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tobealostwanderer · 4 years ago

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Greytone

Maybe one day you will finally leave this planet and meet the person you are destined with, or they find you first.

Din xGN!Reader

Soulmate AU (I have been obsessed since I saw a few videos about it on TikTok and decided to give my own twist on it)

Cw: Brief talk of death/murder, weapons

The Razor Crest lowered into the atmosphere of a woodlands planet. It didn't have a known name. There were native people on this planet, Din had found out, but their technology was underdevoloped and being a planet at the uttermost edge of the Outer Rim made it so that barerly any people came here. Not enough to help devolop it at least.

His bounty had fled to here as far as he knew. It was a smart move. He hoped that his fuel tanks would hold enough fuel for the way back. He will have to turn off the ac and power when he lands, to perserve it.

A patch of grass showed on his GPS and it seemed big enough for the Crest to land so he put the autopilot to land there, helping the ancient ship every now and then until the landing gears groaned with the weight of the ship and everything came to a halt.

Grogu was asleep in his pod so he locked him in the tiny room with his cot so he wouldn't wreck the ship. Checking over the security one more time, Din made his way down the ramp and locked up the ship. He took out the tracking fob, turned on the build in tracker in his helmet and set off.

You were washing your clothes as one of the scouts ran into the village's common place and started to make a ruckus. People started gathering around him, with the Chief joining in. You were curious as well and decided to abandon your laundry and see what is going on.

The world had been in greytones for as long as you can remember. Your people have a genetic malfunction which made it impossible to see color- until you found what the Elders called a "Soulmate". Not a lot of people have a soulmate, but the ones that do speak of the most beautiful colors. The sky blue, the grass green, flowers having all kinds of color.

"Spotted a ship, Chief. Landed 100 meters away in the big clearing. Think he is going after that shooter?" Yori, the scout, said. Someone had arrived on Temork a few days ago, found your village and raided it. A few people were shot, Meva's husband died in the fray but the intruder left as soon as she started to wail about her shot husband. She was now but a shell of herself.

"We can ask the captain. Take my son with you and be careful. We don't know if this person is the same as Gurric's killer" the Chief responded. His son, a young lad called Qwil, looked at his father with determination and followed Yori out of the village. He had his spear with him but you knew that if this person had weapons like the intruder had, it wouldn't help much.

People already started to gossip, dispersing and talking with friends. Meva approaches you. "What do you think?" She asks, her voice hoarse. Her eyes were red and swollen and it made you sad as well. Giving her a tiny smile, you guided her to the river with your abandoned laundry. "I just hope this one will protect us.. How are you doing now, Mev?" You asked softly as she helped you wash.

And so you two made small talk under the work. After she helped you hang up the laundry, you invited her to dinner. The two of you knew eachother from birth, your parents were neighbors so you grew up in eachother's houses and were inseparable. Now you were older, she already had two children and was now a widow whilst you never really liked anyone in the village. Truely, you hoped for your soulmate to pick you up and whisk you away from your planet. Ever since you heard about space travel and the Galaxy, you wanted nothing less.

A crunch was heard up the road. Din carefully took his Amban rifle in his hands, slowly raising it. The fob on his side didn't increase it's beeping, so the bounty isn't close. Doesn't mean that there aren't dangerous creatures around, he thought.

Two figures stepped onto the road, their hands raised. Both had a spear on their backs and hatches on their hips. They looked human and were absolutely no danger to him.

His sensors didn't pick up any other creatures in the area so Din lowered his rifle and put it back on his back. He stood, silent, making himself look big and imposing, waiting for the two to make a move.

"We are sorry to intercept you like this, Sir," the younger one said. He had a thick accent, unlike anything he ever heard. "But we saw your ship and hope you could help us. A stranger has raided our village, killed one of my men and wounded a lot of them. He has weapons like yours," the man points at his blaster and rifle, and the bandolier acros his chest. "We don't have anything to fight against him. But if you help us, we can gift you food and shelter" he finished.

Din didn't need to ponder too long. These people have seen his bounty. They might have more information about him. Food and shelter is just an added extra. "Do you know where he went?" He simply asked. The two men seemed surprised to hear his modulated voice.

"Yes, yes. Our Chief, my father, had him followed after the destruction." The young man answered. Din grunted. "I need to retrieve some stuff from my ship. Come help me and lead me there." He said, turning back where he came from and walking to his ship, not really caring if the two followed or not

Yori had returned about a hour after he and Qwil set off to inform the Chief that the pilot was willing to catch the intruder. In return he would get housing and food. It was decided that you would be the one housing the pilot, seen as you are only one with a house made for a family without actually having a family.

So, you were dashing around the house, trying to straighten it for the mystery man. You weren't a messy person but it didn't hurt to go over the details. Plus you needed to make shure that the guest room was well and ready.

Once you were done cleaning and moving stuff around, you decided to start dinner. You made more than you usually make, not knowing how much Mystery Man ate normally. Just as it was about to be finished, there was once again a ruckus outside. Qwil and Mystery Man had arrived. Turning off the stove, you got ready to meet him.

The only thing that Din found weirdly disturbing about Qwil, as the man had called himself, is his very pale eyes. They were like moons. Even his pupils were greyed over which made him think he was blind at first but after he asked Qwil about hit, the man corrected him.

"We don't know a lot about other planets or galaxies, but we know that me and my people have a defect in our DNA. We can see clearly, but we see only in greytones. Only when one meets their Soulmate, we will be able to see color. We are not with many, so Soulmates are rare. Only a few couples can see color," Qwil said as they walked back.

"So almost everyone has eyes like mine. It doesn't stop us from living our lifes, so most are content with seeing grey. Most of us never find their soulmates, but are content with settling down with someone else." Qwil finished. Din nodded. Even though he tried not to care for his job's sake, he couldn't help being intrigued. Even Grogu, who was awake in his pram, was cooing like he was being told a fairytale. Din sometimes read one to him if he was fussy or had a bad dream.

The walk to the village was around an hour and a half on foot. Din wasn't complaining but he did start to feel his back and legs. I'm getting too old.. he thought for the bazillionth time.

There were a lot more people than Din thought. At least 150 of them, the children not included. The houses were well spaced apart, unlike the ones on Sorgan, and the clearing was surrounded with woods and a water stream. The clearing must've been manmade to make way for the houses.

The central place of the village was an open place with room for a campfire. A few logs were rolled to the side. Now, it was full with people waiting for them. For him. A man stood at front, a big necklace around his neck. Qwil joined his side. This must be the Chief.

A gasp was heard in the crowd but no one seemed to mind as the Chief greeted him, asked for his name (to which he just said "Mando"), and welcomed him to the planet and his village. "We thank you for going after the killer. Meva and her children especially will be thankful to have him gone from the planet after her husband was killed" he said this quietly. He was nodding to a blonde woman who was talking to another person, seemingly in distress. "My condolences. I want to talk to you about this person. Where they went. How armed they are." Din said to which the Chief just chuckled.

"Yes yes, but we can talk business tomorrow. For now, I wish you to go eat and relax for tonight. One of our people is willing to take you in for your stay." He looked at the child who was looking around in wonder "They are great with children. You will feel right at home. I shall get them for you and tomorrow morning, at dawn, I will be here to give you more details" Din nodded in thanks as the Chief went to get someone.

You stood next to Meva as Qwil and the Mystery Man entered the village. You couldn't see Mystery Man yet, so you shook Meva, asking if she could.

When the Chief stepped forward, he became clearer. And as you gazed upon him, you gasped, holding tightly onto Meva. The world started to change. Things became more vibrant, clear, like you never seen before, and it took you an agonizing second to realise that this man, this Mystery Man, was your Soulmate.

"It's him, Mev." You whispered to your friend. "What do you mean?" She asked you, turning you around. It is as if you were looking at your friend for the first time. You didn't know which colors were which but it was overwhelming. Your friend was on a whole other level of beautiful now. "It's him. He is my 'mate" you whispered to her and her eyes widened. "You mean- You can-?" You just nodded and she gasped and laughed. "I knew it wouldn't be one of us! But oh, will you be alright? He will stay with you.. He has a kid it seems.. And when he is done here he will leave and probably never return.. I don't want your heart to be broken like mine is" she said somberly and you squeezed her arm. "I am going to be allright," you told her "If he does leave, I will be sad for a bit, but I am going to be fine. At least we have eachother." You gave her a kind smile.

The Chief chose that moment to step up to you with the armored man behind him. He had a knowing look to him as he met your gaze. "Sir Mando here will be in your care. Is that going to be okay?" The Chief asked. "Yes ofcourse, Chief. Don't worry" you said. You turned to Mando. Your Soulmate. You gave him your name and a pleasant smile. "Dinner was just about done when you turned up. Might I interest you and your child in some?" You asked him. It was a bit overwhelming still, and seeing him close was doing nothing for your nerves. His armor was so... Shiny. Blinding almost. He probably takes great care in polishing it.

"Thank you" he simply said and you nodded, leading him to your home.

Din had already told you about how he doesn't eat around people because of his Creed, so you had taken some food up stairs to him after you had shown him his room. He had thanked you and Grogu had happily chirped seeing the two plates. You had disappeared as soon as you had appeared.

Your eyes weren't the greyed over moons that Qwil had, or almost everyone in the village for that matter. The Chief, along with a few couples, were the only ones next to you to have bright and colored eyes. So Din deduced that you too had found your Soulmate he wondered who for a bit, before he forcefully pushed the thought out of his head. I got to concentrate. He thought. I can't let some person distract me. Soon they will just be another face and I will forget about them.

The evening turned into night and soon it was dark outside. The room was dark but with his helmet he could see perfectly. The kid eventually started snorring and Din's thoughts became too much. He sneaked out of the room and walked as silently as he could downstairs.

A few candles were lit when he came into the livingroom. The fireplace was blazing which gave off the most light. He went and sat next to you. You didn't notice, too enamoured by the flames.

"Qwil told me about that genetic malfunction of your clan" Din said after a minute. You jumped, only now realising that he was there. "I noticed that your eyes weren't like the other's. You found your 'Soulmate' then?" He asked carefully. In his mind he bashed himself for asking you.

"I guess. But I don't think I will spend much time with them. They will... Leave soon" you answered, back at watching the flames lick the wood in the fireplace. "Why's that" Din then asked. You turned to him, a sad smile on your face. "Don't freak out but.... It's you"

He was in shock. And before he could respond, you had dashed out of the living room and up the stairs. And so Din spend the rest of the night staring at the fire in the fire place. The candles burning out and soon there were only cinders left in the fireplace as the sun started to rise.

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian #mandalorian oneshot #oneshot #mando #grogu #baby yoda #masterlist

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theboiinyellow · 4 years ago

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So, who else went into today's episode thinking that the lessons the temple's had to teach where going to be, you know, acctually good?

First comes the green temple, and It rewards you for your wisdom, but also your humility and capacity to be mindfull of those around you

Then comes the blue temple (that is to say valeriana's trial, possibly based on what she knows of the temple), and It rewards you for both worrying about other's well being, and for taking responsability for your actions,

Now, i'm not saying that those are universally good mesages that can't be put in a bad light, they have their flaws and could be unhelpfull to certain people, but the pink temple?

Fight these worms, do the bench press, fight a mega lava toad with 5g force pulling you down, what does that teach you? And most important, what does this place reward you for?

Strength, courage, self endangering behaviour to an extreme degree, the pink temple's lesson is simple, never give up, but It doesn't say It like a positive helpfull mesage, it's less "persistance is necessary to achieve your goals" and more of a "fall when you die, rest when you're dead" thing, and all of this shows something pretty obvious about the last temple: It teaches Sasha Absolutelly nothing

Marcy received a leson that she probably won't learn from right away, she's done so much in amphibia by being who she is, and just like S1 Anne, It will take her some time to really understand how her actions can really impact people

What Anne had to learn on her last trial was more in line with her character arc up to now (after all, her arc on screen is much longer than Marcy's), It was practically just stating something aloud that she'd already learned before, more of admitting than trully learning

Sasha learns that brute force is the answer, She's right about them being Lucky to have her there, she did all the hard work by herself, with sheer determination and arm strength, and what are the consequences she faces? None! In comparison, When Marcy tried to solve her trials with pure smarts she almost killed the planters...

