hours of daylight. The doctor thought she’d snap out of it when winter ended and nice weather came again. The problem was that MJ’s mom packed up and left in February. MJ’s never going to know for sure if it was the weather that made her go, but she does know that the soulmate bond wasn’t enough to make her mom stay. It taught her that, if a person’s determined enough, they can override destiny.

So she’s thankful to her mom, wherever she is, for that.

Based on her motives for distrusting the soulmate influence, the reason she doesn’t want Peter should be because she doesn’t want anybody, but no, it’s him in particular that MJ’s pretty much convinced she could do without. He’s smart, funny on occasion and mostly by accident, and he’s experienced family tragedy that’s different from hers, so they could connect over their messed-up pasts without too much overlap. All of that is more than she wants to deal with. If the universe attempted to shack her up with some trust-fund-having, loafer-wearing, future-frat-house-keg-meister, she could’ve worked with that. She would’ve smiled at the silver-spoon-suckling to confirm they were soulmates, then let that puppy-dog trail her from protest to protest while she told him when to pull out his chequebook and how many zeros to put down. There would’ve been a clear, Robin Hoodian purpose to that relationship. There’s not a point to Peter, besides him being someone she could very probably, very quickly fall in love with. Obviously, she can’t do that because soulmates are bullshit and true love is a con and long-term monogamy is a doomed enterprise.

…And she’s going to be late for her first class, Biology. Ugh, Peter always does this to her―intentionally walks slow to try to trick her into catching up with him. All that does is make MJ take a longer route and misjudge how quickly she needs to move. She wishes he’d knock it off. He’s backed off on a lot of other things for her sake (that’s an assumption based on observation because, of course, she’s never initiated a conversation with him), like sitting across from her in the cafeteria and dropping out of marching band (he plays trombone, she plays euphonium, and the brass section was too cozy a space for successfully avoiding someone). That second one was a waste because she was about to quit anyway, so now neither of them are in it and the whole band’s off balance. Too many fucking flautists. If Peter would commit to doing one or the other―pestering her or ignoring her―that would be convenient, but he’s inconsistent and she’s annoyed.

Oh, here’s another thing that happens every day: MJ hopes her displeasure will protect her from the urge to smile at the adorable, well-intentioned pain in her neck that destiny wants to tie her to until one of them drops dead or, marginally less dramatic, runs out on the young family they’ve created. It really pisses her off that Peter seems like he’ll be a great dad in another decade or two.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, when she finally makes it to Bio and slides behind the lab desk in front of his.

“Kiss my ass, Parker,” she mutters back.

He’s the reason for the sweat running down her spine. MJ pinches the front of her t-shirt and flaps it away from her skin, trying to stimulate enough airflow to make it through the period.

―

“You could trick her into smiling at you,” Ned suggests. They’re sitting together at lunch and Peter has a glumness hangover from MJ ignoring him (again) that morning.

“Babe,” Betty admonishes.

“Babe, he’d only feel bad if MJ really is his soulmate. If she’s not, then at least they know for sure and they can quit being weird with each other.”

“I’m not being weird with her,” Peter objects. “I’m just being nice! And I told you, I know it’s her.”

“You get that feeling?” Ned checks. “That warm feeling like I got the first time I saw Betty’s beautiful face?”

“Aw, babe!”

Their arms are already linked as they eat, but now Betty lays her head on her soulmate’s shoulder. If they get much closer, she’ll be in Ned’s lap, at which point Peter will have to make himself scarce. Though love is cute, it’s also kind of an affliction with a lot of messy symptoms.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong!” he blurts out in frustration, jabbing at the salad May made him for lunch. “How could we be so incompatible?”

“You’re not though,” Betty counters. “You’re totally compatible.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even taken the first step.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t think of it as the first step,” Ned suggests, being all wise.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked cautiously.

“Babe, you couldn’t be more correct,” Betty gushes. Peter sighs impatiently. He shouldn’t―they’re trying to help him―but it’s hard having paired up friends while his own soulmate stays just out of reach.

“Elaborate please,” he prompts.

He shifts in place and shivers when he accidentally moves out of the space his butt’s been warming. Meanwhile, here are Ned and Betty in their lightweight sweaters and sneakers. Peter’s boots clomp under the table.

