#i'm sorry if this doesn't make any sense I'm just still rotating in my head the fact that Odysseus defeated Poseidon by | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zzcrypticcoyotezz · 5 months ago

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Read your Ian Malcom Nonbinary/genderfluid and now I can't get it out of my head. IT'S SUCH A COOL HEADCANNON THAT I SEE HAPPENING. Can you rant more about it, please? give more scenarios of what your take is LITERALLY ANYTHING GO FERAL. That is all thank you. Also Trans Alan?! yoooooooooo. Love the concept of Ian helping him come out more too. Just GRAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

aaaaaa thank you so much!!! AND YES i would be happy to! you're the first person to ever send me a question, i'm so excited my posts are starting to pick up and people like the dumb things i write haha. i've had this rotating in my brain like a microwave for a while so enjoy! doesn't make much sense with my headcanon being that malcolm messes with his gender after the events of JP, but i've been really wanting to reimagine the first scene of them together in the plane and make it extra fruity.

- - - -

"So... Are you a man, or a woman, then?" Alan asks, his eyes studying the mathematician carefully. He'd heard of Dr. Ian Malcolm and his work on chaos theory, sure. But he had no idea who the man himself (person?) was. He had absolutely no idea what to expect when he and Ellie boarded the plane, and he still doesn't know.

Ellie, gentle but still firmly elbowed Grant, giving him a glare. "Alan, you can't ask somebody you just met that question!" She whispered, sounding like a mother upset with her unruly son interrupting Sunday school.

Ian laughed, his sharp features curling into a smirk. He loved toying with the paleontologists, supposed men and women of science yet they couldn't wrap their head around someone defying societal gender norms. He leaned forward, his voice smooth, his long fingers gently pushing down the rim of his dark sunglasses revealing his big brown eyes, the windows to the soul some might say, and the makeup he had done that morning. Just something simple and easy to miss, just like his nails painted black or shoes secretly bought from the women's section, but undeniably himself, his style, his expression. He responded, his voice smooth with a hint of flirtation.

"I'm whatever you want me to be."

Alan sputtered. "I- uh, wh... What? What do you mean? That doesn't make any sense!" And Ellie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion. His voice grew quieter. "Pardon me if my wording isn't right, this isn't my expertise, but are you gay? One of those... Uh... Queers? I have no problem with any of it, I'm just looking for clarification."

Dr. Malcolm laughed. "Uhh... I, Well, uh, you could- you could say that, I suppose." The two still looked bewildered. "Here, uh, how about we look at it this way. Gender is.... Hmm... Something, uh, humans made up. A social construct. It doesn't truly matter what clothes we wear or what we put on our skin or how we style our hair. Life's too short to worry about that kind of thing. I'm just me. I'm not a man, or-or a woman, I'm a human being. And we're living things, we can't be put in- organized into a box. Life will always find a way to defy expectations."

Ellie's brows rose. "I actually think I understand. I've never really thought about any of this before, but it makes sense to me." She looked over at Alan. His face wrinkled in deep concentration, grappling with some kind of debate going on inside his head. After a moment, he finally responded.

"I'm sorry- but I'm still confused. How can you not be a man or a woman? The clothes thing, sure, okay, I get it." Before Dr. Malcolm had a chance to answer, Ellie spoke up.

"Just look at nature, Alan. There are definitely more than two genders or sexes. For fungi, there can be tens of thousands! And many animals can even change their gender or sex by themselves. Humans, we aren't separate from nature, we're a part of it. If Dr. Malcolm doesn't fit with either box then I don't see why they can't go past the binary."

Alan was starting to understand, but was still wrestling with a lot of concepts in his head. Things in his life he'd never told anyone before, things Ellie has no idea of. Alan Grant was not born as Alan Grant. Alan Grant wasn't born a man. He knew from the beginning that he wasn't a woman and he could never feel comfortable as one, and he was now dead to his family as they couldn't accept that. They'd rather have a "normal daughter" over a "transsexual for a son". He would lose his career if this came to light. He hasn't spoken to his parents since the day he left home at 18. They returned every letter he wrote.

Yet here now, in front of him, was someone who completely defied expectations. Someone who didn't care what others think. Someone who actively broke the rules. And this wasn't just anyone, but a world renowned mathematician! If a man, no, person of science can feel so comfortable with this part of themself... Then maybe he wasn't some freak of nature or mentally ill. That this is actually a normal human experience, that he wasn't alone or some kind of outlier. His expression softened.

"You're right, Ellie. I... I think I understand now. I apologize, Dr. Malcolm." His voice had a slight shake. Memories were flooding to his mind, memories he didn't want to remember, memories of his youth, and after he was kicked out of his parents' life. How much he'd fought to become the man he is today. How alone he felt, throughout so much of his life. He took in a deep breath, rubbed his temples and wiped his eyes, then cleared his throat, he held out his hand in a greeting. "I'd like to start over."

Ian smiled warmly, reciprocating the handshake. He felt like they have more in common than Grant would like to admit, and things were going to be alright.

#jurassic park #jurassic park franchise #jurassic park trilogy #jurassic world #chaos theory #dinot3 #ian malcolm #alan grant #trans headcanon #nonbinary headcanon #jurassic park fanfic

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casa-anachar · 16 days ago

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Drosophilia Tempusfugit

(Written for @inklings-challenge 2024, this story will also be attributed to "Elena Gutierrez", one of my OC's in Now School - who needs to turn this story in for her creative writing class.)

“Linda, can you get the lights on this side of the lab? I can't read my test strip.” That would be my labmate Memo, looking up from his bench hopefully. I don't know why he thinks that having half the lights out makes it easier to do work, but because the whole lab has motion-sensing lights, I can't just tell him to do it himself.

With a wince of disgust, I walk around the fume hood with the … thing that seems to be producing fruit flies spontaneously. We sealed the fume hood, and then we sealed the exhaust on the roof, but the flies keep appearing. And dying. Memo and I have a bet going that whoever figures out where they're coming from doesn't have to clear out the fume hood.

I hope he's as clueless as I am.

I press the bottom button on the lab door control panel. “Memo what are you even testing?

“I wondered if flies would yield any sort of acid, like ants do. These? Four test strips and they all look very Blue.”

I pretend like I didn't get a pity-B-minus in chemistry last spring and stare at him. “Yeah, yeah, the ant-acid, we've all seen it. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You're still running the gene sequencing and you're sure these are Drosophilia Melanogaster?”

“I mean, yeah, although they behave like they're super-dehydrated. With the samples I take for the microscope, the water practically vanishes into the tissue slices.”

Maybe I've said too much because he gazes at the middle distance like he's figuring something out. Time to see if I can distract him. “Tell me where Jess found this thing again?”

Memo scowls a bit. “I hear she bought it at an arts-and-crafts fair up at the Balloon Fiesta a few weeks back, but she gave it to me when the flies started showing up in her lab across the quad.”

“What is it supposed to be?”

“I think she said it's an arrow.”

I tilt my head sideways and squint at the fume hood. I guess it's shaped like an arrow, though if I smashed it with a hammer it would make a pretty good Himalayan salt lamp. “What research does her group do?”

Memo scowls some more. “They're looking for something more accurate than carbon-dating, or better for recent specimens. I think she told me they're trying out Sodium-22 instead.”

I hear the lab door handle open. I'm glad it's noisy because the alternative is getting jump-scared by somebody behind me, though the only other person who comes to this lab has begun to creep me out anyway. It's Dr. Enrique, who is Memo's PhD advisor and my boss, and lately he's been a little touchy - and I don't mean anxious. I notice that I've turned around in my seat, making my shoulders less convenient to reach.

“Oh, we got some mood lighting in here! Linda, you find any unique genes yet?”

I shake my head.

“Guillermo, do I need to keep this on the dee-ell so Jess doesn't get jealous?”

“You saying you know something that I don't, boss?” Memo covers a blush with another scowl.

“Look, if your nena from the physics department comes in with a rock that disproves Louie Pasteur, I'd gladly let her be second author.” He's looking at Memo as he crosses the room. I rotate again to keep facing Dr. Enrique. “I'm telling you, my single grad students are never as efficient as the ones who make out on a regular basis. Oh, and don't forget Friday, you're on for crackers and marshmallows.”

— [later] —

I lean against the dining room doorway and wait for Memo to finish loading up his cafeteria tray. I feel a bit sorry for him also being bothered by Dr. Enrique, and it's not like I can ever use all 120 swipes on this meal plan by myself. He grabs a second plastic-wrapped cinnamon cake slice and starts toward me, and I pull my ID out to swipe twice.

We head to a high table facing the gym next door, and he doubles back to the drink fountain after we set our trays down. At least it's nice that he knows I like root beer, but since it looks like the blue raspberry juice lever is working today, he comes back with two cups and begins guzzling his antifreeze-lookalike beverage. I try to ignore this.

“Sorry about this afternoon. Enrique's usually not like that.”

A few seconds go by before I realize I'm grateful that he hasn't looked up at me, with my half-chewed salad bite on full display. Why the hell would he defend our boss? I quickly swallow and ask, “Tell me, does he give you surprise shoulder massages too?"

“Only at the backyard firepit pa-” He looks up at me, with my face stuck between surprise and anger.

“Look, I know I'm just a sophomore and this is my first work-study, but I don't think it's cool that this is going on and I didn't ask for it, let alone have a chance to say no. I just wanted to learn how virus research works, and now I'm not even getting to do that because we have to deal with all these -” I pause as a large fly buzzes past me and circles my root beer - “damn-” i clap at it with my napkin in one hand “mystery-” i turn and clap a second time “flies!"

On the third clap, I finally catch the fly, and tear off the corner of the napkin where its partly squashed body is stuck. I get up and toss it in the trash, loop past the hand sanitizer dispenser, and grab a different napkin to clean my other hand. It's a small victory. Back at the table, Memo is staring out the window at the patio railing. I look closer to see if somebody from the parkour club is trying to scale the 9 foot jump to make it over the handrail, and sure enough, here comes a girl with a blond pixie cut who makes it to the top of the concrete, hooks a hand on the top rail, and smiles and waves at Memo, and then spots me and vanishes before I can tell her reaction.

“Jess?” I ask.

“Yup.” Memo turns back to me and asks, “Do you know her a bit?"

I shake my head. I've seen her around my dorm, though I think she's an R. A. downstairs so I don't run into her as often. “What is up with you two anyway?”

He sighs. “We went on a couple dates this past spring, like ‘drive up to the city for a museum and a nice dinner' type stuff. I realized after the second date that she's not really lighting the spark for me, she gets manic too often for that. But we're still in the same friend group, and people think we're cute together? Maybe that part's just a side effect of Enrique's parties.”

Ugh, again with the parties. My roommate last year was all about them, and the second-hand effects of her Saturday morning ritual hangovers really wore me out - I was secretly pretty happy when she transferred out at winter break. I consider asking Memo if people ever grow out of that phase, but now he's watching the nerdy sitcom on the TV in the corner, and we'll probably do this dinner again next week.

—

Memo is staring at the fume hood when I walk in Friday morning. I only have an hour before my lecture, but I still have to wrap up the results on my tests from two days ago.

He speaks first. “Can you go to 224’s closet and get the shop vac?” He tosses me a set of keys.

“Are you admitting defeat?"

“I'm calling a truce. The dead flies are so thick I can't see the floor of the fume hood anywhere, and our bet seems like a dangerous situation there.”

I cross the hallway, find the J224 key, and try it in the lock. It doesn't turn, so I look up and realize i've gone the wrong direction, loop around to a different hallway, past the construction zone plastic sheeting, and start counting doorways. 222, 223, 226, wait, okay, it's time to go yell at Memo to get his own damn shop-vac now. This is the wrong weekend, and next semester's intro to endocrinology elective can't come soon enough - I swear I'm gonna figure out how to take these PMS symptoms down a notch or three.

