#it was a horrible couple weeks truly and i still sort of feel like crap

[crookes-library]

so I've essentially been bedridden with a respiratory infection the last 2 weeks and got back to work today aaaaand I can safely say I hate my job even more for having had time away from it 🫠

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. ��So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.

[atmilliways]

On the 10th day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 22 - Metalocalypse but it's a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie

He’s a big city notary, only in town to clean out his deceased grandparents’ condo.

He’s a small-town metalhead pot dealer/part time taxi service with no one to hang out with for the holidays.

Is it fate, or is it Christmas?

Chapter one of a Murderface/Pickles, what-if-Dethklok-never-happened AU. I went heavy on Pickles' accent for this and I refuse to apologize for my crimes.

~

Deck The Halls With Ughs & F*ck Yous

When you boiled it down to the bare essentials, the first half of the letter basically said, “Merry Christmas, your grandparents are dead.” 

Which, William felt, was kind of nice of the lawyer writing to him. He hadn’t liked his grandparents particularly much, for all that they’d raised him ever since the unfortunate murder-suicide that had claimed his parents. Everything he’d accomplished in life had been in spite of them. They’d wanted him to be a hubcap salesman like his grandfather; he’d gotten his notary license and done just fine. They’d wanted him to stay in the same kind of podunk towns they always lived in; he’d gone to the big city and landed a steady career notarizing deeds and titles for a huge real estate company. All they’d done was yell at him to make sure was still alive for seventeen years. Anyone could have done that. 

It was the second half of the letter that was the problem. Apparently they’d had no money to leave him, just all the crap in a condo that needed to be emptied out by the end of the year so the next owners could move in. If he didn’t, there would be a ridiculously large fine due of some truly idiotic wording in the lease they’d signed. 

A quick check online told him it would be cheaper to just fly out to this . . . Tomahawk, Wisconsin, throw all the shit in a dumpster, and be done with it. He had a couple weeks of vacation time coming up anyway, with Christmas and New Years, and no particular plans. Why not go? Maybe it would be . . . cathartic or something. 

William sighed and reached to grab a credit card from his wallet. So much for a quiet Christmas to himself, holed up in his  blissfully undecorated apartment with takeout from one of the best sushi places in the entire city. 

~

Tomahawk was pretty much what he expected. Once he made it out of the four-gate airport with a baggage claim so slow that it might have been faster to  walk  instead of fly, it turned out there wasn’t even a taxi queue. He had to go back inside and call one himself. And it wasn’t so much a taxi service as something called “Pickles Cab” scratched in above the payphone.

As long as it had wheels and knew how to find the address, he didn’t much care. The dispatch guy had seemed kinda stoned on the phone, but hey, William figured, that just meant he might be able to find some to buy in the area. 

The car was easy to spot because it was the only non-white thing moving in the snow-caked parking lot. William eyed the shitty old Vista Cruiser in shades of drab green, rust, and beat-to-shit wood paneling skeptically as it pulled up to the loading zone curb at an angle that was, frankly, terrible. The driver put it in park and popped out the driver’s side door with the engine still running, spewing thick steam out of the tailpipe in the frigid air. 

“Hey dood, welcome to Wiscahnsin,” the guy called, waving. “Abandon hope all ye to enter here, heh.” He smirked. William recognized his voice as the person he’d talked to on the phone.

“Uh . . . hi,” William replied awkwardly, hefting his two suitcases, 

“Trunks open. Lemme get it fer ya.” The driver hurried around to the back of the car and opened it for William to toss the suitcases in. He had a shock of red hair trying to escape from his black beanie in all directions, and park-job aside seemed slightly less stoned in person than he sounded. “Wanna sit up front? It’s warmer up here, I’ve had the heat blastin’ all the way here . . . uh, just let me clear some shit out first.”

‘Some shit’ seemed to be a lot of empty bottles and cans and snack wrappers, but William waited patiently because it’s not like this place had any actual taxis he could call instead. When he did climb in and buckle his seatbelt, at least it was warm, as promised, even if it did smell like pot and stale beer. 

The driver popped back in, stripped the glove off one hand, and rubbed at his nose above a vivid red goatee before grabbing the wheel, “Okey, here we go. I’m Pickles, what’s yer name?”

“William Murderfasche,” William replied. What kind of a name was Pickles? But . . . it did explain the name of the ‘cab’ company. 

“Murderface, that’s a fuckin’ cool name. Mind if I just call ya that?”

“. . . Sure.”

“Cool. So dood, Murderface, where to?”

William gave him the address. The car pulled away from the airport with a jerk and he stared out the window at passing snow banks and white-shrouded trees, starting to sink into all his misgivings about the decision to come out here. There was a certain smell that developed anywhere his grandparents inhabited for long enough that he hadn’t realized until moving out on his own kept him in a near-constant state of upset stomach. 

“Hope ya don’t mind there ain’t no radio,” Pickles told him companionably, not appearing to mind when William didn’t react. “Tape deck’s broken too. . . . I’m tryin’ ta save up the money to fix it by givin’ people rides and shit. And doin’ some other stuff too, but don’t tell the cops, heh. All the local stations are pretty much shit anywey, all they’re playin’ right now is fuckin’ Christmas songs.”

