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rileythelonelyalien · 2 years ago

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Pantalone x GN!Reader (a scarf? for me?)

A/N: hello!! I've had this particular fic in the works for a super long time and I finally had the motivation to finish it: this is a fic that is similar to the Dottore one I wrote a few months back its about Pantalone this time however and the reader makes him a scarf!!

My posts are most likely going to take much longer to write now since I have a lot of assignments that I have to work on for Sixth form which is kind of a bummer but I will try to post whenever I can!!! anyways I hope you enjoy this Fic :D (fic is under the cut)

Want to read the dottore version ?

You knew your lover enjoyed spending his fortune as well as indulging in on the luxuries of life , every piece of clothing had to be of the highest quality , no matter the price. However quality and aesthetic did not necessarily mean that the garment would be functional as intended. You recall the time you had forgotten your scarf behind whilst going out into town with Pantalone and he lent you his, unfortunately it did not do much to help as the scarf itself was quite thin and thus did not work as intended. Ever since that had happened you had watched each time your lover would leave and put on that very same scarf the lack of warmth it provided him concerned you deeply and it began to plague your mind for extended periods of time. It eventually gets to the point where you decided you will have to solve this issue by your own accord : now you did not have nearly enough mora to get him a similar scarf with a better thickness so you did the next best thing that came to min which was make him a handmade knitted scarf. Surely this would be better than that sorry excuse of a scarf he had currently.

Fortunately for you , before Pantalone had taken you with him to the palace you quite often would knit your own garments to wear all the time so you still had a bunch of left over materials that you had left over that you had stored in a safe place for until you decided to use them again. You spend quite a bit of time sorting out through all the materials you had and selecting the few yarns that would be high enough quality and yet still thick enough to actually hold up its purpose to be used for his scarf , once you had narrowed the selection of yarn you had begun to knit the scarf was one of the most simplest garments to knit therefore it wouldn't take long for you to finish it , Pantalone’s long hours at his office also world to your advantage as it would give plenty of time to be able to focus on this mini project of yours. As you sat there knitting you would often think about what your lover's reaction might be to receiving something like this , he had always been the one providing you with lavish gifts and you could only gratefully accept his show of affection , although it's not as materialistically valuable as the gifts he gives you it still shows your adoration towards him no?

Soon enough with only a few days of work on this project you had finished it to your own standard of perfection, feeling quite fulfilled having finished a piece in such a timely manner even if it was a simple garment, it was still an achievement worth feeling good about. However, you decided against giving Pantalone his gift to him straight away, instead you were going to wait for the perfect opportunity to be able to present your gift to him. With fate on your side barley any time had passed before the perfect opportunity had shown itself and now it was time for action. Pantalone had entered your shared bedroom in order to retreat for the day , his face softens once he sees you contempt , laying on the bed. You noticed his presence and quickly got out of bed in order to meet him , running over towards him and throwing yourself into his embrace.

You can feel his laughter reverberate through your ears as your body shakes along with his chest as he lets out a small laugh at how adorable he found your antics. He gently places a gloved hand atop of your head as he hums in content at the contact before letting out a dejected sigh ‘ my treasure, I'll be leaving tomorrow early in the morning as I have some business to attend to in one of the banks on the far side of Shneznaya … I’ll have to leave for the day I do hope you do not mind ?’ He let out the news he's been meaning to say and as soon as this leaves his lips you bring your head up from his chest to look up into his eyes ‘ Your leaving tomorrow?’ you question ‘indee-’ before Pantalone could even finish his sentence you dash out of his arms and for a moment, he is distraught as he feels like he had offended you in some sort of way , this was not the case. You quickly rummage through the things you kept under your bed until you are able to grab what you were searching for as soon as your fingers interlace with the garment you quickly make your way back to your lover. Your hands outstretched offering to take what was in your hands ‘I made this for you … I thought that your scarf its lovely but it's not good for its purpose , its thin and won't keep you warm and I worry that because of that it will make you more prone to illness if you're constantly traveling like that and I couldn't let that happen so here’ as soon as you finish your small ramble you proceed to motion for Pantalone to take the scarf. You watch as your lover does something quite particular , he proceeds to take of his gloves before even going to even touch the garment. After he had taken his gloves however, he gently takes the item out of your hands , running his fingers across the surface and even holding it up to his eyes seemingly examining the work that had been put into the creation of this scarf. His actions seem to make you feel bashful as your gaze lowers as you try to avoid Pantalone's eyes contact. However, his silence seems to be telling to how he feels : he was truly enamoured that you had managed to create such a beautiful item in his eyes and still preserve it initial purpose. He truly admired the work and effort you had put into this scarf. Furthermore, the reason behind why this scarf was even created in the first place absolutely melted his heart , he had gotten used to a life of which ‘kindness’ always came with a price , not one thing came for free there was always the expectation of a reward or pay-back. Yet this was a symbolism of how you would do something unconditionally for him out of your own love for him and that was much richer than anything that could be bought with mora.

After the prolonged silence and examination of your scarf Pantalone hands you the scarf as he smiles at and proceeds to ask ‘My treasure , do you think you could wrap this scarf for me?’ His voice low and comforting showing how this gesture had taken effect on him. You smile as you oblige his request , he leans forward so that you are able to reach his neck as you gently wrap him in the scarf to be snug against his neck keeping him warm and serving as protection from the harsh Shneznayan winds. Just before you could step away from him Pantalone catches you by the waist and bring you into a loving kiss ‘thank you dearest , truly you never fail to surprise me day after day ‘ he smiles as his hand gently caresses your face, he was clearly admiring your features absolutely infatuated with you and the things you do for him. He has never felt richer than he did in that very moment.

#pantalones #pantalone genshin #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #fatui pantalone #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin impact fatui #genshin fatui #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone fluff #pantalone fatui #genshin fandom #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin pantalone

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zahlibeth · 3 months ago

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hey i made socks!

got bored. still didn't want to sort that chevron blanket out. thought it might be a challenge. it was actually kind of easy? took me about a month, including several days of leaving them in a corner because i was too scared of learning how heels work and didn't have the resilience to cope with it going wrong

yarn: symfonie terra in summer romance and jasmine (75% wool, 25% polyamide) pattern: stockwell by jo torr, £5 on ravelry

love the toes-up design, it's sooo easy for the heel turn, no picking up stitches anywhere which is good because i detest that. also loved doing them two-at-a-time because i would 100% have fallen victim to second sock syndrome and would not have actually completed both. i thought this was going to be more complicated than it was, you can just treat the whole thing like one magic loop AND i didn't knit the socks together at any point like i feared

on the downside, the cuff was an entire pain because it's folded over and the pattern suggests you thread a spare cable needle into the purl bumps so that you know where to attach it back to. but with two at a time i had to keep going under the second cable and keep my yarn in the correct places and it was a whole nightmare. waste yarn next time, or a different cuff, or something! they're also a teeny bit short for my feet, (started the gusset a couple rows early, totally my fault) and a little thick for my trainers compared to my usual socks.

next version: might size up the needle a little (and adjust the stitch count accordingly) to get a thinner fabric, might try a ribbed section in the middle for more arch support, will make them a touch longer, and then will likely do a different kind of cuff - perhaps a rolled cuff? likely to keep the same pattern though because it's solid

pattern notes: reasonably clear! the bits that I was scared of turned out to make sense once i got to the right point. i did mentally rewrite some bits for how my brain works - she has a tendency to write out each row where i like to think algorithmically and generalise, but that's easily solved and now i have my own notes for next time

overall roaring success, i've been wearing these all day and they're super comfy and still look great (i was so worried about walking on all my nice stitches!). delightful

#knitting: socks #in my knitting era #z #and today i DID start weaving the ends of the chevron blanket i promise #i ... also bought yarn for fingerless mitts and maybe future socks #oh also i blocked the mosaic blanket and i'll post that soon but i wanted the socks to have their own moment to shine #i'm silly proud of them because it was very scary #and i've never had to fit anything so carefully to actual measurements

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lonelywanderingflower · 2 months ago

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The Sera Cardigan has been a labor of love for me. Maybe I got a little too ambitious with my first cabled project, especially since I've never done a charted pattern before. After doing a lot of basic stockinette patterns, I wanted to step out of my comfort zone and this pattern caught my eye. Even though I started out strong only to kinda lose interest in the end when it got tedious, I'm happy with how this project turned out despite its flaws - which are all on me, by the way.

So my first mistake was the yarn choice, which probably wasn't the best since it didn't grow as much as I'd hoped. The size I chose was my second mistake. Since I only had a limited quantity of yarn, which I bought while traveling abroad. Since the cardigan is meant to be very oversized, I figured an XS should be ok since it would still give me some positive ease. I failed to put into account that the yarn I used did not grow much when blocking compared to wool, and the fact that my tension tends to be tighter, which means my fabric will be smaller. As a result, I opted to omit buttons since I wouldn't be able to wear it closed, which is fine with me since I tend to wear cardigans open anyway. But if I didn't have to worry about running out of yarn, I would've definitely sized up to my usual medium, or even a large just to get the intended ease on this design.

The cables wasn't too hard to get into once you've done it a few times since it'll be straightforward and somewhat easy to memorize after a while. It was satisfying seeing the cables come together, so that part wasn't tedious.

The brioche, however, is another story. On the body it wasn't too bad because it's a couple short sections at the shoulders. But the sleeves where it's all brioche? That was so tedious. After dragging myself through one sleeve, I jumped to the buttonband and collar before starting the second one. Then that took me over 2 months to finally complete.

Now, for the pros of this project. I'd say if you're ambitious like me, and have a substantial amount of knitting experience under your belt, I'd say go for it. I went for the top-down version as it's my preferred method since you can try it on and easily customize the length, which was helpful when trying to figure out how much yarn to use. The pattern does come with bottom-up instructions if that's your preferred construction.

So the pattern, like I said, isn't too daunting once you repeat the cables a couple times and really see it come together. While it can get tedious after a while, especially with the sleeves, I think the final product is worth if if that's the kind of cables design you want to add to your wardrobe.