“Well,” Ned posits, “isn’t confirming you’re soulmates more like the final step? You’ve done your waiting and now you get to be together?” Betty kisses his cheek in agreement.

“Maybe,” Peter allows.

“If you accept that confirming your bond isn’t the very next step, then you can start considering what is the next step. What do you think that might be, Peter?” Betty asks.

“I should… get MJ to tell me why she isn’t ready or interested in confirming it. In a respectful way that doesn’t pressure her,” he adds when Betty narrows her eyes judgementally.

“And how do you plan to achieve that?”

“Babe,” Ned intercedes, “let’s give him a minute to think about it.”

Peter tries to do that while he finishes his lunch. There are a lot of vegetables in here and they’re seasonal, just not for the season he’s experiencing. May’s always trying to load him up with vitamin-rich foods, since most of his day’s snowy; the clouds clear for a while around the time he gets out of school, allowing him some sun on his face as long as he doesn’t dawdle or land in detention. That train of thought makes him realize that detention would be the perfect place to talk this out with MJ, except that he’s against Ned’s plan of tricking her into becoming his soulmate and making sure she landed in detention with him would probably involve tricking. He knows she used to hang out there voluntarily from time to time, but not since they became aware of their connection. Now, she seems to avoid any place she might get stuck in and be cornered by Peter.

Ugh! He’s so ready to love and be loved! It’s super awesome to have people to love and worry about and have breakfast with. Love and breakfast are precious, in Peter’s opinion, and so is time. Getting enough of it isn’t something to be depended upon. After his parents and then Uncle Ben, he can’t trust quantity―he gives and gets quality love these days. He doesn’t know everything about Michelle Jones, but he’d like her to understand that, the irreplaceable value she represents to him. If she’d just be a plain envelope, he’d do all the work; put on the stamp, write out the address, compose the note it would hold. Right now, she’s like a sheet of paper, he guesses, one that they fold up into an envelope. She hasn’t been cut out or had that gross glue strip applied and it seems like it might be a long time before she’s ready for a letter or, like, a Happy Bar Mitzvah card. MJ might not want to be his envelope person, or she just might not know the things he could be for her (glue-licking, stamp-applying, Mazel Tov!-writing). If she at least knows, then he’ll concede that he’s done everything he can. If she knows, it’ll hopefully be enough for her to make a decision. Peter can’t force her to decide in his favour, but even if she understands and decides that she needs another five years before she wants to talk to him about the probability of their being soulmates and maybe revisit the smiling thing, he’ll know something too. Waiting is really tough.

―

“Don’t smile at me,” Peter requests, both hands up, when MJ shuts her locker to see him standing there.

She rolls her eyes. Nothing about the one person she’s actively avoiding hanging out at a place she has to be makes her want to smile. Did he decide that if he couldn’t be her soulmate he’d settle for being her stalker?

…Probably not. He’s way too good a person for that. Seriously, she tries to make these made-up accusations stick to him, but he’s just not that guy. That doesn’t mean she accepts, likes, or appreciates this latest move to get her attention.

“Are you trying reverse psychology now?” MJ demands.

“I’m just trying to make it extra clear that, whatever your reasons are for not smiling, I respect them.” He shrugs his shoulders and she glances down at the lunchbox he’s carrying. She wonders what he ate today.

“What if I’m not smiling because I’m plotting a bank heist in my head? Do you respect that? Do you respect theft, Peter?”

His expression is so satisfyingly startled that she almost does smile. No, fuck this. There are only ten minutes or so left in the lunch hour and she can wander the halls until the next class starts. She goes to step around him, but their shoulders brush and she feels something. It’s more aggressive than the welcoming warmth the bond (that’s what she attributes it to) usually makes her feel when she sees him. This is pure affection and it’s really hard to put her back to it. MJ pauses, facing away from Peter, and she’s almost got the new feeling under control when he turns and starts walking beside her.

“I think we can figure this out,” he says eagerly. Dammit. His enthusiasm for learning is one of the traits she finds most attractive in him. Can’t he just lay off with that fucking fated appeal?

“I think I already have,” she shoots back, not looking at him. “The universe wants to play sock puppets and guess what? We’re the sock puppets.”

“Look,” Peter says. He’s shockingly persistent today as he jumps in front of her and catches her eye. “We don’t have to play by its rules. We can make our own.”