“Hm,” William agreed. 

“What kinda music you listen to?”

“Hm. Uh, what? Oh, schorry. Moschtly metal, I guessch.” He shrugged, shaking himself out of the funk he’d been about to sink into. Usually he would prefer to just be left to his own thoughts, but right now the chit chat was actually a welcome distraction. “It’sch good background muschic for conschentrating on not thinking.”

“Hey dood, me too!” In his enthusiasm, Pickles gunned the engine and sent the car into a brief skid on the wintery road, but corrected it with an ease that spoke to lots of practice. “There’s naht much of a metal scene here, fuckin’ sucks. What else am I supposed to get fucked up to, huh? People jest don’t get that. Is it any better where you live?”

William, braced for impact as he now was and would probably remain for the rest of the ride, shrugged again. “I don’t know. I moschtly keep to myschelf, but there are plenty of schtoresch that have deschent schtuff, if you’re willing to schort through all the other crap.”

“Well, cool. Hey if you wanna hang out at all while yer here, I got a pretty good collection on vinyl. Y’know, if you don’t have family shit to do. I’m avoiding mine due to sort of a . . . landlord tenant dispute. They won’t let me put a lock on the house-door to my basement-room, so I’ve got it barricaded and stopped payin’ rent, and now Mahm won’t let me eat anything she cooks. But it’s cool, I’ve gaht an exterior door so I can still get in’n out.”

It took a moment to digest all that, but William noted the invitation with the tentative optimism of a guy who’d moved a lot as a kid but never quite gotten the hang of making friends as a survival method. 

But he was only planning to be in town for a few days, get the condo cleaned out ASAP, and go home, never to return. Not a lot of point in making friends. 

“Thanksch, but I probably won’t have time.” He wasn’t looking directly at Pickles, but he saw the driver’s smile drop a few watts out of the corner of his eye. Feeling bad for the guy, he quickly added, “Schoundsch like you’ve got a pretty good schet-up, though.”

“Eh . . . it’s alright.”

The conversation petered out after that, and William had no idea how to get it going again. He’d always been shit at this sort of thing. Looking back, it was probably a miracle that he’d stuck through high school long enough to graduate, having alienated, avoided, or accidentally insulted enough of his peers that virtually no one on campus had ever willingly spoken to him. The only social group he’d ever successfully infiltrated was the lunchtime stoners that hung out in the park across the street, and that was because they’d mostly just sat around passing joints, trying to blow smoke rings, and napping before having to face sixth period. 

Eventually Pickles put his turn signal on and announced, "Here we go, Christmas Mountain Avenue. Sheesh, that's a little on the nose, huh?"

Privately William agreed, but awkwardly swallowed the chuckle before it could make itself heard. As they pulled up in front of the building, he peered out the window at the gray, shitty condo building and felt his lip curl. Fuck, there was a fridge in there full of rotting food and cans of condensed milk that he was going to have to deal with somewhere in there, he just knew it. 

“Is this where yer staying?” Pickles asked dubiously. 

“No,” William said with a shudder. “Thisch isch juscht the . . . family schit I’m here to deal with. My grandparentsch died and I have to clean out their plache by the end of the month.”

“Ooh.” Scratching thoughtfully at his goatee, he leaned forward to get a better look at the building. “. . . You know, the nearest motel is a ten minute walk and it’s gettin’ dark soon. Yer gonna want a ride, prahbably.”

William blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Pickles made a show of looking thoughtful. “So . . . want any help? I gaht reeeeal reasonable rates.”

“Well. . . .”

“And I’ve gaht weed, too,” he added. 

“Done,” William said immediately. 

Well. At least the ordeal would probably be over with sooner this way, and also a lot less horrible with something to blunt the edges (and cover the Smell).

[nikkithomas]

Here’s the deal. I started having a lot of pain in my lower back, legs and hips. At first, I went to the chiropractor and he did some adjustments. I seriously felt so much better.

My regular doctor had prescribed some medicine for me for an unrelated thing and it made me so sick. I’d be so nauseous that I’d have to go get fresh air...walk it off...or even splash water on my face. That had been going on even when I was in Knoxville.

Aircheck had asked me to talk about my ACM trip to Vegas when we won in 2019. I’m sure there were people who thought it was funny or maybe even crass...but they asked what I thought or what was going through my head at that ceremony...and I think my answer was something to the effect of “I was trying not to throw up” or something like that. My stomach was on fire and I felt so dizzy. My face was all flushed and hot. I thought about going to the ER there in Vegas...but I was afraid I’d miss the reason I was there...to pick up the ACM for our station. I think it was win number seven for the station...as a PD it was my third...and it was still a pretty big deal. Honest to God, I didn’t want to let anyone down. I also wasn’t sure if it was food poisoning or something. When I got back to Knoxville, went to my doctor...they ran tests...gave me some medicine...and I thought that was the end of it. They still couldn’t figure out what was going on with me, though.

I left Knoxville and moved to the Tri Cities. Best decision I’ve made in years, by the way. I truly love these people. They’ve done a phenomenal job of protecting their product and their people and I believe that’s why this station is still so healthy when many other legendary stations have suffered. The stress level dropped substantially. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when the station and the people are a priority. Which by the way...XBQ has been so much like KAT Country. It’s been everything I love about radio and thought I’d never experience again. These people couldn’t be farther apart...yet be so much alike. It’s a good thing.