#my stuff #knitting #knitblr #knitters of tumblr #yarn crafts #yarnblr #yarnaddict #yarnaholic #hand knitted

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badwitch-if · 6 months ago

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What is the difference between OG demo and AU demo?

honestly, not much right now. hence my lovely Skeletor gif, hahah 💜

but I've gotten a few versions of this ask over the last few days and first of all, welcome new anon Witxhes! sooo it's been about a month now since I first released the initial demos, and I was having a really difficult time deciding between two different versions of what are essentially the same story.

the OG DEMO was the original story I'd written about a super close-knit coven and all the intimate, over-the-top magic they'd concocted together. Both stories catch up with the coven a decade after graduation but...

the AU DEMO follows a broken up coven where MC intentionally left them because of reasons. there was a vote to see which demo people liked more but it ended up being pretty split, so neither OG or AU is the real successor.

right now I'm working on taking the elements that did work from both versions and weaving it into the NEW demo, which I'm still aiming to release mid-May. both demos will remain up until I post the shiny new one, but I also won't be fixing any bugs for the old games. and for the kind anon who reported the RO gender bugs, that is appreciated! (=

#inbox #bug report #badwitch if #bad witch #interactive fiction #interactive novel #choice of games #choicescript #witches #hosted games #if wip #if #magic #OG vs AU demo demo #new BW demo

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mayathepsychc · 2 months ago

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CHALANT

something I wrote in the weeks leading up to turning twenty-one.

I used to think that other people knew me better than I knew myself — that I was stuck in a perpetual blindspot, blocking my vision from seeing how I was perceived. I remind myself in these moments of insecurity: I’ve never looked into my own eyes and I’ve never kissed my own lips. I cannot exist beyond myself. I’ll never be able to look at my life from the outside, but that doesn’t stop me from believing that my eyes are an earthy brown, the edge a ring of black that deepens their roots. I’m never gonna be able to kiss my own lips but that won’t stop me from leaning in with passionate intentions and smirks. I can’t love myself in the same way I love others, and I can't imagine how they love me. What I can do is believe my friends when they tell me they love me, and I can love them back. They can tell me what they love about me and while some sentiments always get lost in translation from their tongue to my brain, I know that love is real because I feel it too.

I may not be able to look into my own eyes but I know that you'll never catch me dead or alive without love in my heart. And while I can’t love myself the way I love others, I love the way I love. I love the love in my life. It’s so abundant, I know I’m deserving of it.

The art of acting nonchalant has never been something I could master. In fact, I could never lie about my feelings, you can already read them all over my face. I wear my heart on my sleeve, my thoughts in the knit of my brow, my fears in the wrinkles on my forehead, my excitement in the divots in my cheeks and the tremor of my limbs. I find it hard to hide anything at all when feeling my feelings is the only thing I know how to do without hesitance. I’m naturally myself. Despite the world’s best efforts, I’m persistent in my disposition. Besides, why would I want to be anything else when I have so much love at my disposal?

In two weeks from today I will turn 21 years old. My life feels the closest to real it’s ever felt. Every day that goes by I thank God I was able to live the last day in full. These days, I'm busy singing loudly along to Chappell Roan with my friends and making a concerted effort to be kinder to the past, present and future versions of myself. Maya Jones of the past is a heart attack in a blowout and black hair dye, and I still wake up sometimes and forget I’m no longer her, that I’m not caked in foundation and hiding far more than my freckles from the world.

When I was 16 I thought a bad hair day, some hate-speech, and a panic attack would be the end of me. I know now it’s gonna take a lot more than some heat damage and some trust fund baby in a Vineyard Vines polo calling me a “fag,” to shut me up. I have far too much to say than to let white people’s manufactured expectations for me affect any of the words that I speak into the world. If I'm not showing up authentically then I haven't shown up at all.

Being anything but myself isn’t being, it’s lying. I've always been bad at lying, I can’t lie it through my teeth so my falsehoods come out misshapen and ridden with guilt. Besides, at my age, why would I lie when I can love even louder. I’ve been called brave for being so keen on being myself. In all honesty, I’m not brave — I'm stubbornly, candidly and spitefully alive. I’m nobody’s parent or politician, so why would I pander to you? Why would I edit the eloquence in which I speak when my natural cadence is so rhythmic?

I never could master the art of being nonchalant. At this point, why would I try to? I am chalant and my presence in the world proclaims loudly: feel your feelings, fool!

#substack #personal blog #chalant #feel your feelings #authenticity #radical acceptance #love #on love #platonic love #queer platonic

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knickynoo · 2 years ago

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I have been reading through your bttf posts and they’re super interesting. I read the one about what happened to Lone Pines Marty and all Marty’s being the same. But here’s an interesting take. What if because Lone Pines Marty was raised in a tighter knit family, he wasn’t as emotionally dependent on Doc to get the love and support he needed. So Marty knew Doc and like him but unfortunately in this scenario they aren’t quite as close. So Marty doesn’t drop everything and go to the Lone Pine Mall that night. Doc is sad but continues with his experiment anyway, just to be sure that everything works plus knowing that the Marty he met in 1955 is going to show up so he can’t just leave. Maybe the terrorists show up but after shooting Doc they feel like they got their revenge and leave. So Marty goes over and realizes that Doc kept the letter and is still alive. Obviously Doc knows that the other Marty is still at home so he doesn’t immediately go to the future because he has to help deal with the fallout. But now the Mcfly’s all get a crash course in time travel existing and end up with 2 Marty’s. It’s just an interesting thought experiment

Obligatory "sorry for not getting to this sooner" message. I've been falling behind on my asks and have like 12 backed up, lol.

This really is an interesting take. In reality, Doc would have had to ensure that Marty was at the parking lot so that he'd go back in time and continue the "loop", but we'll just go ahead and shove aside all the issues with paradoxes. *sweeps them off the table*

Oh, I'd LOVE to explore a universe where the laws of time travel are all wonky and somehow permit Twin Pines and Lone Pine Marty to exist in the same space at the same time. Just imagine it! Doc sits up in the parking lot and just immediately has a big ol' can of worms to deal with. He's got two Martys now!

I imagine that Doc would have a big elaborate explanation as to how such a thing would be possible. Perhaps something about the timeline "sealing itself off" after the original time travel escapades of original Marty, allowing for the changes he made to take root and create the new timeline without requiring Lone Pine Marty to then travel back and have the same adventure.

And if Doc had any doubts in the months leading up to his experiment about his ability to get LP Marty to the lot, he hopefully would have prepared for that fallout. Perhaps use George's love of science fiction to broach the subject of time travel in as "casual" a way as possible, using the discussion to drop theories and subtly prepare George for the possibility that he may someday be standing face to face with TWO versions of his youngest son.

Of course, no amount of preparing would help. The McFly crew may quickly accept the reality of time travel (what choice would they have?) but that wouldn't do them much good when with the whole, "Hey, uh...you guys all like Marty, right? Well, here's another one," thing. The McFlys may very well be required to cut contact with people and move somewhere secluded to protect the secrecy of time travel and the fact that they have a WHOLE ENTIRE COPY OF THEIR SON.

And the emotional impact! George and Lorraine having to somehow process that they've gained a "4th" kid in the blink of an eye and he's from a different timeline?? He was raised by them but also not by them? Imagine them getting bits and pieces from TP Marty about what their counterparts were like. And then the Martys! Could they learn to live side by side as "brothers"? Would they hate each other, be jealous, etc? Would LP Marty stay up at night wishing he had gone to the parking lot that night so that none of this would have happened? And if the laws of time travel are as flexible as they seem, would he (or Doc) attempt to travel back in time and do whatever necessary to get LP Marty to the mall the night of the experiment in order to set things right?

The possibilities are endless.

Thanks for the ask!

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #asks

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gatoplanet · 2 years ago

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Prompt: Klaus finds out that due to his meddling in season 2, Dave never came out and lived a miserable life in a loveless marriage, so Klaus goes back in time to before he was married to seduce Dave out of the closet. Dave tried to resist at first but who is he kidding? He hasn’t been able to get this alluring man out of his head since he first stepped foot in the hardware store.

"All right," Klaus says, "I'll admit it. I fucked up."

"I mean," Dave says, "not really. I'm alive."

"Well yeah," Klaus says, flapping the very idea away with his hands, "but I didn't want you alive, baby, I wanted you living."

He's back at the store, but he's not pretending to buy paint this time. He looks - older, maybe? A little less wispy. Feet more firmly on the ground. Still beautiful, Dave can admit that much to himself.

"I'm living," Dave tells him.

"Mm," Klaus says, "right, okay. What're the plans for this evening, Assistant Manager Katz?"

"I'll probably cook something." Dave glances over at the calendar on the wall. "It's Saturday, right? I'll put Lawrence Welk on."

"Oh, c'mon, that's - fair play, actually, I love Lawrence Welk."

"Alice has her knitting circle this evening, so-"

"Hey," Klaus says, poking one of his long fingers right into Dave's chest, "about that. I know you think you're real clever, finding that nice girl to bunker down with, but David. It's the 70s, this is the fun gay decade."

"Fun for who?"

"You, if you're willing to make some lifestyle changes." Klaus waggles an eyebrow, leans his elbow on the counter next to the register. "I can give you a crash course, if you want."

"I - I'm married."

"What exactly," Klaus says, "do you think Alice and Mabel are getting up to at their twice-weekly two-woman knitting circle?"

Dave sighs, closes the cash drawer he'd been counting. "I know, Klaus. It's - it's different."

"Different how?"

"I'm not-"

"Listen," Klaus says. "I've never had earthshattering homosexual sex with you, personally, in this version of reality. But I had a lot of it with someone you have a lot in common with, and I owe it to him to make sure you're looked after. Okay?"

Dave stares at him for a while. It's - it's honestly amazing that he's as beautiful as Dave remembers him being. He's been going over those three meetings with various tints of rose-colored glasses in the years since they happened, and he thought he'd pushed the Klaus in his mind past the point of believable attractiveness sometime during his first tour of duty. Turns out, he was just accounting for aging. The lovely new fine lines around Klaus's eyes.

"Why now?" Dave asks him.

"Oh, you know, things have been hectic-"

"You're a time traveler, aren't you? You could've stopped my wedding, if you wanted."

Klaus sighs. Leans his hip on the counter. "That job you applied for," he says. "The one at the VA in San Francisco?"

"What about it?"

"You're gonna get it. Don't turn it down."

Dave blinks at him.