“You wanna be with me?” she asks point-blank. Her chin jerks up instinctively when she questions him, eyes appraising. Either the question or the blunt stare makes him blush.

“Yeah, I, I think I probably do.”

“You want me to fall in love with you? For us to get married? Live together? Have kids? Me and you against the world, forever?”

“Maybe?”

“Well, you can’t just want one thing, Peter,” MJ tells him. Her fingers grip hard at the books in her hands. “There’s no shallow end of the soulmate bond. Its plan is not for us to casually date and let things plateau if it doesn’t work out.”

“But it would work out.” Poor thing looks confused.

“Says who?”

He shrugs.

“Everybody.”

“Check your sources.”

She hangs a left into the girls’ bathroom before Peter can respond, but he’s waiting in the hall when she returns.

“You can’t ignore it,” is the first thing he says to her, pushing off the wall. This time, MJ plants her feet.

“Or you, apparently, if you keep stalking me.”

“I’m not trying to. I just want us―”

“To talk,” she finishes for him. “Which is pointless. You’re not going to gain any ground with me, Peter. I have no ground for you to gain on this issue.”

“Maybe, if you told me why you won’t smile, you’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

“You do not. You’re trying not to let someone care a lot about you when it’s guaranteed that they would. He would. I would,” Peter rambles. He takes a deep breath and looks her firmly in the eye. “Isn’t that, like, the one thing everybody wants? To be able to count on someone caring?”

“I’m not broken just because I don’t want what everybody wants,” she bites back, feeling herself flush with annoyance and, beneath that, embarrassment at being assessed.

“I would never call you broken,” he swears in a quiet voice. He is not going to make her tear up right now. She’s softening though, she can feel it. Stupid sincere soulmate. “I mean, if anything, I’m broken, so I could never judge, even if I wanted to. I know people try hard to find their perfect match, but I feel greedy sometimes with how badly I want it to happen to me. I know it’s not fair to you, I’ve been coming to terms with―”

“You’re not broken, Peter. Wanting someone to love you doesn’t make you broken. Or, if it does, then most people are. You’re not alone just because you don’t have me.”

Clearly, the time to stop herself was one sentence sooner. Because the jerk smiles at her and the next thing she does is agree to discuss this further after school.

―

There was something she said, while they were talking after lunch, that has him considering their potential as platonic soulmates well into third period. That’s what soulmates are for some people―they want all of the kindness and support of the bond with none of the romance, and the universe gives them what they need. When MJ said that stuff about marriage and babies and forever, Peter began contemplating whether they could achieve the third thing without the first two. Almost immediately, he ruled it out. He knew what attraction felt like. Sure, being soulmates was probably influencing him towards MJ, but she wasn’t the only person he found attractive. He used to have a crush on Liz. One day, when his Business class was on a field trip and it rained, he saw Flash with all the product washed out of his hair and was attracted to him (right up until Flash made a few loud comments about getting ‘Penis’ out of the cold weather before he shriveled up).

The conclusion he comes to is clear: Peter’s definitely hot for MJ. While marriage can wait, falling dizzily, hopelessly in love―and properly, in the kind of love they could have with their soulmate bond confirmed―is something he can only ever half-heartedly postpone. He wants to give her presents with love on her birthday. He wants to hug her and feel a new kind of complete. He wants to be her Valentine.

When Peter sees MJ hanging back to wait for him once the final bell rings, he’s relieved. Then tense. Not screwing this up might literally be the most important thing in his future. Trying to reassure her that he isn’t planning some sort of ambush to force a smile out of her, he suggests they talk someplace where other people will be around. She flat-out refuses to go to a coffee shop with him because it would be way too date-like. (Yeah, he gets that, picturing an awkward moment in which he attempts to pay for both their orders, or their shoes bump under the table.) They agree on the gym, where the girls’ indoor soccer team is having practice. Together―him in flannel-lined jeans and her in shorts―they thud up the bleachers to sit at the very top. MJ catches her foot and Peter notices that, when he instinctively reaches out to steady her, she shies away with a regretful look on her face. He really doesn’t expect her to explain, but then she does as they sit down.

“It does something to me,” she says, jerking her head as though to reference their near-contact.

Peter shrugs.