And the same thing happened before in Barrel's warhammer, she bruteforce's her way trough and wins the toads over, shure, Percy and Bradock left her because of that, but guess who's back now?! Anne! the person she pushed the furtest in her life, it's like everything's falling into place, she can acctually fight the world and win, wich is good, because that's pretty much what she's doing.

and one last thought, the only significant thing that i can see as not having gonne Sasha's way untill now: Anne doesn't let her boss people around like she used to, something that was a big shock during "Reunion". but you know, if Anne, by whatever reason (being betrayed by Marcy, perhaps), loses the will to reprimand Sasha for stuff like that? oh, then it's a best case scenario for her, i know this is pretty farfetched, but the possibility is still there that Sasha could be vindicated in her every action (at least in her own eyes), the only reminder that anything ever went wrong for her would be a small, insignificant scar in her right cheek, and honestly, i don't think Sasha would even care about getting hurt in her quest for power If she has Anne to kiss her booboos away

#amphibia #sasha waybright #the third temple #this took about three hours #i hope you hate it #for i don't want to be right #that last line reminded me of the flash back from today's ep #amphibia spoilers #tw mean blonde girls #i would write a serious tw but i literally can't think of one #i do realize some of this is quite obvious #i literally didn't know where i was going with this

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phoebehalliwell · 3 years ago

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i think one of the other times that charmed (in my opinion) dropped the ball was with christie. making christie half of the big bad they were meant to defeat was a choice and not a good one. the implications of taking a character was abducted as A CHILD and brainwashed into believing the sisters were evil and then instead of oh i don't know redeeming her in the end have her own sister kill her was just fucked up in every way

fr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fr billie INCINERATED her OWN SISTER!!! they made her do that!!!!!!!!!????????? what the fuck????? they like. like. they like. What were they trying to do there. it's like the same thing with richard like i get it's conflict but like genuinely what is the fucking point. like. like if you want to do shady double agent shure i get that it can be fun n sexy bestie behavior one minute and then evil conniving the next. but like. not with a child soldier??? like christy is constantly manipulated and it's like oh she didn't accept us as her home and safety in one week after being psychologically tortured for two decades. lucy liu screencap tear the bitch apart!!!!!!!!!!! like??? i mean they didn't even bother to make her truly evil she was doing all this to protect billie to protect her little sister AND THEN SHE WAS BURNED ALIVEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK. unbelievable. imo tho. i do think the writers were biting off way more than they could chew with girl who was raised by demons after being kidnapped at age nine and now she's like. twenty three. that is way too complex to like. like if you're really gonna dig into the meat of the matter and flesh out exactly what life was for her than you could literally make her kind of her own little ya protagonist like. i'm spitballing but like. she's kidnapped from a very young age and like i remember being that young i was still kinda a spitfire so she's like no no no i gotta get home idk bc this is the triad's doing but they're trying to stay very severed from the operation so they're having some lame ass demon tribe take care of it but like they're not really. it's very much we have kidnapped you now it's time to learn to use your powers for violence like this kid would Not be game and she'd probably try to escape a whole bunch so the triad are like okay shift gears so they get a figure like cole's mom (or it could straight up be cole's mom if we feel so inclined) with a son born from a human so he looks human so she’s already raising one magical powerful kid (who could also end up later being a love interest for christy) and she like. goes to the demon clan and sees how christy's being treated and is like what the fuck is wrong w u and vanquishes all them and is like hi little christy are you okay like were those guys being evil and mean come w me which would be a move strategically done by the triad to tie up all the loose ends of that fail demon clan and also position our demon mom demom as an ally. so christy goes to live with her in her like little demon manor ideally still in the underworld and demom's like so how did you get here are you alright and christy's like i was kidnapped!! they took me away from my family!! and demom's like okay well let's get u back to ur family and they go but oh what's this?? the jenkins family is actually So Much Better Off!! oh no! they look happier without you :( is it because they were afraid of your powers, afraid of you, afraid of something they couldn't understand? no matter, let's go ring the doorbell. oh what's that? u don't want 2 :( aww that's so sad. well, i guess... no, it's just a silly offer really...... but.... if u want.... u can stay w me in my hella nice rich person house and learn how to hone your powers at your own pace not like the killing machine those demons tried to force you to be but instead lived under my protection someone who is not scared of u and who only has your best intentions at heart..... bonus round if billie has a burn scar from christy accidentally lighting her on fire, some extra trauma. so christy is raised basically as demon royalty idk give her some background relationships oh so bonus points if the charmed ones vanquish demom that gives her motive against but just friends and allies in the underworld and when she finds billie again billie's like. let's say in the demon mansion like rooting around because these people took my sister when christy confronts her like hey bitch better gtfoutta my house and billie's like fight!!! and they go toe to toe for a good scene til something happens and billie's burn scar is revealed and christy realizes it's her baby sister and immediately like. complete shift. vulnerability immediately and billie's like what the fuck until christy says her full name (wilhelmina? do u think? willow? elizabeth? middle name something like. outta left field a maiden name like buchanan or rochester) and it's just like. sisters<3. but then there's conflict because hey you were happier without me and billie's like no?? no we were fucking not omg why would you think that?? and christy's like no i saw you and billie's like no that must have been a lie demons lie that woman who raised you she was evil she was the worst of the worst and christy's like hey like you know wait because she was my family she was all i had and she loved me (& for what it's worth, i think she did) so there's this conflict of the world christy knows which is filled with deception but real emotion versus the world outside which is true but is so empty to her. but this is s8 we're phoning it in we're not doing all that. which, then, of course, leaves you w the other alternative of she escaped from the demons very young and has been living like the early seasons of supernatural constantly on the run outside the law fighting forces she doesn't understand with two fist fire and a kickass attitude and then she reunites with billie and there's like of a more interpersonal conflict because billie's grown into a much more independent individual and she's already hella powerful and honestly seems to know more about the craft than christy but christy's being doing this a lot longer and she's survived a hell of a lot worse so there's no way she's gonna let her little kid sister but herself in harms way and billie's like no stop trying to baby me like i can handle myself and christy's like no not a goddamn chance in hell. the reason they're the "key" to the ultimate power is bc it can only be held by one. the other dies to grant the person that ability. that is why they never bothered to take both sisters. instead they put a marker of death on billie, something they now have to both fight to remove

#many thots head full 🤕🤕🤕#christy jenkins #charmed #billie jenkins #margaretsminiessays #💌

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the-incapable-hero · 4 years ago

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Techno found himself complacent. Now, keep in mind, it's hard for that to even come close to happening. After all, complacency is a recipe for downfall. But he really couldn't help it.

He flicks the blood from his sword and finds that his victory is tainted by monotony. He could hear cheering and awe at yet another victory, though like many other times, the applause became indistinguishable from the other voices in his head that kept his every waking moment permanently barred from even the prospect of silence.

As he continues to clean his blade, he begins to stalk off so that he might wear some nicer clothes. Not that he really needed to change since he hadn't even gotten a speck on his attire. It was flashy, shure, but appearance is important in his line of work. That, and a little extra gold around the wrist never hurt anyone. Just as he was about to leave his audience and former opponent behind, he heard a voice.

"Technoblade." It sounded expectant. He turned at the mention of his alias-turned-name and saw a new arrival standing near. His method of appearance was definitely… unique. Yes, let's put it that way. If there was a way to stray from every single norm, then this guy was it. A porcelain mask decorated his face, pristine as could be and a very simple design of a smile boasted confidence. He had his sword drawn and pointed at Techno. Techno raised an eyebrow as he stared directly into the mask, unimpressed.

"Yeah? You lookin' for a duel?" Techno asked, knowing the answer would be yes. He'd seen it before and had done this whole song and dance. But he didn't want to fight. Not this guy. If he was here, then there was no way he actually had noteworthy skill. He wasn't even in the tournament.

"Of course. Why else would I have a sword?"

"Yer makin' yerself look like a fool. Tournament's over. I'm not fightin' you." Techno could see him tense up and his grip tightened around the sword.

"Yeah? And what's so wrong about an encore?"

"I have a family to feed. I'm not stayin' to fight you. You couldn't even get into a tournament like this. I wiped the floor with the competition here, you really think you'll be any different?"

"I can and will beat you."

"Dream on. I'm goin' home." And so, he left. Back turned and sword sheathed. The masked man he left behind lowered his blade and huffed. This wouldn't be the end.

_____

It had been some time, not enough in Techno's opinion, before he saw that mask again. In his defense, his outfit changed. It looked like he'd put a bit more dignity into choosing how he presented himself. Still though, Techno had refused him. This tournament was higher up in the ranks. More was at stake too. Money. Land. Lives. Illegal? Maybe. But it let Techno really let loose. Though in typical fashion, the masked man had shown up right at the end of the tournament. It was already over but here he was, pointing a sword to Techno and demanding a duel. Techno found himself sighing.

"Listen. You either have no sense of showing up on time, have no guts to be in a tournament like this, or you really just don't have skills to be here. No matter which one it is, it means you'll be like every other contestant I've beaten. So, I'll say it again: dream on. You don't have the skill." Techno didn't even let him reply this time. He didn't give him the chance. Just turned his back and left. He was doing his work and getting his pay, so why was this guy so persistent?

_____

This was where he peaked. Or not. He supposed that the sky was the limit. It probably could be too if he was able to point his blade in all of the right places. A noble's tournament. Felt good. Even, better, these guys actually made Techno pay attention. Not that he'd gotten more than a nick on the sleeve, but hey, it's the thought that counts.

And to be honest, even though he had to hold back from killing anyone, it just made it more difficult. The restrictions made it more interesting. He had to think around them. He decided he liked the noble tournaments.

Though he'd probably like this one in particular significantly more if that mask hadn't interrupted him right before his first duel. Another challenge, another rejection. Techno was starting to catch on to this pattern. If he wasn't in the tournament, then he wasn't going to duel. What could he possibly gain from fighting him? The conversation was going the same as well. Maybe this would become another constant in Techno's life. Or maybe not. Who knows.

_____

"Welcome one and all to the Greater SMP semi-annual tournament. Today, we have some very esteemed guests joining us. To list just a few, Sapnap of the Greater SMP, George of the Greater SMP, Antfrost and Badboyhalo both representing the Badlands, and many more.

"But I know why you're really here, folks. You're here to see the high ranks. The best of the best. Well they're here folks. So get ready." Techno listened to the announcer and couldn't help but smile. He was ready. He'd face off against some real competition. Looking back on it, he felt silly for thinking that he'd peaked already.

There were so many more people he had to beat in combat before he'd be satisfied.

The tournament went about how he'd predicted. The nobles here definitely put up a fight, but not enough to best him. Some came closer than others, but his sword always found its mark eventually. So when the end of the tournament began approaching, he found himself a bit winded. It was him against the other finalist. He was excited, he wouldn't lie about that. But he tried not to get his hopes too high. Best not get too eager and accidentally kill the guy. The announcer came on again.

"Our finalists, everyone. Technoblade, having clawed his way to the top with ease now sits on his fortune, ready to take down challengers.

"And our masked duelist, who until today, has refused to take part in any official tournaments. He faces off Technoblade, eager to add another win to his list." Technoblade found himself pausing at that. Masked duelist? Why was he getting a sense of deja vu?

Well lo and behold. White porcelain emerged to face Techno. He'd stuck with a similar outfit this time, but his body language had changed. He was more confident, if that were even possible.

"Oh. So it's you. You made it into a tournament, huh?" Techno asked, sounding decidedly smug. The man let out a scoff and rolled his shoulders back.

"Yup. You willing to duel me now?"

"Eh. Fine. What's your name? They didn't say it over the mic."

"Yeah, cause I didn't tell them." The masked man thought for a brief moment before his mouth under the mask split into a mischievous grin.

"What have you said every time you turned me down? 'Dream on'? Well,"

He drew his sword and slid his foot back into a ready stance.

"Call me Dream." And he lunged. Techno was quick to parry, but this Dream guy was quicker than he looked. Not to mention calculated. Every single thing he did seemed to have a purpose, and even moments when Techno thought he was about to best him, Dream would seamlessly turn his mistake into an advantage. Techno went laser focused as he found himself struggling to gain and keep a foothold. The sound of swords clashing went on for what felt like an eternity, and even as he was beginning to tire, the sound of his heart thumping in his ears and the voices (audience? He didn't know) yelling for blood put him on top of the world. He hadn't felt like this in a long time.

Though all good things must come to an end, and this good thing ended with Techno's sword frozen by Dream's neck and Dream's sword positioned to plunge into Techno's stomach. Both were heaving for oxygen and frozen in time, even the voices quieted for a handful of seconds before time was set into motion again by the announcer's voice:

"Stalemate!" Dream and Techno dropped their stance, well and truly exhausted. Dream spoke first.

"Okay, not gonna lie, that was awesome. You're a lot better than I thought you'd be."

"Oh don't get all mushy on me. You've earned your duel privileges, but only so I can learn how ta beat you."

"Oh okay, sure. Whatever. I won't let that happen. I'll win, just you wait."

"Ha, like that'd ever happen, Mr. I Refuse to Enter in Tournaments. Dream on."

"I think I will."

_____

"You look like a fish out of water." Techno remarked, looking at Dream's formal attire. Said man was stiff as a board and had his mask, still pristine as the day he met Techno, pulled completely over his face.

"Shut up. Not all of us dress like we just robbed a piglin hoard."

"Excuse me, gold is the best thing to wear and it makes me look fabulous. I'm not the one that looks like he's got glue in his joints."

"Are you two done yet?" A dry voice came from the now cracked open door, revealing the face of one of Dream's closer friends, Sapnap. After Dream's first official tournament, he'd actually found that participating in them was alright. He wouldn't tell you why, but any who knew him knew that it was because he wanted to stick by the friends he'd made at that tournament. He would definitely deny it though.

"Yeah, just waiting on this nerd." Techno said, gesturing to Dream.

"Oh shut up."

"No."

"Okay, just come on. You fought your way to the top so now you have to deal with it. Come on, get a move on." Sapnap consoles while pushing the two out of the room. They'd all seen too much of each other since then, mostly because now that they were of equal standing, they were usually going to be in the same places.

"You two argue too much." Sapnap teased. He playfully nudged Dream to get him to loosen up, but it didn't really do much.

"I mean, Dream is pretty insufferable."

"Wha- hey!"

"He's got a point."

"Oh and that's coming from Panda and Pig."

"Yer not helpin' your case, Dream." Techno pushed. Dream threw his hands in the air.

"I give up. You two are the worst." Techno stifled a laugh, determined to not show how he was warming up to Dream and his friends. He had to make sure he was at the top of his game too. There was going to be a tournament later that day which meant another chance to beat Dream at his own game. Though before another comment could be made, the room they trio was approaching suddenly erupted into shouting. Techno and Dream rushed forward and swung the doors open to find absolute chaos on the other side. Masked people with very off-looking weapons pointed at people there were ransacking the room and all of its occupants for all it was worth.

"Robbery." Sapnap mumbled under his breath. Techno looked over to Dream who looked to already be in a fighting stance. Techno followed suit. With no words exchanged, they leapt into the fray, ready to subdue the thieves. Techno managed to knock a couple out before a blade clipped his ear and he felt a white-hot sting follow it. He quickly flicked it off and slammed the head of the person who'd done that into a nearby table.

"They've got enchanted stuff!" Techno yelled to Dream on the other side of the room.

"Yeah, I got that." Dream shouted back. He was disheveled and Techno wondered why for a brief moment before he spotted that one of the guys he was fighting had donned a dangerously glinting chest plate. Thorns.

"Well, if you can't beat 'em." Techno shouted to the room before wrenching the sword that had clipped him previously from the man's limp hand. Techno would admit that he didn't have much experience with enchanted gear since unless the tournament was underground and very very illegal, enchantments were banned. Not that he ever needed the extra help anyway. Once he had a weapon in his hand though, sweeping the area was easy as pie. Dream had followed suit and grabbed a sword with what looked like sharpness enchanted into the blade. The two eventually found themselves back to back, wiping clean the room of the thieves. The people in attendance had begun to get set free as well and followed the two in clearing the space. Though they weren't able to do much since many of the attackers had already been knocked unconscious by Techno and Dream.

"Well that was fun." Dream remarked. Techno had to agree. Their numbers were indeed impressive and it proved to be an interesting challenge fighting several people at once.