I re-enter the lab from the other door after a couple deep breaths, and squint hoping to avoid tears. Memo turns around as I say, with an angry tone, “Your request took me through the part of this building that makes no damn sense."

Memo slaps his forehead. “Oops, I forgot, that's the hallway that's closed right now, but we can take the back way through 223. Can I have my keys back?"

I stick out my tongue, still glaring, and he raises his hands. “Fair enough, follow me."

Three minutes later, we're staring at the worlds creepiest revolving door. It's this four-foot diameter opaque tube with no lights inside. We had stepped in, grabbed the door handles, and turned the tube until the door faced room 225, wandered through the dark room to try the closet there, you get the point. We can't roll the vacuum through the door because there's a steel ring on the floor to hold the tube in place. Now we lift up the vacuum, and Memo swears as the vacuum handle on his side turns out to be a latch and the bucket spills a bunch of dust on him.

“So much for a clean getaway?” I ask, finally seeing a moment in the absurdity to giggle.

“Just [cough] let me swing [cough] past my locker [cough] on the w[cough] ay back.” He swings the door around through the darkness, and more carefully this time, we hoist the vacuum out into the blessedly well-lit room 223.

I'm by myself in the lab and the vacuum cleaner is noisy, but it seems to be doing its job when i suddenly notice a couple slivers of paper in the front corner of the fume hood box amid all the dead flies. It's also too loud to hear the door handle of the lab, so when an arm reaches over my shoulder to lift the glass door a bit higher, I jab my elbow backward as hard as I can and the hose falls out of the fume hood, but not before sucking up the papers.

In my panic I manage to turn off the vacuum cleaner in time to hear Memo, doubled over behind me. “Ow! Crap, what —”

I take a couple more deep breaths. “Oh. I'm sorry that turned out to be a rougher lesson than I wanted it to be, but do you get it now? If Dr. Enrique had done that to me, I wouldn't be sorry. I'd probably also be fired, and/or talking to Campo."

Memo nods quietly. Our campus police department is a mixed bag when it comes to actually following up on assault reports, but they hired a couple ladies this year who aren't shy about driving people down past the plaza to the sheriff's office in handcuffs.

I sit down and take a few more deep breaths, and then remember that I need to get those papers back out of the vacuum. I undo the latch on the bucket, and to my luck, right on top is a triangular scrap of brittle napkin with a squashed fly on it.

“Memo?” my voice breaks a bit, “do you remember the other night when I caught a fly on my napkin?"

“Yeah, yeah, I got the point. You don't need to keep elbowing me in the gut about it."

“No, it's really not that, I think this is that fly."

“How do you know?”

"The napkin scrap is torn the exact same way. It's not a perfect triangle, and this bit is the size of my fingernail.”

"So, crazy coincidence aside, what do we have, fly Valhalla in our fume hood? Is that what the sculpture does?"

I stifle a laugh. “Okay, I don't know, but there's one more potential clue, and I need a favor from you."

“Go on?"

“There's one more piece of paper that got sucked into the bucket, and I need you to dig it out.”

Two minutes later, Memo is taking off gloves, and I'm chewing a few sticks of mint gum to keep my stomach calm. I smooth out the crumpled paper and flick the fly guts away. “I think it's a receipt fragment. You keep these, right? "

“Not really, but I know Jess does. Why do you ask? "

“I just thought if we found one that looked similar, we'd know where?...when? it came from. I wanna say it's from Smith's, I see grocery stuff on here."

“See if there's a credit card number, they usually put the timestamp near it."

We bonk heads while staring at all the numbers, until Memo points at a date and time, two days after Christmas.

Of this year.

Almost two months in the future.

I find my voice first. “So we have flies? From the future? Time traveling flies?"

Memo finds a voice, but it sounds way more robotic and emotionless than usual. “Please tell me you can find the specific fly guts you cleared off this paper."

I point to the small fly corpse on the gray countertop and thank God somebody wiped down this bench last night. This is still too weird. But Memo grabs a test tube, some tweezers, and a cork, and gently stores the mundane dead bug that we now have wildly improbable documentation for. “So we have time flies … and they like an arrow.”

Two live bugs buzz past our faces as we sit folded on the floor with laughter. I catch a breath and offer, “Hey, what if somebody sneezed on this bug? Would it carry the virus back in time?”

Memo pulls himself to his feet and shuts the fume hood door to keep the rest of the flies inside. Still gasping, he offers, “I mean, you said you wanted to do virus research, and ‘Flu season is just around the corner’” he sings to match the jingle that our store's PA system plays every 5 minutes now that they have a fully staffed pharmacy.

I look down at my watch. “Crap, I've got two minutes before my statistics class in Cramer Hall, rain check?”

Memo smiles. “If you're back by 11, I'll still be setting everything up.”

#inklings challenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: instruct #story: finished #also to be compiled into #now school

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prismatoxic · 3 months ago

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I know you've been having oc brainrot recently, (which, fucking epic btw I just now found out about those guys and they're really fucking interesting too) I was just wondering if you had anything sitting in your brain about promises to keep specifically, something about them that you just can't stop thinking about? Or a thing you really enjoy about their dynamic? Even something completely unrelated to chilaios that you always think about. I'd rlly love to hear abt what makes you tick!

this is such a nice ask wtf

glad you like the sillies, they fill my brain with worms. but as for ptk and/or chilaios...

i do still rotate ptk in my mind fairly frequently, and was actually re-reading it recently so try and get back into the headspace for it. (i got to chapter 4, i have to get back to it soon.) i do have a variety of disorganized thoughts about it

i've been deliberately drawing out the sex stuff, obviously. to tell you the truth i'm not someone who's beholden to realism; i chose to have them actually work their way up to penetration, and actually realistically negotiate the daddy kink, because i thought it fit the tone of the story and would draw things out in a satisfactory way. it also gives me time to explore the different ways their inexperience manifests, show them learning each other's bodies and desires, and explore chilchuck's view of his own body and his relationship to his gender via sex over a longer period of time.

which brings me to another part i put a lot of thought into--chilchuck's gender! i am a fan of a lot of interpretations of him, both cis and transmasc in ways other than what i've been writing. i have plans for at least one fic where he's post top surgery and on T. but i chose to make him pre-everything in ptk for a few reasons, and i'm honestly really pleased with the portrayal. some things i haven't gotten to mentioning yet are that half-foot names are considered unisex (not a headcanon i always go with, but i am fond of it), and he did voice training after he came out. it was more accessible than, like, hormones, at least back in kahka brud, and then he ended up pregnant anyway which delayed doing anything. eventually he decided he didn't really need any of it, anyway. (sorry to deprive everyone of tdick chilchuck 😔.) i like exploring his dysphoria, where it exists versus the many places where he's moved past it, his relationship to sex as a trans man and his concerns about a gay cis man wanting him... while i do insert some of my own experiences into the narrative, chilchuck's transgenderism does manifest in several ways mine doesn't, and it's really fun to figure out what makes sense for him.

speaking of things that are fun to figure out: worldbuilding!! i was told early on that the casual inclusion of "the dungeon age" as a phrase was a really genius method of suggesting the state of the world without exposition, and it very much went to my head, lmao. i do exposition every so often, but only when someone in the conversation doesn't already have the information. so laios explaining monsters and their history, and chilchuck explaining the social structures around half-foots and the differences between kahka brud and the northern continent, are easy ways to try and build on the world i've made--make readers see my vision--without it seeming too out of place. i do hope i'm doing that well, i worry about it when i'm not being subtle, lmao.

other than that--i've set up several plot threads i intend to follow through on later. i really enjoy calling back to earlier things, big or small, and using them in ways people might not expect. (like chekov's plastic wrap from chapters 3 and 10. sorry, chilchuck.) i also thought of a new one while rereading that i think will slot into the narrative nicely. it's going to be a fun ride!!

i hope any of this was interesting :')

#tox answers #fic: promises to keep

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curiouselleth · 1 year ago

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I've seen a lot of posts talking about if the elves in the Silmarillion would tra-la-la-lally, so, should they?

Also if anyone has any strong opinions on where in I should put it, I would love to here them!

Little (oops it's long) explanation for Be He Foe or Friend and more detailed update on progress and eventual posting under the cut! (I'll make a dedicated post for explaining Be He Foe or Friend next)

It's a Silmarillion choose your own adventure book I'm writing! I've been tagging all my posts about it with "be he foe or friend". It starts in Valinor before the Darkening, and is written from the perspective of Lalwen, one of Finwe's daughters and a textual ghost. We know she went to Middle Earth with Fingolfin... but that's all we know. So it will read as if you are Lalwen, and at the end of each chapter, you will have to make a choice, for example (and this whole bit here is just a example, I am not using this one):

What do you want to do as Princess of the Noldor? and you will have 2 or 3 options, like joining the Court, heading projects in the city, (construction, socail programs, etc.) or serving (insert favorite/least hated vala here). Each choice is tied to a certain chapter, so if you choose to serve in the court, you would jump to the chapter "Finwe's Advisors are Annoying" rather than just going to the next page with the chapter "In the Halls of Aule".

In some later chapters where survival might be a question, I'm thinking it could be fun to roll dice to determine that, like if you were in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears you would roll a 100 sided die, and if you got 98 or above you survive. (I'm still kinda rotating how this part should work)

As of when I'm posting this, I have roughly 4 3/4 chapters written! (and I'm realizing I really should make a dedicated post explaining this 😅) I'm planning to separate this into separate books, with this first one ending shortly after the Host of Fingolfin arrives in Middle Earth (probably shortly after Fingolfin is crowned). It's working title right now is Blessed Lands and Colder Seas.

As of now I estimate 26 or so chapters in this book, but there are probably quite a few I can combine. But I will probably find that I need more chapters in certain parts so I can't say for sure how many. What makes this complicated is that, no you won't be reading 26 chapters. Because for each decision you make at the end of a chapter, there will be 1 or 2 other chapters for the other choices... and it all branches off so there really will be 6 or 7 chapters as you read through. (I am so sorry if this doesn't make sense I don't know how else to word it)

Now, when am I posting this and where? That is an amazing question that I would love the answer to if anyone knows... anyone? 😂 Okay in all seriousness, I think I will start posting once I reach the halfway point of this book, I will definitely try posting on ao3 (which I will link), and if there's interest, I can try posting here on tumblr too.

Okay well this is three times longer than I expected it to be, but I think that's everything, (for now!) Namárië!

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

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Look at me being a predictable bitch but I would love to see um. Jameson. Perhaps during his recovery and rebuilding trust with Jake

CW: Injured caretaker with whumpee, recovering whumpees, referenced pet whump and past captivity/torture

"You, uh. Have to rotate your shoulder a little more." Jameson's voice is harsh, hoarse and rough like always but maybe a little more of an edge than he means it to have. He sits on the steps outside, near Jake but nowhere near him at the same time. The sun is warm on his scarred arms, briefly bared to the sun as he wears only a loose t-shirt and jeans.

If he could stretch his legs out, he'd be able to wiggle his toes into the blades of grass that badly need mowed, but his knees aren't having any of that plan, so he just sits and feels concrete warm under the soles of his feet instead.

"Yeah, probably." The sling is off, and Jameson glances sideways to see the big guy opening and closing his left hand, again and again, stretching his arm out, pulling it back. He's shirtless, in just loose pajama pants. The California sunshine and heat is layering his skin with an easy tan. Jameson doesn't look at his chest to see if the hair there's as blond as the hair on his head.

Well, yes he does. But only for a second.

The scar where Jameson stabbed him still seems glaringly, brilliantly new, a red slash across formerly mostly-pristine skin, and he has to look away as soon as his eyes take it in. Guilt twists inside of him, guilt and the fear that he could do it again, maybe to someone who won't survive it, to Allyn or Nat or... anyone else.

Jake again, even.