“Yeah, me too, but I’ve never been trying to avoid that feeling. I’ve gotten used to, like, um,” he stammers, “leaning into it. But I’m sorry. I won’t touch you.”

“Well, you know that I have the opposite habit.” MJ takes a deep breath, and Peter gets the sense that this would be the moment for her to be vulnerable with him and explain why she works so hard to ignore him. Ultimately, volunteering that information appears to be too much of an emotional effort. She decides to ask, “Is that something you’re interested in knowing more about?”

“Anything you wanna tell me,” he says quickly. He’s been waiting forever for this opportunity. “You can ask me things too. Open book.”

“I’m… not used to just spilling stuff about my life.”

He considers that.

“Why’d you say yes to this?”

She sighs and leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Then, she cups her face in her hand and turns to meet his eye.

“I’m tired of the way seeing you is always such a big deal. The bond says it’s wonderful and my brain hates it. I don’t want to be so torn all the time.”

“So…” he begins uncertainly. “Which outcome are you hoping for? Thinking I’m wonderful or hating my guts?”

The speed with which MJ turns her face away from him makes him wonder if she’s hiding a smile. He wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Quit twisting my words,” she requests, straight-faced as she stares straight ahead to where the soccer players are booting around what looks like an oversized tennis ball. “I didn’t say I hate you.”

“Just your brain.”

“Mhmm. My brain hates the idea of you.”

“MJ,” Peter says earnestly. She looks at him. “Why?”

“You control my whole life!” she says abruptly. “I’m sweating from climbing these stupid bleachers because of you. I have the urge to smile right now, when I’m irritated, because of you. Your existence tells me what to wear even when I’m not with you and how to feel whenever I see you.”

“I’m sorry―”

“And I can’t even seriously blame you because it’s not actually your fault!”

The girls’ team has quit weaving and shooting the ball, heading and passing it. Peter gets that MJ wanted a public place, but now he knows they’re being eavesdropped on. He’s quiet, though not because of the potential listeners; he doesn’t want to stop MJ from saying whatever she might tell him next. He’s been longing to hear her thoughts for ages.

“And that’s just, like, surface stuff!” she huffs. She’s flushed. If he could hold her face between his hands, the warmth might stay with him all the way home while he trudges along the sidewalk, ploughing snow aside with his shins.

“Please,” Peter says softly, “tell me more. Tell me anything you want.”

―

She went into it knowing she wouldn’t be allowing her soulmate to make her smile, but MJ didn’t anticipate letting him see her cry. He’s so open and she’s fortified her defenses against this topic for such a long time. Apparently, that’s enough for discussing her emotions and fears to make her crack like an egg. Peter doesn’t rush her or tell her that her feelings are the wrong feelings and the whole time he watches her face with a startling amount of attention. Has anybody looked at her like this? Really looked at her? Ever? She feels like a mom would’ve, but she can’t remember if her mom did. And that’s who she’s talking about, that’s the part of the story she’s at, when she feels the tears dribble out and tilts her head to let them drain away over her cheek. God, this is embarrassing. At least the soccer team packed up and left before she felt her throat getting thick.

“I don’t know if I’m still just letting my mom decide whether or not I get to be happy,” MJ admits, face wet until she catches her tear tracks with the back of her wrist. “I’m trying to do this, ignore the soulmate bond, for me, but maybe… I don’t know…”

“You’re forcing me away from you?” Peter suggests.

“Yeah. I’m abandoning you before we can get attached.” Somehow, this dork has Kleenex in his backpack and hands her one. She blows her nose hard, then crumples the tissue in her hand. “Pretty fucked up.”

“Ok, this is gonna sound really stupid, because we’re not even together, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person who could leave you.”

“You can’t promise that though,” MJ says―so, so quietly. She wants her words to run away and hide under the bleachers with the dust bunnies.

“Would you rather have nothing?” he asks.