Not to mention, Techno couldn't recall a time he'd fought back to back with someone. It wasn't bad. Maybe he'd try it again.

@1randomperson15 thanks for the idea! I had fun with this one. I hope you don't mind that I took a few liberties with it lol.

And to everyone else, if you have an idea you really want to see written, let me know!

#dream smp au #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp nobles au #technoblade #dreamwastaken #sapnap #dream #fanfic #fanfic request #dream smp

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and-the-world-is-quiet-here · 4 years ago

Text

Is it really drowning if you haven't touched the water?

oops I did it again.........

“Nooooo” she howled in frustration.

She was done. She couldn't do it anymore. She grabbed the cards on the table and shoved them onto the floor. They were stupid, she knew they were stupid, and yet she didn't even know what stupid really meant.

“Done!” she screeched

“Done! Done! Done! Done Done!”

“Cass! Cass no, this isn't okay!” Babs yelled after her but she wasn't listening; she just wanted to get out. She grabbed the handle of the door and pulled until it popped out of the frame fleeing into the dark night.

She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't really care. She just needed to get away. They expected too much. It had been only weeks since that man “fixed her” and 2 days since her mother tried to reverse it. Everything was moving so fast. She couldn't catch up. So she ran. She ran until her surroundings were a blur, just a fast moving image flashing past her. Like her thoughts used to be. God, she couldn't even be alone in her own head anymore.

Everywhere she went he followed her, clinging to her and pulling her back down into the water. Or above it as they would say.

The wind hit her face, blasting her tears right back into her eyes, and chilling her nose until she couldn't feel it. That was good. She hated feeling things.

She stopped and climbed up onto a roof, clearing the fire escape in a single bound. She was somewhere in the narrows. She thought. She couldn't be too shure, Babs said it was a part of the city, the wrong part of her mind said it was a small space, and her, the real her, said it was a loud cramped place with short building and lots of crime, And it smelt like falafels. That meaning seemed the rightest to her but the edges of it were sharp now, not smooth, and it made her head hurt to think about it.

She hated it, what he did to her. He took her thoughts and made them make sense to him, and now they were all out of order. Worse, they were just wrong. She wanted it to go back to the way it was before.

She had tried to be happy, happy like they wanted her to be. But it hadn’t worked so she did something else. She tried to fix herself. Meta humans, telepaths, martial artists. No one could read bodies like she had once before, and no one could teach her how to do it again.

Finally, she had turned to her mother, Shiva, a name that had crept in the shadows of her youth watching, watching and waiting. She asked her mother to fix her, and she failed, the woman who had never failed before. She went through days of brutal training for nothing.

It still hurt to think. It hurt to read, to write. He stranded her in a sea of pain and the people she loved cried tears of joy for her newly found normality.

She hated them.

She loved them.

She cried in her sleep and Babs said she was ”adjusting”. She had grabbed batman by the shoulders and yelled and yelled and he...He smiled like this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Before he would have known she was screaming “FIX ME! FIX ME!”. But now he ignored it, and acted like she was confused.

So she left.

And yet they wouldn't leave her alone.

She turned around and there he was -Batman in all his freaking glory; she could throw up.

“I brought fries!”

He held the bag up and her stomach growled. They had been going through the stupid cards for so long that Babs forgot to get dinner.

She was hungry.

She was getting soft.

She turned back and ignored him, it would be a good lesson in restraint. But he seemed determined to feed her, coming down and sitting right next to her. He spread out fries, milkshakes, and bat burgers between them.

“Babs said you might be hungry”

she snarled and grabbed a packet of fries. Well, when in Rome.

“Babs also said you'd probably be upset”

“mph”

“I know kiddo”

Now she was mad, he didn't know! He just pretended he did! He just pretended that she was frustrated she wasn't getting it but she wasn't! She didn't want to get it!

“NO!” she screeched

“NO! You don't know. You don't know. I hate it.”

She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her head.

“This doesn't make sense! It used to make sense!!”

She released him and fell back onto her but; sitting dangerously close to the edge.

“What did he do to me? Why are you happy he did this to me?”

A million emotions flickered across his face, hurt, anger, fear, despair. All these emotions, all these words, they didn't match! Before she would have known what he was thinking. But now….. now she just couldn't.

“Cass…” His voice broke and her anger wavered

“I just wanted what was best for you, I didn't know you felt this way.” He was sorry.

“Sorry” Her mind whispered

“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry” But what did it mean?

“I..I..I.. He was right''

She gasped for breath. Desperate to string together sounds as she forgot the meanings of them. ”He was right. My mind was an ocean. It was filled with images, sounds, and smells. And they all liked to blend together. It was messy but it made sense, Batman. Bats, it made so much sense!”

She couldn't breathe. Oh god she couldn't breathe!

“No-Now”

Gasping, gasping for air.

“Now it's wrong. It's wrong and I can't fix it.” There was a pause and then he was moving towards her. Before, she would have been on the other side of the roof already. But now...now she was trapped in a bone crushing hug, feet dangling over the edge of a building, in the most dangerous city in the world.

“What did he do to you Cass?”

He whispered; like if he talked any louder she’d crumble. Frankly, she just might.

“He broke me.”

“He took the waves and made them still, froze them, like ice. Then he shattered them and pieced them back together, but there all wrong! He put them back together wrong!

And he stamped words on them, but the words don't make sense. Before it was all blended together and he couldn't separate them right.”

She took her finger and placed it on his forehead.

“And he didn't know what you and Babs knew, just what just what he thought was right. So what I think something is, and what Babs says it is doesn't match up.”

She paused, but she couldn't stop now. Everything she learned, everything he made her learn was falling out of her mouth.

All the pieces in her head were less sharp and it felt AmaZinG.

“I can't write, I can't read, I don't think correctly, and to speak….to speak….”

She was gasping again and he held her tighter.

“To speak it's like…….”

She thought of when she was a little girl, when things made the most sense and everything was just action and noise. There was a beach in those memories…. A place….maybe it was Nanda Parbat like in the stories Alfred tells her. She played with her father there.

No...Wait….No…

She was shuddering, something was wrong, it wasn't working, the pieces were sharpening and……..

Relief...Relief...She hadn't played with her father. She fought with her father, the thoughts settled in her head and she relaxed...these thoughts, these words they were like….

“To speak, It's like standing on sand. It's not sturdy, it shifts when you walk, and when you run, It tries to swallow you whole.”

Oh she was tired, so tired of trying to run on a ground that wanted to eat her. She wanted to go back to the beach, when she was a child and things seemed so simple.

“Home” she said in a small voice

“I want to go home” he looked at her

“okay kiddo”

She expected to be let go, to be told to walk back home to the clock tower. To the flashcards, and the angry Babs, but that was not the case. As soon as the words left his mouth he gathered her up in his arms, the burgers long forgotten. He took her to the Bat-mobile, leaving her in the backseat meant for scared children, he drove her off into the dark.

She didn't know where to, and she didn't care, she just let the darkness take her.

When she awoke she was in the manor. Tucked under heavy blankets in the biggest bed she had ever seen; Bruce sitting next to her at the bedside. Yellow flames illuminating his face.

She would have been concerned if she was awake, but the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks, the physical exhaustion she experienced with Shiva, the blow out fight with Babs, and the breakdown with Batman had left her exhausted and barely conscious.

“Bats” she croaked out.

She was tired, oh she was so bitterly tired, and the darkness was oh so sweet.

He looked up from his book. His glasses were too far down to be that useful, and they sat crooked on his broken nose. She laughed deliciously, huh, she must have caught something in the cold.

“What's so funny Cass” his deep baritone rumbled so she laughed some more.

“I'm so tired Batmern” he looked troubled

“Then sleep”

“I can't, it hurts.”

“Then let it go Cass, just let go.”

“but what if there's nothing left?

She was scared. So very scared. She couldn't bear the thought of being nothing but a hollow shell.

“Then we'll rebuild Cassie-o”

“Okay”

Her voice was small but it moved mountains. There was force behind it, a strength that came from her whole being.

She tried, she tried to let go, but it hurt terribly, It burned and she could faintly hear someone screaming. She wondered who it was. There was blackness all around her, and silence apart from the screams. It felt like an eternity but it must have been seconds.

She reached out grasping at the sheets, searching for a familiar hand. A cold touch pushed her hair out of her face.

She realized that it wasn't the hand that was cool but her that was hot.

Finally after what felt like years of screaming into darkness a light appeared. It was a beach, one on which a girl played with her father. She tried to swim towards them but the tide pulled her away.…..she wanted too….she wanted to….

A voice whispered in here ear, faint and far away but still clear

“let go Cassandra”

So she did, she let herself be pulled out by the tide. And watched as she was pushed further and further away from the sad little girl, the slippery sand, and the angry man. She let herself wash out to sea, and felt relief when she realized it was over.

This was her ocean, it was still here, she wasn't empty now, her mind had been waiting for her all along. She was free, she was oh so totally free.

Yet she still felt sad, she had let go of the past her father forced upon her. And The future the man made for her.

She was free and she was terribly lost.

She panicked, if she was not the little girl who was she? She had never been someone else before! She was drowning, the waves were huge and pushed her under so she couldn't breathe. She started to tremble and the world flickered.

It was a dark ocean.

It was kind eyes.

It was air leaving her body.

It was a cool touch.

It was a little girl drowning.

It was strong arms.

It was still strong arms!

It was strong arms reaching into the water and fishing her out, breathing life back into her.

It was a voice whispering to her, telling her it was alright, that she could hang on for now. They had all the time in the world.

It was a voice

It was her father.

“You can be a little girl for now Cassie. It's okay. Worry about being strong later.”

She woke up gasping for air hacking up red water- or blood she was coughing up blood.

The fire was dying now, only embers remained, casting a warm glow on the figure holding her. “How long?” she whispered her voice hoarse from screaming.

“Long enough”

“I'm so tired so very tired”

“Then sleep class. I'll be here when you wake up.”

The darkness could come now she was ready for it

“g’night batdad”

“goodnight Cassie”

come check me out on my tumblr! There’s more where this came from!

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soupyboysforlife · 4 years ago

Text

The Little Angel

Summarry: An AU where Dean transfers to Castiel’s school. They quickly fall in love with each other but keep those feelings hidden out of fear that they won’t be reciprocated. Dean winds up in a terrible accident and goes into a comatose state in which Cas cares for him anonymously.

This fic was inspired by the song Class Clown by Anthony Amorim.

-----

Chapter 1

An attractive boy with black hair sat in the back corner of the semi-crowded class. He was staring out a nearby window. There was a look of disinterest shrouded on his slightly stubbly face. He was the first thing Dean noticed as he walked into the noisy and crowded class. Some students looked his way when he entered the classroom. The teacher cleared his throat to introduce the new student. They quickly silenced, turning to the front to face the pair. Dean was nervous but he smiled at them confidently. He was used to moving around and going to new schools. Dean’s gaze wandered over the other students before returning to the attractive boy who hadn’t bothered looking towards the front.

“Everyone I’d like you to meet Dean Winchester,” the teacher said, gesturing towards Dean, “Please take a seat.”

Dean sat in the empty seat in front of the boy hoping to strike up a conversation. Before he got the chance some other kids by him started to introduce themselves. Dean introduced himself to them.

Castiel’s morning had been uneventful as usual. He didn’t have any friends in his first-class today. Instead of gossiping about the new kid, he stared out the window listening to the hushed whispers of girls debating about what he would look like. Cas finally glanced at the front of the classroom when Mr. Shurley cleared his throat. By his side was a boy. His eyes were scanning the students. Cas looked back out the window. Sure the boy was cute but Cas had no intention of talking to him. Not at the moment at least.

Mr. Shurley introduced him, “Everyone I’d like you to meet Dean Winchester. Please take a seat.”

The name registered in the back of Cas’s head just in case he needed to know it. Cas only moved when Dean sat down in front of him. He looked at him in surprise. There were a lot of other empty seats in the classroom. He dismissed the thought creeping up in his head. Cas’s heart was beating quickly.

After Dean was done talking to the other people in front of him he turned around and smiled.

He was even cuter up close. Cas tried his hardest not to blush, though he was sure some of the heat made it to his cheeks. Dean had beautiful green eyes that were crinkled with his perfect smile. His cheek and jawbones were sharp. There was a light sprinkle of freckles brushing his face.

“Hi, I’m Dean,” he said, reaching out his hand for a handshake.

“I know. I’m Castiel.” Cas responded as he gingerly shook the other boy’s hand. Sparks. He must have imagined that.

“Castiel, huh? Weird name” Dean said with a slightly confused look on his face.

“Yeah, like the angel. My family’s religious.” Cas shrugged.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Cas.” Dean said with a wink before turning back to the front of the class as Mr. Shurley began the lesson.

Cas was sure his face was as red as a tomato. He spaced out for the rest of the day, thinking of the green eyes and calloused skin that belonged to the new kid.

And so the crush began.

“Cas’’ a whisper.

That smile.

“Cas.” slightly louder.

Those green eyes.

“Cas!” a yell, this time he was being shaken.

Cas had been lost in his thoughts of Dean Winchester. He finally snapped back to reality. Gabriel, Castiel’s best friend, was shaking his arm.

“Dude, you okay? What’s wrong?” Gabe asked.

“N-nothing.” Cas managed to get out.

“Is it the new kid? Did he hurt you?” Gabe interrogated, this time with a look of concern and rage.

“No! Nothing like that.” Castiel assured him. It had been a couple of weeks since Dean had transferred to their school. He’d started a few weeks after the second semester began. Cas had noticed the air getting warmer. Spring was on its way along, bringing along Promposals and a new set of gossip.

“Well, what the-” Gabriel started, his face quickly changed from confusion to realization, “Ooooh. You like him.”

Cas’s only response was his face turning a light pink. Gabriel and most other students at Heaven’s Gates High had known that the blue-eyed boy was gay for years. His sexuality wasn’t a secret. Luckily, no one seemed to care about it.

“D’aw, you two would make the cutest couple.” Gabe teased, earning a glare from Cas, “You should ask him to prom.”