"Take Alice," Klaus says. "Shit, take Mabel too. Fuckin - get out of here, baby, all of you. Go live your lives."

"I'm." Dave swallows. "I'm gonna get it?"

"You surely are, sweetheart."

"And I - I turned it down?"

Klaus winks at him. "Not yet."

"Why would I do that?"

"Oh, you know, probably the same reason you're doing everything you're doing to yourself. Whatever that reason is."

Dave glances at the calendar again. The notes from his uncle dotted all over the month like ticks.

"It'll be hard, baby," Klaus says. "It's not all gonna be sunshiney days. But god, it's gonna be worth it. You know?"

"I don't know, actually," Dave says. "But you sound like you do."

"Oh, I know enough," Klaus says with a little shrug. "And most important among the things I know is how to locate a prostate - like, trust me, you are gonna thank me the second you step off that plane-"

"Klaus," Dave cuts him off, but he's laughing, and Klaus laughs back. "Klaus, you're - okay, fine."

"Okay fine?"

"Come over," Dave says. "I'll make you dinner. We can watch Lawrence Welk."

"Oh, is that what the kids call it these days?"

Klaus is still smiling, like he does this all the time. Swoops in and out of people's lives and changes them forever. Maybe he does. Or maybe some other Dave just loved him that well.

"You've gotta stick around and meet Alice," Dave says, pulling his apron off to leave behind the till. "She's not gonna believe I finally had a man over if she doesn't see you herself."

"Dinner and breakfast, then," Klaus says, and when he holds out an arm, Dave loops his through it.

#kat fic #klave

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highwaydiamonds · 3 years ago

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self care asks - 1, 11, 13, 21, and 23

Hihi Shells :D Thank you for the asks my frand <3

1) what’s your go to comfort food?

Honestly, probably ice cream? Somehow I feel like ice cream isn't exactly a "comfort food" though? Like somehow comfort food in my brain should be savory? This is going to sound SO tumblr-y but if I'm going savory it might be my mom's version of lentil soup (not that I make it often, even if its not hard) - or some kind of hearty stew - thick and warm - and either it has noodles in it OR you eat it with bread - comfort food has ALL THE CARBS - ALL OF THEM.

11) have you tried anything new lately? if so, what?

Uh... good question... Have I?... Don't think I have tried any new foods.. Um, depends on how recent "lately" is I guess?? Doing the whole exercise on the recumbent stepper thing is new kinda - about a couple months old now I guess maybe? Been bullet journaling for just about two and a half months - that sorta a little new? Getting my nails done with dip powder - been doing that now for about a month and a half or so? Oh! this will kinda go with the next question, but i've been on a bit of a perfume kick and have tried a couple new ones marc jacobs perfect (parfum), gucci guilty absolute pour femme, and viktor & rolf's flowerbomb ruby orchid (which i was surprised to like as i hate the original flowerbomb but this version has NO patchouli - and that's why i like it. I cannot stand the smell of patchouli - blech.) I think it's the appeal of pretty bottles on a dresser and also enjoying options for scents - plus they make me feel pretty... Though a lot of days I still use my go to combo (tocca's isabel + pinrose's secret genius)

13) favourite candle scent?

Dani Naturals' passionfruit scented candle. Honestly, that thing smells divine. It's so good. I burned through one and I hardly ever do that. I also love back road candle company's orange citrus candle. I like some light floral scents, some watery/clean ones too, and then there are times only a sweet/spicy scent will do - the holiday candle this last christmas from NEST was nice (i got a very small one and it lasted nicely and the scent throw was great.)

21) where do you go to relax?

If I could travel more I'd tell you the northern oregon coast (where the mountains meet the sea) or maybe the costwolds.. But as it is, I am more likely to just retreat into my bedroom and lounge or if I want to get out a bit, i now live close to the river in town and I go down to a park by the river. Even if I just sit in my car when it's cold - it's lovely to see the light on the water or the snow... It's peaceful there. I'd either head there or a place on my old side of town where there's a park with a reservoir or another spot with a sweet little woodland trail that goes over a little babbling stream... Places that aren't dramatic, but offer sweet bits of respite. I amm happy in bookstores and art museums too :) always those places.

and 23) do you watch youtube? if so, what sort of videos do you watch?

I watch a whole bunch of the youtubez. I like history related peoples (mostly costume related but some not) ala bernadette banner, zack pinsent, morgan donner, cathy hay, sewstine, a janeite sews, abby cox annnd reading the past ( with dr kat), smarthistory, the mrs crocombe victorian way videos, plus documentary stuff like that's on odyssey or perspective. I'm a slut for art history documentaries that were probably originally on the bbc. I also LOVE me some drag race content- so stuff on wow presents, i watch stuff from the rupaul's drag race shannel, I am a total trixie mattel stan so stuff from her channel and then sometimes other drag stuff - my hometown is where Nina West is from so yeah... I have a couple yarn/crochet/knitting people I watch - TL Yarn Crafts (again from mah hometown), crochet guru, and drowning in yarn... I watch some ASMR content people (library of whispers, goodnight moon, ediyasmr, phonobabble (though i'm not as sure where to put his content exactly categorically)... Then there are the makeup people: wayne goss, lisa eldridge, michelle wang, jessica braun, tarababyz, also trixie mattel (because her makeup line is kick ass), cate the great beauty (because she's hilarious), theresa is dead (also hilarious and excellent), marlena stell (aka makeupgeek), and good ol kandee johnson... Then there are the food & drink people: emmymade, beryl shereshewsky (who if peoplehaven't seen go and watch - she is great!), anders erickson, rick bayless, nino's home, sorted food, how to drink, you suck at cooking... Then there are the idk - random fun things: vlogbrothers, the girl with the dogs, npr for tiny desk music content, royalty soaps... And probably others that I am not thinking of atm. I feel like I watch a decent but pretty selective cross section of YT... I am not interested in a whole lot of drama from influencers so i try and stay away from people i feel create that stuff... I'm watching to learn some things usually - either historically/art wise or about products or techniques... Or I am watching just to relax and entertain myself.

Thank you so much for the questions, Shells. I appreciate them and yous - you're spiffy!

#frands!#also stuff about me #megan answers some questions

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of-foolish-and-wise · 3 years ago

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love story atop down and cotton

some days, most days really, it's hard for me to wake up. i love the warm cocoon of my bed, the dog on my feet, the fan whirring. i'll read and i'll scroll and some days i'll even have a cup of coffee, all before my feet touch the ground. i curse myself for this. my inability to make it to a 10am class on time, the glacial pace of my waking up. it feels like life is what's happened to everyone else while i've laid in bed.

and yet.

let me tell you this:

it was my bed, that twin xl pushed long-ways against white-painted cinderblocks, where i felt my life unravel from its old shape and knit itself into something new. it was on that bed that a boy sat one night nine years ago and asked, "tori, can i kiss you?" i can see him, round-faced and quarter-zipped, nose blushing from the october air; i can feel my own shaking, the weight of my yes, the way the thin fleece of his jacket felt under my sweating palms when i placed them on his shoulders.

then it was on the guest bed in my parents' house where, two years later and far too late, i took a deep breathe told the same boy that i loved him. the first time i'd ever said it. the walls were covered in the white-and-purple florals i'd chosen when it had been mine, before my brother had moved out and left me the bigger bedroom. i know i wasn't looking at him; i was too afraid, too timid. i'd been waiting for him to say it, and now we were days away from separate adventures, him to buenos aires, i to dublin, and i worried that if i didn't tell him then, he might never know. that, even if our bond didn't hold across oceans and mountains and months, i would regret that he might never have known. and there, with my head on his chest, he hugged me tight tight tight and said it back. said i love you. and that was even easier than i'd imagined it'd be.

then on the bed in our rental in baltimore, he held me the same way night after night as i sobbed in grief over things that had ended, friendships and eras and versions of myself. that bed where we fought and both thought we might end it, and where we laid together and watched the sun break above the rowhomes and into our windows the next morning . and, in the years after, we spoke across the miles, phones balanced on our respective pillows, i sprawled in my bed in the house i own in tennessee and he perched on his elbows from an apartment in the tender sore that was my home, the place he'd come to for me and the place where i'd left him, also for me.

and now we wake together each morning, in that same bed in tennessee. what was once so difficult is now something like muscle memory; before the cicadas stop singing i roll to the side and kiss the chest of the boy i loved once and the man i love still. in the quiet i singsong to the rousing warmth of him: good morning, i love you, i love you, good morning. he groans and throws an arm over his eyes, but he's smiling already. on my left hand i wear a ring he bought me after my birthday last march, when he pressed his face into the back of my neck from this exact place in bed and whispered, please, would you like to spend the rest of your life with me? i move his arm and trace his dimple with my finger, marveling at the beard he's grown lately and the sparkle of his promise on my finger, throwing rainbows of light into our shadowed corners.

#writing #idk what this is #a prose poem on love?#a rant?#a heart eyes emoji for a man sitting across from me?#of foolish and wise #on love #love tag

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shinaus · 3 years ago

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No, love, you don't need to apologize. I can always find time to talk to you, and nothing will make me think badly of you. So don't worry if sometimes you can't reply to me, just take care of yourself and don't feel obligated to talk when you don't want to or can't. And I'm glad to hear that you're already taking the first steps to feel better. I see you decided to read something today? You've been mentioning wotakoi a lot lately, now I'm curious to know more about it. Have you already chosen which version of volume 5 you want? I'm sure that any of them will be a nice addition to your collection. And I'm feeling a little sleepy again, but I promise I'm taking care of myself and resting enough too. But I won't mind if you come over to see me. Don't be surprised if I give you a hug and we just stay like this for a while before we do anything else. Take care, my butterfly. And have a kiss for being so sweet. I love you 💛 - Tamaki

you know i would love to come over and see you angel, there's no doubt i would feel automatically recharged if i got a few minutes with you. i'm glad to hear that you're feeling good and looking after yourself as well, just make sure you get plenty of rest tonight if you're feeling sleepy!

thank you for being so understanding, like always hehe. today has been a process but things are getting better i think, work went well and hopefully will the rest of the week. i've not decided which cover i want yet, but i have plenty of time to read the rest in the mean time since it comes out at the end of next month! how has your knitting been going, are you almost finished with your scarf? i'd love to hear more about it, and about your plants! sending you kisses right back, a whole million if you'd like them. i love you 🧡

#✉️.mail #💌.tamaki

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timeslostart · 4 years ago

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March 19th 2021

THERAPEUTIC KNITTING - STRESSED NO MORE

It really is a thing...