The main thing bothering me then...was my back and legs. Kept having some really nasty pain. The pain was so intense sometimes that it made me nauseous. My face was flushed...I had a fever...then I didn’t have one. Maybe it was my weight? I was getting up to pee a lot at night. Only sleeping one or two hours in a stretch. It was all these things that I never put together.

I wanted to get healthy. Told my doctor I wasn’t going to take that medicine that made me feel so bad...just in case that was the problem. My endocrinologist was cool with that. I started the keto diet. Actually...I did keto up until right before Thanksgiving.

I was so happy. My thyroid is absolutely hateful...so losing weight is the hardest thing to do it seems. On keto...I dropped over 30 pounds. Wow! I thought that was great!! Everything felt better. My energy levels were up. I’d get up at 4am and wouldn’t stop until 11pm...and everything was good...until my hip, back and legs started hurting again. It was so bad one morning that the guys I work with called chiropractors for me. It was awful.

The pain had never really stopped...but at a certain point you just get used to the pain and move on as best you can. That’s what I did up until a few weeks ago. If you know me, you know that I love Toys For Tots, St Jude, Second Harvest, etc. We were out with the marines working on Toys For Tots and I ended up having to miss one day because I hurt so bad. Now for me...that’s bad.

It never let up. I’ve just pushed through and tried to “suck it up” since then. That was a couple of weeks before Christmas. Y’all I seriously thought it might be psychosomatic. Maybe it was all in my head. If it hurt...I’d try to stretch or move and work it out of my body...but that NEVER worked.

So...I go back to the chiropractor. Those guys were so good to me. They can electrocute me anytime they want. (All hail the TENS unit!!) That seemed to be working...and then we had a little bit of a COVID scare at work...(everyone is okay, thank goodness). Around that time...I was running a fever off and on. Low grade. There were some other things that weren’t feeling quite right...so...just to be safe...I got another COVID test and quarantined. Still...I felt like I was ALWAYS in pain. Sometimes it was so bad...I couldn’t move or do anything in any way to make it stop. It made me want to cry. It was embarrassing. It was frustrating because I couldn’t get it to let up. It got so bad that last Saturday I drove myself to the ER to get checked out.

Urgent Care said they couldn’t help because I needed “imaging”. Well...I got that imaging done folks. Turns out...I have a scary mass on my right ovary. It’s pretty huge.

I went in Saturday night...terrified of being around sick people...but it had to be done. The pain was so intense...that my blood pressure shot sky high...and my nose starting bleeding. The doctor ordered morphine, Norco and a CT scan.

The guy doing the scan was a travel nurse. He went from being pretty chatty to sort of quiet and reserved after the test. When they injected the dye into me...he was telling me it would hurt...and it was nothing compared to what I was feeling.

I woke up two hours after the scan to the doctor on call sitting next to my bed and looking sorta weird at me. She told me they’d received my test results and everything I’d said was right on the money.

The burning, pressure, aching, tension...all of it...was related to what she referred to as “not the biggest mass” she’d ever seen...but “one of the largest”. She was surprised I’d been walking around with this thing in me for God knows how long.

Now here’s where the story goes off the rails.

That doctor at Ballad mentioned the word “cancer” about nine times in that room. That was the “suspected” diagnosis. She said I needed to follow up and see another doctor because of what could be “cancer”...and told me they’d have to see if it had spread anywhere.

Now...that was a LOT to take in. So...I did what any other person with an iPhone, an unlimited data plan and tons of morphine in their system would do...I looked that crap up on “Dr Internet”.

The next time a nurse came in...I asked her...”Umm did you guys do a CA 125 test?”

That same poor sweet nurse, who would go on to blow a vein...and push the medicine through the IV into my skin, thereby causing a monster of a bruise and making my vein get rock hard...she said in this really hushed tone...”I don’t know...I’ll ask. I saw your report. I’m so sorry.”

At this point...I’m facing my mortality. I just wanted out of there. I wanted this damn thing out of me...I wanted answers...I wanted everything to be okay.

I still want everything to be okay.

By the way...she never came back in with the answer to that CA 125 test question. So I took that as a hard “no”...or “they did it and don’t want to tell me”.

Monday I was back in the ER. Doubled over, in tears.

The doctor ordered pain medicine...that never came in the four hours I was there. That was NOT a fun time. The nurses just let me sit there. To her credit...the doctor was pretty furious when she found out they’d ignored her orders. Once again...this other doctor looks at me and says...”You know they think this is cancer?”

No. Still no test...but she made an appointment for me with a local oncologist.

Now...that CA 125 antigen test is not infallible, nor is it the end-all-be-all test for ovarian cancer. It is a marker though specifically for ovarian cancer.

So if they’re telling you that you have a massive tumor and it could be cancer...(two doctors over two visits..the word has been dropped about a dozen times...it’s also in the CT report...you’d think someone would bust out a needle...draw the blood...see what that looks like...and get you in the right frame of mind in case it is this horrible bastard of a disease!! Right? Wrong.)