Somehow that thought made Castiel’s face impossibly redder. He glanced over to where Dean was sitting with some of the school jocks. He was laughing at a joke one of them made. Dean made eye contact, making Cas look away quickly. Heat radiated from his cheeks as he felt the green eyes staring at him. Instead of looking back he turned to Gabe and leaned his head on the table.

“I can’t. He’s probably straight, even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be interested in me.” Cas sighed sadly.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Cas. I’m sure he’d like you if he wasn’t straight. Hell, I would like you if I was gay.” Gabriel stated with complete confidence, making Castiel chuckle.

“Thanks, I think,” Cas answered.

“Anytime,” Gabe reassured him.

That conversation helped Cas get through the rest of the day with a relatively peaceful mindset.

It had been a few weeks since Dean had started at the new high school. He was already pretty popular, though he doubted that he’d be able to maintain the popularity for much longer. That’s how it has been so far in his high school career. This was his, 4th? Maybe 5th high school. Luckily, this was his senior year and he wouldn’t have to worry about school much longer. His plan was to pass high school and carry on the family business.

Dean’s thoughts made their way back to the group of jocks he was sitting with. Dean was relatively good at football. He had just joined the school's team and was now attempting to bond with some of the players. One of them, Benny, had just made a joke. Dean hadn’t been paying attention to it but he laughed anyway.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Sensing a pair of eyes watching him, he quickly scanned the lunchroom. He quickly found the source. It was Castiel, the cute boy from his pre-calc class. Dean quickly decided to take a shot at flirting from a distance, but the other boy had already looked away. Dean’s face fell a little. He sat, staring in disappointment for a moment longer, hoping the blue-eyed boy would look at him again. When he didn’t Dean rejoined his teammates’ conversation with an awkward chuckle.

Lunch was over too quickly but he only had one more class for the day.

Dean never paid attention in Economics. It had to be the most boring class that he had. Lucky for him it wasn’t hard to distract himself from the seemingly eternal boringness of the class. His eyes dragged across the board at the front of the room. They picked out every small detail, eventually coming to a stop at the date on the edge of the board. Wednesday, February 12th. Two more days before the weekend. He sighed in defeat. The only thing he had to look forward to was pre-calc in the morning. Dean’s mind wandered to the handsome boy who sat behind him.

A smile crept along Dean’s face as he thought of the details on the boy's face. How he turned pink when they saw each other.

Dean imagined cornering the smaller boy, trapping him between Dean’s body and the wall. He pictured those perfect blue eyes staring up at him innocently as he leaned down and pressed his lips against the plump, pink ones. Moistening the chapped lips with his tongue. Maybe he’d run his hands along the boy’s hips and back. Kissing the scruff along his jaw and neck. Fingers slowly exploring every nook and cranny of-

Fuck

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He took a few deep breaths. His mind searched for other things to think about.

Dean heard the chair behind him squeak over the monotone script of his teacher.

“Hey, Dean.” a low voice said behind him with a nudge to his shoulder, “You going to Adam’s party?”

He turned his eyes and head slightly to put a name to the voice. It was Kevin.

“Dunno man, when is it?” Dean responded.

“This weekend. You gotta ride?”

“Yeah man, text me the address,” Dean said. Maybe he’d be able to pick up a chick or two to take his mind off the blue-eyed boy for a while. Dean’s cell phone pinged with the texted address.

“Thanks.” Dean smiled.

The next day Dean stumbled, tiredly, into his pre-calc class. Usually, he didn’t arrive so early but his Dad had an early meeting and a busted tire, so he and his little brother, Sammy, were dropped off at school early. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Finally noticing how empty the room was. The only people there were Castiel and Mr. Shurley. Cas was at his desk using his hands as a pillow. While Mr. Shurley graded some papers.

“You’re here early, Mr. Winchester.” the older man commented without looking up from his papers.

“Uh, yeah. My dad had an early meeting and had to borrow my car.” Dean responded with a chuckle.

This time Mr. Shurely looked up from the paper and folded his hands before answering. “I don’t recall asking. Now have a seat. I need to finish grading these.” He gestured towards Dean’s desk before going back to his writing. He made his way to the desk in front of the boy.

Cas still had his head resting on his hands. Upon closer inspection, Dean realized he was asleep. Cas’s back was rising and falling steadily under the large, blue-grey sweatshirt he was wearing. Dean leaned a little over his desk while putting his bag down to look at Castiel’s face. His usually blue eyes were closed gently. His long lashes reached for the bags resting under them. Dean’s eyes wandered down towards the man's plump, chapped lips. They were slightly parted. A small trickle of drool ran out from between them, getting caught in the light stubble on his jaw before trickling onto the back of his hand. A light snore emitted from the parted lips with every breath.

Dean smiled and let out a small chuckle at the sight. He had to force down the temptation to reach out and wipe away the spittle. Dean’s chair creaked loudly when he sat down making him wince. Castiel immediately sat up. His ocean blue eyes looked dazed from sleep. They stared directly at Dean for a while, not fully registering what was happening. Dean felt his face start to heat up as he tried to hold back a laugh. Cas made a sudden gasp of realization. His eyes cleared and widened as his cheeks began to turn pink. He wiped the drool from his cheek and ran out of the classroom.

Dean sat, unmoved, at his desk. Wondering if that actually happened. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the other boy’s messy bedhead and dazed out, sleepy face. If that wasn’t relatable he wasn’t sure what was.

Mr. Shurley let out a ‘tsk’ of annoyance as Castiel ran out of the room. Dean stooped down and unzipped the front pocket of his bag, grabbing some cash from it before zipping it back up. He stood and walked out the door. Dean tugged on the bottom of his ridden up T-shirt as he wandered down the hall to the Cafeteria. His eyes quickly scanned the lunchroom in search of some kind of vending machine. He finally spotted one and bought two Gatorades. One was purple, the other light blue. He wandered haphazardly around the halls, looking for Castiel. He gave up after a few minutes and went back to the classroom. It had a few more kids in it then before but it was still pretty empty. Dean looked over towards his desk. He smiled when he saw Castiel sitting in the desk behind his. Cas looked a little more cleaned up. His hair was more controlled and his eyes were more alert. The dribble remains from his nap earlier had been washed away. Upon seeing Dean his face grew red once again as he tried to sink into his seat further to hide from view. Dean chuckled. Damn, this boy was cute.

Once he reached his desk and sat down he turned around. Castiel had his long sleeves pulled up to his fingertips. He held his hands in front of his eyes in embarrassment.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” Dean teased, hoping for a reaction out of the other boy, “I got you something.”

He set down the two bottles on Cas’s desk. Cas peeked out from behind his hands curiously before reaching out and taking the purple Gatorade with a muttered thanks. He struggled to open it for a second and Dean hid his smile by taking a sip of his own Gatorade. He smacked his lips loudly and inspected the bottle, wishing they sold something stronger. They sat in silence for the rest of the class.

Stand by for part 2!

#destiel smut #destiel fluff #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel feels #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #cas #i love these idiots #its unhealthy #i spend way too much time on this #this is a cry for help #someone love me or i might write the forever to fill the emotional void in my heart #supernatural #spn #fanfic

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shippeh · 4 years ago

Text

Another RFC Submission - Tetsu Goes Out

(The ending is kind of abrupt, but I ran out of steam and I wanted to write another vignette after this where Mina gets to smell Tetsu for the first time but ILU and I hope you enjoy this)

When Tetsu goes out, he takes the shuttle. It takes them to the therapist, to “expeditions” where they learn and relearn skills like meal planning and grocery shopping, to temple or to tabernacle or to church, to approved meeting locations for interviews for those who are ready to graduate the program. Usually he takes the shuttle in a group, and sometimes it’s too loud and too crowded and he can’t scent or posture or make room for himself even though he’s not really supposed to scent or posture or make room for himself, and he hates it. But that’s how it is for him and the other fighters in the program, the ones that haven’t moved out to start living independently, or the one or two that have flunked out and disappeared.

They aren’t supposed to talk about it like that, like graduation and flunking out. The counselors and guides keep reminding them. Everyone heals at their own pace, learns at their own pace, grows at their own pace. He hears, but it’s hard to believe he’s making progress when sometimes even a closed window is too much like a cage or he knows his rut’s coming up and he wants to crawl outside of his own skin before he touches anyone.

Tetsu’s not ready to graduate the program yet, not nearly. But he’s earned some privileges. He can go out without a counselor or a keeper to his therapy sessions now. He’s allowed to meet Kirishima at the coffee shop to study without any chaperones except the general public, and he hasn’t messed it up. He’s even managed to have a few small, slow, painfully stilted conversations with the pink haired bitch omega girl that works there when she drops off his iced latte.

He was stupidly proud of himself when he asked her if he could have less ice in his iced latte, because of his teeth, and he told his therapist about it later that day. Taishiro said it was okay to be proud of himself. Healing was nonlinear, and all that. Making polite requests was part of living independently.

He managed to say as much to Ashido as he did to Kirishima, now, when they studied. That still wasn’t much, but it was enough to learn that she was in college, that she was almost done her art degree, that she was fiercely defensive of Kirishima and her other coworkers.

It was enough to learn that she had drawn him - studies, she said, practices in perspective - and before he could decide if he was upset or not, she left a page of her sketchbook with his drink before vanishing to restock the bakery case.

Tetsu hadn’t wanted to look at the sketches. He didn’t want to see himself, didn’t want to see how she saw him. One movie night they had watched a Disney movie, and Tetsu couldn’t make it through, too familiar with the self-loathing the Beast expressed. Who could ever love a Beast stand an alpha like him, all teeth and claws and scars and clumsy tongue?

Kirishima saw too much. He always did. And instead of just telling him to look at the pictures, he mentioned, offhandedly, half an hour after she had placed the sketches down, how he had some of her sketches in his room, of him and the others, and even his plants, and how it was nice, sometimes, to see what other people saw.

He waited until Kirishima went to the restroom to look.

Tetsu didn’t know enough about art to know what she had done them in, some kind of extra thick pencil it looked like, but there were half a dozen Tetsus over the page, one from behind bent over a book. Ashido had carefully outlined the muscles in his back and his shoulders as he hunched low and reached for his latte. There were Tetsus in profile, a Tetsu with his head in his hands, a Tetsu looking up, not with a smile, but without a growl.

Ashido hadn’t shied away from showing the scars on his neck or his arms or his lips, hadn’t hidden his teeth, and part of him ached to know that she saw them. But she had drawn more than that; the shadows in his hair and the light in his eyes and the life in his lungs were staring back at him. He looked different, so different, from the pictures they had taken after the ring was broken. In those, all Tetsu saw was a monster.

In Ashido’s sketches, he could see a man.

After that, Tetsu wanted to use some of his hard earned privileges. It had been almost three months since he had last launched himself at someone, six weeks since he growled and postured in group or in public, and he knew Taishiro would support him if he asked nicely and if he had a plan.

He was going to get Ashido a present. In return for the sketches, which he had passed on to his dad, who cried over them.

The art store was a little farther out than he expected. It wasn’t one of his usual stops - the cafe, the Alpha gym that opened early especially for the ex-fighters, the dentist - but it was close enough to the temple that some of the others went to so that he could walk the rest of the way. Taishiro made him review his plan several times, the directions between the shuttle stop and the art supply store, and what time he had to be back, and what he should do if he got overwhelmed.

The best laid plans of mice and men usually get fucked up.

The ride to the temple was fine. Shoji and the driver were the only other alphas in the bus, and Tetsu looked away and didn’t react when Shoji passed his seat.

Walking to the art supply store was fine, too. It was a twelve minute walk, although it took Tetsu sixteen because of waiting for the crossing light and moving to the side to let people pass when they walked too close behind him.

Finding something for Ashido … that’s when things began to go wrong.

For one thing, Tetsu didn’t actually know anything about art. He knew that Ashido drew in pencil, and Kirishima had mentioned her spilling ink all over the couch, and he had heard her mention things about sculpting, but what kind of paper did she use? There were literal aisles of sketch pads and paper packs with slight variations of white and strings of letters and numbers that Tetsu had no understanding of. The pencils were almost as bad - there were pencils in individual cubby holes and pencils in tins and packs of pencils for sketching, and there were charcoals and pastels. He took one look at all the little wires and sticks that were supposed to be sculpting tools and turned around.

The other part was that everything seemed so expensive. Could a pack of colored pencils really cost that much?

This had been a stupid idea.

The goth omega that was stocking shelves spoke up when Testu growled to himself.

“Do you need something that’s not on the shelves? We can special order it if you don’t see it.”

Fuck. Now he had to talk. He hated talking to people. And he hadn’t practiced like he had the hello and good bye and thank you he would need at check out.

“No - itsh -” G-ddamnit he sounded drunk. He needed to talk more. “Itsh a thank you gift, and - I don’t know what she wantsh.”

The omega was nodded like he had some kind of inner knowledge of gift giving.

“The labyrinth of gift giving can suck anyone into the black mire of despair. What kind of stuff does she make?”

“Uh, she drawsh - drawz - uh, in pensh - pen-cil. And shometimes, I think, doesh - does - a lot of little doodles, in pen? But I don’t know the brand.”

“Strictly black and white or does she do color as well?”

“I’m not shure, but - her hair’s pink? And she wearsh a lot of bright makeup.”

“Pink hair, loud makeup. A familiar sight. You aren’t talking about Ashido, are you?”

Struck dumb, Tetsu nodded.

“Wonders will never cease. I know exactly what you should get her. She’s been drooling over this set for weeks. She’s waxed poetic about the blends, talks to the pencils like a lover.”

That was when the first mistake happened. The omega got a little too close and Testsu didn’t like the idea of Ashido talking to the clerk - talking to anyone else - anyone else - talking to pencils - anyone hearing Ashido talk like that.

The omega backed up, startled, and glanced toward the front of the store.

“Wait, no - shorry, I just - sh- sorry. Sorry. Which pack wash she looking at?”

Tetsu backed up to give the omega room and ducked his head, keeping his hands down. Taishiro called it reverse-posturing, trying to look less intimidating and take up less space. The omega paused before coming closer, than reached to the top shelf and handed him a box of Tomo Irojiten pencils.

“This one has the flourescents. It’s a cornucopia of colors for her.”

Tetsu looked between the box and the price tag. He would be short almost 1000 yen with this.

“Maybe, uh, a shmaller box? It’sh, a, just a thank you gift.”