Being a single mom can be hard at the best of times let alone in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic. Moving back to my hometown (city actually), finding a full-time job after being a stay at home mom for two years, trying to start my own business and dealing with the daily trials and tribulations of having a now four year old little boy is not easy. (read my Halloween post :p )

The one thing that has been helping me get through this very trying time is that I have wonderfully creative and supportive people in my life that constantly push me to continue to be creative myself. I draw a lot of inspiration for my designs from the people I know and the situations that arise in my life. No situation or experience is too tough to get through.

I always try to see the glass half full even though lately it's been getting harder and harder to do so in my personal life and my professional life.

I have been working on this mountain blanket design since last July for a Christmas present (that was the goal anyway as it is March 2021 now) and I've had to start over six times already. I try not to look at this as a failure as I've learned so much trying to attempt this pattern that I created; new stitches and new techniques in order to get the result I desire but it still has been a very long, difficult process. Because of this I thought it might be interesting in this post to talk about how I create my patterns and how many times I do start over in order to get it just right. This is my personal version of knit therapy. Sometimes in order to create you must first destroy! Ripping out my knitting after getting frustrated with it can be truly satisfying at times.

STEP 1 Idea

Now an idea for a new design can literally come from anything or anywhere for that matter. My friend's favourite colour or a conversation I have with my child; even a picture or image I see online or in my travels. For my mountain blanket it all started with a conversation that I had with my coworker. He talked about growing up in Banff, Alberta and how he would go snowboarding in the mountains and bam it hit me, I'd design a pop art inspired piece. That's all it was in the beginning, just two words... mountains and pop art. (well I guess three words but you get the idea)

STEP 2 Design

Designing is always fun for me, I get to let my imagination run wild. For patterns that involve any kind of pictures as part of the design element, like my mountain blanket, I use my Microsoft Excel program and create a chart.

Once that is underway I decide on a size for my pattern and adjust my chart accordingly. This can take a few hours or even a few days to get just right. My blanket was designed specifically to fit a twin bed so it was quite a big undertaking to begin with and having to start it over six times... I'm surprised I haven't ripped all my hair out yet.

STEP 3 Making

Now it's one thing to have an idea and another to have a design but if you can't take your vision and turn it into reality it's back to square one. I have spent the past 8 months trying to make this blanket work. It has a beautiful seed stitch pattern followed by the mountain design and I just can't get my tension on the mountains right. My stitches are either too tight or too loose or my yarn drags too much on the underside of the blanket. It's been such a frustrating project, I've actually shed a few tears over it. That's where Step 4 comes in.

STEP 4 Adapting

Like I said earlier this blanket was meant to be a Christmas present. I should clarify, it was for Christmas 2020. So three weeks before Christmas I had finally had it with my blanket. Enough was enough. I was still only half done and had to rip out the mountain section yet again. Nothing seemed to be going right and it looked like I wasn't going to have a gift to give at our Christmas gathering when I decided that my best course of action was to get back to basics and go back to my roots.

In one of my earlier posts I mentioned that I was a cross-stitcher before I was a knitter. That skill certainly came in handy here. A knitting chart and a cross-stitching chart are very similar so it was quite easy to convert my mountain pattern over to a smaller needle and thread.

Four weeks later I had my design completed as a cross-stitch just in time for our Christmas gathering. (sometimes having a Covid-19 quarantine around the holidays resulting in festivity postponement works in your favour) A good lesson here was not only do you need to know how to adapt but you need to know when to adapt. As an artist and as a person I need to know my limits and when certain skills or certain things are just out of my reach. It doesn't mean that I'm going to give up, it just means that I need more time to acquire what I need in order to succeed. At the end of the day I'm still new to knitting, I've been doing it for less than a decade and I still have so much left to learn. I just need a little bit more time before I can attempt the kind of intricate patterns that I would like to do. Until then it's good to take a break from knitting every once and a while and make sure my embroidery skills stay sharp.

Pop Art Mountain Mash-Up 2.0

Not too shabby!

If you would like to purchase any wooden embroidery hoops or embroidery thread please check us out at

www.timeslostart.com

A smaller cross-stitched version of this mountain pattern will be available for purchase in the summer months.

Gabrielle Vansteelandt

Times Lost Art

#knitblr #knitpatterns #knitters of tumblr #knittingpatterns #tutorial #cross stitch #cross-stitch #timeslostart #popart #pop art #handmade

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codenomesailorv · 5 years ago

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FANFICTION:

"Harry Potter and the DeadlyHallows - Final Chapter"

◇ (This fanfiction is an alternative version of the last chapter of the book "Deadly Hallows", after the last chapter and before the prologe, and It's whitout relationship with "Cursed Child" or the Harry Potter movies).

● Original History by JK Rowling

● Fanfiction by Anikenkai/A. A Otrop

FINAL CHAPTER

The four paintings at Grimmaud Place

The first rays of sunlight passed through the transparent stained-glass windows in the calm morning air, touching Harry's face as the boy shifted on the bed. After a few brief seconds he opened his eyes and felt around on the desk, taking his glasses and putting them weakly on his face, still completely exhausted as if he hadn't slept for a whole month.

He got up slightly from the bed, and still a little dizzy, focused only on a small figure moving around nearby pulling something heavy, shrieking and letting out an exclamation of relief afterwards. Soon, Harry saw who it was.

"What are you doing, Neville?" Harry asked, rising a little further from the bed, watching his friend rummage in his trunk.

"Ah" Neville turned and smiled at him. "Good morning, Harry. Sorry, did I wake you up with the noise? You know my trunk is absurdly heavy, I was barely able to pull him to bed."

The plump boy with scarred face smiled slightly at Harry, feeling his fingers in the huge suitcase he founded on the bed next to him.

"It doesn't even seem like I had the strength just a few days ago to face Death Eaters. Compared to my trunk now, they were very light."

And saying that Neville laughed, and bent down again to open the wooden lid in front of him.

Yes, it was true. For a brief moment, a flash of memories rushed through Harry's mind, recalling everything that had happened in just under two days. The Battle at Hogwarts. The deaths. The meeting with Dumbledore in his head. And Voldemort's defeat at his hands, everything quickly passing by in a glance at his still sleepy eyes. But then he felt suddenly awake, as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water down his spine, and then his body relaxed.

"You can sleep later today. You will not have an exact time for the Expresso departure. He will pick up the remaining students at different times until after lunch." Neville added, tossing a few pieces of clothing in his trunk.

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head and trying to find Ron on the bed next to his, but he didn't find him immediately.

"Ew, Neville... has Ron got up yet?"

"Oh, yes. For the breakfast, I saw him come down the stairs to Hermione when I came up just now. It looks like they were called earlier to speak to McGonagall."

"Right." Harry nodded, trying not to be intrigued by the reason for his friends' haste, and again lay down on the bed, struggling to get the faces out of his head and everything else that had happened so many hours ago.

After several minutes, Neville spoke again.

"Hey, when you get up, could you move the gifts out of the way in the bedroom? You know, I don't know if I'm going to be able to lift my trunk to bed again if I want not to crush one of them, you know."

"Gifts?"

And then Harry stood up again, looking sideways and at the dormitory floor and gaping. Scattered on the floor, and in everything that his field of vision could see next to his bed and beyond Seamus's and Ron's to the walls, boxes and more boxes lay there, some lined up and others in piles, forming piles on one another, with multicolored packages and some with sparkling ribbons, some large and small, huddled up to Harry's knee. The boy got up from the bed, looking around the room, amazement on his face. It was as if he were in the Room of Requirement, among the numerous objects lined up on top of each other.

"They're for you." Neville added, without taking his eyes off what he was doing in his trunk, laughing. "I think the news of what you did with You-Know-Who has already spread everywhere. They brought you these gifts at night. It seems that many people wanted to thank you, you know."

Harry was stunned, looking at each gift spread out in front of him, boxes and more boxes piled up, and finally he stood up, totally amazed. It was as if it were Christmas, but as if all the gifts from each student were crammed there, as if Harry's room and the boys were some kind of storage. He quickly took some packages out of the way and reached for his own trunk, taking his clothes and carefully spreading some on the way to the door so that it would be free.

"Phew, thanks." Neville said getting up and closing his trunk ready. The boy was now wearing his muggle clothes, very dark jeans with a cool multicolored knit shirt and numbers on the back, a sort of Hockey team T-shirt.

Harry turned to the bed and was about to lie down again, when he heard the crash of his friend's trunk again turning to the floor and unable to control the voice that had been stuck in his throat for many days, he turned and said to Neville:

"You deserved those gifts much more than I did, if it weren't for you cutting off that snake's head, I…"

"Harry, stop. I've won too many things from my grandmother and the Gryffindor guys, man. Relax. I don't care about that, and you deserved so much more."

"Neville listen, I …" Harry started as soon as he sat on the bed, staring at his bare feet but it was the colleague who interrupted him before he could even finish the sentence.

"No, Harry. It's all right. You don't have to say anything."

Neville said in one breath and even though she was loud and clear, she sounded gently in the room. Harry looked up to face his friend and just managed to smirk at him.

"I didn't have the opportunity to thank you and the others. For everything."

Harry continued, taking hold of everything that had happened in the last days in his memory, remembering what Neville had done at Hogwarts with his friends while he, Ron and Hermione did while traveling across the continent in search of the Horcruxes. The way Neville had led Dumbledore's Army, how he had brought everyone together in the Room of Requirement and fought alongside him. As he did not even hesitate when the Death Eaters marked his skin with scrapes and bruises, as he did in the first bruise, he carried out Harry's request and without blinking, killed Nagini in front of Voldemort himself.

"Don't worry." Neville stepped forward, approaching Harry and patting his friend on the shoulder, as if they were talking about some Quidditch match, as his voice was as calm as any that Harry had heard a long time ago. "It was all thanks to you. I had faith in you. But now we are talking by owls, ok?"

Harry looked up again and saw Neville's plump hand stretched out in front of him, his palm open and inviting.