"Listen," Jameson says, voice low. Inside, he can hear Antoni and Allyn talking, Antoni walking them through some kind of baking thing . It had been a bunch of words and measurements that made no sense to him, but Allyn seemed eager to learn, and Jameson just... just wanted to feel like part of the house again. "I'm-... I'm sorry-"

"You said that already." Jake rolls his shoulder again and winces a little, glancing at it like it personally offended him to still be injured. Maybe it does. "I told you, no apologies necessary, taking risks is part of the job."

"Yeah, you said that, but-"

"And I meant it."

"Right. I just. So, I asked Nat to bring me over to see Allyn, but... kind of. I wanted to talk to you." He hates how weak he sounds, how his voice kind of trembles a little, and he glares down at his throbbing knees as if they had caused his nervousness. As if in response, nerve pain sparks and tingles up and down his leg, making the right one jerk a little unconsciously. He hits his thigh with one fist, but it doesn't do any good. It never does.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Jake blinks and looks over at him, surprised. "What about?"

"Uh. I want to-... to move back into the house."

There's a beat of silence - something that isn't surprise on the big guy's face but isn't exactly joyful excitement either, and Jameson hurries to fill the gap. "I-I'm working on shit, I take like three meds a day now - the pain meds don't do shit but the ones for my brain work, I swear, I haven't-... I haven't had any, um, any fucking weird shit things in my head for a while, and I want to be closer to Allyn-"

Jake takes a deep breath. "Jameson-"

"I'm not going to hurt you again," Jameson says, as quickly as he can get the words out, almost breathless. His hands clench into fists, muscles knot up all the way up his spine, everything hurts from the stress of trying to say what he's been wanting to say for hours now, since he got here. "I'm not. I'm, I'm better. I won't hurt you."

There's another beat of silence. Jake presses his lips together, then exhales loudly. "It's not me I worry about, Jameson. I have to think about all my people here, not just one."

"I've-... I've never fucking touched anyone else-"

"I know, but you've come real close with Nova, and after what happened with me, I just-"

"No, I won't. I won't hurt anyone." Jameson leans forward, tries to look to the side and catch Jake's eye, but the big guy won't look at him - and that's answer enough, isn't it? His heart twists, and he shouldn't have asked, he knew he shouldn't have asked. It's why he didn't tell Nat, honestly, he knew he shouldn't have. The taste of Jake's voice is sour with the sudden certainty Jameson has that he will never, ever be safe for the people he cares about. Even the guy whose entire literal job is to fucking deal with people like him doesn't want him here.

"Let me think about it," Jake says, finally. "Okay? We've brought in this new guy, Rafael, and I just. Let me think about it."

Jameson knows what let me think about it means. It means no. He's not fucking stupid. He has to look back down at his feet, closing his eyes against a sudden burning rush of tears he can't let anyone see. Fury and fear and guilt overrun his nerves, and it's all just layers of pain.

Jake stands, moving back inside, and Jameson keeps his eyes closed as the sun shines hot on his hair and arms, as the wind moves along the lines of his face like the fingers of someone who loves him.

Allyn's voice startles him when they say, softly, "So how did it go?"

Jameson pushes himself to his feet - and jesus, he's so fucking glad when his knees hold him long enough for him to grab the cane he brought with him - and walks away from them without answering.

The big guy's fucking job is to take chances on people like him, and even he thinks Jameson is too big of a risk.

He makes it to the sidewalk before his knees give out again.

#whump #jameson bb #allyn bb #jake the shelter guy #recovering whumpee #chronic pain tw #angst #angy boi #welp this one didn't go as planned

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vitaliskravtsov · 3 years ago

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calls and cuddles

A parswoops fic; ~700 words; T for cursing

Kent has a bad night, but Swoops is there, and mostly, that's what counts.

----

Kent's sitting on the floor of his living room in a W-sit, and he looks about 30 seconds away from crying.

Swoops hates that look, more than anything else.

"Hey," he says softly, kicking his shoes onto the mat and advancing in socks to kneel down next to Kent. "Hey, hey, Kent. Kent."

Kent's not wearing a shirt, which could mean any number of things- wrong fabric, too tight, wrong color, wrong smell- but it distills, in Jeff's world, to the fact that he can see Kent's ribcage heaving.

"Breathe, okay?"

"Go away," Kent whispers, voice wrecked and uneven and cracking. "Go away."

"Good try. Breathe in for me, okay?"

"Go away."

"Breathe out."

"I'm fine."

"In."

"Fuck off."

"No. Out."

There's tears rolling down his face now, and his body is shaking, and Jeff's heart is sitting on the floor, fucking up his knees, raking his hands through his hair like he wants to pull it out.

"Fuck. Off."

"C'mon," Jeff says, voice unbeliveably soft. "Unfold your knees."

Unbelievably, Kent swings one leg around to the front so that it's facing straight out and not backwards.

"Other one too," Swoops coaxes, and just like that, he's got an armful of crying hockey player. He rotates his knees to the side and then to the front, and then he's got a lapful of crying fiancé, tucked up against his body, sobbing. He presses soft kisses into Kent's hair, and holds on.

This is the hard part, the waiting it out until Kent has calmed down or cried himself out of tears. There are shortcuts out of it, sure, but those only tend to delay and result in more hurt, later. So instead he stays, and holds on, and when Kent stops shaking, he's there to carry him up to bed.

Swoops isn't stupid; he knows something set Kent off, but he can't find it, and after hour two of watching sports news while simultaneously scrolling the NHL website, he's stumped. He even texts Scraps, but he's got nothing.

When Kent stumbles out of his room, three hours later, he's wearing Swoops' jersey and a pair of Aces joggers, and he looks like someone put him in a salad spinner and went for a few rounds.

He wanders into the kitchen, silently, and pulls out a mug. He gets the milk out, gets the cocoa and sugar out, gets the cinnamon out. Mixes it all into a mug, and throws it in the microwave. He pulls out miniature marshmallows, plops them in his drink, and sits down at the table, head bent, fingers curled around the mug that must be burning them.

"My dad called," he says quietly. "Did you know that doors still slam the same?"

It doesn't make sense, to someone who doesn't spend most of their time trying to see how Kent connects patterns in his head for one reason or another, but it snaps into place in Swoops' map of shit never to do.

"Can we- can we go to the rink?"

And Jeff wants to say yes, anything, always but he knows what will happen if he does, and he knows saying yes will cause more harm than good, and he doesn't want to do that.

"Tomorrow," he says, instead. "We can go early."

"Need it now," Kent says.

"Come cuddle," Swoops tells him, instead of answering. He's weak for that voice, and he knows he can't say yes, and distracting is better than trying to keep saying no.

"Okay," Kent murmurs, and makes his way from the table to the couch, and into Swoops' arms.

"I love you," Swoops says, because he thinks if he doesn't say it, he'll have failed as a boyfriend and also as a human being, because to know Kent and to not tell him he's loved is as much a crime as arson, in Jeff's estimation.

"I'm sorry," the man laying in his chest answers. "You deserve-"

"You," he interrupts, because he can't listen to this. "I deserve you, because you are beautiful-" he presses a kiss to Kent's hair " -and gentle-" kiss "-and kind-" kiss "-and loving-" kiss "-and I don't want anyone else."

"Fuck off," Kent says, but it's soft now, and Jeff doesn't think he'll break if he sleeps.

"Never," Swoops answers. "Never."

#Swoops #Parswoops #*mine #My writing #Omgcp #Kent parson #Jeff troy #omgcheckplease #omg check please

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halcyonterror · 2 years ago

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I Left My Friend on a Cliffhanger, it was Hilarious (by Fall Out Boy)

I was talking with @redorich and they decided to pick my brain.

Redmin

do you have any.. clownzy aus or ideas or anything youve been rotating in ur head

if i dont talk about them i will edxplode and die

Halcyon.Terror

I like the idea of Clown being a really powerful witch

and maybe Branzy is his failwhale familiar?

redmin

OURGH. YEAH

THATS GOOD

what flavor of witch and familiar are u thinking of here?

Halcyon.Terror

yeah and Clown's terrifying but really kind/gentle

a green witch and a demon

Branzy's terrified of clown at first, but the green witch thing removes some of the intimidation factor

redmin

oh!!!!! demon familiar!!!!!

green witch? wdym?

Halcyon.Terror

Clown's like Poison Ivy but magic

redmin

OOOOOOOH THAT FUCKS THAT FUCKS THAT FUCKS SUPREMELY

Halcyon.Terror

Right?

redmin

i want cringefail shitty demon branzy that gets one (1) moment where he's intimidating and cool

Halcyon.Terror

the only reason he's a shitty demon is bc he's kind but mischievous, not evil

fallen angel esque demon

redmin

idea-- you can discard it if it doesn't fit with your idea..

Halcyon.Terror

it doesn't fit with my idea

it's an idea all to its own tho

and I kinda love it

redmin

naurrrr i meant more-- he's still a demon, but he's just-- not a very good one?

anywya i wanna talk about your idea!!

Halcyon.Terror

i made up that concept in barely a minute, it'd be a near plotless slice of life except for an event.

it'd be a medieval kinda vibe and Clown would be accused as a witch

or made pre revolution Salem Witch Trials... that's an idea

redmin

ourfh........ yeah thats good that's good

what's some slice of life stuff, then? like, what does clown do as a witch?

Halcyon.Terror

welp he works with the local midwife, making medicines

practices the craft in secret, would have a coven

he doesnt do much as a witch, day to day little charms to make things better

things that wont be noticed

redmin

awwwww

Halcyon.Terror

jealousy lurks within the coven, though and Clown is 'caught' and set to be executed

redmin

so, how does he have his reputation that scared branzy?

Halcyon.Terror

I'm gonna go with the excuse of as a demon, Branzy has an innate sense of magical power. Clown's summons were so strong against a weak demon, that it scared the shit out of Branzy

he thought he was gonna die/be tortured/cease to exist

does that sound too hand wavey?

redmin

no it sounds wonderful!!!!!

sorry for late responses im. literally in class learning

Halcyon.Terror

have fun

by the way, Branzy accidentally makes Clown immortal

Redmin

OH WRM IM ON A BREAK BC CURTSY LUNGES ARE EVIL, HOW DOES BRANZY DO THAT

Halcyon.Terror

#Clownzy #BranzyPierce #This was too funny #Ze writes #cw witch hunts #cw pyres

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redjaybathood · 3 years ago

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hey, judas - pt. 9

After a visit to Bruce Wayne, Tim and Steph interview Jason Todd in Blackgate

"Hey, Steph," Jason says. "Tim."

Stephanie and I look at each other. I sit down, Stephanie hesitates.

"We never met, did we?" She asks with uncertainty.

"Well, no," Jason blinks at her with the eye that can still open. "But I am informed who exactly coming to visit me. In case I want to decline. I might be in prison for life, but I still have some rights. But I heard about you before: knew your dad a bit."

Stephanie's face darkens.

"Were you prison cell buddies?"

"Sure," Jason says. "Yeah. When I was just transferred, before the whole quake thing, I was in gen pop. My roommates rotated. Arthur was with me for..."Jason frowns, drumming with the left hand's fingers on the table. The right one is in a sling. "Two weeks. Then the Cataclysm happened. He got his early parole. I finally got a single room. Never heard about him since."

Wow, I think. He's just... Telling-all. It's nothing ground-breaking, but it is a lot more than what I got out of him before.

I remember that I'm not here for a pleasant chat and fiddle with the camera. Press play.

Stephanie sits down when I wave at her. She's keeping her hands on the chest, crossed, and jaw pressed tight. I try to pass a message with my eyes: if Jason Todd is talking to her, it would make sense if she was the one asking questions.

I know, I know, it's what we argued about for so long, and now I am hoping she reads my mind or stops glaring at Jason long enough to catch what I am trying non-verbally hint at. But it goes both ways: she wanted to be the one who interrogates Jason, and now she's mum.

Jason looks back at her, up and down.