“There’s a 20% first time shopper coupon, if you want to use it. We’ve got a stack of ‘em up front. Come on.”

Tetsu allowed himself to be led to the front, where the clerk - his tag, handdrawn in black and silver, said ‘Tokoyami’ - rung the pencils in and scanned the coupon.

“Hey, Kouda! Can you gift wrap this? It’s for Ashido.”

Another omega - tall and silent - wrapped the pencil box in striped paper and put it in the shopping bag as Tokoyami counted out his change.

With one hurdle down, Tetsu felt good. It hadn’t gone perfectly, but he got it.

He still had extra time before the shuttle came back.

And he liked the iced lattes Ashido got him.

He could stop and get something to drink.

It wasn’t until he was ordering in the busy cafe that he remembered he had spent all of his money, and he stumbled over his words as tried to apologize and cancel his order, but the shop was busy and the line behind him wasn’t patient and there were already more people just in line then there ever were at Kirishima’s cafe and his nerves were fraying. The victory of finding Ashido a good present was not enough to keep his spirits up.

“Come on, dude, hurry up!”

“G-d, I’ll pay for him, just let’s go! It’s hot out here!”

“Get out of the fuckin’ line, mush mouth!”

With the command, the alpha behind him shoved his shoulder and Tetsu’s control snapped.

He didn’t want to think about it. The alpha that shoved him had gone down, bloody and fast, and the cops were called to drag a hissing and spitting Tetsu into the squad car from a cafe that stank of fear and aggression.

Ashido’s pencils had gotten broken in the fight, and Tetsu held them to his chest as he very deliberately didn’t cry.

------

BY @mtorolite WHO IS LIKE NOW OFFICIALLY THE OFFICIAL AUTHOR OF RFC MINATETSU

AND THE SAD ENDING IM,,,,,,,,,, OUCH WOW THIS IS SO CUTE AND GOOD TAHKN YODFU ASDFHASFA

#rfc #submission

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jacobpaulnielsen · 4 years ago

Text

Interview with Oz Fritz on working with Tom Waits and the making of 1999′s Mule Variations

Jacob Nielsen: Do you have phases with bands?

Oz Fritz: I listen to the music I grew up with all the time when I'm driving. I make mix CDs, so I have about 50 mix CDs and Dylan is definitely fairly prominent. When I first heard "Like A Rolling Stone" I had a religious experience. I kinda stopped following him when he did the Frank Sinatra songs. I didn't get that. Some of the bootlegs, the production sounds better to me than the actual album because the songs are not overly produced. A lot of his albums have terrible production. That's one thing.

JN: What do you mean?

OF: It could mean kind of a number of different things, but just that there's no excitement in the track or it obviously sounds like a drum machine. There's no real qualifier I could say that makes it sound "not good" to me. For Dylan's whole style - if you've read about how he records, he likes to record really fast and sometimes that doesn't translate. Some of his other, later stuff, is produced really well. Like "Love and Theft" and the one after that.

JN: Was it Time Out of Mind?

OF: Time Out of Mind is a classic. Although, that one gets to sound a bit dated at times. But yeah, that's a very good production. Actually, getting back to Tom Waits...that [album] very much inspired Tom Waits. And from what I've heard, and what I'm told, Dylan was inspired by Tom Waits.

JN: Those are two big personalities.

OF: And then there was the fact that right around then, when Dylan was touring he always had a bullet mic. A bullet mic is a kind of a green, specialty mic made by Shure that's specifically for harmonica. Plugging a mic like that directly into an amp gets that distorted sound. Tom kind of used it as part of his lo-fi aesthetic. That was a mic he would sing into to get a lo-fi version of a vocal. And so Dylan toured with that. Besides a regular mic, he had this bullet mic which, according to Tom, he never used but it was there.

I know Tom was influenced by Time Out of Mind because the next record we did was a record Tom produced from John Hammond Jr. called Wicked Grin and he hired the same keyboard player that had been on Time Out of Mind. His name is Augie Meyers. He's an old veteran musician from Texas. Tom put together the whole band for that album and Augie Meyers was included because of his work on Time Out of Mind.

When I was working with Tom [beginning with Mule Variations], he was constantly telling me influences and things like that. There was a constant flow of information. I know that Time Out of Mind wasn't on his radar at that point.

JN: What were the reference tracks like for Mule Variations. Would Tom say, you know, I want "Hold On" to sound like this Rod Stewart song?

OF: No he wouldn't be that specific. Before we started, he wanted me to listen to the Radiohead album that had just come out. He wouldn't say why or what specifically about it I should hear. Just a general aesthetic I guess.

JN: Bands like Radiohead don't seem very "on brand" for a guy like Tom Waits.

OF: Oh man. He stays really on top of what is happening. He told me about The White Stripes before anyone had ever heard of 'em. I think another one might have been The Strokes. He stays pretty involved.

At some point near the end [of the Mule Variations sessions] he and Kathleen went to a Bjork concert. He was extremely impressed by her turntablist, who wasn’t just scratching but playing samples from records. That caused Tom to find a DJ and bring him in and have him throw some stuff down.

JN: Right. There are samples on ‘Big In Japan’, right? What was that like in the studio?

OF: He’s constantly recording stuff. Back then, it was on cassette. I was just given a loop. Primus was doing the music for that and so he just played the loop and they played the song. It was longer, too. He edited some of the lyrics out. It got to be a little bit long, he decided.

JN: Mule Variations is 16 songs, but it was meant to be 25. So that’s a double album. What songs were cut from the album?

OF: There’s one called “Lost at the Bottom of the World,” which is on Orphans, and there’s one that’s never made it anywhere and it’s actually one of my favorite songs of his. It’s called “Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind”. We recorded [Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind] for Mule Variations and we recorded a different version for Alice. It did find life. Solomon Burke put it on one of his records. I didn’t think he did justice to the song. I love Tom’s versions way more. Those are the only ones I remember off hand.

JN: Years ago, you had told me that the album was called Mule Variations because of all the different versions of “Get Behind the Mule”.

OF: That’s right.

JN: Was that similar for songs like “Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind”? Did he record that song a bunch of different ways, too?

OF: No we only had one...or maybe two different versions. I don’t remember. He worked on it. It was definitely a song in contention [for the record]. He obviously loved the song enough to put it down again on the next albums [Alice and Blood Money]. I don’t know what went in his process on not putting it on the record. That is something he has in common with Dylan that I’ve found. Some of Dylan’s best songs, he’s not put on record. There’s one called Blind Willie McTell. Some consider it one of his best songs.

Marc Ribot once told me (and this is just people’s theories and opinions) that Tom is wary of power. If something sounds too powerful, it turns him off.

JN: I wonder about his definition of power. I hear a song like “Come On Up to the House” or “Anywhere I Lay My Head” and I’m like holy shit. Tom has this amazing ability to sound like someone who is just totally broken. To me that’s very powerful.

OF: Well, Marc could have been coming from the point of view of his guitar playing. We did a whole week of Ribot doing overdubs, and I love his guitar playing. At the end of it I told him that and Marc’s comment was “well...we’ll see how much of it is used.” So I think Marc might have found stuff that was really powerful in his guitar playing and it didn’t make it on to the records.

JN: What can you recall about some of the equipment that was used on the album?

OF: So the first record that Tom did at Prairie Sun was Bone Machine. At that point, there was no “Waits Room,” there was nothing done in those lower rooms. There was only the tracking room - Studio B - and then there was the mixing room - Studio A. Studio B, the live room, sounded good but it was very generic sounding. So they started this record [Bone Machine] and they had him all set up. After one playback, Tom just hated it. He hated the sound. It lacked character, for him. So he wasn’t going to do the record there. He then had the idea to do it at his house. He rented a whole bunch of mics and mic-pres, took it to his house with engineers, but apparently it also didn’t work there. So he came back to Prairie Sun and they were just walking down that driveway. Tom was trying to think of what to do and he looked over and saw that building that has the Waits Room in it. He went in. It was a storage room and he said “well, what would this room be like if we took all the junk out of it?” So they did and it sounded amazing. So the Waits Room was actually born during the making of Bone Machine.

So for Mule Variations, which was now eight years later, he came back and he wanted to do it in that same room. This time he took over that whole floor. At that point there was no mixing board there. No control room either. It wasn’t its own studio. The control room was upstairs in Studio B. There were lines that ran from the basement [Studio C] to the upstairs [Studio B]. It was really physically hard. To adjust a mic, I’d have to run down the hill, adjust the mic, and run up the hill. We set up playback down there so they could listen back without having to come up to the control room. That whole floor was utilized for the recording. There were two rooms: the Waits Room and the Corn Room. The Corn Room is a much bigger room. [We tracked] between those two spaces, but sometimes we used the middle part of the studio.

So Tom would be playing in the Waits Room, he’d either be playing a guitar or piano, and he would be singing. This was basically his modus operandi for almost all of the songs, or maybe all of them: he would record his basic part first and then add stuff on. A lot of the songs, like Get Behind the Mule, would just be him, another piano/rhythm guitar, Larry Taylor (an upright bass player), and then a guy usually doing hand percussion. Occasionally, like for Filipino Box Spring Hog, drums would be set up outside the Waits Room. The door would be open so they would all have sight line and feel like they were in the same room.

As far as the equipment, he’s still all analog and analog approach. The recorder was a suitor 880 and all the mic pres were on that Neve desk upstairs [in Studio B]. This was in ‘98 or ‘99, I think maybe ‘98. Pro Tools had just come out, and Tom likes to check out new technology. Like I said, he likes to stay on top of things.

There’s a long story about how Jacquire King got involved. I went and interviewed with Tom to do the record and then Tom kept delaying the start time. I had a bunch of dates already booked with Bill Laswell to do live sound in the summer, which I wasn’t going to give up because he’s a long term client and friend of mine. So I told Tom when they finally got the start date “there’s gonna be some days I’m not gonna be here because I’ve got to go overseas.” Tom said “Well, you know I don’t want to keep switching engineers. You know, I really love your vibe. We’ll probably do something in the future, but I want to have one engineer for the whole thing.” So, cool. Whatever. He went looking for another engineer and he’d heard about Jacquire King. They brought him up to Prairie Sun for the interview. Tom’s interview consists of a session. He doesn’t tell you when you’re going for the interview. When you get there he says, “Okay, let’s do some recording.” They did that for Jacquire and Jacquire was not experienced with analog recording at the time. They didn’t like his recording. They tried a thing in the Waits room and it just didn’t work out. So I got a call the next week from Tom, saying that he and Kathleen both like Jacquire but they realized he didn’t really have his chops up yet on analog recording. So...would I be willing to be the chief recording engineer? [I’d] set the parameters, meet with Jacquire, and show him how I do analog recording. The thing Tom liked about Jacquire was he was a Pro Tools engineer. So Jacquire became more than just a substitute for me. He brought out Pro Tools and they used it on FIlipino Box Spring Hog. Lowside of the Road might have been mixed [on Pro Tools] too.

JN: What is the difference in mixing on Pro Tools vs. Analog?

OF: At that point, I don’t think they were using Pro Tools in the box, which means to completely mix something in the computer, strictly digital. It doesn't go to a mixing desk or any other gear outside the computer. They were using Pro Tools as the source instead of a tape machine. The reason they were using Pro Tools was because he was kind of cutting and pasting stuff and moving stuff around. Which is a lot harder to do with tape.

I would say the whole record is maybe 80 or 90 percent analog. Even the Pro Tools stuff wasn’t mixed in Pro Tools. It went out, back through the Neve and then mixed to analog tape.

JN: On a song like Lowside of the Road, the beginning sounds like a man snoring. Is that a vibraslap making that sound?

OF: That song had its genesis somewhere else. It came from an 8 track tape that he had. I think he recorded it at his house. That’s where the basic tracks were. They brought that into Prairie Sun and they overdubbed on top of that. I’m not sure how it started.

JN: On Mule Variations there are a lot of these images that are “painted” with sound. Was that sort of stuff a directive to you? Did Tom say “Oz, I want this to sound like a guy snoring.”?

OF: Nothing was ever that specific. But the visuals, when you say “painted,” that’s very accurate. He wouldn’t say “make it sound like a guy’s snoring,” but when I was mixing or overdubbing Cold Water, he said he wanted more brown in the mix. Which I knew. I could relate that to a particular range or frequencies.

When we were mixing Alice, he’d give these real abstract images. He said, “Oz. Picture yourself in a dollhouse. You’re in a dollhouse. You’re in a room in a dollhouse and a regular size person comes in and sticks their face into the dollhouse. That’s how I want my vocal to sound.”

JN: That seems pretty on brand for Tom Waits. Is that pretty unique in comparison to other artists you’ve worked with?

OF: It’s totally unique. No one else has come close to being like that in terms of direction. Bill Laswell once told me when we were working on a dub record and he told me I should reference a book called Naked Lunch by William Burroughs. That’s the only thing that comes close.

There was a more traditional reference that came from Tom too. There’s a drummer named Andrew Borger, who’s on the record. He had made a tape, a cassette, of him playing drums. It was like an audition tape. And it was slightly overloaded. It had a particular sound, which Tom loved. He brought me that cassette tape and told me to emulate that sound. Man, it was really hard. I got a great sound, I thought. It’s the drum sound for Filipino Box Spring Hog. It’s much different than the cassette tape but that was my attempt to get that reference.

JN: Tom is someone who’s very famous for his different voices. Songs like Pony and Cold Water are great examples of his range. Tell me about recording his different voices.

OF: They were all the same microphone, those two particular songs. There wasn’t a lot of variation on microphones. There was a lot of processing done in the mixing to try to sculpt the vocal sound. In Get Behind the Mule, he’s singing through a PVC pipe. That was the same microphone, but obviously it sounds way different because he’s singing through a pipe. That was completely his decision to do that.

There was one time though, there was a session on the Blood Money album, where he was trying to get this song and he just couldn’t get it. I suggested to him to try a real lo-fi mic. He did and that’s how he got the vocal. That was a bit of an exception. Generally, it was always kind of the same mic that he sang into.

Tom wanted to record Chocolate Jesus outside. He set everyone up in front of those white doors that are in front of the Waits Room. Jacquire mic’d everything up. When Tom heard it he thought it sounded too nice. Too high fidelity. So Jacquire went back. He took down all his close mics, put up a pair of shotgun mics, and recorded the whole ensemble just with these shotgun mics. I technically mixed that song but there wasn’t much to do because there were only two channels.