Coming from someone else, she’s pretty sure that would be an ultimatum, some kind of threat to accept him as her soulmate now or never get another chance. Peter asks it with as little agenda as he’s asked everything else, easing her through her memories and her dreads.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“Can I tell you something? I’m not sure I could be with someone whose goal was to resist getting or giving love. I mean, I’ve heard everything you’ve told me and I can see why you’ve been dodging the soulmate thing, but if you get to look way ahead and worry about things that are only possible and far in the future, like me leaving you, then I get to look ahead too.” He pauses and she nods to indicate that, yeah, that’s fair. MJ thinks this is very brave of him, stepping out of the situation for a second to consider what he might need later when what he wants is to be with her right away. “I don’t wanna be left either. I don’t want you not to be able to overcome the idea that soulmates are bad and wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter if you think that in general, but if it’s a part of our relationship, then you’re always going to be expecting things to end. It would be like you were trying to think your way out of it instead of enjoying whatever we could have. And what we could have, by the way? I don’t think the bond has anything to say about that. Does it encourage us to get together? Yeah, sure, fine, it does and we accept that’s how it works. Once we are together though, isn’t the rest on our terms?”

Finally, Peter takes a longer breath and some of the intensity fades from his expression.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he notes. “I know I talked a lot. Are you gonna say something?”

“Just that you sounded smart and it’s pissing me off.”

He gives her dry joke a sad smile.

“Losing people sucks.” His voice is like a rock falling, falling, falling through deep water. “For as much as you don’t want me to make promises, I know that I’d try really fucking hard not to lose you. You can’t hate me, or your brain can’t hate me, for that. It’s the human element of this whole thing, which should be the part you like, since you’re so anti-destiny.”

Looks like Peter’s raised his own spirits enough to offer a conspiratorial little smile at the end there.

“Another repulsively astute point,” she says flatly and watches his smile broaden. Fuck, it makes her heart feel like a marshmallow that’s melting onto a s’more and simultaneously being stretched until it tears into sticky ribbons.

He checks his watch and gets to his feet.

“I gotta get home.”

“Did I miss the soulmate-decision deadline?” she teases. Feels weird. She stands too and they clomp back down to the gym floor.

“No! God, no, I wasn’t trying to rush you by looking at the time!”

“Parker, I’m messing with you. Chill.”

She eyes his winter clothing.

“Or maybe don’t. Looks like you’re chill enough already. Sorry for being born during a blizzard. My dad told me he and my mom barely got to the hospital in time for me to not be born in the car, the roads were so bad.”

Peter appraises her right back.

“Sorry for being born during a heatwave. I wish I could ask my mom what that was like, but you already know about my parents.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to start comparing…”

“No, I know,” Peter says. “I miss her, but it’s not always the worst, having a certain moment make me notice that I could’ve learned something from her here. It’s actually easier to appreciate than forget, even if it’s sad for a little while.”

“If I promise to try it, will you cut it out with the insightful bullshit?”

Instead of answering that question, he springs something else on her.

“For the record, I know the only reason you didn’t smile at me is because you were trying so hard not to.”

Immediately, MJ turns her back on him and smirks as she heads for the far exit.

―

Peter’s seen a lot of snow. Almost all the weather he’s ever seen is snow, and even at the point in his day when the snowfall takes its lunchbreak, there’s over a foot on the ground and dense grey clouds up above. He thinks it’s crazy how snow fills people with wonder―mainly in Christmas movies and holiday episodes of TV shows. The way he feels about snow is probably how people living in late-spring-to-early-fall weather feel about grass. It’s just there, the base layer of their environment.

Except tonight Peter has his blind up, watching the thin sprinkle the blizzard has slowed into catch the light from other people’s apartments, a clean, meltable glitter. He’s tired and can’t sleep, but it’s a quiet comfort of sleeplessness, not the kind where he stresses and twists around between his sheets. The weight of the day keeps him flat on his back in bed as he thinks it all over. His feelings, MJ’s, the satisfaction of finally having a long talk with her, the biting pain of seeing her cry. In his mind, since he first guessed it might be her who’s his soulmate, he’s been tailoring their love. Their potential love. He didn’t know what it would look like before having her to mould a concept around. Learning that she was probably his soulmate, studying her, Peter decided they were meant for a slow love. Love would be something that slipped gradually across them, like pulling up the sheet on a bed or stepping into a long summertime shadow.

He’s surprised at the kind of love MJ envisioned; from the berth she gave it when she talked that afternoon, it sounded big and powerful and immediate. Faster than an avalanche, ringing through their lives louder than a thunderclap. He wanted them to confirm their bond soon so that unhurried love could begin to develop and she was afraid that the second they started would be the second they were swept away. No wonder she avoided him, Peter thinks. The love she anticipated would equal an act of god and he isn’t ready for that either. He turns his face away from the direction of the window and stares at his dark ceiling.