The mass at the time was 10.3cm x 10.3cm x 7.1cm.

The oncologist couldn’t see me for a week...the gynecologist couldn’t see me until February 1st.

Yeah. No big hurry. I’m just having trouble walking. I’m in tears. I’m peeing...like a teaspoon at a time. I know that’s graphic...but if you don’t pee...you need to get checked. I felt like I was (and still feel, by the way) in the middle of a massive labor pain that wouldn’t ease off. It’s pain that makes you want to throw up sometimes. It’s super intense.

I went home that second time...sat down in my room...and I couldn’t help but tear up. I’ve cried two and a half times over the “state of things” since this started. Those are the “what am I going to do” tears...totally different from the “oh Lord this hurts like hell...dear God make it stop” tears.

Talked to our friend Eric who told me it was a shame I didn’t live in Nashville...because I could probably call Vanderbilt and be seen pretty quickly. Eric...was right. I’m three hours from Vanderbilt...but only an hour or so from Knoxville.

I called UT. (Go Vols!) That football situation isn’t ideal...but that hospital ain’t half bad.

Within less than an hour...the head Oncologist had looked over my CT scan and was working to get me in there ASAP. They’d have taken me that day...but it was too late in the day and I’d never make it down there in time. So...they scheduled me for Wednesday morning.

Before I walked out of the room that morning...they told me they were going to operate and get this out of me by Monday at the very latest. The schedule was full...so they needed to check on a few things before I left the hospital...just in case there was torsion or whatever.

I had a CA 125 test. That looked good from what I understand but my CT scan and sonogram looked sketchy. The mass appeared to be even larger since Saturday?!? (It showed up as being 12.6cm x 13.3cm x 8.3cm) They gave me a COVID test and told me to self isolate until my surgery...which is scheduled for tomorrow.

It was upon learning how much larger this thing had become...that I named it...”Larry King”.

I don’t know why...but that seemed to be the name that fit whatever this thing is inside me. In my mind...it looks like Larry King...holding two shot glasses. One shot glass is filled with Dewar’s...the other is filled with Metamucil. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth...but I don’t know if he’s a “smoker” yet.

If it officially comes back as cancer...I’ll let you know. If it doesn’t...I’ll let you know that, too.

I’m not writing this for pity or attention...on the contrary. It’s all a lot for me to take in...and I’m just not sure how to process it all. Writing it out sort of helps.

In the middle of all of this over the past week...Tom Starr passed away. He was such a sweet man. There’s a picture that he took of us at CRS...it’s me...Tom...Lisa McKay and Heather Davis. I think Heather wrote a caption that said something like “it’s so hard to believe half of the people in this picture are gone”.

That was pretty heavy.

I’m still trying to process that actually. I thought the world of Tom, loved Lisa McKay (she got me when so many others didn’t)...and just to the left...there I was. I felt like a jerk for even taking a moment to feel bad for myself. There are so many other people who have it so much worse than I do. And what if there’s nothing to this thing? What if it’s just some sort freak thing? There are so many people who’ve fought so hard and powered through so much and here I am...maybe worried for nothing...getting ready to have surgery...and it feels wrong to worry about myself. Whatever is done is done and I’ll fight whatever I need to fight. If it’s not cancer (oh God please let them all be wrong) then I have a lot of things that I need to do...and other people’s opinions and judgment that don’t have any place in my head or the right to exist in my life’s body of work or otherwise. I’ll just keep praying for them.

I keep telling myself those doctors could be wrong. Until I see a pathology report...this isn’t real.

While I appreciate and am thankful for any prayers you can send up on my behalf...please don’t feel obliged to write anything on this post. Seriously. I just needed to get this all out and behind me.

I HATE “bleeding on the internet”. It’s a serious pet peeve. Not everyone is worthy of knowing everything that’s going on...nor should they be expected to care...but I realize sometimes people need reinforcement and support. I still don’t like sharing MY business on here. It feels weird. I’ll talk about things on the air...that I don’t care to regurgitate on Facebook.

I’ll talk about award shows, TV, things that are funny...pictures...but it’s not my business who you vote for or what you believe in. I’m just glad that you DO. Better to have convictions and purpose than be apathetic. Over the years...it’s been amazing to see how a simple picture I’ve posted or link (without even commenting on it...just a pic or simple URL) how it can make people lose their minds.

You will never solve life’s problems on Facebook or any other social media platform. It controls you. You/we are merely the peanut gallery from which billions of dollars are “mined” every single minute we’re on here.

The smartest thing I ever had laid on me about social media was from an interview with a Silicon Valley person that said “If you’re not creating the product...you ARE the product. Think about that.

Our world is so messed up right now. And no matter what party you’re affiliated with...it just seems very wrong to lump everyone together and vilify them all. Not everyone is evil. Not everyone is right or wrong. Writing people off is so inhumane. You really can disagree with someone and not hate them.