JN: That’s another song that really paints a picture with sound. That recording feels like a hot summer day in the Deep South. Tom sounds exhausted, almost like a sharecropper.

OF: Right.

JN: You don’t seek out a production credit on albums you work on, do you?

OF: Right. There’s no producer. There’s a reducer.

JN: It sounds to me like Tom seeks out people that will help him shape the sounds that he has, not vice versa.

OF: Yeah. You’ve got to sort of realize your place though, too. He never told me this, I was trained this way in New York...the artist is the boss. I’m doing their record. I’m not doing my record. The only creative stuff I felt free to do was on the technical side. Nowadays you have a lot of musicians who do their own engineering, so they’ll start giving you engineering suggestions. Stuff like what mics to use or even how to place them. Which is fine, but Tom never went near that at all. One time he wanted me to hear the sound of a whip on a cassette in the back of his SUV that was cranked incredibly fucking loud [laughs]. He would just try to give you references to try to go for.

[In Listen Up!] there’s a chapter about working with Tom Waits. He talks about giving these ideas to Tom and Kathleen. He’d come up with these sounds or whatever, you know, “check this out, let’s use it!” type of thing. At one point he talks about how Tom called him up at the hotel, and if you read the book you’ll get a lot of very colorful imagery of Tom basically saying “back the fuck off,” but he says it much more politely.

Some other input I got was, Tom was very influenced by this turntable DJ that Bjork had, and so he brought a guy in [to do that]. He was also very interested in samples. I had a sound effects library and I brought that in and we used some of the effects off of that.

My sound effects library was on these things called DATs (Digital Audio Tapes). They were the same quality as recordable CDs. During the 90s, I was living sort of bi-costally. All of my work was back in New York and most of my work was with Bill Laswell at his Greenpoint studio in Brooklyn. Above his studio, I had converted it into an art gallery and I used to stay above the studio. I had a lot of time. I basically dubbed all of Bill’s CD sound effects and put them on DATs. [During Mule Variations], I’d bring the whole thing in. We put an auctioneer on Eyeball Kid. Tom would just come up with ideas and we would just go through [my DATs] and choose one.

JN: The first track that comes to mind with something like your library is “What’s He Building?” Did you rely on your sound effects library when you were tracking that song?

OF: Well, that was a pretty unique recording. He did three or four takes of that song, but there was no overdubs added afterwards. Everything was completely live. It’s that big room, The Corn Room, at Prairie Sun. Tom brought any musical instrument that he had at his house, he brought to Prairie Sun. That whole floor was just tons of instruments. He had all this home-made percussion. The kind that Harry Parch would make. So there was all kinds of instruments like that in the Corn Room and he just started doing the vocal, the spoken word on a handheld mic. An SM7 or something like that. Then Kathleen and the assistant engineer at the time, Jeff Sloan (who was also a percussionist), made the background sounds. All the background sounds are them hitting stuff just kind of randomly while Tom’s doing the spoken word. Some of the sounds are from the harp of a piano just being hit. That was all done live, but he edited some of it out. There were a lot more verses.

JN: Really?

OF: Oh yeah. The guy was definitely building something in there.

JN: This album was recorded at the peak of the CD boom in the music industry. A lot of people, at least at Tom Waits’ calibur, were recording digitally. Is there any insight as to why Tom kind of insisted on doing things analog?

OF: At Prairie Sun back then, there were no Pro Tools and that was how you recorded there. At my interview with Tom, I told him I had been listening to Bone Machine and I really liked the sound of it.

He said “No, don’t use that as a reference. You should be listening to Rain Dogs. That’s the one I want to use as a reference for my recordings.”

It just so happened that I knew the difference in the recording between Bone Machine and Rain Dogs. [Robert Musso], who recorded Rain Dogs, was one of my engineer teachers in New York. I knew that they did it by the New York standard, which is 30 inches per second for the tape speed, no noise reduction. I knew that Bone Machine had been recorded in California at 15 ips, half the speed and using noise reduction. The difference in those techniques is that, when you use noise reduction, you can’t slam the tape. You can’t hit the tape hard. Part of the whole New York aesthetic was...record at 30 ips, hit the tape as hard as you can without blowing things up and you get a thing called tape compression. That’s partly what makes things sound that punchy. That’s part of why Mule Variations has a bigger, more open sound. Whereas, with Bone Machine - which I love the sound of [and] I think Tchad Blake did a really excellent job mixing it - sounds a little tighter or closed.

JN: What do you mean when you say “hit the tape”?

OF: Record at a hot level, so your drums [for example] are hitting your VU meters. They’re slamming it. When people say they love the sound of tape, a lot of that is recording it to its maximum headroom. You don’t get quite the same effect when you’re doing it at 15 ips and using noise reduction. Noise reduction is severely processing the sound. Partly, the reason why records from the 50s and 60s and 70s sound bigger was the whole philosophy was using as little electronics as possible. To go as much as you could directly from the mic to the tape recorder and have as few electronics in between as possible. So that was kind of the aesthetic brought to Mule Variations. As much as possible, direct to the tape machine. With Dolby noise reduction, it’s encoding the sound when it goes into the tape machine and then decoding the sound when it comes out. That’s how it’s taking out the noise, but it’s being processed. [The sound] doesn’t go through that stage if you’re not using noise reduction. If you’re not using noise reduction, you’re almost obliged to record at a loud level because when you record at a louder level, you’re not going to get as much noise.

JN: Did Tom know that you had studied under Robert Musso?

OF: No. I told him at the interview, but he hadn’t known that prior. He did check me out a little bit. When he called me the very first time and he asked for a sample of my mixes, he called them “hyper real.” They were too big, or maybe too powerful for him. I think part of it was that he needed a professional engineer that was in the area. I’d been recommended to him by Brain, the drummer for Primus. I knew Brain from New York. The thing that Tom was super impressed with was, I sent him a tape of my ambient recording. Stuff that I had done out on the street. Interesting things. Just sounds. He liked that more than my actual mix reel.

JN: How do you approach miking a room like the Corn Room?

OF: Well, I always had room mics. I had two U87s up in the corners of the Waits room along with all the close mics. It’s just a matter of putting up extra mics, having ambient mics. For a drum track, I use four sets of ambient mics. Two for the whole room, to get the biggest room [sound] as possible. Two that I call boom mics. They’re not close mics, but they’re not real distant so they’re like if a person was just standing in front of a drum kit.

This was an educational experience for me too. I never worked on anything like Tom Waits. I’m writing a book - my memoir about the music industry. Part of what I say in there is, when I was in New York, I learned how to make things sound as big and powerful as possible. We went to extra lengths to push the boundaries. Coming out and working with Tom Waits, that was a whole different aesthetic. He didn’t want it to sound as big, beautiful, and shiny as possible. [His] whole lo-fi aesthetic was a huge educational part of my recording career.

Years ago, you told me that the initial mix of Hold On had these beautiful guitar arpeggios. Then Tom comes to you and says “Oz, some guy like Rod Stewart is going to come along and cover this song,” and so he didn’t want it to sound too pretty. How many other times did he come back and say “it sounds too good”?

That was really the only time. Mixing was challenging, definitely. We finished tracking and we moved from the tracking room at Prairie Sun to the mix room, which had a different board and was configured differently back then. We spent a week there, mixing. He would always love the sound of it when he was hearing it in the control room. We’d make a cassette for him but he’d listen at home and he wasn’t digging the mixes at all. It was getting to be every single day that was happening. So I was getting kind of nervous. Like, at what point am I going to get fired?

We decided that what he didn’t really like was the sound of that board. It was a Trident board. It did have a much different sound than the Neve board. We were constantly making rough mixes. He really dug the sound of the rough mixes done in the Neve room [Studio B]. So the whole thing was…”Okay, after this week we’re going back into Studio B to mix on the Neve.” But there was one day, a Friday, when we mixed Big in Japan [on the Trident board]. At that point it had been four or five days of not really hearing anything he liked when he got home. He said “okay, give me a cassette.” He wasn’t even that thrilled with what was happening. I made him a cassette of Big in Japan and he brought it home and he just loved it. He loved the mix. All he said was he wanted the edits put back in. The tape that had been edited out was on the floor, so I had to go and dig through all these pieces of tape, find the right piece and put it back into the song. That was the mix.

In terms of the mixing...it was a long process. He had me and Jacquire each do our own versions of mixes. I think Jacquire has three on there, or two of ‘em, from Pro Tools and then I have the rest. Most of the mixes I did, that he accepted, four or five of them were done in one night. He gets into this thing where he likes to work really fast. He doesn’t want people thinking too much. Just working on instinct. I think it was the night of Hold On that we were on a roll and did four or five songs. Eyeball Kid was mixed that night, then Come On Up to the House.

Alice was done the same way too. He always worked Monday to Friday and took weekends off. On a Friday he walks in and says “Okay, Oz. Let’s do some mixing.” I started mixing some songs and I think we mixed three or four, just knocked them off. He loved it. He said “Well Oz, we’re on a roll. Can you stay over and work tomorrow?” Okay, sure. I worked on Saturday and I think we mixed maybe 90% of the album in those two days. That’s after trying mixes, you know, regular. Spending a whole day on a song.

JN: How many other people work like that?

OF: Well...no one. Bill Laswell to some extent, also works really fast. People have that recognition when something is happening, and they know when to stop and not to take it too far. Tom’s like that. He’s always trying to keep it alive and fresh and not too overly worked.

[Working on Mule Variations], you didn’t know exactly what you were going to do every day. You might be thinking, okay, we’ve got all the songs done. We’re going to do overdubs today. And then he’d say, “I’ve got a new song.” It was always very Zen in the sense of...you had to pay attention to what was going on.

JN: What new songs did he come in with?

OF: There’s one on Orphans. Rain On Me, I think it’s called. That was one where, I think we were mixing and he’s like “okay, I’ve got a new song. I want to record this.”

On Blood Money and Alice, three of the mixes were just complete rough mixes. Two of them were from [when] we recorded everything live and then the band would come in for a playback. I would run the playback into a DAT, which was CD quality. Just to hear the monitor mix. Two of those mixes were the first time anybody had ever heard it on tape, including myself. That’s just my balance going to the recorder.

JN: What songs were those?

OF: I’m bad with titles. Something about King Edward’s Brother. I don’t remember the other one, but the very first song on Blood Money is the rough mix.

That’s a very interesting story, too. 9/11 happened while we had some time off. The first session that we had was about a week after it happened. Tom said he was thinking about cancelling it, but if he did he would just be sitting in front of the TV getting more depressed, so we did the session. The mood was...you just feel his mood. He just projects it. Not that he’s intentionally being negative or whatever, but if he’s not in a good mood, you kind of just feel it. He came in, the mood was really heavy and says “I want to put a hand drum on Misery’s the River of the World and then I want you to give it a good rough mix.” Meaning I got to spend more than 15 minutes getting a balance. I spent two or three hours getting a decent rough mix. When it came time to mix those records, he was very concerned that those two albums were going to sound the same because they were all done in the same studio with the same musicians and the same production team. So he brought this other engineer up from LA to mix Blood Money. They did about three or four mixes of Misery is the River of the World, but he always went back and he ended up using that rough mix. I think it’s not because it’s such a brilliant mix but because there was something about the mood in the studio at the time. If you listen to the song, it’s kind of appropriate for a 9/11 aftermoment.

JN: What do you remember about the album’s release?

OF: Even though CDs were prevalent, everything inside the studio was an analog world. Like, I didn’t know how to use Pro Tools. It wasn’t a common thing. From what I remember, everyone always did both. Major releases still pressed to vinyl and CD.

Tom loved all the songs that we had but there were too many of them. He had hoped to make it a double album, but the record company was shy about that because it was his first record on Epitaph. They felt like it was much harder to market a double album. Some of the songs that were chosen were at the mastering session. It went up to that last minute. I really loved Lowside of the Road, which I was less involved with. I really lobbied hard for that to be on the record. It came close to not being on the record.

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codenomesailorv · 4 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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kazosa · 6 years ago

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A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

Summary: All you wanted was to use your skills in automotive engineering and design to open your own custom car shop. When the rug gets yanked out from under you, one of your regular customers offers you a job that you just can’t resist. Will it stay a mutually beneficial arrangement, or will something unexpected bloom?

Pairing: AU Dean Winchester x Reader

Appearances by: Chuck Shurely, Donna Hanscum

Chapter Synopsis: reader and her boss, Chuck, have a talk and it doesn’t go well. Dean has a proposal to solve both of their problems.

Word count: 3450

Warnings: language, thievery, conniving

Tagging: @coffee-obsessed-writer (if you want to be added to the tags, holla)

(this will be a multi-chapter series until I get all the words out)

Dean flipped the green invitation over in his hands, the gold lettering reflecting the light. It was same card stock the cheap, old bastard always used. This one, however, had a snowflake at the top and requested his presence for the annual Christmas party. The dread was already seeping in. The inevitable questions would come up.

“Do you have a special someone?” then watching their faces drop when he said ‘no’. The disappointment, the sadness, the pity. If it didn’t come from his family, it would come from the shareholders.

There had never been a real time-table on when his dad was going to retire, but John Winchester had been hinting heavily at it for the last six months. To make matters worse, Dean’s brother, Sam, had gotten engaged to his long-time girlfriend, Jess, at Thanksgiving.

Dean never understood why being married was a requirement to run the family business. He didn’t need someone distracting him, there was no time for anything more than a one-night stand. His focus had been on creating new blends and staying relevant in the brewing community. If he was going to have any shot at running the business, he needed to, at least, make it look like he was going to have or already did have a long-term relationship.

He tossed the invitation on the coffee table and got up from his couch. He had less than a week to get it figured out, but other things needed his attention. Grabbing his brown leather jacket and keys, he headed down to the garages. Baby needed a tune up and he didn’t have time to do it himself.

Business was good. It was always good, and you were confident it was because of you. You did most of the work in the garage and stayed late to help with the books and maintaining inventory. Chuck was deep in the black and you weren’t being cut in on the profits. Getting your own custom design garage going had been a dream and you were saving up for it. You were still a year, maybe two away from having your start up capital at the rate you were going. With Chuck not sharing the profits you were responsible for generating, you asked him for a meeting to talk about it.