Peter has plenty of forceful love in his life―he can’t consider it enough forceful love, because there’s no such thing as enough love, is there?―thanks to May. She took on the mom-ish role of caring for him after his parents were gone, then the single-mom-ish role of raising him into approaching adulthood without Uncle Ben. While her aura is soft, her whole attitude has been very roll-up-your-sleeves where he’s concerned. May faced down his extreme need for parental TLC like it was a battle and continues to love him fiercely, even if his steadily increasing age and Happy’s calming presence temper her a little these days. So Peter’s covered in the department of that kind of love. He hopes his forever person doesn’t feel the need to bombard him with a truckload of love from the start; it would make him feel pitied, somehow, like they were putting all their effort into making up for the fact that he doesn’t have parents anymore. Peter knows he doesn’t have parents, he doesn’t want or need to be smothered to make up for their absence.

This chance (it still isn’t a solid thing) with MJ could let him grow into devotion. He’s kinda longing to know what that feels like. The theoretical adjective he’d attach to it is normal. Whatever the universe’s input here, Peter really believes the most normal thing after confirming their bond would be to allow things to develop however felt right. And with the bond backing them, technically anything they do would be right, right? He wants them to grow up together and grow into each other. He doesn’t want MJ to be the bond or a love lightning bolt, zipping down to fry him. The assurance that they’ll fall in love is enough to start. It’s an invaluable forecast, as dependable as the weather he’s been experiencing all his life.

When his phone buzzes on his nightstand, Peter feels as though he’s being retracted like a telescope―thoughts way far out in space drawing back to his building, his bedroom, his body. He rubs his eyes with his knuckle as he looks at the screen.

So… you were unexpectedly deep today, MJ’s text reads.

They never exactly exchanged numbers, but he got hers from Betty one time and saved it just in case. His heart beats faster at the thought that maybe MJ did the same.

And you’re still mad about it? Peter guesses, tapping out his reply.

Oh, you are up.

There was a lot to think about, he tells her honestly. Why are you still awake?

Because the day you were born must have been the most humid day of the year. It’s too hot to sleep.

Also, MJ tags on, that crap you said about thinking.

―

She lets her phone drop onto the thin cotton sheet of the mattress and uses its light to help her see as she rips nervously at the skin around her fingernail. Texting Peter wasn’t even really a thought―she just found herself doing it, surprised by how natural the instinct felt and despite the fact that she really doesn’t reach out to people. That she would reach out to the one person she was utterly vulnerable in front of less than 12 hours ago is something MJ would never have expected of herself. But she’s let him in this far.

And you decided to talk to me about it? Peter finally responds, postponing further anxiety.

I know. My boundaries are completely fucked after this afternoon. I might never be able to bottle up my feelings again. Hope you’re happy, loser.

Well, Peter texts, you don’t have to do that. If you need to empty the bottle every once in a while, I get it. I can be your glass. Or your straw?

You want to suck up my feelings? Like some kind of feelings-vampire?

God, she is fucking this up so severely. He’s going to wish she’d just kept ignoring him instead of caving to his persistent friendliness and that look he gets that’s all eyes, totally impossible to say no to. Amazingly, her last stupid text isn’t enough to make him say he’s going to sleep now, or worse, not respond at all.

Just a feelings-relief, he corrects. Unless you like the idea of the feelings-vampire better.

You don’t need to bend to my will like that, Parker. Suddenly, MJ’s kind of angry.

Don’t give me what you think I want just because you feel bad about seeing me cry, she continues. Or because you think you can make this work by doing whatever I want. Never appease me.

I care, he says simply.

Wow, she feels like a jerk.

Because destiny told you that you could take that care and trade up for the promise of eternal love? she snarks back, apparently not quite done with the jerk thing.

I had no idea texting you would be even more fun than talking in person.

Is he… is he being sarcastic with her? MJ smiles at her phone. Incredible.

I’m fun in all mediums, she says, not having a clear idea of what she means and looking forward to Peter trying really hard to interpret it.

Knock knock, is his response.

Who’s there?