I remember being at a concert in a few years ago and had just learned some pretty tough stuff that was impacting a competitor, and shared that with one of the leaders that I worked with. They’d taken a huge blow...which was awesome strategically...but it happened at the same time the competitors PD had lost his mother. I remember expressing that I felt bad for the guy (specifically about losing his mother)...and without batting an eye...the guy I worked with said he didn’t feel sorry for him at all. “That’s just too bad!” He said other things but I won’t go there because that would reveal who that person is...and the person for whom he was speaking about that day. Now...in my heart I hoped that guy who up until then I’d had so much respect for...did NOT know what happened to this guys mom. It just felt gross talking to him. I never looked at him the same way again. It was all about depth. There was nothing there. Very disappointing. I once cared what this guy thought about me...but that was done. And living through this now underscores that feeling and reminds me on a personal level what really is important. That’s a lot for a workaholic like me to process.

I’m signing off now. It got sort of “ramblesque” there at the end. Sorry about that. As for all the other stuff...I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 17: Falling For The Underdog

(Click here for chapter 16!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

The following weekend, Severus found himself in a situation that he would have never thought possible – he spent the entire day with a woman.

Despite it being a Saturday, Granger had arrived at his private quarters quite early. While he usually woke up long before the rest of the castle, Severus had never really considered himself a morning person. He normally worked late and slept little, often waking up in a cold sweat after just a few hours of sleep due to horrible nightmares. So needless to say, he had been rather surprised when his apprentice had shown up at his door long before the house elves had even started to prepare breakfast. As he’d let her in, he had asked himself if perhaps she was suffering from the same problem as him.

The two of them had spent a lot of time together over the past week. Ever since he had given her unimpeded access to his rooms, Granger had come by even more often than before, and so they had often spent their evenings together. Everything inside him was still screaming that this was wrong, that they were becoming way too comfortable with each other. But yet, he could not help but feel a rush of ecstasy surge through his entire body every single time she walked into his sitting room.

He had given her the password in what had been almost a moment of mental aberration, and he had soon started to regret it. He had tried telling himself that the reason for that regret was that such an action was simply inappropriate for a teacher, but deep down, he knew that he was really just scared of rejection; scared that she would not take him up on the offer and that she would find it creepy and weird. But the next day, when he had come back from teaching the fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors, he had found Granger in his sitting room, fussing over a small sandwich platter from the kitchens which was placed on the table in front of her. Severus still could not have described the emotions he had experienced upon seeing this. On one hand, he had felt massive relief. On the other, it had felt weirdly domestic for some reason; almost as though he had come home after a long day of work to a loving home – something which had been completely new to him.

Sometimes, the pair would be working on potions together, and other times, Severus would be sitting at his desk marking essays while Granger would curl up on his sofa as she studied. Today, however, they were doing what both of them loved the most: reading.

The Potions Master was seated in one of his big wing chairs, a copy of his favourite journal, The Practical Potioneer, in his hands, whereas Granger was spread out across the sofa as usual, deeply engrossed in his volume of Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds by medieval French wizard Malecrit. Over the last couple of days, Severus had slowly begun to notice how eager she seemed to get her hands on classics from the wizarding world, and he did not exactly know how to feel about that – to him, it somehow appeared as though she was almost desperately trying to make up for the time she had spent growing up around Muggles.

They had both been reading in silence for a while when Severus stumbled across an especially interesting paragraph on the uses of Alihotsy in magical antidepressants. Opening his mouth to share this new piece of information with the knowledge-hungry witch, he looked up and instantly had to draw a sharp breath. Unbeknownst to him, Granger had shifted in her position a few minutes ago, and now her grey skirt had ridden up just far enough to reveal her toned thighs as well as barely the slightest hint of the subtle crease running horizontally underneath her behind.

Severus gulped. It was hard to ignore the way that the shadows of the fire burning a mere few feet away were dancing across her tender, milky flesh. Why was she wearing her uniform – a uniform with what now suddenly seemed like a ridiculously short skirt – on a day with no classes?! For a split second, the thought that she was trying to seduce him crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed that. Never in a million years would Granger be the type of person to try to recreate a scene from a low-budget adult movie, especially not with one of her professors. And if he was being honest with himself, he would have found her appearance bewitching even if she had been wearing a potato sack.

Having long forgotten about what he had originally wanted to say, he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “I do have to say, I find it rather bizarre that Miss Weasley of all people would behave in such a manner towards you. I would be terrified of making someone even remotely angry if they knew of my deepest secret.”

Granger did not even look up. “But that’s not how friendships work.”

“What?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“A real friend would never betray you just because you’ve had a fight with them,” she said as she pushed herself up into a seated position. Severus did not know if he was glad or disappointed that her legs were now covered again. “A promise is a promise. That fact doesn’t change just because you’re having a disagreement or because you don’t like each other anymore.”

Yet again, he was pleasantly surprised by her maturity; it made him feel a tiny bit less like a predator preying on an innocent girl.

“Plus, the real problem is Ron. I love him –“ Severus felt a slight sting at these words. “But he’s just so unpredictable sometimes. And at the end of the day, Ginny will always side with him, because he’s her brother, and Harry will do the same, because he’s his best friend and because Ginny is his girlfriend. All three of them are on the Quidditch team together, and they all share common interests. I am the odd one out, and so if someone has to leave the group, it will always be me first.”

Severus was stunned. He wanted to disagree, wanted to tell her that what she was saying was wrong – but he knew that it was the truth. Just like himself, she was and would always be an outsider.