"How's the old geezer anyway?" He asks. "Hope he isn't giving you trouble."

"He's my dad," she replies through her teeth. "Why would he give me trouble?"

"Steph," I whisper. "I started recording already. Don't... Go off topic."

If anything, she tenses further.

"Sorry if I touched a spot," Jason says, and he sounds apologetic, too; doesn't look it though.

Possibly, it's hard to look anything when you are beaten up like this.

"Is that why you are like that?" I nod at the sling; possibly, a break or a dislocation. "Touched someone's sore spot?"

I hope it would break the ice, bring the topic back to Jason and his life in prison. It doesn't.

Jason shrugs, one-shoulder. He stops staring at Stephanie, but doesn't look at me or the camera either. He yawns.

"Not getting enough sleep?" Stephanie prompts him.

Jason shakes his head.

"And you?"

Stephanie is startled for a second but then returns to a scowl.

"Fine."

Jason rubs his eyes.

"Must be the clear consciousness of yours."

"Your weight of sins keeps you awake at night?"

Jason yawns again.

"Just the usual. Choices I made, things I didn't do, people I didn't..."

He trails off. Stephanie ends the sentence.

"Didn't get to throw off a high-rise building?"

I inhale sharply. Jason's one good eye opens wide for all of a second. Then he chuckled.

"If I bought Timothy's cover the last time he interviewed me, with helping make a case against teenagers getting Life Without Parole, this sure would tip me off. You really shouldn't be so antagonistic to people you interrogate, it gets you more intel for less effort."

"No, Tim is really here because he believes in something and chooses to stand for something," Stephanie says, her voice resolute. "But I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought maybe you were innocent. Maybe there was some kind of misunderstanding. An accident. A good reason, for what you did."

"And now you see how pathetic I am, you suddenly realize that there's no reason good enough? That consequences, intended or not, caught up with me and with other people?"

Jason suddenly sounds rough. He leans forward.

"I heard you were digging into Garzonas Senior. Ask me how I know."

Steph frowns. Then she seems to realize something. She looks him over. A guess appears in my mind, too.

Nobody asks Jason, but he tells us anyway.

"Yeah. I got my sentence, and after some failed plots, Jose backed off with his murder attempts. But now," he gestures at his bad eye.

Unintended consequences.

I am grasping at the probable topic change. Especially since Jason handed it to us himself.

"If Jose Garzonas was trying to kill you, how did you survive?"

Jason twitches.

“With great difficulty,” he says dryly. “But it’s more than could be said about some people he sent to say hello to me during the riot they staged.”

“Did you kill them?”

“As it happens, no. I may have been fresh meat, no friends in any kind of places, but they had enemies.”

“And then? Were there other attempts?”

“For a time. Eventually, he stopped trying to do that. Why, I am just better than anyone his money can buy. He doesn't have enough for the ones who can take me down and make sure I stay down."

"For example?"

"Deadshot, Deathstroke," he rubs his chin. "Maybe Waylon Jones."

I am genuinely curious, are those three names really it? Does Jason really think he's that good? Against all the killers and rouges of Gotham?

"Victor Zsazs?" I prompt.

"He's a serial killer, not an assassin," Jason scoffs. "Even if he gets paid sometimes. And he's not meta, just a really..."

He seems to lack a proper word.

"Sick?" I offer. "Crazy? Messed up?"

Jason scrunches his nose.

"I don't really think you can kill anyone and be completely of sound mind, if not before then at least after. But no. I was trying to come up with a way to say "evil" without sounding like a five years old. Or a really mixed up individual."

I want him to elaborate, but Stephanie chooses this moment to ask.

"Do you really think so? If people kill people, they're... Messed in the head?"

She's trying to keep her face blank. I see the effort but not the reason behind it. So I change the object of viewing and look at Jason.

He's studying Stephanie again.

"I wish I could answer no," he says eventually. "But killing is a thing that, from an evolutionary perspective, can't and shouldn't come easy. Even if you're doing it in self-defense, or at war, or in other situations where it's the only way. It's traumatic. I mean, holy armchair psychology Batman, but that's the exact term. If it doesn't mess you up, it means you already are. But, listen..."

He makes a movement, as though he's going to take Stephanie's hand, which now is resting on the table surface.

"So, did killing Felipe Garzonas traumatize you?" I ask quickly.

He freezes, and then leans back.

"Let’s say, his death didn't have any direct long-lasting negative effects on my brain."

"So you're not..." Stephanie trails off.

"Regret that he's dead? See his face in my nightmares? A little bit of yes, a little bit of no. But I don't feel guilty about his death. I feel guilty about Gloria. I feel guilty about a lot of people. But not him. I can't really bring myself to lament his death, and it doesn't make me a bad person. It's not that he deserved to die. It's that Gloria didn't. And every girl he pulled that shit on before."

"But you pushed him!"

"So they say," Jason says, his lips curling down.

He hunches in the chair, looking beat-up for the first time since we laid our eyes on him.

"It doesn’t matter if I did or didn’t. But if someone else did something like that, I would say to them. It's okay. It's not your fault. You didn't make the world a worse place. You're not a bad person."

Yes, I think. He totally did it.

Stephanie takes a shaking breath and wipes her eyes. Probably upset about the same realization. She really wanted to believe in him.

"It doesn't matter, you’re right," I say, making him break his stare at Stephanie. "Whether you did it or not. The results are the same."

"I guess," Jason says. "But they're not all bad, are they?"

"You tell me. Gloria Stenson's parents were killed in a home invasion gone wrong. Her agent disappeared."

"I think you can safely assume it wasn't me." Jason waves a finger in a circle. "Being locked up and all."

"But Jose did that for revenge, didn't he? You killed - sorry, he thinks you killed his only son. You gave up yourself to the police. He doesn't think it's enough. He tries to put a hit on you, you survive. In his frustration, he goes after other people who are close to the situation."

"Yeah," Jason snaps at me - the first time I see him angry. "I know. He made sure I know. Of all people, he blames her for everything that happened. For inciting Felipe's attention and then siccing me after him. But he can't reach her where she is, can he? She took an easy way out, he says. But at least I’m alive still. He promised that everything he wanted to do to her, he will do to me. And get this: I don't get an easy way out. I can’t be out of his reach. Because I, too, have parents. He even found my biological mom, can you believe it? I didn't even know that Catherine adopted me. But he managed to find it out, somehow. Get this. She was in Doctor Without Borders. She had been in more war zones than your average American soldier. And he said that if anything except him kills me, he's coming for her."

"What?" Stephanie says, paling.

"Did you tell Batman?" I ask.

I'm not sure if I buy it. This is straight out of soap opera, and they are known for being over the top for a good reason.

"You think I have him on speed dial? The guy who threw me there, because he's also of belief that every action has to have consequences - just like you, or Jose? But yeah, I passed a message along."

"And?"

"And she's dead now. It wasn't Jose, though. It was Joker. But I bet you can find a way to make it my fault."

Jason stands up and knocks on the door.

"Wait," Stephanie says.

"We're done here," Jason says to the guard.

Then he turns back to Tim.

"And you're right. That has been my fault. Just like Gloria or her parents. Or any other person who I failed to save. Hey, maybe I do deserve a life without parole. Hope this helps your school project."

The guard puts him in handcuffs. It looks a bit funny, how Jason has to balance his left elbow up, with his right hand in the sling.

"I am sorry if it's not what you were looking for," Jason directs it at Stephanie. "You deserved better. But maybe try therapy. Or talking to a friend."

The guard, surprisingly, waits until Jason is finished.

I try to make him stay, answer a couple more questions, but Jason is being towed away.

"What was that about," I wonder, turning the camera off. "Does he think that you're, what, trying to see your father in him? If he's capable of redemption, then Arthur too?"

"Hey, Timothy," Stephanie says. "Let's not talk about my father, 'kay?"

It was what her favorite person suggested, talk to a friend. But whatever.

We leave the footage at the Warden's office and pick up the stuff I shot last time.

"Did you get everything you need?" Warden asks. "You better be. He's getting transferred next thing tomorrow. The only reason I allowed you to speak to him today. Where he's going, you won't get a chance."

"And where's that?" Stephanie asks, trying to sound just curious.

I try to push down a weird feeling.

"Belle Reeve," Warden replies. "But you didn't hear that from me, okay? Nothing on the podcast of yours, it's off the record."

We're not journalists, and even then he should have said it before he shared what he apparently wasn't supposed to do (why wasn't he supposed to do that?).

I thank him for his thoughtfulness, and, as promised, leave a donation check with Bruce Wayne's signature at his desk.

When we get back outside, I ask Stephanie whether she wants to go somewhere to review my tape. She declines.

"Today was just," she says.

"A bit too much."

"Yeah."

"Do you really think he got beaten up because of us? Because we started digging?" Stephanie asks suddenly.

"Seems to me like he already was in the hot water with Garzonas Sr."

"Sounded like he laid off for a while."

"We're not responsible for what Garzonas does. He is a criminal."

"But do you think Jason is responsible for what he did, in retaliation? Killing Stansons, I mean. And the manager - shit, we didn't find out what happened to him."

"Yeah," I acknowledge because Jason was outright chatty, but it seemed like he forgot the manager existed. "But no, it's different. Garzonas wants revenge for what Jason had done. It's one of the reasons why there shouldn't be any vigilante killings in modern society. It's not only because we don't have the right to decide who lives and who dies, or that you can be wrong and kill an innocent person. It's also... Destructive. You kill someone in vengeance, his remaining friends and family are going after you and your family instead, also in revenge. Where does it stop?"

"When both families are dead, I guess." Stephanie stops walking. "Wait. Garzonas went to all the trouble of finding Jason's bio mom when he never even knew of her existence, but he doesn't try to threaten Wayne?"

"First of all, we don't know if she really existed. I never heard of him being adopted by Catherine Todd and I dug in his background as deep as it's possible. Second, maybe he went after Wayne, but he's too high profile a target? And he has a bodyguard. And third, maybe it's exactly because of Wayne being infamous that he wasn't targeted. And fourth, the relationship between them soured, everyone knows that."

“Yeah,” Stephanie says. “But when you go talk to him, see what he knows about this. And the mother. I will try the Joker angle.”

#jason todd #stephanie brown #tim drake #take a sad song and make it worse

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voidstilesplease · 4 years ago

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Bursts

demigod au ficlet [5] | prev

---

Derek

"Chip!"

Derek hastily straightens in his seat when he hears the familiar voice. His visiting little cyclops brother, Chip, who's as tall and broad as Derek, races down the front porch of the Big House, screaming to his favorite person at camp: son of Athena, Stiles.

"Stiles!" is Chip's answering cry as they meet in a bone-crushing hug. Chip picks Stiles up off his feet and twirls him around, all the while shrieking in glee. "I missed you!"

Stiles grins up at the cyclops when he brings him back down. His pale face is flushed, and the freckles on his face stand out. He looks so excited to see Chip. It's no wonder. They were instant buddies since the first time they met last summer, Stiles's first at camp.

"Let's read Stiles!" Chip takes one of Stiles's arms, shaking it. He's bouncing on his giant feet as he continues babbling. "Can we read about Lord Pegasus? Oh, oh, I also want to read about Medusa! Oh, oh, and the other gorgons, please!" Chip draws out the last word and blinks his big eye at Stiles.

Stiles gives a hearty laugh at Chip's antics. Then his eyes widen a small fraction, "Oh," he mutters, looking down at the book his other hand is holding and back to Chip, biting his lower lip. "Oh, no. I'm mentoring today, kid."

"Yes!" Chip nods his head, not losing the broad smile. "You're men-to-ring me!" Chip giggles, swaying Stiles's arm playfully.

Stiles's expression morphs back to an open-smile after a moment of contemplation. "Of course! Anything you like."