“Damnit, Chuck, you can’t do this to me,” you pleaded. “I’m the reason you’re going on vacation every quarter. No one is going to give me the loans I need until I get my down payment secured. I was counting on you.”

“(Y|N), if I hand you everything, you won’t appreciate what you have. You’ll never get the work ethic to see something through to completion without help,” he looked so smug sitting in his desk chair. “There’s nothing wrong with this garage and working here. I don’t understand why you’d want to leave.”

The deep, throaty sounds of the muscle cars that were the bread and butter of the business were in the background noise of the rage you were feeling toward Chuck. You were vaguely aware of movement outside the door of Chuck’s office.

“This is a load of bullshit. Do you hear yourself?! Do you actually believe the crap that comes out of your mouth? You know what an asset I am and you’re screwing me over to keep e here,” you could feel the heat of your rage begin to crawl up your neck.

“I’d like to remind you that you’re under contract until the end of the month. You can either resign for another year, or you can walk.”

“So, you’ve already made up your mind? This is it?” you were numb.

“January 1st. 1 P.M. You’re not here to sign, I’ll consider your resignation immediate. No hard feelings,” Chuck’s voice was cool and controlled.

“Anything else?” you matched his tone.

“No. You can go,” he was almost glib.

You were clenching your teeth, willing yourself not to break. Quickly, you turned and left Chuck’s office. the old wood and glass door rattled as it closed behind you. Too caught up in the disaster your life had suddenly become, you didn’t notice the man on the visitor couch until he cleared his throat.

“The hell do you want?” you growled. “Oh, right, tune up.”

You saw the car outside first before you’d put the information together.

“Sorry, it’s not you. Winchester, right?” you asked.

Dean stood up, but he didn’t move. For a man as big as he is and normally so confident, it was a little odd to see him so apprehensive.

“Yes, but that’s not all,” he said.

“Not interested,” you really hoped he wouldn’t be like the shocking majority of your customers and not hit on you. They all seemed to want to take you away, provide for you, or some crap about you being a woman mechanic. No one ever took time to get to know you.

“What? No, wait. I have a proposition for you!” he tried to stop you from walking away.

“Get the hell out of my garage,” you ordered.

“Shit! No, it’s not like that! I mean, it is, but it’s not what you think,” he tried to get you to stop and listen.

You looked at your crazy customer. Over the last year, you’d seen Dean for regular oil changes and a few other minor repairs you were sure he could have done himself. You’d gotten acquainted with him, but not much more than car talk.

“Can we talk in private somewhere?” he asked earnestly.

The ‘talk’ with Chuck was still ringing in your ears. You brushed off your hands on your coveralls and said, “Sure, what the hell.”

The short walk to the café on the corner wasn’t long enough to cool off your flared temper. This Dean guy was working your nerves, too, but at least Donna’s brought the promise of hot drinks and donuts. Reaching for the door, you puled it open letting both you and Dean in. The smell of donuts, cookies, and coffee greeted you, as well as the owner of the store.

“Hi kiddo!” she called from behind the counter. “Have a seat, be right with ya!”

“She’s … cheerful,” Dean observed.

You were feeling better already. Donna’s was the place you went to almost every day. She had the best donuts in town, a small variety of coffee, and now that the weather had turned, apple cider and hot chocolate.

“Donna is the best. She takes care of everybody,” you felt yourself smiling. You stopped near your favorite booth and turned to face Dean.

“Have a sea, I need to go wash my hands,” you held up your grease stained hands. “Donna keeps Lava for me. Be right back.”

You didn’t wait for Dean to slide into the booth. You didn’t even care if he was there when you got back, but you were curious to hear what “proposition” he had for you. In the bathroom, you barely had time to turn on the faucet and grab the soap before Donna came bursting in through the door.

“(Y|N)! Oh my gosh, who is mister cutie-pie out there?! And are you two going to…”

“Donna! Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you warned.

“What?! He’s CUTE! If you’re not going to, send him back my way, huh?”

Donna was too much, sometimes.

“He’s a customer and we’re going to talk business,” you were using the scrubbing soap Donna hid under the sink, just for you.

“I don’t care, you better get his number, then tell me all about it!”

“Donna!”

The woman you thought of as a sister, gave you a wink before she bustled out of the bathroom. The gritty soap worked loose the grease that stuck to your skin and rinsed off your hands. The soap worked well but left your hands dry. When you put away the soap, you put half a pump of lotion in your hand and worked if into your skin. Miraculously, when you did a mirror check, no stray strands of hair had escaped your bandana headband. Calling it a win, you went back out to the booth where Dean was still waiting for you.

Dean sat at the booth, hands clasped in front of him, looking a little nervous. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen that look on his face. If that was how he looked for a business deal, you didn’t think you wanted to hear it.

Putting your hand on the bench, you slid into the booth across from Dean. The menu was on the table and you put your hand on it, walking your fingers on it to bring it closer to you.

“So, ahh,” Dean’s hands rapped out a rhythm on the table top, “you come here often?”

He couldn’t see your face behind the menu to gauge your reaction to his poor choice in words. You didn’t roll your eyes, but you did raise an eyebrow at him.

“Almost every day,” you admitted dryly.

“Donna seems nice,” he said.

You didn’t look up from your menu. You already knew what you wanted, you got the same thing every time. You were just in a bad mood and wanted to make Dean squirm a little.

“Look… Dean,” you relented and put down the menu. “I only have so much time for my break.”

“Seems like you might have a lot of free time soon,” he ventured.

“And just how long were you eavesdropping? Man, you’re really batting .1000,” your voice rose in volume and attitude.

“Your boss wasn’t being quiet when he gave you the ultimatum. Tow the line or get out, right?” he paused a moment. “You don’t seem like the conforming type.”

“Oh really, and what type do I seem like?” your volume increasing again.

“Hi kids! What can I getcha?!” Donna zoomed over to your booth and kicked your boot under the table.

You started, “I’ll have…”

Donna cut you off again, and without even looking at you, she said, looking at Dean, “I know what you want, I was talking to handsome, here.”

For the first time ever, Donna’s bubbly personality bugged the shit out of you. How dare she be nice to the smug jerk across from you.

“Any recommendations?” Dean asked, sweet as can be.

“Powdered sugar donuts are on special,” Donna answered.

“They’re on special every day, Donna,” you grumbled.

“Doesn’t make ‘em any less special, sweetie,” she said, the usual cheer in her tone, ignoring your our one.

Dean glanced at you, his expression wondering what he was missing.

“Um,” he stalled.

Donna glared at you.

“In all fairness,” your attention went to Dean, “they are pretty amazing.”

“You sold me,” he said and handed his menu to Donna, “Two and a black coffee.”

“I’ll be right back,” she said, then mouthed the words “BE NICE” to you before going back behind the counter to fill your orders. You gave Donna a noncommittal shrug. She was back in just a few short minutes.

Dean suspected that (Y|N) would be a tough sell on his plan. The whole drive to the garage he thought about what he was going to say. None of it sounded good. It all came out like garbage. After he parked his baby in the to-service area, he stepped inside the garage through the pass-through doors and to the right.

(Y|N) was hard to miss. Not only was she the only woman in the shop, she had a style all her won, even in work clothes. She was in the office talking to the owner, Chuck. She had her pulled up, a bandana wrapped around her head. Her coveralls had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he couldn’t see, but he knew she was wearing beat up black combat boots.

He took a seat in the waiting area. It didn’t take long before the conversation in the office became heated. He heard everything, and he finally knew how he could get her to help him. He stuck his foot in his mouth a few times, but she needed to get out of the shop and that worked to his advantage.

They’d gone to a café on the corner and he found himself in a booth staring at an untrusting, angry (Y|N), and at a loss for words. (Y|N) gave off a vibe that she had zero fucks left to give, so he pulled no punches, even though he found her attitude slightly intimidating.

“Look, I’m gonna get right to it, I need your help,” he began.

“Oh yeah?” you were wary of what he might say next, “this is gonna be good.”

“I’d like to pay you to do some…let’s call it ‘work.’ It’s out of the ordinary, but I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How out of the ordinary are we talkin’ here?” you were curious.

“I need a girlfriend for a week,” his voice was hushed

You started sliding out of the booth, “You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

He half-stood on his side of the booth to stop you from leaving.

“Hear me out, please. I swear it’s not what you think.”

His hand was cool and firm on top of yours. When you looked at him, he was still hovering over his seat, his eyes pleading with you to stay. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was that made you change your mind, but you found yourself sitting back down in the booth to hear what he had to say.

After you checked the time, you said, “You have fifteen minutes.”

“My family owns a brewery and car dealerships where I’m from. My dad has been very controlling of it and didn’t want to try anything new or change anything about how business was done and... it was part of the reason I left.”

“And the other part?” your curiosity about this job, and man, were growing.

Dean squirmed in his seat. This was the tough part.

“My dad thought it was important for the person he hands off the business to be in a solid relationship when he retires. They even tried to set me up with a “good girl” they thought would be good for me. Almost married her…There’s me and my brother left to take it over,” he said.

“And you want it?” you guessed. You had other questions, but this was not the time.

Dean nodded.

“What’s the catch? There’s always a catch,” you asked.

“The old man can spot a lie from a mile out. We’re really going to have to sell it. You might have to become my fiancé. I even have my grandmother’s ring if it comes down to it. The old man won’t give the business over unless he believes we’re real.”

“What else are you leaving out?” you wanted to know.

“My little brother got engaged at Thanksgiving. There’s a strong chance this won’t work,” he said.

“And you’re afraid you’re not pop’s favorite?”

“There’s that and I haven’t exactly been friendly with everyone and my track record with women has not been stellar,” he admitted.

“You see he irony here, right?” you asked, and Dean gave you a “what are you gonna do” shrug.

“Is your brother that much of a dick that he would try to snake the business from you by getting engaged?”

“All he sees is the profit margins. He doesn’t love the business like I do. Never has.”

You leaned back in the booth and polished off your donut and washed it down with the apple cider.

“So, you want me to convince your family that we’re a sickeningly in love couple, so you can snake the business from him?” you deduced.

Dean nodded again.

“If I help you do this, what do I get out of it?” you wanted to know.

“Would my unending appreciation be enough?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and stared at him, unblinking, unamused by his joke.

He leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones a though he were suddenly aware hey were in a public space.

“I can provide the capital you needed that you aren’t getting from Chuck. I wouldn’t even need to be an investor. Just call it a gift, or a payment, or whatever, for services rendered,” he said.

You definitely had not expected him to make you that kind of proposal. A lot of questions rolled through your head. How did he have that kind of money? He didn’t even know how much you needed. What was his dating history that he came to you?

Dean was relieved that you were still in the booth with him. He could see you were thinking hard on what he’d offered.

“And if you don’t get the business?”

“Then I’m still screwed, and you can kick my ass,” he snorted.

“I have the boots for that,” you said without missing a beat.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Mutually beneficial deal here. Would it be so bad to pretend to like me for a week?”

“No, not for the right price, I guess,” you said. “I’m not doing this for nothing, Winchester. And so long as we’re clear, it’s all for show. I’m not a whore to be bought, I just want my own garage. Why a week though?”

“Not a problem. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, real or fake. The week is my dad’s doing. It’s the only time each year when we are required to show up. He makes a big deal out of it. Party for the whole company. Speaking of, do you have a dress?”

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t believe the turn your day had taken. It was all so ridiculous. You had plenty of money saved, but you were unwilling to pony up the cash it would take to dress properly.

“I have a dress, but I have no jewelry to go with it,” you said. “When do you need an answer about this?”

You knew very little about Dean Winchester, but you’d found him to be mostly pleasant when you’d spoken to him in the past. You supposed there were worse ways to spend a week, especially with the possibility of losing your real job when you got back. But if it went well, you’d have the money to get your shop going. If it went poorly, you wouldn’t have your garage as quickly, but you might get a new friend out of it.

“Soon as possible,” he responded.

“I’ll let you know when you get your car tomorrow,” you started to slide out of the booth. “I gotta get back to work.”

Dean followed her out of the booth and was going to walk her out when Donna stopped him.

“Hey, buddy. No dine ‘n dash here,” she called out.

He jerked his head around to see the back of (Y|N)’s coveralls walking away from him.

“Nice,” he grumbled at her retreating figure. Turning back to the counter, he walked back to where Donna stood and pulled out his wallet. “My mistake.”

Donna smiled brightly at him. It was like she had no “off” switch.

“I used ta be a sheriff, didja know?” she asked.

Dean shook his head and handed her a $20. Donna’s former career hadn’t come up in conversation.

“Oh yeah. It gave me a particular set of skills acquired over a long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for guys like you. If you promise you’ll be a gentleman and not break my dear friend’s heart, I won’t look for you. I will not pursue you. But if you do, I will find you, and I will kill you.”

Dean looked at the blonde woman. He felt like she was serious, but also like she might be jerking him around.

“Did you just… Taken me?” he asked, waiting on his change.

“Yeah! It’s good right?!”

They both nodded and appreciated the reference. Donna turned serious again, her brown eyes burning through him.

She extended her index finger at him to make her point, “I mean it, buck-o. You hurt her the D-Train is comin’ for ya.”

She came around the corner, his change still in her hand.

“It’s business, not happily ever after,” he said, letting her guide him to the door.

“Well! That’s good, huh?!” she chirped. “Cuz cops know things. Thanks for the tip!” she put his change in her apron pocket.

“Okay then,” she opened the door. “Thanks for coming in… Dean Winchester.” She patted his shoulder as she pushed him out the door. “Come back real soon, okay? Bye!”

Dean walked out the door and was waiting for his ride to arrive before he realized he’d been hustled, twice.

“Sonofabitch.”

Part 2

#dean Winchester x reader #au dean Winchester x reader #spn fan fiction #supernatural #reader insert

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survived-childporn-ring-blog · 6 years ago

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Broken Brain

Before my tormentors ever Started on me I already had a serious problem, I had a photographic memory which is nothing like what most people think. Knowing what I know now and looking back on it I would have to describe as sort of a version of autism and a savant put to gather, ever seen an autistic child that just stares into space, and completely ignores all around. Then you touch them like trying to wake them and they just go ballistic.