“Anyway,” Granger continued, taking a look at her wristwatch. “I think I have to go. I still want to stop by the library to pick up some books before it closes. Thank you for having me, as always.”

And with that, she stood up, straightened out her clothes and put the book she had been reading back in its place on one of the countless shelves lining the dark room before making her way to the exit. But just as she was about to disappear through the hole in the wall, she lingered for a second.

“Professor Snape?”

Severus was caught off guard by how nervous she suddenly sounded. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but the other teachers normally address me by my first name when I’m alone with them. So perhaps you could do that, too? Only in private, of course.”

Severus gave her a calculated look. It probably sounded nonsensical, especially after he had already allowed her into his chambers, but he was still somewhat afraid of getting too close to her. Wasn’t using her first name taking it a bit too far? But at the same time, her request flooded his soul with a feeling of genuine happiness.

“All right … Hermione.”

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

“Come on, Hermione, I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

The brightest witch of her age was surprise to hear what sounded like frantic knocking as she climbed up the stairs leading to her Head Girl suite. It was not long until she arrived at the top and discovered a certain redhead banging on her door.

“I know you’re really mad at me, but can we please just talk about it?”

“Ginny?” she said, making the other witch jump in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed before running towards her friend at the speed of light and hugging her so hard that the two of them almost tumbled over. “I am so, so sorry! I know I treated you like crap, and for a stupid reason, too! I don’t know what got into me, I’m just so stressed right now, and I let Ron get the better of me! Harry is also sorry, but Ron is still mad, and so he feels like he’s sort of caught in the middle, and –“

Hermione took a step back and offered her a smile. “Gin, it’s all right. No hard feelings, okay?”

“Oh, you are truly too good for this world!” Ginny called out before moving in for another suffocating embrace.

Hermione could not suppress a chuckle. She was still upset about how she had been treated, of course; but she had learnt a long time ago that sometimes, being happy was more important than being right. War hero or not, at the end of the day, she was just a girl, and a girl needed her best friend.

Now that their frivolous fight was finally behind them, it did not take long before the two teenagers fell back into their old ways. They soon found themselves on Hermione’s bed, with countless Muggle nail supplies spread out around them, talking about this and that. However, the newest Hogwarts gossip was not really able to awaken Hermione’s enthusiasm like it usually did. Something had been occupying her mind for a few days now, and it took her a long time before she finally mustered up the courage to bring it up.

“Hey, Gin …” she said meekly.

“Yes?” Ginny replied, biting her tongue in concentration as she carefully painted the tiny nail of one of her little toes in a pastel pink colour.

“Um …” Hermione had absolutely no idea how to broach the subject. “I need your advice on something.”

It was only then that the sixth-year looked up.

“What’s going on?” she asked concerned.

“So …” Taking a shaky breath, she decided to just make it quick and painless, like ripping off a band-aid. “I think that I might be starting to like Professor Snape.”

Oh Merlin, she had finally said it aloud! After many sleepless nights of confusion, dismay and solitary pining, she had finally admitted it – to Ginny and to herself.

Too scared of her reaction, Hermione did not dare to look Ginny in the eyes. But to her surprise, the only response was a high-pitched giggle.

“Hermione, you like all teachers. So I’m not at all surprised that you like that tosser, too. Even though I do not know how you could, especially enough to become his apprentice and –“

“No, I –“ She rubbed the back of her neck with a trembling hand. “I think I might fancy him.”

“WHAT?!” yelled Ginny as she jumped to her feet, knocking over a couple of bottles of nail polish and spilling their content all over the comforter in the process.

“Ginny, please!” she tried to calm her down, but it was to no avail – the whirlwind that was Ginevra Weasley had already been unleashed.

“You have a crush on Snape? SNAPE?! The greasy git of the dungeons? The most hated teacher in all of Hogwarts? That Snape?!”

Her look was filled with nothing but disbelief and betrayal.

“Gods, I don’t know!” Hermione’s eyes were starting to burn and fill with tears. She could not help but feel embarrassed. “I have all of these confounding feelings, and I don’t know what to make of them, okay?!”

“Hey, hey, come on! It’s nothing to cry about.” Ginny hurriedly sat back down and rubbed her back reassuringly, though she still had horror written all over her face. “Even if we’re talking about Snape here.”

A salty tear rolled down Hermione’s blushed cheek. “I don’t even know when it started, I just –“ The words got stuck in her throat as she erupted into sobs. “How can I like a teacher in that way?! Like, maybe that could even get me EXPELLED!”

Ginny pulled her into a half hug. “Now, calm down, we’ll figure this out somehow! Why do you like him?”

Hermione sniffled. “I don’t know! It’s just that he’s being so nice to me!”

“Really?” Ginny tilted her head to the left, obviously doubting the statement. ��Snape and nice?”

“Yes, extremely nice!” Hermione blurted out as she wiped her flushed face with the back of her hand. “You know, after our stupid argument, I felt so sad and miserable. But then he invited me over, and we had some tea, and he let me vent. He consoled me, Gin!”