Chip pulls Stiles up the front porch, only letting go to arrange the table and chair for their session. Derek clears his throat, standing to give his previous space to Stiles. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Stiles turns and acknowledges him for the first time. His smile tightens, and he doesn't look at Derek's eyes. "No, I’m fine."

Derek purses his lips. Well, Stiles's treatment of Derek makes sense after all his asshole business last summer, but knowing doesn't equal accepting. Derek tries again, "How about a can of diet coke?"

Stiles looks at him, then, arching a brow. "Mr. D would castrate you on sight," he declares matter-of-factly in his deadpan tone whenever he thinks something is stupid. "Or worse, turn you into a dolphin."

Derek snorts, knowing it's the truth. "I'm not taking from his godly stash. We have some in the supply store."

Stiles squints his eyes, studying Derek in silence. Derek fidgets, feeling small despite having a few inches on Stiles and pounds of muscles. It has been their lengthiest interaction since the previous year. Derek remembers how just last summer, he was the one belittling the demigod. He wishes he knew better, then.

In the end, it's Chip who breaks their gaze with his loud, exuberant, spirited nature. It reminds Derek that Chip is still an equivalent of a ten years old in mortal years. "Stiles! The table is ready! I have a seashell to show you. I picked it up from dad's palace just for you!"

Derek lowers his eyes, face heating up, while Stiles hums awkwardly. The Athena child turns to go but rotates back eventually, less closed-off. He nods, "I would like some diet coke, Der."

Derek tries not to choke. He, especially, tries to reign his fast-beating chest at the nickname. Any other person and Derek will immediately douse them with saltwater. But today, Der sounds good, he concludes.

•••

Derek comes back about ten minutes later, bringing two cans of diet coke and a bag of fresh strawberries from the Demeter cabin. He also includes a carton of milk for Chip that the cyclops calls Hera's mortal nectar - courtesy of Cora’s suicidal humor, who Derek counts as lucky not to be mangled by the queen of Olympus's herd of angry cows at the disrespect.

As he nears, he pauses at the sight of the new camper, a son of Ares, charging angrily for the Big House toward Stiles and Chip. The boy looks ready to maul somebody. And judging by the flash in his eyes directed at Derek's unassuming brother, the Ares boy sets to accomplish just that.

Derek forgets the coke, fruit, and freaking milk and runs.

He comes just on time to take the boy by the back of his orange camp half-blood shirt and tackle him down to the floor before he can land a punch on Chip.

"Get off me!" The son of Ares screams, completely mad with rage that his eyes almost look like they're in flames. He grapples against Derek's hold, thrashing and attempting to bodily lift Derek off. "He's a monster! A murderer!"

The guy is unexpectedly tough, and Derek's hold on him is starting to slip. He has no choice. Derek closes his eyes and concentrates as much as he can - summoning. Quickly, he feels the familiar response, the powerful tug from the depths of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. There's a rushing noise, then metal clanking in an effort to hold, the current rumbling within them. The pressure becomes too much, and a pipe breaks in their midst. A forceful burst of water coming from every which way aims at the son of Ares.

Derek doesn't let go as water floods the anger and aggression from the boy. A few seconds only and Derek calls off the water, which instantly dries back to the ground, leaving only small puddles in its wake and a drenched boy on the porch of the Big House. Derek remains dry, fists clenched on the wheezing Ares boy's shirt.

"What the hell's going on?" A voice shouts. When Derek raises his head, he sees that their altercation has called the attention of many. A tall boy with dark hair hurries forward. It's Fred, cabin five's head counselor. "Theo!"

Theo, the boy Derek has pinned to the floor, pushes at him, and Derek tumbles off. Theo scrambles up, wet and dripping, and even more outraged. Fred appears beside Theo in an instant. The head counselor holds him back when Theo tries to launch at Chip again. His interference causes a flailing arm to hit his nose, and Fred's fingers loosen on Theo at the impact. Before Theo can come near at the whimpering cyclops, however, Stiles puts himself between Theo and Chip, wielding a shiny dagger that kisses Theo's throat in warning.

Stiles's nostrils flare as he grits out, "I hope you have an adequate excuse for what you just did."

Theo is heaving, giving Stiles a look of disbelief, and glances at Chip with loathing. Stiles presses the blade more firmly.

Derek gets on his feet at once and takes his brother in his arms. The poor terrified cyclops is sniffling, tucking his face on Derek's neck. He's shivering, and Derek feels his blood boil. Who would want to hurt an innocent kid? He should have drowned the Ares boy sixty seconds longer.

"He's a murderer," Theo snarls, pointing at Chip.

Stiles replies with a clenched jaw, "He's a child!"

"He's a monster,"

"He's a cyclops, Theo," Stiles grinds his teeth, "A monster is one who attacks the helpless and innocent."

Theo opens his mouth for another nonsense, but Derek cuts him off. "Fred!" Derek growls, finding the counselor's eyes and having enough of all of it. "Take your brother."

Fred, nose bleeding, steps forward cautiously, reaching to wrap a hand around his brother's arm. Theo remains immovable. Fred tugs again, "Let's go, you idiot."

Theo and Stiles are locked in a glaring match, the Ares boy not backing down despite the blade thrust to his throat.

"Theo!" Fred hisses, hard and sharp, pulling at him harder now. The authority bleeds in his tone and touch. He's still the Head Counselor.

"We will discuss this," Derek says to Fred.

Fred cocks his head to the side in silent agreement, but Theo scoffs, finally stepping back. He slips his glare to Derek, droplets crawling down his sneering face. "You bet we will," and with one last menacing glance at Chip, he allows Fred to lead him away.

•••

"I don't understand where his rage is coming from," Derek tells Chiron later, pacing back and forth in his office. Chiron had been away with Mr. D during the dispute and was immediately alerted on his arrival. "He just attacked Chip,"

Chiron's forehead creases with worry, a thoughtful look on his face. His lips a thin line as he asks, "How's the young cyclops?"

The question makes Derek halt, the tautness of his shoulders relaxing a little. His arms stretch to lean against the back of a chair in front of Chiron's table. "He's with Cora and Stiles," he shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. "He's distraught, understandably so. And Cora is plotting revenge, and Stiles is angry enough not to stop her."

A soft knock brings their attention to the door. Upon Chiron's permission, it opens and admits Lori from cabin seven, daughter of Apollo. She looks sheepish, ducking her head a little as she closes the door behind her. "Sorry for interrupting."

Chiron hums kindly, waving a hand for her to state her case.

Lori steps forward, fingers tight around the hem of her shirt. "It's about Theo," she announces, getting the full attention of the trainer and director.

Derek straightens, crossing his arms. "What about him?"

Lori visibly hesitates for a moment, then clears her throat. "During his first day at camp, he had sprained a muscle on his back from training. Brett told him to stay in the medic tent for the evening to recuperate."

Chiron's brows draw together, "All right?"

She wets her lips and continues, more sure of her words now. "While Theo was asleep, he dreamt. He was sweating and muttering on the bed, obviously distressed, so I decided to call a son of Hypnos to help him sleep better." She glances back and forth between Derek and Chiron for their reactions. "He manipulated Theo's visions to calm him. But he told me before leaving that Theo wasn't dreaming. He was reliving a memory."

Dread settles in Derek's stomach. Somehow, he senses that Lori's next statements won't bode well for him - or Chip and even Cora. He breathes through his nose, prompting, "And?"

Lori swallows, "His memory was of an older girl named Tara," the daughter of Apollo delays, calculating her words. Finally, she huffs, "I didn't want to talk about this; this isn't my story to tell. But after what happened today, I think maybe this will help you approach Theo."

Chiron nods in understanding, but his expression reflects the same apprehension that Derek feels.

Lori grimaces, sending Derek an apologetic look before she finishes. "Tara was taken by a cyclops, Derek. It might be after Theo, too."

~•~

#teen wolf #demigod au #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #derek hale #fics tag #word count: 1802 #teen wolf demigod au series #neither steo #nor sterek #lmao but they're all here finally #demigodseries

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sporadic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to the neighborhood

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs (just weed, I smoke responsibly sorry if reading about it bothers you), as always stop reading if you don't like it.

Note: idk which twin has the girlfriend, Sam or Harry. So let me know. Also, let me know who you guys want this to be about (Tom or Harrison). Another thing is that I wrote this before my country fully flushed itself down the shitter in chaos and injustice. So let’s all read this to escape a tad and for some metal rest. BLM!

The teaser I wrote to start is here

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"Yeah mom.. no I'm fine! Really! Haha promise! They tested me and told me since it's negative then they will add me into the adjusted hours group. They said I can get at least 2 full days a week in rotating with the other keepers. I just gotta fill some paperwork out first." You walked around your back deck and tended to plants while speaking on the phone to your mom back home in Iowa.

"Y/N are you sure? You being in another country during all this makes me so nervous. It's so easy to get sick sometimes." You rolled your eyes at the dramatics.

"I'm set here! I still have a job, a place to live thanks to Renee's husband, and no coronavirus. I'd say I'm alright." Talking to your mom despite her worries did put s smile on your face. The sun was shining and the air was finally not cold as hell in England. You finally felt settled now that you had more time to move into your new home. Your mother kept talking and soon got called that dinner was ready. "Ok mom love you too. Tell dad I said hi!"

After hanging up you looked for the head you noticed peaking at you earlier while you talked. There was nothing, but you did hear the guys who lived next door talking about your cousin's husband as 'old pool guy' and wanting to use the hot tub. It made you laugh and you made a mental note to find them later and invite them since they wanted to hang out so badly.

You didn't know much about them other than it was just guys. They all seemed to know each other for a while and at least 2 of them were brothers. That is all you gathered from some occasional eavesdropping. Downside of social distancing starting right after moving into the cute little place given as a congrats at your first real job. You never saw everyone's faces to distinguish each guy. Your cousin’s husband had the place outside London and never really lived there anymore, and rather than sell it he gave it to you. Easier than finding a shitty apartment with way too high rent. Plus, Renee would not let you say no. So you didn't. Thanks Xander!

After finishing checking the water level on the pool and tub to round out the to do list, you were about to go inside to finish new employment paperwork when a soccer ball got sent over into your yard. It came from the boy's yard. No time like the present to break the ice you thought as walked to get said ball.

Smiling and laughing to yourself you heard exclamations happening among the group of men. You popped your head up by standing on your deck railing and they looked to you. They apologized over nothing and you thought it was sweet. Plus, it was nice to actually get a proper look at their faces. You still didn't really know their names, but at least now they were coming over around 8 for hot tub time and drinks.

TIME SKIP

"Thanks for letting us come over! Though, sorry for talking about your family and place without even properly meeting you." The man speaking, Tom as you learned, smiled as you handed him a drink.

You shook your head in protest. "Really it's fine. This is my cousin Xander's place. I just got a job at the London zoo and this was a congrats gift. Sorta to take out the struggle of finding a shitty apartment. Plus, I've been busy over there so that's why you have not seen me much. Still working out my schedule, plus a virus." While talking you lifted the cover off the hot tub. "Now, I believe there was a purpose to this visit?"

"Despite my brother's lack of tact before, that wasn't why we actually wanted to hang out with you. We wanted to meet you as well." Tom's smile made you do the same in return. You looked to the guys on your deck and chuckled.

"Then why did you come in swim trunks if that wasn't the objective?" You caught them and knew it based off the blush on Harry's face. "I'm teasing. It's totally fine. You guys get comfy, jet buttons are on the side, I'm gonna change and grab some more beers and such." You let them be as you changed into your suit in your room. You made sure you were all set and presentable. It was quick and you put your hair in a pony tail while walking to your fridge. Grabbing some bottles you made your way back to the group.

Passing them around you spoke, "Sorry if these suck. I'm still figuring out which beers here I like. I had American ones but finished those. So I don't know fully what does and doesn't suck."

They took their bottles and Tuwaine smiled at you. "There are English equivalents I can tell you. Now I gotta ask, and don't take offense. But why does it smell like perfume and weed out here Y/N?"