Ummmm idk.

‘Ummmm idk’ who?

No, I seriously don’t know, he says.

MJ snorts in confused laughter and shifts around to find a cool spot on her sheet; she wasn’t lying about the heat.

Why would you send me the beginning of a knock-knock joke with no joke? she asks.

I thought I’d think of the rest of it in the moment. I know that’s dumb. It just felt like we were maybe in a zone there and I wanted to keep it going.

Relax. I’m not going to strike you out for one ill-conceived knock-knock joke.

What about two?

I wouldn’t test your luck, MJ counsels, still smiling.

She can see that he’s composing a reply, but she beats him to it: I was thinking about what you said about destiny. Actually, what you said about the opposite of destiny, the thing about the human element.

And?

She can practically sense his tension as she holds her phone in her hand.

I think it’s a good thought. That two people can still make a relationship theirs.

Ned said something to me today.

How unusual.

Shut up, Peter quips back. He said that confirming you’re somebody’s soulmate is like the last big step.

Oh?

Yeah, I think he’s totally wrong.

So do I.

Replying that way felt like a huge leap and yet, MJ took it. It doesn’t take long after that for her to start getting tired, blinking long and slow until she’s only opening her eyes when her phone vibrates against her fingers. Peter says he’s tired too and they wrap the conversation up. There’s a suggestion of seeing each other at school the next day. It shouldn’t have any special meaning―it’s a throwaway farewell, less than a promise―but she reacts to it with her last bit of focus. See you in the morning, are her exact words.

She cranes her phone out over the side of her bed with her arm, then lets it go just a little too far from the floor. Probably fine, though it clatters against the surface. Protected by the night and her closed eyes, MJ feels around inside her mind, looking for the taut tug-of-war rope that should be telling her that, one, she doesn’t want to meet with Peter because he’s probably her soulmate and soulmates are a lie and a scam, and two, that she does want to meet with Peter because he has a cute smile that he shows her even when she doesn’t give him much reason to. Then she thinks about how much she prefers first steps to last steps.

―

He could be a clone. He could be a clone in a programmed world, living his programmed life the same every day, but with, like, fake memories that fool him into believing in variety. Because he does believe in it. Today, Peter wakes up and change seems possible.

There’s snow on the ground outside and he has to get his socks on before putting his feet on the floor and he’s eating his breakfast too slowly and the way his aunt and Happy are dressed says it’s still spring. Peter asks about rain. May says, “Any time now,” and keeps reading the paperwork she has folded open on the table as she scratches absently at her arm.

“Amazing,” Peter replies, meaning it, as he picks up his bowl and slurps the rest of his cereal until milk runs down his chin.

His aunt glances up to give him a funny look. He’s pretty sure it’s not about the milk, but there’s no time to ask. If he hurries, he’ll leave ahead of his usual schedule, thanks to this new breakfast hack. He wants to get to school. School is such a great place to be.

Peter races out of the apartment and down the stairs like he’s 10 minutes late instead of 3 minutes early. It’s in the building’s entryway that he gets a feeling. Four feet from the glass door that he sees her standing on the sidewalk, snow she can’t feel partway up her mostly-bare legs. Pushing the door open when she quits looking away down the street and stares straight back at him instead. When MJ smiles, Peter smiles back. It could be a life-changing moment, or it might just be a reflex. Because they started to let each other in, he’ll probably never know the answer. Anyway, why does there only have to be one?

“I’ve been waiting,” she says. “I thought you’d be down sooner.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly.

“I tend to cut my timing kinda close in the morning. You wanna get going?” Peter jerks his head to the side.

“Yeah, we should. You’re probably getting cold just standing there.”

With his timing slightly off, they’re ahead of schedule for the bus he’s usually running to catch, so they decide to walk up to the next stop. As they approach the intersection, the light changes to yellow.

“We can beat it if we run,” Peter suggests, trying not to strangle himself by catching his scarf as he hikes his backpack higher on his shoulders.

But MJ goes, “Wait,” so urgently that he stops at the corner.

“What is it?”

“I thought I just…” With a puzzled expression, she extends her hand, palm up. Not towards Peter, but away from him. “…felt a raindrop.”

They lock eyes.

“You want my coat?” he offers. MJ smiles again.

“I’ll let you know.”