"I have to leave, my grandmother is waiting in the common room. Let's take the next train and go home."

"Does that mean ..." Harry was momentarily surprised and Neville nodded.

"Yes Yes. We finish the school year. I'm a graduate of Hogwarts."

And he held out his own hand, shaking his friend's. He wanted to get up and hug him, thank him for his courage and not have doubted him, wanted to hug each one, but Harry still didn't have the strength to do either. Instead he smiled and Neville took it out of his hand, raised his wand, and his trunk began to levitate, heading straight for the slowly opening door.

"See you next time, Harry. I'll wait for your owl, huh!"

"Shure!" And Harry smiled more gratefully and waved his hand, watching Neville walk through the portal and disappear into the stairway to the Gryffindor Common Room.

(...)

Harry didn't know how many hours he had been standing there, inert but already fully dressed, staring at the dormitory ceiling without even moving, the only noise he dared to make was his breathing. He was not hungry, although there were still remnants of a deep sleep that was caused by the hours of confinement in bed weighing his eyes, as if he could not get enough sleep, as if the tiredness did not leave his back, but not any real sleep, forcing him to stand there, disabled and thinking about everything that had happened to him until then. He hadn't seen anyone for three days, not even Teacher McGonagall, not Teacher Flitwick, not Luna, Ginny, Mr. and Mr. Weasley, not even George or Percy or any of his friends.

Harry had locked himself in the dorm hours after he left Headmaster Dumbledore's office, when McGonagall finally released him to rest and heal his wounds, stunned and impressed by everything Harry, Ron and Hermione had told her what they had done, before they returned to Hogwarts. Harry had told her everything, to the teachers and the new Minister of Magic, who met there shortly after Voldemort's inert body had been thrown away from the castle boundaries, when he learned in detail about Dumbledore's plan for the Horcruxes, about the months in the forests, about how he had found Griffindor's sword and how Harry had apparently risen from the dead. The boy told them, but hid about the Deathly Hallows.

He did not want anyone else, other than friends and those who had already talked about objects, to know about them, their existence and formidable powers, and surprisingly no one asked them about it, they only looked at Harry when at last he finished his account of Snape, and his Patron charm - hidden over his mother, leading him towards the Ice Water Pit that kept Griffindor's ruby-studded sword.

"But ... but ..." Professor Slugorn stammered when Harry finally finished, almost immediately and in a shaky voice. "We were sure that Snape definitely turned to the Death Eaters. You, yourself told us how he killed Dumbledore in cold blood with an unforgivable curse, and your term as Headmaster proved it, the terror of the students, the way his followers of You-Know-Who acted freely in the school, and... and…"

"I know," Harry began, still as dirty from head to toe as the others present around the director's table, with blood that had been dry for a long time on his forehead, which at that point was starting to bother him a little. "But I saw it all through Snape's last memories when he handed it to me before he died. When I got back to the castle, I just thought of going back here, right here, and dumping the memory in Pensieve."

And then he lifted the tiny shards from the small bottle that Snape had given him, which had broken from his pocket when he received the Avada Kedavra curse on his body and fell to the floor. The teachers stared at the pieces, as if they couldn't believe it.

"Don't trust me, do you? You can use a tracking spell on the flask to discover its previous content, if you want. If that's still possible…" Added Harry, now a little irritated.

"Amazing. Very amazing!" From above, Flineus Fletcher, the former director of Hogwarts and a proud member of Slytherin shouted from his painting, screamed, looking around and trying to share the astonishment in the eyes of the other directors and directors, who were watching everything very quietly.

"There's no need, Potter." Professor McGonagall replied first, raising a hand to Harry, still very stunned. "We have no reason to doubt you and everything you did today. I'm sure everyone here will agree with me."

And almost immediately the teachers nodded, Flitwick, Sprout, Firenze, the centaur and even Hagrid, and the other teachers and present together with the Minister of Magic. Even Sibila Trewloney was there, curled up in a corner, but she nodded firmly. Finally, everyone looked at each other and McGonagall turned to Shacklebolt.

"Well, that's enough for now. Now, we need to discuss what to do about the School, since it was very destroyed. Prepare funerals and alert family members who have not yet been notified, bring them as soon as possible. Potter, you can go wash up and go to the infirmary with the others." And then the teacher turned again and looked kindly at him. "You, most of all, deserve to rest."

Harry didn't agree with that. It was obvious from his countenance that he felt deeply exhausted and hurt, however, he was not in a position to lie down and sleep for a long time, have his wounds taken care of and close his eyes and pretend that nothing had happened, but he just turned around, looking to friends and simply obeyed.

Before they leave, he can see the teacher looking back, her hair loose and streaked, her clothes sooty and dark blood somewhere on her arm with a completely exhausted expression, sitting with some discomfort in the chair that had once belonged Albus Dumbledore, before the three of them crossed the room. Harry, however, went directly to the Fat Lady painting towards the Gryffindor Common Room, still devastated by the battle, where many students crowded dragging suitcases and hugging friends, but did not see them, since Harry, once again, covered up and Ron and Hermione with the Invisibility Cloak, crouched through and stepping on the rocks and dirt on the floor, crossing smashed busts to the railing of the stairs.

Even with protests from Hermione insisting that Harry go directly to the Infirmary - or even then, the Castle Entrance, where several combatants were still lying on makeshift stretchers and being cared for by healers who had just arrived from St Mungos - Harry ignored her, stating that he didn’t want to be in the middle of everyone and being ovulated or even cursed. She didn't understand his train of thought. In any case, he did not want to receive any kind of treatment different from the others, whether it was pleasant or bad.

"Take the Invisibility Cloak if you want, bring me tomorrow. I will not be leaving the room until everyone, or almost everyone, leaves Hogwarts." Harry had said in a low voice, while Hermione pulled from his beaded purse one of the last healing potion that she still had miraculously, into the boy's hands.

"B-but ... Harry…"

"Leave him, Mione. Harry needs to be alone." Ron said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Harry had replied and even though she was upset, Hermione followed Ron back to the Common Room, while the boy locked himself in the dorm.

Harry then suddenly returned to the present.

He blinked his eyes and realized that he had dozed off again, as his belly finally snored, and looking at the golden watch on his wrist that still worked, it indicated that it was just after two in the afternoon. He once again lifted the body from the bed, feeling his sedentary muscles protest with the sudden act, and tried to see with his crooked glasses the empty, dark and silent room, still crammed with innumerable packages and gifts up to the walls. Don't feeling no one was there. On the other side of the window, he heard the sound of almost nothing at all, just a faint patter of drops hitting his pane. The light rain then cooled the room, making Harry decided to get out of bed for good and then leave the dorm for the first time in almost two weeks since the Battle was over.

(...)

He was now on the edges of one of the parapets on one of the upper floors of the castle, along with Ron and Hermione, the three of them with pale faces and bandages spread across their arms and legs, especially Harry, who had a large bandage on his forehead where there was been hit by the stone debris that fell on him the moment Fred was attacked. Now they sat on the parapet, watching the sky painted orange and gray, shortly after the improvised dinner at the Castle, which Harry had obviously avoided as well as the other meetings with the residents of Hogwarts. So Ron snatched a small basket of caramel pies and breads with fried sausages, and inside was a bottle partially filled with pumpkin juice and brought it to his friend when they found them.

They spent a long time silent, watching the sun go down, while Harry's mind wandered far away, when it was Hermione who finally broke the silence.

"Everyone's been asking about you, you know, Harry. Everyone wants to hug you, thank you, kiss you, shake your hand and everything. They want to talk to you, but as they have avoided leaving the dormitory, I feel an air of disappointment in the air." She said, giving a light chuckle at the end of the sentence. "I don't think they would ever understand, you know."

"Uh, I understand." Ron replied, making a face as he turned to Hermione on Harry's other side. "Like, come on. Even I would like to thank Harry, but the air is very heavy. I hope they all leave soon, then we can also take the train back home in peace."

"So, have all the students left Hogwarts yet?" Harry asked his friend, a little exasperated.

"Almost all." Hermione who answered. "I was still left, Ron, Luna, some students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and a few wounded from the battle, too hurt to stupor to St Mungos, but I think they all fit in the Hospital Wing and released the Hall. he ordered Goblins and some building wizards to come until the day after tomorrow to begin repairs on the Castle. I think practically, everyone in Gryffindor has already left."

Hermione turned her head to the side and looked at the large missing piece of wall that followed the castle to the towers on the west side, where its parts lay inert, destroyed on the charred grass of the countryside around below, even towards of the lake.

"Looks like they're going to have a long job, poor people." Ron sighed deeply as he poured a glass of pumpkin juice into his mouth next.

"Yeah. I only hope they finish by the beginning of the school year. I don't want to go back with everything still destroyed, you know. It would make me sad just to think."

Harry knew why Hermione talked about returning to the castle, of course. Since the three of them had missed almost the entire school year while looking for the Horcruxes, there was still a year to complete their education at Hogwarts, and of course, if they wanted to continue looking for a job in the wizarding world, they needed to complete the last exams, just like the others. That remained. Harry hadn't thought about going back to school, hadn't even thought about leaving, yet he had a glimpse of a certain plan that would make it now that it was over and Voldemort wouldn't bother him again, now that he was free of his own destiny for the first time. Time since he was born. But for that, of course, they had to finish their studies. They could not go back to attending classes normally, they were too old, so learned that Hermione had asked Professor McGonagall, the next day that Harry had locked himself in the dormitory, to do some supplementary type to make up for the countless missed classes - and that, of course at the teacher's own suggestion, they enrolled to perform. So they would only have to return for a few days, take some tests of school summaries and finally Harry, Ron and Hermione would graduate and leave Hogwarts for good.

He then found himself thinking about Fred, George and others Ron's brother, and all the Weasleys and especially - as many, many times - about Ginny, and the funeral that followed the day after the Battle, when those left behind prepared the seats ideals and preparations to bury all who had died on the castle grounds. Many had died. Bellatrix Lestrange, the other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself had been huddled together in a mass grave deep in the Forbidden Forest, burned and then buried, as they deserved to be.