"Yeah I smelled that too! Thought it was the chemicals from the tub or something.." The man learned to be Harrison looked at the hot tub he sat in in reference. You blushed at being caught. Eyes went wide slightly as well. Then you mentally scolded yourself after turning and seeing your ash tray and formally lit joint on the deck table.

"Haha yeah you caught me. The perfume is Chanel, put that on before you came, and the pot is well.. pot! Smoked that before you came... Y'all aren't narcs are you? If you're chill I'll share." You didn't need things to go sour first time hanging out with neighbors. You needed friends your age here outside of work!

Tom laughed and smiled. "Relax darling, it's fine." He watched you let out a breath of relief. None of them were ones to judge someone on what they do casually in their free time. "Maybe another time on the sharing though, I'm set. Just tell us about yourself."

"Well offer stands and I will finish that in a bit full disclosure. But me, 22, recently employed keeper at the London zoo, umm I'm from Boise, Idaho, mom and dad are back there, very easy going, and a big fan of nature and having fun! I got my degree from University of Wisconsin and this is my first time being overseas, only been to Canada in regards to international travel. Any specific questions?" They all took in your short backstory as you climbed in with them in the tub; instantly relaxing in the hot water, eyes closing as you drank your beer. Harrison was quickly taking in the details of your face. A few ear piercings, long eyelashes coated in pretty mascara, nice jewelry on too. He got the sense you were chill and put together. Plus, you seemed to know how to have a good time regardless of the situation.

"Boyfriend?" Harry's question led to a glare from his brother and a small smile from you.

You shook your head no. "Nope, we ended things a little before I moved here. Mutual thing, he is working on his masters back home. Even if I stayed that would've ended things because it becomes your whole world really."

"You have your masters?" Tom noticed you shaking your head no and listened as you explained you took a job here instead.

"I need money more than another degree. So I'm here kickin' it in a hot tub with 5 fun Brits instead!" Your smile was contagious to the guys. Soon more drinks were had and stories were shared. They all really took a liking to you. “Now tell me about yourselves!”

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I am gonna make this a series, length not decided. And for real let me know to have the main love interest be Tom or Harrison. I don’t care either way.

As always, like and reblog! Feedback is appreciated as well!

Taglist: (message me to be added or removed, sorry if I forgot someone)

@jillanaholland @averyfosterthoughts

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fanfiction #fanfic #tom holland #harrison osterfield #spider-man #i never liked the hyphen #hyfen?#idk #tom holland fluff #harrison osterfield fluff

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nothingbutfangirlsmut · 4 years ago

Text

The Trials of Emi

Pairing: A little Minho. A sprinkle of Frypan. Gally x Emi(OC)

Summary: Emi, her twin brother Thomas, and a small group of gladers had been rescued and taken to a safe haven. Or so it seemed. It doesn't take long for Thomas to realize something is wrong. What happens next is a true trial for all of them but Emi's trials began the moment she was ripped away from a dying Gally. Watching someone you love die right before your eyes truly takes a toll.

Finally meeting the right arm could have been the end but betrayal leads to even more chaos and loss. A new mission to rescue those taken from them leads them to a city. The last city. After Emi finally comes to terms with everything that's happened something unfolds that changes everything again. She will have to not only deal with helping her brother take down WCKD and save their friend but also deal with all the new problems in her head and her heart.

Rating: As of right now it’s at most PG13. Some strong language that’s about it but it could change.

(This is the 2nd part/book to my other story "The Maze trials: A Gally Fanfiction". This will cover the events of the scorch trails and the death cure.)

Chapter Six

"Get up!" A raspy voice Thomas tried to shout.

His voice still woke most of us up. He was staggering to get to his feet. He started shouting louder waking the rest of us up. We were all back on our feet in no time wondering what was going on now.

"I see something," Thomas said pointing in the distance.

I followed his finger. I could see the twinkling lights like a small town or settlement in the distance.

A loud crack of thunder had us turning around. A huge storm was rolling towards us quickly. Lightning was striking the ground all around us. We ran as fast as we could towards the lights. They were getting closer and closer but so was the lightening. One good strike hit the ground only a few feet from me.

"Get inside!" Thomas shouted as we reached a building.

I stayed back close to Thomas making sure the others were getting inside. I turned to yell at Minho to pick up the pace when a rather large bolt came down striking a nearby car then bouncing off and hitting Minho. He flew into the air then landed on the ground with a loud thud. Thomas was too close as well. He was thrown a few feet from the force of it.

"Minho! Thomas!" I shouted running over to them.

Thomas looked disoriented but was getting back to his feet. Minho on the other hand was lying motionless with a bit of smoke coming off his body. I grabbed him with my good arm as Thomas got to his feet. The others came out helping me pick him up and carry him inside out of the storm. We laid him down on the ground.

"Minho!" Thomas shouted in his face.

I pushed Thomas out of the way so I could look at the boy. A small smirk played at my face as I had a wonderful thought. I pulled my arm back then slapped him across the face as hard as I could. Minho seemed to jump awake but didn't open his eyes. He groaned in pain making everyone sigh in relief. When he did open his eyes he looked straight up at me.

"What happened?" He asked looking dizzy.

"You got struck by lightning," Thomas told him.

"Then Emi slapped the piss out of you," Newt added with a chuckle.

We helped him sit up making sure he was actually ok. As much as I hate to admit it I was glad he was ok. I couldn't stand to see another one of us die. Even Minho. It didn't take long to get him back to his feet like he was good as new.

"What's that smell?" Teresa asked from a few feet away.

I watched her pull out her flashlight and turn it on. The moment she did I about pissed myself. One of those things was right in front of her! It reached out barely missing her face. We all screamed falling backward. A quick look around showed us there were many of them and they were all chained up unable to move but a few inches.

"I see you've met our guard dogs." A female voice spoke as a light on the other side of the room came on.

What now? What the hell is this place? I think I want to go back to the Glade now. Can I just wake up in my old room in the homestead with Gally beside me like all this was just some insane horrible nightmare?

The girl started walking towards us down a clear path between those messed up people. She stopped a few steps from us.

"Stay back" Thomas ordered her.

She smirked at him.

"You guys look like shit. Come on. Follow me. Unless you want to stay here with them." She said glancing around the room.

We followed behind her quickly leaving that room behind. She opened a door that led into an open warehouse looking building. People were all over the place. Whatever they were doing or saying stopped as we passed by.

"Come on keep up. Jorge wants to meet you." She said back to us.

"Who's Jorge?" Thomas asked.

I noticed rough looking people filling the group behind us as we walked. I suddenly had a bad feeling. Something isn't right.

"You'll see. No ones came out of the scorch in a long time. You just got him curious." She shrugged glancing back at Thomas.

"Me too" she added.

"I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this place," Newt whispered from behind me.

"Let's just hear him out and see what he has to say," Thomas whispered back to us.

We followed the girl up some stairs and into a loft type room. An older man was standing with his back to us. It looked and sounded like he was messing with a radio.

"Jorge, they're here." The girl said.

"Shh, shh, shh" he said quickly as a voice barely came through the speaker.

He rushed around trying to find something. The voices broke off losing signal. He tried messing with it again with no luck.

"Damn" he muttered.

He slammed a few things down then turned to face us. He looked the group over for a moment before speaking.

"You ever feel like the whole world is against you?" He asked us.

We all exchanged confused glances. I knew I wasn't exactly sure what the man was getting at but I did have the feeling the world was against us. The man walked forward as he continued.

"Three questions" he picked up a glass and pitcher.

"Where did you come from?" He held the glass up like he was inspecting it.

"Where are you going?" He poured the liquid in the pitcher into his cup.

"How can I profit?" He looked at us clearly meaning every word.

No one answered. We all just stared at him. I don't think we really knew where we were going. We couldn't answer any of those questions. Well aside from the first one but I don't think telling him we are on the run from W.C.K.D. was a good idea. The man glanced at each of us with a scowl.

"Don't all answer at once." He said sarcastically.

"We're heading for the mountains. Looking for the Right Arm." Thomas said taking a small step forward.

The group of people around us cackled menacingly. Jorge smiled and chuckled.

"You're looking for ghost you mean." He took a drink from his glass.

"Question number two." He said as he walked forward to stand in front of Thomas.

"Where did you come from?" He asked stopping in front of my brother.

Thomas and Minho shared a look.

"That's our business," Minho said.

Jorge looked at him for a second then slightly nodded his head. Two men grabbed Thomas and Minho as others grabbed the rest of us.

"Get the hell off me!" Thomas shouted as he struggled.

He was thrown to his knees as the girl who showed us in stepped over to him with some kind of device in her hand.

"Shut up you big baby." The girl said as she moved to do something to the back of his neck.

The device made a faint beeping sound then she stepped away from Thomas towards Jorge.

"You were right" she said handing the device to the older man.

He put glasses on his face then took the device. He stared down at it for a moment.

"Right about what? What is she talking about?" Thomas asked.

Jorge chuckled as he took the glasses off.

"I'm sorry Hermano, looks like you're tagged. You came from W.C.K.D. Which means, you're very valuable." He looked at us with an icy stare.

I gulped feeling a sudden panic rise in my chest. Each of us was grabbed again this time we were drug out of the room. I didn't get a chance to see where we were going because a sudden pain ripped threw my skull as everything went dark.

I woke up hanging upside down. A rope was tied around my ankles just like the others. We all hang in a circle over a large hole.

"This is great" I muttered.

"Good plan Thomas. Let's hear what the man has to say. Really working out for us." Minho droned sarcastically.

"Shut up Minho" Thomas muttered.

"Maybe I can reach the rope," Thomas said.

I heard him grunt as he was no doubt trying to lift himself up to grab the rope around his ankles. I was hanging with my back to him barely rotating around.

"Enjoying the view?" Jorge asked from the darkness.

He stepped out so we could see him.

"The hell do you want?" Thomas asked him.

"That is the question." He said pointing his cane at Thomas.

"My men want to sell you back to W.C.K.D. Life has taught them to think small. I'm not like that. Something tells me that you're not either." Jorge spoke to Thomas.

"Is the blood rushing to my head or is this shank not making any sense?" Minho asked aloud.

Jorge moved so he could look at Minho. He sneered at him then turned back to Thomas. He lifted his cane to point at him.

"Tell me what you know about the Right Arm." He ordered.

"You said they were ghosts," Newt said.

"I happen to believe in ghosts. Especially when I hear them chattering on the airwaves." He said in a creepy voice.

He moved to stand by the lever that held each of us in place. He placed his hand on it as he looked at Thomas.

"You tell me what you know and maybe we can make a deal." He said as his face looked completely blank.

Silence passed. No one said anything at first.

"We- we don't know much," Thomas said simply.

Jorge hit the lever then we all fell a few feet before jerking back. Each of us let out our own startled cry.

"Ok, ok, alright. They're hiding in the mountains and they attacked W.C.K.D got out a bunch of kids. That's it that's all we know." Thomas said quickly moving his arms as he spoke.

Jorge stared at him for a moment. He stepped forward opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by one of his men saying his name. The man walked into the room glancing between us and Jorge.

"What's going on?" He asked putting his hands on his hips.

"Me and my new friends were just getting acquainted. We're done now." Jorge said nonchalantly.

"Hey, wait, you're not gonna help us?" Thomas asked.

"Don't worry Hermano. We'll get you back where you belong." Jorge smiled then turned his back and walked away.

"Hang tight" he added then left the room.

"Seriously?" I questioned aloud in annoyance.

"What now?" Fry asked.

I glanced around the best I could. I had Next on one side of me and Minho on the other. Next to Minho was Teresa.

"I have an idea," Teresa said suddenly.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"I'm smaller you guys can push me over to the lever and I can let us down." She explained quickly.