In hindsight, the brunette would later realise that she did not know how exactly he had become aware of their fallout in the first place. She certainly had never openly mentioned it in front of him. But at that moment, with her raw emotions causing mayhem inside her mind, the thought did not occur to her even once.

“You’re kidding!” Hermione could only shake her head before she broke into tears again. “Hey, I’m sorry! It’s just hard to imagine that someone like Snape might actually have some real human feelings.”

“Well, he does! I feel like he actually cares about me, you know? Like, it almost feels as though he’s my friend. He even gave me the password to his rooms so that I would have somewhere to retreat to.”

“WHA–“ Clearly forcing herself to remain calm, Ginny took a deep breath. “Are you being for real?”

“Of course! I’ve been spending time there every day!”

Shocked, Ginny put a palm on her chest. “Hold on! Severus Snape, a grown man and teacher at this school, is allowing you, a beautiful 18-year-old student of his, in his private quarters where the two of you are completely alone? Ew, what a creep!”

“It’s not like that!” Hermione protested, her facial features contorting into a grimace. “Never once has he done anything even remotely inappropriate! We just work on something together or read some books, and sometimes we eat meals together. If anything, I’m the one who has taken it too far.”

“What do you mean?” No response. “Hermione?”

“I hugged him once …”

It was merely a whisper, but she heard her nonetheless.

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Hermione hung her head, burying her hands deep in her massive brown locks. “I hugged him in the Entrance Hall during the Hallowe’en Feast. We had talked earlier about how he didn’t want to come because of how much he hates dressing up, but then he surprised me by showing up with his teeth charmed to look like a vampire and … I don’t know, I just became so excited, and before I knew it, I was hugging him!”

Ginny could only look at her, baffled-eyed. “Did he, like, hug you back?”

She thought about it for a second.

“Yeah, I think so.” She scrunched up her face. “I liked it, too.”

No one said anything for a long time. Then, letting out a forced laugh, the redhead ultimately mumbled, “Wow, I … really don’t know what to say.”

“I’m screwed!” Hermione exclaimed as she teared up again.

Ginny let out a huge sigh. “Look, at the end of the day, you cannot help who you fall for. And while I’m certainly not a fan of the Dungeon Bat myself, you definitely could have done worse.”

Ignoring the other girl’s glare, she continued, “He’s smart, just like you, and according to what you told me, he’s also treating you right. And to be honest, he’s not really as ugly as we all make him out to be. So liking him is not as ridiculous as it might sound at first. Plus, maybe this infatuation is just a phase. So many girls get crushes on their teachers at some point. Chances are by tomorrow you’re already over it.”

She grabbed her hand. “The only thing I’m worried about is how friendly you two seem to be getting. This could actually get you into major trouble should anyone notice. And it will also not help you get over this silly crush if you keep seeing him this often. So maybe just try and distance yourself for a little while, ‘kay? I bet that once this whole thing with Ron blows over, your feelings won’t be all over the place like this anymore.”

(Click here for chapter 18!)

[tibbinswrites]

Hi! If the slots haven’t been filled yet could you do prompt #635, Destiel, something in cannonverse (so preferably not au or endverse) and angst with happy ending? Thank you! I love love love your writing, you are one of my favorite Destiel writers! You capture the characters so perfectly! I hope you have a nice day!

*grovelling, so much grovelling* I am so, so sorry that this took so long Anon, especially as you picked a prompt that I was hoping someone would pick for ages! When it came to actually WRITING for it though I drew a huge blank. I wrote 4000 words then scrapped them all, then I cycled through about three other possible ideas but none of them did this prompt justice, and THEN I got an email about my big project deadline that I had completely forgotten about so I had to sort that, and then I was in that horrible mood where I was hating everything I wrote so I had to take a break and THEN I came back with fresh eyes and this happened. Thank you so much for bearing with me. I hope it’s worth the wait! You are far too kind! I’m so happy you like how I write. I still have one prompt slot left. I have now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #26, #33, #77, #78, #170 (part 1), (part 2), (part 3), #327, #502 and #635 Anyway, ON WITH THE FIC!  635. “I can’t be mad because I let you slip away…”

Things had been kind of weird since Jack got his soul back. There were more tears than Dean was comfortable dealing with and more apologies than he knew how to forgive. There was only so much he could push aside for the kid’s benefit after all, and only so many times he could hear his mother’s name emerge from the mouth of her killer.

He hadn’t yelled yet though. He’d been trying so damn hard to keep his temper in check ever since Purgatory had him sobbing on his knees. The realisation of what his anger had almost cost him—more than once on reflection—had been burned into his very lungs. It had been a pretty big wake up call to say the least. So he hadn’t yelled at the kid. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. That was his new mantra and he replayed it every time he saw Jack start to tear up, every time he tried to (not so subtly) get Dean alone, as though it was the presence of Sam and Cas that was bothering him and not the fact that he couldn’t forget the weight of his mother’s body in his arms, or the all too familiar stench of her pyre as she burned for the second time. Dean had so far managed to dodge him, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before one of the others intervened on Jack’s behalf.