They should not be buried with honors, or tears or even a tombstone, because not one cried forthey. He remembered Ron knocking frantically on the bedroom door that afternoon, Harry hadn't wanted to get up since breakfast to watch the Heroes' Funeral, and everyone wondered where Harry Potter was. Why was he not there to pay his respects to those who had sacrificed for him? Why didn't you have the courage to look the family in the eye without being able to apologize for taking their lives? Harry's only thought of consolation was that they would have fought anyway, even if he hadn't been the cause, to defend the wizarding world had it been at the hands of the Death Eaters or anyone who hurt more innocents.

Ron was gone from the other side of the door after he shouted his name, and called for many minutes, but Harry remained in bed, silent, on his side and hiding his face from anyone who managed to open the lock and see him there, huddled and weeping for those he loved and had lost. Again he remembered that he was about to leave Hogwarts forever, to leave that place destroyed, but still in his heart, his eternal home. He chased away his thoughts and tried to change the subject.

"I forgot to ask Neville, you know. Before I left this morning." Harry said, watching now the last copper-colored sun rays lying down at the sunset and shy stars shine in the distance of the deep and increasingly dark sky. "Asking how he got the Griphook Griffindor's sword, since he stole it from us while we were at Gringotts.

"Ah," Hermione exclaimed and swung her legs over the balcony railing, still a little distracted by the sight of the wreckage beneath the three. "He told me, you know. When we went to the St Mungus. Neville said he took the sword when it appeared to him, it appears that it disappeared when Griphook was killed. He just didn't want to tell me where and when, he looked mysterious." And then Hermione turned to pour another glass of pumpkin juice and brought it to her lips.

"Well, Harry, you've been thinking about Ted, right? I mean…" And she turned to look Harry in the eye. "You have responsibilities for him, now that Professor Lupine and Tonks... well... you know."

Ron stared at the two of them with a half-rigid face, frightened by Hermione's unexpected change of subject, and turned his eyes to his own drink, muttering something inaudible. The sky was now dyed an indigo blue as it was covered with sparkling dots, and that sight distracted the boy for a millisecond before leaping back to the ground, leaving the parapet and picking up the food basket. Harry hadn't thought about Ted until then. His head was so full of thoughts and obsessions, afraid of what would come next, of what he would become when he graduated, of how he would live, in the guilt of the deaths he could have avoided that he had not even thought of Ted Lupine, son of Nymphadora Tonks and her father's old friend, and former professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus Lupin.

He was now the godfather of the baby they both left to save Harry, and then a new wave of guilt and pain washed over his head, piling up another stone on top of the others he felt carrying heavily on his back.

A horrible thought came to light. Ted had lost his parents to save Harry, leaving him with less than a year to live, just like himself. What if the little boy had to take shelter with distant relatives, with Muggles, who hated and mistreated him as the Dursleys did for so many years? No, he couldn't think of that. Harry shook his head when he stood up and felt that he was tightening the handle on the basket too hard. At least Ted was left with his grandmother, Andromeda - a wizard - who would certainly give all the necessary love and care that Ted deserved. And when, if he wanted to, and so he could, when he reached the age of attending Hogwarts, he would offer him the same house that now belonged to Harry, the same that his own godfather also offered him to live in, the same place that Sirius wished he had gone.

"Of course I will take care of him, I will be close to him. If he wants." Harry replied to his friend, after long seconds that seemed like an eternity of reflection. "I can't take the place of his parents, but... nor Sirius wanted him when mine died, but I can try to be a good godfather. I hope so."

"Brillant." Hermione stepped forward, to the two friends. "I guess I decided what I'm going to do when we officially graduate from Hogwarts. I mean, in future plans, you know."

Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise, as it seemed like centuries that they heard their friend say something like that, in the moments when they asked them what they would do with the notes O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts. At that time, Harry had said that he really wanted to be an Auror, but then at that moment, he wasn't so sure anymore. Harry’s entire focus in recent years was just the Dark Lord and Prophecy, who had barely thought about the possibility of it all ending so soon - and with his whole body to seriously think about what profession he would pursue.

"In what?" Ron's voice echoed to the side, with a somewhat mocking tone and Hermione frowned at him, annoyed. She ran her hands through her thick hair and replied:

"Well, I was thinking... to join the Ministry of Magic for some position, or…"

She paused and took a breath. Again he continued: "Proceed with what Bathilda Bagshot worked on. I mean, continue with the book A History of Magic from the point that it ended. Writing, you know. Write about... about everything that happened to us. About Voldemort. About Harry."

Then there followed a few minimal seconds of silence, and Ron with Harry who had turned to his friend and stared at them completely surprised. That was certainly new, since they had no idea that Hermione might have shown any interest in pursuing a writing career. Harry - more than anyone, even Ron - believed faithfully that the friend with all that intelligence, would try to go as far as possible, as Dumbledore had done as a young, and had already caught himself once or twice imagining Hermione arriving at Minister of Magic a few years later. But, he also knew more than anyone, that all those experiences had abruptly sealed their reality with what they dreamed of being, and that would really hinder how they saw each other when it was over, and everything was fine. But even so, he felt a wave of disappointment and embarrassment go through his body to the back of his neck. She didn't understand how her friend had arrived at that decision.

"Don't look at me like that." She said, looking at the two a little angry, as she clearly expected another reaction from both. "I believe I'm doing it right thing. I believe that people should know the truth, know what happened. Knowing what has been done so that Evil doesn't affect the wizarding world again than pretending that nothing has happened, and helping who knows in the near future, some Hogwarts students to defend themselves better, knowing the story, don't you agree?"

"Bloody Hell, Mione." Ron snorted, rolling his eyes up. "It sounds like Rita Skeeter talking, huh? After all that she did with Harry and Professor Dumbledore's phony biography, and even more what she did to you, I thought you were the last person to want to pursue a career in something like that."

Ron had said the wrong thing, it was evident from the scary face that Hermione threw at her friend, as if she was going to stun him right there on the parapet, without any pity. Harry exclaimed but she was quicker to respond.

"That's not it." Hermione hissed at Ron. "I don't want to do anything, absolutely nothing, like that little Skeeter bug. Do not."

"Then…?"

"Something totally different from her, Ron!" Hermione roared. "Rita Skeeter is a troll on a woman's body, she wanted to gossip, spread lies, everything to sell and guarantee more galleons. Of course, as much as it pains me to say, she got some points in her research right, but the way she did it is purely disgusting to me. Not! Me," And then he pointed at himself, with an air of satisfaction in his voice now. "I want to correct the lies that that toad made. I want to write about the history of the wizarding world since the beginning of the 20th century, how Hogwarts grew up, how Voldemo…"

Ron cringed when she spoke the name of the Dark Lord.

"Oh, no Ron! He's gone, you don't have to be afraid of his name anymore. How Tom Riddle's Voldemort achieved so many atrocities, how Dumbledore formed the Order of the Phoenix, and how Harry and we found the Deathly Hallows and the Horcruxes. You know, I really think that everyone needs to know, keep all this and keep it from happening a second time."

"What? Second time? Write about the Death Hollows and the Horcruxes? You are crazy!? This is quite the opposite of what we want. I mean, if people know about them… bloody hell, we work so hard to avoid talking about it with the teachers as Dumbledore ordered, and you want…"

"No, Ron. I don't want to teach you how to make Horcruxes or where the Death Hallows were, don't you both understand?" Hermione waved her hand, somewhat patiently. "I don't want to explain how to get them, but how and for what they existed. I think that all students should have the right to remedy their curiosity about what we did during the months of escape, how Harry managed to come back to life, like... well, you know."

And then she looked over his shoulder and saw Harry standing there looking at her still.

"Of course, I'm just telling you a plan. I won't do anything if you don't agree, of course. I haven't even started anything."

Harry knew what she meant when she said that wish. He knew that Tom Riddle had used extraordinary and cruel methods due to the lack of descriptions of the Horcruxes and had just been defeated for not knowing all the Death Hallows, which would benefit them in a point of view if someone al intentionally tried to follow the same paths as Voldemort in the future, the lack of responsible books on how to overcome the limits of Death. But he understood what Hermione meant.

In a few years, everyone could forget what they had actually done, the hardships and trials they had spent in the forests camping, looking for and looking for invisible information for the next step in a larger plan, but without success. She remembered the frustrations she had with her friend, the fights with Ron, all because she didn't know where to go, how to do, what to do, while friends suffered. Not to mention that, he was already very famous and now after that battle, he could put more eyes on his scar and he would return to being a point of rumors and other lying things when curiosity for the lack of information started. Hermione didn't want to reveal Dumbledore's secrets, but to tell how they got there. As everything had actually walked, and reaching that conclusion, he put the basket on the floor and put a hand on Hermione's back, who was surprised by Harry's sudden unexpected hug from behind, and released her quickly.

"Well, I think the idea is good. But I don't know if the Ministry of Magic would like us to make our point of view so accessible as well. Isn't it, Ron?"

Ron just snorted again and put his chin in his hands, staring at the sky as if nothing else was interesting. And after a few moments, he asked:

"So, do you have a plan of what you're going to do when you leave Hogwarts, man?"

He asked now, and Hermione still sitting on the parapet but facing Harry, both expressions of curiosity. Harry hadn't even talked to his friends much about what he was going to do next, about his ultimate goal, about what Harry Potter intended to do now that he finally and definitely defeated Lord Voldermort. And, catching himself rambling with those very words that came from himself, Harry smiled and looked at his friends.

He wanted to have that image engraved in his memory, the three of them there in a corner of the castle, away from everyone, making small talk and eating treats, barely knowing that all that precious and carefree moment would be over soon.

(...)

Harry, Ron and Hermione and Luna were accommodated on the train back to Hogsmeade station, the Hogwarts Express had left a few hours ago. The boys were housed in the usual cabin at the end of the train, which was actually practically empty, taking them and just a few other students who were still unable to apparate, injured, and had not yet returned, plus some representatives of the Ministry of Magic who for some reason, they were also there.

Harry thought they were on the train to watch him, and drawing that conclusion, he spent the journey watching the landscape of trees penetrating, blurring at high speed through the window. Hermione was reading one of the newspapers, editions of the Daily Prophet that were huddled together and tied in a single string on her lap. Ron now nibbled a carefree chocolate frog, and Luna was staring at the window with Harry.