Everyone nodded. It was the only plan we had right now. I wouldn’t be any help due to my injury. Fry and Minho were beside Teresa so they made their bodies swing back and forth until they could reach her. Once they could touch her they started pushing her like she was on a swing. They were trying to build up the momentum. Thomas grabbed her once she was far enough to help get her over. It took several minutes and every hand we had to get her over to the lever. She missed the first time but grabbed it the second time. She pulled the ropes off herself then worked on getting the rest of us down.

—

#nothingbutfangirlsmut #fanfiction #gally #gally imagine #gally smut #gally x reader #the maze runner #the maze trials #tmr gally #original character #the trials of emi

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 6 years ago

Text

Movie Night (ft. Cas's t-shirt)

THANK YOU for the ask, Dear Anon! I'm very flattered that you enjoyed the last one, and hope this meets your expectations! I WISH I could tag you in this, but you're on anon so.. Anyways, I went for Tuesday movie night idea, and clubbed it with a 'cute t-shirt prompt' I received and it got long AF but please leave a comment if you read and like!

"Ahh," Dean let out a perfect sound of exhaustion meeting the plush comfort of his couch. "It's finally Tuesday."

Sam snorted from the side, because his relationship with tuesdays had been kind of a love-hate. Not that Dean ever took him seriously - he doesn't blame his brother, really, because he wouldn't believe Dean either if he told him 'a piano crushed you to death' or any of those other ridiculous ways in which he'd died.

"If you like movie nights that much," Jack added, from the side - he was settled in one of the big chairs, looking more like a kid than he usually did. "Why don't we watch movies on other nights, too?"

Sam leaped to answer, ever ready to squeeze in a lesson for the nephilim. Good values needed to be a part of the upbringing. Children need to be taught by example. "There's an analogy we can use for this, Jack. Say, uh, Dean loves his birthday very much." Dean frowned at his brother. "Because of the pie, and the gifts, and all the beer." Dean shrugged. "So, he wishes on his birthday candles that everyday be his birthday!" Sam paused, and Dean wondered why he spoke as if he was talking to a kid, and not the strongest 2-year-old ever. "But, what happens then, is that he keeps growing a year older on each birthday - that is, everyday!"

Jack looked alarmed. "That's - bad."

"Yeah, because then I'd grow to be 60 in like a month and die." Dean added, in a deadpan.

"It won't take you thirty years to get to sixty." Sam reminded him.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean scowled and turned back to Jack. "Listen, kid, this isn't about all the good movies in the world getting finished too soon, if we watch 'em everyday. It's more about the attitude."

Jack nodded.

"Like, uh," Dean swallowed. "Like our dad always taught me and Sammy, hunters need to live a disciplined life. Can't just start watching a movie whenever, because that'll make your head feel like you're giving it permission to do crap, just like that, without a routine. That's never good for a hunter - even less so, he'd say, for the sons of an ex-Marine. Messes your head up, and takes away your ability to fixate on your decisions." Dean paused. "It's not like I've not watched movies on a Saturday because I wanted to, but the old man made sense - it's just, a routine is better to stick to."

"That sounds like a horrible amount of behavioral psychology to associate to an activity as trivial as watching a movie." Came a new voice, as Cas stood in the doorframe, his head just slightly tilted as his eyes looked straight at Dean.

Dean's exhale was caught in his lungs, and he blinked, staring at Cas with a chest full of air, and still feeling like he'd sink instead of buoyant. Cas was no longer in the trenchcoat and pants - he wore grey pyjamas which fit snug over his thighs, and a t-shirt which had to be new, because holy fucking shit.

He'd have noticed the angel walking around their bunker, wearing a black AC/DC shirt like that - simple, to someone else, perhaps - yet the way it fit over his biceps, widened his shoulders a bit more, and gave an elevated look to his chest because of the smooth descent to a toned abdomen - rendered Dean incapable of looking away. Complete with his hair sticking up at odd angles, hints of a stubble and inspecting eyes focussed on Dean, he looked like the stuff of Dean's (guilty, oh so guilty) dreams.

"H-hey, Cas." Dean cleared his throat, shifting on the larger couch to make space for him. He waved his hand dismissively to disregard all that he'd just said. "Forget about that, it was crap - come sit down." He suggested, breathlessly.

"Look who finally joined us," Sam addressed, in a normal voice and not even bothering to look up again - making Dean wonder why he didn't get all caught up in Cas's t-shirt, like Dean just had. He was unfairly attractive - but not just to Dean, right?

"I'm sorry," Cas replied, as he sat down next to Dean. Not a single part of them touched, since they were on opposite edges of a large couch Dean originally got for Sam and him - but there was still a tingling under Dean's skin, which had to be Cas's fault. "I couldn't find any socks." He turned to Dean, suddenly smiled, and tugged his pyjama up a little to show him the socks he wore. A pair of fucking novelty socks, they were - but Dean found himself grinning mindlessly, as Cas crossed his legs under him, and the visual was taken away from him.

"Of course, you couldn't." Sam inputted. "Dean hasn't been doing the laundry lately."

"Why am I the only one supposed to do it?" Dean threw back, and Sam didn't say anything to it.

"Nevermind." Cas declared. "I found socks, unwashed though they may be. Let us start." He referred to the movie.

Jack had fell silent for a moment, and he spoke up again. "Yeah! What are we watching today?"

At the same time that Sam opened his mouth - probably to drag Dean on how they better not watch something they'd just watched - Dean spoke up. "We're watching The Fellowship of The Ring, today."

"We just watched that on literally the third Tuesday of March -" Sam complained.

"Listen." Dean threw back. "Don't shove your crazy awesome memory with movies and dates, in my face - 'cause my brain forgot the movie already."

"Forgot? You probably can quote it line by line, Dean." Sam frowned. "But I guess you're not satisfied until you flawlessly recite it in your sleep, like Lost Boys."

Dean flashed his best shit-eating grin, and if that's what he was gonna do, he wasn't gonna agree with Sam. "Well, it's what we're watching, Sammy. Deal with it."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What about Jack? Or Cas? Why don't you ask them if they want to watch Lord of the Rings again?"

"I do." Jack announced, brightly. "I like Frodo and Samwise Gamgee." Sam rolled his eyes. "But, I could also watch something else. I trust Sam's recommendations, after Harry Potter." He added, faithfully.

"Careful, buddy, Sammy's raising your son to be a nerd." Dean muttered to Cas, and he nodded, as if it was a line that needed to be answered with a nod.

Sam grinned like it was victory handed to him on a platter. "He said he could watch something else, Dean."

"What about Cas?" Dean turned to him, rotating in his seat. "Whadd'ya wanna watch, buddy?"

Cas pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. The deciding element. The one who'd tip the scales in the favor of one of the Winchesters.

"It's not Sophie's Choice," Sam grumbled sourly, as if he already knew what Cas would choose.

"Let him think!" Dean shushed his brother.

"I have reached a decision." Cas informed everyone, looking solemnly at the TV, instead of their faces. "We shall watch The Fellowship Of The Ring, tonight." He turned to Sam. "And if there's no hunts and we're at the bunker tomorrow too, Sam's choice shall prevail - that is, if Dean agrees to go against John's sayings and watch a movie on a Wednesday."

"That's fair." Jack grinned.

Dean beamed at Cas, with his little smile and his goddamn t-shirt, which was gonna drive Dean crazy in due time, he was sure. "See, Sam?" He ignored the comment on his father, because it was rare stilted humor, and in a perfect deadpan.

Sam muttered something under his breath which sounded a little bit like 'profound bond' for some reason, and rolled his eyes in defeated agreement, as Dean began to look for the movie.

"Whatever," Sam substituted, not looking up from his phone as the opening credits began to play. "The three of you can rewatch the entire LOTR series if you want, I'll just leave you to it." He shrugged.

"Hey!" Dean was annoyed. This was family movie night. Sam was supposed to be a part of it too. "Lord of the Rings is right up your alley, nerd. Why're you bitch-facing so hard tonight?"

"Well," Sam chewed on his lip. "It's very long, and I wanted to get to bed for an early night."

Dean narrowed his eyes, and hit pause on the remote just as the elves began to narrate. "Why?"

"No reason." Sam stalled. There was an almost familiar edge to his voice and -

Suddenly, it all made sense to Dean. The dots connected in his head, and Sam's reluctance to watch a three hours long movie was suddenly reasoned.

"Why, Sam?" Cas repeated, intrigued. "Are you alright? Do you not feel well?"

"He feels fine. I know," Dean cut in. "He's got a date." Sam's eyes widened before he vigorously shook his head in denial. "Some virtual crap, I bet, because you don't like to get laid, and an actual date may've involved that - but whatever is your idea of a fun time, hey, I'm not judging."

"It's not a date!" He declared.

"Then it's something like it." Dean shrugged, getting surer, with Sam's panicked expression. He knew his brother well enough to read through this cover. "Tell me Sammy, is this a video call with some chick you met online on those awful sites?"

"Dude, no." Sam balked. "I'm on no such awful site to meet chicks."

"Sure, you're not." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Then, who? Because clearly I'm right about the rest of it."

"It's," Sam looked like he didn't wanna continue, would like nothing better than to not finish the sentence. But with Cas joining in on the stare, he let out a subdued, "Uh, Rowena."

There was a stillness in the room. Dean and Cas slowly exchanged a look, and Sam flushed. "Who?"

"We know her, Dean!" Jack corrected, promptly.

"Not like Sam does," Dean shot at his brother, who looked flustered as crap, and it was all Dean had ever wanted from this conversation.

"Dean!" Sam looked grossed out, while it should've been them. He was the one dating a three hundred years old witch. "We're gonna discuss -"

"- if you're about to tell me you'll discuss a case, I swear to call you on your bullshit by calling Rowena right away." Dean challenged, definitely.

"I -" Sam pursed his lips. "I don't need to have this conversation with you, jerk."

"What about the rest of us?" Cas asked, and there was a smirk playing on his lips, which made him all the more attractive.

"None of you." Sam declared, standing up, looking offended. "You are literally infants! Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, Dean, or I'll - whatever, just watch your frigging movie, I'm out of here."

"If you're gonna do stuff, use headphones!" Dean waited until Sam was far enough to not hit Dean for it and yelled after him, as the latter marched out of the room, embarrassed. It was his duty as the older brother to make that happen, so no issues there. He turned back to Cas, grinning at him - and Jack, of course.

"The rest of us are here without the intention of leaving halfway to call a chick, right?" Dean asked, though it was a pretty stupid question for Jack - and if the answer were yes for Cas, he'd have a major-ass freak out right there.

"Right." Cas confirmed, for some reason; his voice rich and gravelly, and Dean's attention was once again taken by Cas's t-shirt - now that his kid brother was sufficiently out of the picture. True, Jack was still there, but that's a different issue. Dean had to hold a reputation in front of Sam, that he could control his senses in the presence of Cas, and that he could rein it in, and that he could do a lot of things which he was very far from, in reality.

"Me too." Jack announced, brightly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Jack, you're two." Cas informed him, and Dean had to stifle a snort at the very notion. Nevertheless, he toned down the weird, made himself comfortable in the couch - maybe shifting a little towards the middle, and let out a small, content sigh, for the second time this evening.

He hit play.

“Why do we keep making the same mistake?” Dean groaned, his head falling back on the sofa. Once again, like every tuesday ever - they’d forgotten to get food before they sat to watch the movie. Now, around half an hour in, it was all Dean could think about. But getting up seemed like an awful chore.

Cas nodded his head in agreement, grave and earnest. “It’s because we don’t learn our lesson.”

“Dean, do you want to learn said lesson tonight, by not eating?” Jack asked.

“No.” Dean glared at him. “I may be around Mr. No-Food, and Little-to-no-food, but it isn’t wearing off on me.” They’d not paused the movie to have this discussion, so he kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke. “As a human, I have a few simple needs. Such as beer and something like popcorn to chew as I watch a classic with my - I mean, with you guys.”