Well there they sat in their own world that they have created watching their screen inside their mind with whatever it takes to entertain themselves in this great big ocean of nothing that we call consciousness. It might be colors just swirling around or constant reruns of that one time a soft furry kitten brushed across their face. But it is all they know and what makes them happy. Here we come breaking their train of thought, by grabbing their arm and shaking it then blasting sound waves in to their ears. To them this may actually trigger a pain signal . We rip them out of there safe place, and when we do get their attention what do we have to offer, nothing that they even understand.

Think of what sum call nirvana, you turn off all your senses one by one until blip you are just a ball of static. sum think you would be numb, nope you turned that off remember. You are not nothing, you are in a sense of pure thought. I have been there and as a child I didn’t like it a bit to me it was a total loss of control. The only other alternative I had was total awareness , to this day I can't completely comprehend NOTHING even in total nirvana there was something

I have a constant wave of images flowing at all times I think, remember and recall in pictures. It allows me to remember things from birth with amazing detail, but don’t ask me scores names or dates, they just aren't in the picture . I knew good and bad but not happy and sad. I learned to read with a set of encyclopedias when I was 3 or 4 , I used the pictures ok the paragraph or caption that goes with picture of the birds has this word in it, the picture of the cowes has this word in it. These birds are flying and the ones in this picture are eating these words are different, so this must be eating and this drinking. and so on. I didn't mess around with the alphabet I just memorised the words in a few months.

Shure could amaze people with my adult level of reading, but then I arrived at school and there was this thing called writing. What the heck is this these people have rooms full of books they don't have to write anything down it's all been done for them,writing what a stupid concept I thought. Then came the big conflict I could teach myself to write by drawing the words I had memorized , but as soon as I started to make progress , they kept interrupting me with this stupid alphabet bologna, but backed off a bit when I wrote a 1st grade full page essay on why I didn’t need the alphabet, and I put two sentences per line using their stupid fat pencil that wrote like a crayon, I figured she would show it to the class but when we came back from lunch it was in the trash can. I wasn't treated as an amazing child when I did things like that I was treated like a freak, so I learned to keep my accomplishments to myself because nobody else really gave a rat’s knuckle.

I even blew it when it came to music class. there all over by the little thing with strings and colored bars on it. taking turns strumming it while the teacher played the tune . And I went over to the piano , I had studied the piano at grandma's house and the sheet music on it, and deducted that when the notes went up the little graph you went right on the keyboard and when the notes went down you went left so the lines represented the keys. so I didn't need to know all the notes , as long as I started on the rite note. But I didn't dare make noise at grandmothers, so I didn’t test that theory. But this was musick class write the music was much easier to read, and I noticed how the tone of the music followed the words. Without even realising it I sang the words to get the rite tempo, that was a little backwards but it worked quite well. so there I was Drowning out the teacher with, Oh When the saints go marching in, oh when the saints go marching in, Oh how I want to be in that number when the saints go marching in. Realising my mistake I stopped abruptly, to a silent room and heard about three oh nos and a girl said you're a freak, teacher said If you’re mom had taught you the alphabet instead of the piano you would be doing just fine right now.

When I write on the computer its like doing a puzzle I think of the word and then poke out all the pieces that's why my punctuation and all that are so messed up, I am really quite intelligent I just can't express myself very well, sum of all this may actually have helped me deal with all the abuse at times. See you next time Thanks

#fotografic #memory #photographic memory

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ravennest1342-blog · 7 years ago

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BTs Demigod AU Jung Hoseok

The Masterlist to all of my stuff is HERE

Kumiho— a beautiful fox that can turn into a lovely girl that wants to seduce boys and eat their liver or heart.

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The ten year old pouted slightly as he stared at his mother. He had his chin resting on the little table in the RV, his legs tingled from sitting still too long and the familiar swooping sensation he associated with forcing himself to be still for too long was back and it was killing the poor boy. He screwed his face up in concentration, sea green eyes narrowed to slits as he forced his twitching limbs back into stillness.

It wasn’t Jung Hoseok’s fault. The child had severe ADHD and sitting for this long without doing anything was surely going to kill the poor boy. But he knew better than to disturb his mother when she was this concentrated. Jung Yuna was a delicate woman, but mess with her work and she would shurely turn into the epitome of terror for Hoseok. She was Korean in origin, she had moved to America with her parents as a child. She held strong to Korean traditions and taught her son, Hoseok, to go buy them as well. She had named Hoseok after his great grandfather — a general or something, Hoseok didn’t care. He just wanted to get the heck out of this RV.

“The storm seems to centering somewhere around Long Island.” Uncle Joey, aka Hoseok’s role model in life, muttered as he zoomed in on the screen both he and Yuna were staring at. Joey was a tall buff man, Mexican with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp brown eyes. He was always kind to Hoseok and Hoseok adored him for it.

“That doesn’t really make any sense, all the wind patterns indicate it should have moved on by now.” She mumbled. Hoseok let out a tiny little keen, desperate to get his mother’s attention. She sighed in obvious frustration before turning to him with an eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong bub?” She asked, clearly forcing the annoyance out of her voice, Hoseok resisted the urge to grin, happy he had indeed timed his little noise right.

“Mommy,” He whined, purposefully hunching in on himself and squirming. “I’m bored.” He pouted. She rolled her eyes a bit, and there was a done look on the woman’s face as she gently said.

“Go outside and play then Seokie. Mommy’s busy right now and the storm isn’t too bad yet, it’s just brewing, so when it starts to snow come back baby, ok?” She smiled. Hoseok all but shot out of his seat and towards the door. He almost made it when a hand reached out of one of the two bunk beds — bottom bunk— in the RV and snagged the collar of his shirt.

“Where do you think your going without a jacket you fart?” Hoseok flushed, startling at the grisly voice, meeting the sleep filled eyes of his Uncle Mitch a bit shamefully. The man’s blue eyes were still clouded with amusement and sleep.

“Don’t need it!” He whined, trying —and failing— to not sound like a baby. Mitch snorted running a hand through Hoseok’s pitch black hair as he sat up and wrapped the boys jacket around him.

“It’s about to be a blizzard out there fart.” He said affectionately. “Not even you can stand those temperatures.” Hoseok grumbled blushing even more as his Aunt Judy (Mitch’s wife) chuckled from the drivers seat of the RV where she was reading a book. Hoseok got out of there quick. He didn’t need a bunch of stupid adults cooing over how ‘cute’ he was. Hoseok was a man. He was not tiny and adorable as they liked to joke! He pouted as he zipped the jacket up and rushed outside.

To anyone else it would have been a dismal day; the clouds hung heavy in the sky, a thick pasty grey, swollen with snow. The grass was a dull yellow/green that crunched underfoot from being frozen and a harsh wind ripped through the field which seemed to have been drained of color. But Hoseok was not most people, and the ten year old was ecstatic. His green eyes sparkled as he took off with a little shout, moving through the grass that scratched almost painfully at his calves with a sort of careless worry only youth seemed to contain.

He was so busy running, trying to quell that dreadful itch from sitting still for too long, that he forgot to make sure he didn’t stray to far from the RV, and before he knew it, the van was out of site. But Hoseok wasn’t particularly worried. The storm wasn’t supposed to start till later, knowing his mother’s terminology, that probably meant around one AM, and he was pretty sure he could find his way back with relative ease.

He moved along cheerfully, examining his surroundings with a detached curiosity, forcing the desire to take his shoes off out of his mind; his mom would kill him. He blinked as a sudden slice of wind seemed to smack him in the face, an ominous rumble of thunder rippling in the distance. Which didn’t make sense because everyone knew that lightening and snow storms did not exist together! (At least they didn’t in his mind)

Hoseok squinted, impatiently brushing his fluffy black hair out of his face to look around, and was a bit startled by how dark the clouds had gotten. Having a storm chaser for a mother meant that Hoseok could easily recognize when a dandgerous storm was about to occur. He hesitated, shuffling back and muscles tensed to retreat back to the RV, but in that moment a sound assaulted his ears.

It was like a rumbling noise; like thunder combined with hoof beats. Hoseok peered heasitantly, leaning forward to look more closely at the field before him. It was just a field. Dull just like all the others with a small hill off to one side. But as the rumbling sound increased and rippled out tenfold he could here the faint sound of someone crying. Every nerve ending seemed to get a mild shock at the noise and Hoseok raced out, desperately looking for the person; they couldn’t be out in this storm! They’d get hurt!

As he approached the hill he saw it, a little girl, lying on her side crying as a rather large . . . man hovered over her. Except this man didn’t look like any many Hoseok had ever seen, his body seemed to shudder and ruipple, dark as if the very clouds above lived in him, and sharp unearthly blue eyes sparking with electricity narrowed down on the girl beneath him. Long stormy wings also rippling with electricity extended behind him. To be perfectly honest; the guy looked like something from straight out of Hoseok’s nightmares. He skidded to a halt, body going still with fear, watching almost helplessly as the man grabbed the girls arm. She screamed, arching up with pain, and the noise was like a knife slicing through Hoseok’s panic.

He shot forward like a bullet, all fear gone replaced with a icy rage that made his limbs tingle and his stomach twist with pain and nausea. The guy never saw it coming, one second he had the girl pinned, the next Hoseok’s tiny ten year old body had slammed into him like a battering ram. Hoseok ignored the shocks of pain rippling through him at the points of contact. A horrible force was ripping through his very soul, shredding up and down his muscles as he frantically scrambled, grabbing the mans face with his nails and digging in with a cry, his body curled down, right as the dreadful burning in his belly ripped out of him. And at that same moment, the hairs on his arms stood up, the man beneath him grunted as he was literally torn apart by the icy winds that ripped from Hoseoks hands. And something slammed into Hoseok with a crack.

Throwing him off the man with its force, body steaming and jerking uncontrollably as he sailed through the air, he landed on the hill with a sickening crack. Instantly, the boys vision went black and he was unable to see the girl grabbing him and dragging him over the hill, and the shredded body of the man blowing away like dust.

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Hoseok wandered around in confusion. He was in a house. The walls were all dark, and the place was actually empty. Honestly it reminded him of a particularly terrifying video game he had played as a kid and he was getting more and more frightened by the minute.

The pictures didn’t help.

There were hundreds, decorating each wall, in grand frames, but Hoseok couldn’t see them, try as he might, as much as his eyes strained the pictures remained painstakingly blurry. He padded from one to the next his hysteria rising and as he got to the end of the hall he froze. This picture he could see.

It was him, pinning that mean guy to the ground, his face twisted into one of the most disturbing expressions that Hoseok had never even thought he could make, lightning was arching down from the sky towards him, even as the man beneath him looked like he was being ripped apart. He reached up slowly, his fingers trembling as he went to touch the painting.

“Don’t touch it.” Hoseok screamed, hand jerking back at the soft voice and whirling around to find himself face to face with a sinister pair of black eyes. He screamed again, hopping back and crying out

“Kumiho!” In a terrified voice, and falling flat on his butt. A small snort of amusement greeted his ears.

“Kumiho? No, sorry but I am neither a fox nor am I a female.” The voice was soft, and distinctly childish; it was the type of voice that you could tell that once it matured, would have a soft growling tone to it. Hoseok flushed in embarrassment as he looked up at the other kid, who was very much a boy. But he had never seen another boy that looked quite like that. He was Korean, like Hoseok, with dark black eyes that seemed to suck at Hoseok’s conscience, he had a delicate — almost underfed — frame and soft silver hair that fell around his face and neck. His skin was pale and he looked vaguely bored.

“Come on then.” The boy sighed, holding out his hand to Hoseok, “You’re so hopelessly stuck you’d never be able to get out of here alone, and Jin is already in hysterics enough thinking you’ll never wake up again.” He said impatiently. Hoseok frowned, he didn’t understand what the kid was talking about or what was going on, but he reached up accepting the hand a bit shocked by the rough grip as the boy dragged him to his feet. Not waisting any time, he began to move confidently through the halls, which seemed to be twisting and turning in a sickening way.

Hoseok frowned, the pictures were getting clearer and he wanted to look at them, trying to focus and barely catching a sight of an older boy that looked distirbingly similar to Hoseok screaming defiantly at some dark shadow, blood flowing from a head wound and his side as he stood over a limp figure, a sword raised threateningly.

“Don’t look at them!” The boy dragging him snarled, grabbing the back of Hoseok’s neck and forcing him to face forward as he awkwardly picked up into a steady jog, cursing faintly under his breath.

“W-what—“ Hoseok yelped as they rounded a corner and the boy pushed him towards a door at the end. Not to be dramatic, but it was glowing like it was a portal to another world.

“Go on. You don’t need to stay here any longer.” The boy said sharply. Hoseok turned to look at him, biting his lip with a faint frown. He didn’t understand what was going on or happening, but he knew he didn’t want to leave the boy in this creepy place with the blurry paintings leering at them on the walls.

“What about you?” He asked softly. The boy folded his arms in an almost defensive pose.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m exactly where I need to be.” He said stiffly. Hoseok bit his lip, nervously wringing his hands, he looked away before working up the courage to continue.

“But it’s dark here.” He whispered. A surprised look flashed across the boys face. He looked awkward as he reached up to brush some of his silver hair out of his eyes.

“Ugh — Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.” Then he smiled. Once again, Hoseok’s view did a 360. The smile transformed the kid’s face, and suddenly he looked like someone Hoseok would play with at the park, smiling so big even his gums showed. His eyes crinkling slightly.

“Promise?” Hoseok demanded. Still smiling the boy reached forward to grab his hand and connected their pinky fingers. Hoseok let out a startled noise as he looked up with a softer smile from their hands.

“I’ll always be right behind you! I promise!” He said triumphantly. Hoseok couldn’t stop his own releaved grin. Giggling he moved towards the light then turned with a smile. The boy was right behind him.

“Ok! Let’s go then!” He yelled and raced out the door. Hoseok’s entire vision turned white and he was once again surrounded by the world of dreams; but this time he could get out of them.

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So! This is gonna be pretty detrimental to the fic I’m slowly building!

If you have any questions feel free to ask! Also if you want shorts like this on how all of them arrived at camp then just tell me and I’ll get right on it!

The link to my Masterlist is HERE

#bts #bts demigod au #demigod au #jung hoseok #min yoongi #yoonseok #yeah #its gonna br awesome

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