They stayed that way since they went up in a long silence, after all it was the first and one of the last two times that they would leave school, and it was only a fact that the four - since Luna had been kidnapped to the Malfoys' house - should return to provide the services. supplementary courses, and definitely graduate in a few months. Harry thought again about the Weasley family, and if somehow if George and Ginny would be angry with him for missing Fred's funeral, if they felt his weakness for the next few days - not that Ron had shown it or quoted those brothers' feelings, but the stones of the subconscious weight of guilt weighed him down as much as before they came back and faced Voldemort. What should have relieved him, now weighed him down even more in his heart.

Almost suddenly, he saw the smudges pass by the window and remembered what Dumbledore had said to him in the vision of after he died, talked to him in that form at Kingscross Station: "Don't pity the dead, Harry, have pity for the living, and above all those who live without love ”. It was clear that those who had died died with love, fighting for love, for what they believed, and, holding on to it, Harry let out a heavy sigh that the whole cabin heard.

"What did McGonagall want to talk to you about when we got back to the Common Room, Harry?" Hermione's voice called out to him, and Harry had been pulled from his brief detours into reality.

"Heh? Oh. She wanted to ask me a few more questions and handed me a letter, and went back to the principal's office. Only that." And he pulled from one of the sleeves of his indigo wool coat and showed a small brown envelope with the typical red wax seal with the Hogwarts symbol on his tongue. "This one here."

"Gee, haven't you opened it yet?" Ron asked now, looking at the letter. "And if it was an important thing who needed to answer soon?"

"Ah, don't be so silly." Harry smiled, analyzing the letter for a few more seconds and putting it away again, turning back to the window. "Professor McGonagall told me to open it when I got home and reflect on the content and that I could answer it later, don't you remember what I said?"

"No. I was too worried about the train leaving and packing my trunk than knowing every detail." Ron snorted and Hermione shot him an ugly look. "She's been staying in Dumbledore's office a lot since the Battle, isn't she? When did we see it right since everything happened?"

"Principal, Ron." Hermione said. "It's Principal McGonagall, now. She was Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts, they forgot. It is obvious that she was elected the new Director of Hogwart."

And then she folded a piece of the thick volume from the previous week of the Daily Prophet in her lap, showing the moving photograph of the newest nominated Headmistress.

"If I were you, Harry." Hermione added. "I would read the letter as soon as possible, see?"

"Right." He replied the friend, now with a certain involuntary coldness in his voice, as he had no desire to discuss anything at that moment, not even by a simple letter.

"I thought the Ministry of Magic would try to put someone in their position after Snape... well, you know... "And Ron glanced at Harry and went back to Hermione and Luna. "I mean ... I'm glad the Ministry made a deal, right. For once."

"Yeah." Hermione agreed, folding the newspaper and lifting the batteries and laying them on the floor, yawning. "I want to go back soon, I have to say hello to everyone and Apparate to Australia. Review my parents, explain what happened. You know."

(To be continue next Post...)

#harrypotter #Harry Potter #harry potter and ginny weasley #harry potter and hermione granger #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #harry potter and the deathly hallows #harry potter and the sorcerer's stone #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fan theory

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honeybeesintheimpala · 5 years ago

Text

Title: An Angel's Lullaby

Pairing: DeanCas, Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Words: 93,662

Status: Complete

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984306/chapters/18268822

Chapter One - The Man with the Ocean Eyes

"Excuse me," a gravelly voice suddenly fills the room and Dean's pen nearly goes flying, heart pumping. It's been at least two days since anyone's even walked through those doors and being alone with his thoughts isn't exactly a new thing but for that long, it gets to be a surprise when someone says something. He keeps it under control though, doesn't look up except a quick glance at a nice pair of khakis and a deep purple jumper.

He goes back to scribbling on the piece of paper where he's supposed to be filling out a request for another truck to come and take away a few boxes of older books, bring them to a charity or a foster house somewhere.

"What can I help you with," he says, surprised that his own voice is bored considering his heart is pounding out a Jamaican beat and he's pretty sure he almost pissed his pants.

"I was just wondering if there are any books that you might recommend? I'm in the mood for reading, but not really sure what to look for," the man speaks at a low volume, as if there's anyone here to be disturbed.

Dean's intrigue is piqued though, so he pauses his doodles, knits his eyebrows together and looks up.

His eyes trace up the outline of his jumper, which wraps nicely around a narrow waist and a great chest, then leads into a white collared shirt, tan neck, a scruffy jaw that can't decide between chiseled and soft, some full lips that look like they might be chapped bit also look incredibly kissable, a straight-edge nose, and finally, two unfathomable blue eyes, shining bright as the Caribbean ocean that Dean is entirely too sure they are made of. His hair is a messy looking, bed-head-esque mop of dark chocolate brown and he smiles down at Dean as if he isn't the most attractive person Dean's ever encountered.

He's actually blown away by the fact that this man is inside a nearly failing library right now instead of out modeling a white pinstripe suit and blue tie from Men's Warehouse somewhere.

This time, Dean thinks he may actually piss his pants, but he refrains from any sort of urination onto cloth, as a mind-blowingly handsome man with some captivating blue eyes that seem to have stolen the sea is standing in front of his desk, asking about books.

He also refrains from exhibiting all of these passing thoughts on his face, because it feels like it's been a few minutes since he asked the question and the guy's probably starting to think Dean's some weirdo who can't speak under pressure.

"Library's a dying business, sir," he sits back in his chair and sets the pen down slowly. "Yeah, all the kids got their...electronic readers and...there are bookstores that sell books. Never out of stock of a specific book. Sometimes we get that; not having a specific book because all the copies got checked out...or we used to have that..."

The man stares down at him with such focus and intent, nodding along and knitting his brows together. Who is this guy?

"Nah, I mean, it's amazing that...someone wants a book so badly and loves it so much that they gotta buy it and have it forever," Dean continues, then leans forward again, grabbing a book to his left and wiggling it in the air. "Not so awesome for the library."

"That's so...intriguing...that you respect those other industries so much..." He replies, squinting, head tilting in a puppy dog manner.

Dean chuckles, setting the book down. Stares at the black cover as his smile slowly fades.

"Not much else I can do," he shrugs, shuffling through several books to find the one with the light yellow-beige cover, red outline and text reading Oliver Twist glaring up at him, and a small, square, painted picture of a boy in a hat playing at the edge of a wood sitting just above the title. "Once these places shut down, I'll inevitably drift into a bookstore, sign up to be a clerk or a stocker. 'Cause I mean," he flips the book over and opens the back page. Pulls out the name card from the pocket glued to the inside of the cover and examines it. "Yeah, a book ain't been checked out from here in three months."

He laughs and throws the book to his right, watches it skid across the table and come to a stop beside the red canvas hardcover with shiny blue letters indenting the words Of Mice and Men.

"Wow...so...I mean, how do you guys stay in business?" The guy is leaning ever forward, hands gripping the edge of the desk and arms stick straight as he balances himself over the books.

Dean smirks up at him.

"Ah," he scrubs at the back of his neck, cheeks hot, and looks away into the corner of the main entrance. "Well, charities? Mostly...and, uh, you know, school fundraisers, donations from the coffee shop down the street." He squints up at the giant skylight making up about ninety percent of the roof, thinking. "Oh, uh...this one guy. Some sorta bookwrite. Author of...damn, what are those things called...gaaahh...oh! An Angel's Lullaby!" Recognition passes over the man's face in clear abundance. "Guy's name, I'm still drawin' a blank on--"

"Chuck Shurley," the guy cuts him off but Dean is impressed. It's such an obscure book but he obviously knows it well.

"Yeah!" He points at the guy. "Yeah, yeah. You know him? I mean, his work?"

"Yeah...too well...why?"

"Ah, no...I'm just...just surprised, you know? Not a real popular selection," Dean thinks for a moment and it falls silent once more. Then: "You met him? He did a book signing here once. Not many people came, but..."

"Oh, yeah I've met him..." He doesn't elaborate, but Dean suspects it's because he just explained it for the guy, and it seems like it's making him a little uncomfortable anyway.

"Uh," he looks for something that might change the subject. "Well, to answer your first question..." He opens his mouth to continue but ends up chuckling and shaking his head. "Look, man, there's just too many books and not enough time. I've been coming to this library my entire life, probably read every single book by now. I mean, I can point you to some of my favourites, I guess, but really the only one off the top of my head and without me getting up is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Are you religious?" He asks suddenly and Dean's bewildered by the inquiry until he realises how obsessed he must seem with the book.

"Oh..." He breathes out a laugh. "Nah, that's...I'm an atheist, actually. I'm just...really into angels. Religions and...gods and deities are my thing. To be honest, I could probably list thirty Christian angels off the top of my head."

"Really," he seems impressed and Dean blushes harder. "How about...the three main archangels and...the Angel of Thursday."

Specific...and strange. But okay, he'll play along. For the sake of flirting.

"Okay...well there's Michael, the eldest son of God who was set to the task of casting Lucifer, second oldest, into hell because he claimed he could not love humanity as he loved his father. Gabriel, protector of humanity, present at the birth of Jesus Christ and the deliverer of the Holy news. And then...actually, my favourite, if I'm honest-" he looks up and watches the man's lips part, a blush crawling up his neck too, and he briefly wonders why, "-Castiel. Angel of Thursday, keeper of prayers said on that day." He smirks for a second before adding, "Always heard he was a real looker."

The man seems flustered, tugging at his jumper, pulling the v-neck away from his chest and adjusting his collar.

"Me too," he chokes out and Dean thinks it's entirely unfair how cute this man looks with a scarlet flush painting his cheeks and his hands not able to find a resting placing.

"I..." Dean starts, gazing down at his hand fiddling with the edge of a hardcover, nail scraping against the canvas. "I think I remember a few more books. Not real sure what you would like, but, uh..." He tears a corner off of the paper he was drawing on and scribbles down the titles and respective authors, then continues as he hands the list to the man. "Most of 'em are...classics...Little Women, Gone With the Wind, A Wrinkle in Time, Wuthering Heights...the original and best...version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

The man smiles down at the list and then down at Dean, and Dean's heart leaps into his throat.

"Thank you," he says quietly and Dean's eyes flit down, small smile of modest pride lifting his lips.