“Okay." Cas shuffled in his seat, beginning to stand up. Dean frowned instantly, and pulled him down, gripping his wrist. Cas easily succumbed, and was back on the couch with a surprised little bounce - looking at Dean, confused. "What? I'll get you the beer and popcorn, so that you don't have to get up. I can obviously see you don't want to."

Aww, Dean's brain melted.

"Nope." He said, out loud, popping the 'p'. "You don't need to do that. I'll go."

"I volunteer, Dean. It's not about need," Cas protested. "And you enjoy this movie more than I do."

"Sure, but I've watched it a helluva lot more too." Dean raised his eyebrows, and Cas smiled a little, one of those smiles that he reserved for Dean, and made his insides flutter.

"We could just pause it." Jack suggested, not looking away from the TV yet, for the entirety of the conversation.

"No, you keep watching, there's no need," Dean excused, standing up himself, smiling in spite of himself. Cas looked at him, and not at the screen.

"Dean," And that wonderful voice of his swept over Dean's brain and made the puddle vaporize or some shit.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I could keep telling you what's happening, while you're in the kitchen." Cas proposed, breaking into a wider smile, all crinkly and toothy.

"Aww, Cas," Dean couldn't stop himself in time, staring blindly at Cas's face and short-circuiting in his head. And instantly cleared his throat, and added in a more composed tone. "Okay, you do that. Thanks, I guess."

Dean wondered, as he walked into the kitchen and went looking for the bacon he'd made earlier, what was up with him tonight. He was usually able to hold his tongue in front of Cas - he was usually able to look away from him, even though it took some persuasion. But there was something today, that had taken away his brain-to-mouth-and-eyes filter.

Must be the new shirt.

Dean knocked, obnoxiously loud, at Sam's door before barging in with a plate of bacon and a beer. He saw Sam fast asleep, on his front, and did not know where to go with that, so he left the table at his bedside in case he was going to wake up and resume his midnight call or something.

Then he took the rest of the food and two beers and went back to the movie room.

All through his venture, Cas had kept yelling updates through the door. "Merry and Pippin just hugged Frodo!", "And now, Frodo just met Bilbo again!", "Arwen is speaking with Frodo now!" This had made Dean grin so hard, that he almost dropped the dishes. Damn, Cas was awesome.

As Dean handed him a beer, and put the plate of bacon between them on the couch, Cas whispered to him. "And Arwen just kissed Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

And Dean stared at Cas, his blue, blue eyes and his eyebrows pinched together in concentration, and his crinkled nose - and his goddamn voice, and his way of speaking, and how he just said the words 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn' like an entire fucking dork, and how adorable it was that he'd been doing a live-commentary for Dean, and just - he was almost overpowered by a desire to kiss the perfect little smile tugging at his lips, and palm the stubble-covered cheeks, and maybe, if Jack weren't here, pull that gorgeous fucking t-shirt over his head, because it was distracting.

Dean was instantly taken aback by his own stream of thoughts. He was clearly going crazy.

He could bet it was the fault of the shirt.

Okay, but at this moment, Dean needs the remote.

And it's not just because the remote is on the other side, next to Cas, and Dean's brain instantly launches into a scene in his head, when Dean asks for the remote and Cas is too comfortable (he's already holding onto a large cushion like it's a blanket) to move, and he tells Dean to take it himself - and then Dean will have to lean over Cas to get it, and there'll be a moment where he's almost on top of him, and they'll happen to look at each other, and Cas's eyes will flit down to Dean's lips as Dean adjusts himself to reach the remote, on Cas's lap, and maybe Cas says something like -

That's enough.

Dean doesn't need the remote so that something like that plays out in reality. He only needs the remote to lower the volume, because Jack is asleep and he'll wake up otherwise in the war scene and noise that'll follow.

But this way or that, he can see the said scene happening.

Maybe there's a part of him which wants it to happen exactly how it happened in his head.

Maybe it will.

So, with more energy than the sentence needed, he says, "Cas! I need the remote!"

And Cas turns his head to look at Dean, an incomprehensible expression.

But instead of saying a variation of, 'take it yourself' like he was really, really supposed to -

He picks up the remote with his left hand and hands it to Dean simply.

Dean stares at it for a moment, everything forgotten, especially the reason why he needed the remote in the first place. And then he kicks himself for being a goddamn teenage girl about this, and plays off the disappointment with a 'thank you' in the manliest voice he can conjure, and he's pretty sure it makes up for the kind-of-but-not-really pornography he'd been dreaming up. Sam's irritating voice nags in his head, you're confusing reality with porn again.

Of course, Dean is too lost thinking and staring at Cas sideways when he's sure Cas can't see him - to remember to lower the volume, and Jack wakes up with a jolt at the Uruk-Hai screeching at Gimli the dwarf.

Jack's going off to his room. The movie isn't finished yet, but he's been dosing off throughout and Dean can't tolerate the insult to the Classic, so he tells him to just go off to sleep. It's been a long day.

"Will you both watch it whole?" Jack asks groggily, before leaving and Dean looks enquiringly at Cas. He only has to turn his head a little, because Cas is much closer to him now. They've both gravitated towards the middle.

"Of course." Cas answers. "Unless Dean needs to sleep." Dean shakes his head confidently, and Jack nods.

"Okay, goodnight dads." He mutters, at least it sounds like it, and Dean would've lost it if Cas's slight weight leaning on his arm weren't grounding him to his current location instead of somewhere panicky in his head.

"Goodnight, Jack." Dean lets out, and he's aware it doesn't sound as constipated as he thought it would, and he's proud of it.

"Dean." Cas speaks up, a moment later. "I think we should turn off the lights."

"What?" Dean blinks, mildly.

"I know neither of us will want to get up later." Cas justifies. "So we might as well do it now."

"Can't you," Dean grumbles. "Can't you use your mojo to push the switch, or..?"

Cas sighs. Then blinks, and the entire room goes dark. Cas's eyes open, and they're gleaming like blue halos of light in the suddenly dark room - and Dean can still make out his face, in the light of it. It's all hard lines and small smiles, from the little he sees. "I need to remember I can do these things, don't I?" He mumbles.

"Yeah, our human incapabilities are wearing off on ya." Dean tells him and they start looking at the screen again.

"You're not incapable if you have to stand up to turn off the lights." Cas replies, and Dean just hums in response.

A little later, Cas speaks again, and he sounds happier almost. "Dean."

"Uh-huh?" Dean looks away from Gandalf on the screen, to look at the angel.

"Did you notice Jack kept falling asleep?"

Dean pauses. "Oh." He smiles too, it coming over him all of a sudden. "Yeah."

"That means," Cas's tone is bright, and Dean can hear his smile. "He's enough human to fall asleep in the middle of a movie, again."

"Human incapabilities strike again," Dean teases, and Cas chuckles audibly and it's a really, really good moment. Although yeah, it's a bit too domestic for Dean to be perfectly at calm - Cas and he are sitting in the dark, watching a movie they've watched so many times before, discussing the progress of the nephilim they've been raising (with Sam, of course) and Dean has his hand around Cas's seat - in what he now feels guilty on realizing is the oldest trick in every guy's playbook. They're both more in the middle of the couch than not, and the beers have been drained to the last drop. One of them doesn't sleep, the other won't - and then there's Cas's perfect t-shirt, which shall drive Dean to madness each time he sees it, and beyond.

Slowly, the arm which is on the couch, falls on Cas's shoulder - and it's a rather rapid course from there to it being slung around Cas, with Cas tucked under it and leaning into Dean so that it's comfortable.

It's not that Cas's head is on Dean's chest, or not even that his fingers are playing with the fabric of Cas's shirt - its just that they're so close to doing that, and somehow Dean can't pull back this time.

Like, he suddenly realizes, he's been doing forever.

It's again, a good thing that he pretty much knows LOTR scene by scene, and in spite of almost completely being distracted by everything Cas, he answers all trivial questions Cas mumbles at him in that deep, deep baritone - and there's a heat pooling in Dean's insides, and he can't quite place if its the spot behind his ribs, or further south.

Both sounds most appropriate.

Dean is not proud of this, but he fell asleep.

It's not that he didn't finish the movie, because he did - he remembers the last scene (or it could be from a previous watching that he recalls it) but it's just that he fell asleep right there. Next to Cas.

No, not even next to him. Pretty much wrapped around him. And somehow that's - not so wild, after all. It kinda feels awesome. Its not even morning yet, so he has more hours.

He wakes up with his hair tickling his breath and coughs mildly when he realizes that he'd buried his nose in Cas's hair - and his lips on his head, apparently. He straightens, but is sure to not make much movement - because Cas doesn't sleep like they do, he rather drifts off to a sorta-catatonic state but stays very much awake and alert. He doesn't want to wake Cas up, because the angel looks so comfortable, nestled on Dean's chest - that it somehow invokes a feeling of pride in him.

And love.

And that's that. The not-freaking-out segment of this story abruptly comes to an end, and Dean clenches his fist to stop himself from beginning to tremble.

He ends up with a fistful of that goddamn shirt which Dean blames for everything in that night, and Cas stirring awake, and straightening. The weight rested on Dean's abdomen is lost, and it feels weird and colder.

"It's seven minutes to four. Ante Meridiem." Cas announces, in a voice which is roughened by lack of use.

"You should go back to sleep." Dean begs, because Cas doesn't need to see Dean get anxious about the whole pile of feelings he's beginning to feel crushed under.

"Dean." Cas says, in that voice, and straightens some more. He's at Dean's height again, and their noses are inches apart, and Cas looks worried about him. "Dean?" He repeats, and he's concerned, and he's perfect, and his voice is something else, and the way he looks at him is something else like Dean is worthy of all his attention somehow - and the emotions are brimming and he doesn't know what to do with them until he -

He jerks himself ahead, and grabs Cas's shirt for good measures, pressing his lips against Cas's.

It's a moment of bravery, it's a moment of impulse, and it's a moment of utter stupidity because Cas doesn't react -

Until he does, and he kisses back, and he's excited and into it and Dean's taken aback by his vigor and in awe of his own hands which are grappling at Cas's t-shirt for friction as he moans into Cas's mouth.

"I blame the t-shirt," He whines, when they pull away, to look at each other better. And he does.

Of course, he's not an idiot (except for the many times that he is). But what he definitely isn't, is dense enough to not realize that this had been over ten years in the making.

These urges were familiar, and suppressed each time - the sudden feelings were overpowering, except he'd learn to deal with them tactfully, by crushing them with every means possible.

But what had changed today and he'd actually acted on it instead of swallowing it, had to be the tee. It fit like magic, and it perfectly showcased his lean, muscled chest - and gave a peak of his collarbones, and if he stretched, his obliques - and it was as black as his hair in the dark, and ah, it had to be the shirt.

Because otherwise, he didn't know what it could be, that had made tonight - today - this.

Cas still had his hand on Dean's bicep. "This one?" He looks down at himself. "I got it from your closet months ago."

"What -"

"And, you blame it?" He repeats.

"No," Dean shakes his head, anxiously, truthfully as he captures his lips in a kiss again. Slotting in place against each other, and as loving as they were passionate - he had had no idea that kissing Cas would be this amazing. "I love it. I'm gonna need you to keep wearing it. On Thanksgiving, I'm gonna be thankful for it."

Cas laughs against Dean's lips, and says something which is lost in the bliss of the moment.

Nevermind. He has all the moments after this, to listen to him. But he only has this one, at the end of a Tuesday movie night, to enjoy their first kiss (he's pretty sure all the short, little kisses just make up one major kiss). So he does.

Edit: Thank you for reading! Would like to tag @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @all-or-nothing-baby @styggtroll @notyoursweetbaboo @moderatelypanickedbisexual @but-for-the-gods-three-days and @emmii4 ! If you don't wanna be tagged, I'll remove you from the list, just ask! Have an awesome day!

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