"Don't mention it," he whispers back, gaze meeting the man's once more. Then he leans forward and takes up the pen again, waggling it between two fingers. He leans on his bent arm and says, "So, you plannin' on checkin' anything out today, sir?"

And, without blinking or missing a beat, the man replies with the most unexpected answer, letting the words drip from his lips like fuckin' honey when he replies, "Just you."

Dean is astonished at this guy's guts, but a brazen vocabulary and a cocky attitude is exactly the kind of thing that gets him going.

He opens his mouth in a shocked kind of smile, and shakes his head as if he's offended at the nerve of those words.

"I...don't even know your name," Dean says slowly, eyes twitching from the man's leg to his chest to his mouth to his eyes. When they meet, the man tilts his head with another squint, this one more challenging than curious. Amazing how he can squint in the same manner with just the slightest differences and change the entire composure of the movement.

But Dean doesn't let himself get too distracted by this ability, and soon encounters a moment of realisation.

The blushing, fidgeting, stumbling words when he talked about Castiel...

"Your name is Castiel," he whispers, astounded. "And you have three brothers." Then more realisation. "And you haven't met Chuck Shurley, you used to live with him."

Castiel pushes his lips out and looks down, scratches through the stubble on the edge of his jaw, nods.

"And I assume," Castiel says, squinting at the wooden triangle at the corner of Dean's desk and smiling, then continuing, "your name is Dean Winchester and you work as a librarian."

"Hey, I am not...a librarian," he protests playfully, grin growing on his teeth. "I am...a book obsessed...checker...outer."

Castiel laughs and Dean gives him a look for a moment before bursting out into his own fit of laughter at how utterly ridiculous that title sounds.

"I'm guessing that sounded better in your head?"

"It did," Dean nods and chucks the pen at one of the books, sitting back in his chair again and kicking his legs up onto his desk. He cranes his neck and reaches behind him, grips the back of another rolling chair, and rolls it over so it's facing him. Pats the seat and jerks his head. "Come on around." Castiel looks uncertain, sliding the torn paper into his pocket and pursing his lips, slight squint of his eyes. Dean chuckles. "Come on. I don't bite."

"Isn't that against the rules or something?" Castiel asks as he makes his way around the right side of the desk and through the opening in the side, in spite of his words.

"'Eah, mostly," Dean shrugs and pushes his lips out, then smiles. "But no one else is around, don't have any cameras, and-" he holds out a hand, "-I'm a rebel."

Castiel laughs wholeheartedly at this, grin huge and gummy - the most enchanting thing Dean's ever seen - and his head tilted back, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Dean notices a slight dimple in his left cheek and stores that information in the back of his mind for later, when he's having a rough day.

"What," he says, though he knows Castiel is laughing at his insanely stupid joking around.

"Nothing, you're just...really...interesting--"

"Interesting meaning...lame?" He squints and adds, "Dumbass, weirdo, bad amusement--"

"Hey, I genuinely laughed at that," Castiel points a finger at him, not hiding his grin.

Dean shakes his head, looks away, licks his lips. Things settle for a moment.

Dean plays with the hem of his black t-shirt, scratches his nails over the faded denim of his jeans, examines the familiar dark splotch of oil on the knee. He would dress nicer for work, but the last time anyone even walked through the doors was 48 hours ago, and he wasn't expecting any company today, either.

"Can't believe I'm flirting with the son of my favourite author," he mutters, reaching back over the back of his chair to snatch up another pen.

Castiel scoffs playfully, and Dean catches the smirk on his face when he turns back around.

"You call that flirting," Castiel quips, unbuttoning the wrists if his collared shirt and rolling the sleeves of both the shirt and jumper up.

Dean lets his brows drop and pushes his lips out in confusion. "Well...yeah..." Dean watches Castiel stifle a smile and glance down and away. "Why, what do you call it."

Castiel peeks up through mischievous, dark lashes and swimming eyes, lips parting in a secretive smirk.

"Honestly?" He starts, shifting in his seat and sitting back, settling his hands together in his lap. "A sad but sweet attempt to impress me."

"Oh, is that so?"

Castiel nods, grin growing across his cheeks.

"And what would you consider flirting, mr. big-shot-I-know-exactly-how-to-woo-the-ladies?"

"Well, first of all," Castiel leans forward, rests an elbow against his knee, uses the armrest to balance himself, and points at Dean with raised brows, as if he's about to teach a lesson. "Sir. There's a difference between being laid back and being downright cocky. And you-" the corner of his lips twitches up very briefly, and his cyan blue eyes turn dark "-are neither."

"So what, exactly," Dean whispers, fingers a bit too loosely woven around the pen, teeth digging into his lip. "Do you propose I do about it?"

Castiel's gummy smile is printed into his teeth again and he shrugs a shoulder, bringing his lips down in an impressed bow.

"Well, that's the first step. Ask what you are instead of asking what to change. When you know, even if it's not true, even if it's only what another person sees, you can accept it."

Dean squints, leaning further back into his chair, pressing his index finger into the ballpoint, black ink tip of the pen and the other to the textured top of the cap wrapped around the end, pushing his tongue into his cheek and pursing his lips.

"Alright, fine. What am I?" Dean imposes, then grips the tip of the pen between his thumb and finger and adds, "To you. Smartass."

This earns him a short chuckle and an approving nod.

"Well...I think...you're reserved. You act like you're king shit and like you know exactly who you are, like you don't give two flying fucks about where you're headed in life, or maybe like you've already accepted it. You act comfortable with yourself, but what nerd is ever actually satisfied with their existence?" He's leaning ever-forward and Dean's cocksure smile is ever-fading, eyes becoming wide with marvel as the man-who-knows-too-much continues. "I think you're unsure. You're scared and you...you hide things that you think no one cares about. You're upset and self-deprecating. Eyes of a guilty conscience."

Dean drops his gaze, first to the floor, then to the pen, still grasped tightly by his fingers which have fallen into his lap and which fiddle vapidly with the object, nail scraping at the black polycarbonate and over the white indents that spell out the company name.

"But," Castiel starts up again, voice soft and lilting. Dean swallows hard. "I think you have a lot to give. I think you have...maybe too much to give. Too much forgiveness, too much love, too much doubt, too much strength and care. I think you are the embodiment of generosity, but you don't take what you really need in return. And I think that can get dangerous, but I also think that nothing is ever really too much." Dean's eyes flit back up in time to catch Castiel's angling downward, past Dean's chair, through the desk, through the floor, staring wistfully at something intangible. "People are greedy. And you're too willing to give."

Dean searches the man's face for any sign that this is all some sort of joke, that he's being filmed or some shit, but all he finds is truth and wisdom and knowledge, and possibly a glimmer, just a glimpse in those blue eyes, of a bittersweet past, an origin for where these words came from.

"I was right!" He exclaims as he sits back in the chair, shoulders trembling with a silent laugh. "You like to cover up your pain with gay jokes and stupid references."

"Now, that, I can't deny," Dean nods and everything falls silent. He rocks his chair gently, side to side, left to right, fingers still fidgeting with the tips of the pen, his head tilted in thought. Castiel's mouth is pulled up into a ginger smile, his eyes faraway and swimming in themselves, in the past, in glistening memories and soft-edged, slow-motion, sunny-fielded dreams. "What about you?" He asks suddenly, voice crackling and ripping through the still air as a quiet question. Castiel eyes don't move but his smile grows slightly. "I mean...what do you think of yourself."

"Not much," he replies, head lolling to the side and back, eyes catching on the impotent, pathetic little piles of books scattered about Dean's desk. "I like books. Reading. Writing. Time-consuming, arbitrary activities which include my eyes scanning words on a piece of pressed wood?" He furrows his brows and Dean throws his head back in a genuine, full laughter that he hasn't experienced in a long time.

"I can tell you write. What do you write about? Like, schmoopy romance novels? Sci-fi thrillers? Action adventure futurism?"

"And I can tell you do a lot of librarian...ing..." Castiel squints and presses his lips together in the contrite afterthought but continues, nevertheless. "I write what my dad would call 'a bunch of gay shit'." Dean cocks a brow. "Get your head out of the gutter, it's not as sexy as it sounds. For the most part. Bottom line, I'm gay, I hang out with gay people, and I wanted to dedicate my life to writing about it, about that experience. But my dad has never approved much."

"You don't say."

"Yeah...he's...more into theology. I think the one book he's ever written that really ventures into the realm of fiction, or at least dips it's toes past the line, is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Which parts are real?" Dean scratches the pen across the bumpy plastic chair arm and watches the black ink run in splotches over the grey of the polyvinyl.

"Our names, obviously," Castiel shifts again, bringing his leg down from across his knee and kicking off from the floor so he spins in a circle. Dean watches with a strangely adoring smile. "It's funny that that's the part most people think is fiction. But, no. Mom was a Jesus nut and Dad is too passive to care, so we ended up with angelic names and weird looks from sane people. The only parts that aren't completely true are the things like our address, the colours they painted our rooms, some of the dialogue that he added or got rid of in order to make the conversations more interesting or sensible - you know, just these really inane things..."

He trails off and he's staring at Dean with expectant brows, and Dean realises he's staring too, realises Castiel probably stopped because it's weird how attentive he is.

"Sorry. You're fun to listen to."

Castiel's cheeks paint themselves a thick fuchsia and his eyes drop to his empty palms resting uselessly in his lap, the lines becoming suddenly very interesting. Then they catch on his watch and widen and his head whips up.

"Well, if I'm so interesting to listen to," he leans forward, snatches the pen from Dean's hand, then takes the other hand and begins a careful scrawl across the back of it as he continues, "why don't you call me. And we can figure out a time to meet at the-" he recaps the pen and gently replaces it in Dean's hand "-coffee place down the street. But, right now, I have to go. College...and shit. Studying for a major in English takes a lot of time away from socialising."

"Sorry to keep you, I didn't--"

"No no no! It was..." His blush deepens and he stands, head down. "It was incredible to meet you. I really hope I can see you again."

"O-Of course," Dean's voice comes out stammered and soft, crackling with hope and fear and adoration, and Castiel smiles broadly.

"Great," he whispers back, then he's rushing around the side of the desk and out the front door and Dean is left to wonder if the entire exchange was even real or if his lonely, empty mind is just playing games.

When he looks at the neat, black little numbers on his hand, he realises just how real right now is.

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