It had been a couple weeks now and Sam was starting to give him pointed looks whenever he made his feeble excuses about needing to make a grocery run or how he’d love to stay and talk but there was a special sci-fi movie marathon at the local movie theatre that he’d been wanting to go to, or how the washing machine had been acting up and he’d really need to concentrate while fixing it. Those looks were slowly inching from understanding towards judgemental, but he just wasn’t ready yet. He couldn’t look Jack in the eye and tell him honestly that he forgave him for killing Mary, because he didn’t. He might not exactly blame the kid anymore, but that didn’t mean Mary was forgotten.

It didn’t matter that Jack needed to hear the words from Dean’s mouth, this was something he couldn’t compromise himself on.

He hated that everyone else seemed to have a timeline for how long he was allowed to grieve, now that he had the time to grieve. It was different for Sam. It felt petty and resentful to think it but it was. Sam hadn’t missed Mary the first time, not really. You can’t miss what you never had after all and while Sam had definitely felt the absence of Mary growing up, in the spaces that Dean had been unable to fill, and he had peppered Dean with questions about her more than once, they had been more curious than sad. He hadn’t lost her the same way Dean had, nor did he remember the fire like Dean did, nor did he truly understand how different John had been before Mary died.

He wasn’t sure why that made a difference but it did. And sure, Mary had never been the idol he’d imagined her to be as a kid, but now he was struggling so hard not to put her back on that pedestal. He’d sorted through so much of his childish crap. Having Mary alive and well and fiercely stubborn had helped him to do that. Her unwillingness to compromise her independence and love of hunting in order to fulfil Dean’s fantasies of having someone tuck him in at night and tell him that it was all gonna be okay had helped Dean grow up in the way that he should have grown up the first time; not forced into it at four years old, confused and scared, the only thought in his head watch out for Sammy, but in the healthy way that Sam already somehow managed, true maturity instead of faking it because he had to.

Not just a mom, were the words he remembered most clearly.

But now he’d lost her again, and with her any chance of showing her how far he’d come. A foolish, selfish notion perhaps, but one that he’d been nursing in his chest for a very long time: the desire to prove his father wrong, to prove to himself that he wasn’t broken beyond repair, to prove to Mary that it had been her, not John, who had been the one to lay the foundation for the person he wanted to be. The person he could choose to be.

Without her he was struggling to remember why he should bother. Doing things for his own gain felt stupid and narcissistic, another lesson that John had imprinted in him. If somebody else didn’t need it from him then what was the point? Not that Mary had needed to see Dean figure out how to become a person but when she was alive at least he could lie to himself.

He’d retreated since Jack got his soul back. From everyone. Sam had been giving him space, Jack he actively avoided, and whatever progress he’d made with Cas had backslid into tiptoeing on eggshells around the guy, not wanting to hear how much he hated Dean for not showing his son the courtesy of accepting an apology, and definitely not wanting to risk a fight that led to him taking off again. He didn’t know how to fix any of it. How could he make himself forgive Jack? How could he make himself come to terms with everything he’d lost that his mother had represented to him? How could he stop missing Mary herself? The empty hole inside, imperfectly shaped, moulded around the two different Mary’s that he’d known just seemed to grow more ragged at the edges.

He was out in the woods, of course, at the spot Mary’s body had reappeared. This was where he came now when the air felt too stifling inside. It was like a grave, he supposed, a place to come and think about what a person meant to you. He’d never really had that before. He’d only been to Mary’s grave in Lawrence twice, on the day she was put in it and the day, twelve years later, that he’d had to go back. They’d moved around too much when he was young and though Bobby had offered to take him more than once when John had dumped them at his place, Dean had always refused, knowing his dad wouldn’t like it and not really seeing the point anyway.

He understood the point now. Even without a marker he still felt her here. Which he knew was dumb, because she was in Heaven with a husband who’d never really existed and two children who she’d never got to see grow up and hopefully, hopefully the two adult sons who’d grown up without her, the ones she could be proud of.

He sniffed. He always cried when he came here, he’d stopped trying to fight it. He didn’t talk to Mary, of course. She couldn’t hear him and he didn’t have anything worth saying anyway. He just came here to try and untangle the mess of thoughts in his head, maybe so he could figure out what to do next, how to fix everything without undoing whatever progress he’d made for himself.

“Dean?”

He froze, the age-old tactic of ‘if I don’t respond it’ll go away’. It didn’t of course. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t an it, it was Cas.

“What are you doing out here?”

Dean shrugged, casual. “Just needed some air.” He didn’t turn, but he heard the sound of recognition Cas made when he realised the significance of this particular spot.

“Avoiding Jack?”

Dean turned to automatically deny it but Cas’ face was calm and without judgement. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I know he’s coming on strong,” he continued. “I’ve tried to get him to dial it back a little but he really wants to talk to you.”

“I can’t do it, Cas.” Dean said, looking back to the place his mother’s body had materialised, his voice little more than a scrape. “I can’t look him in the eye and tell him that that I’m over it. I’m not. I might not ever be.”

There was a click in Cas’ throat as he swallowed. Then, “Your forgiveness is only part of it,” he said slowly. “Albeit a major part, but he understands, Dean. He understands that what he did can’t be written off, he just wants to hear it from you. If you explain it to him, tell him that you just need time and you’ll go to him when you’re ready, he won’t keep apologising. He’s just trying to get a reaction, I think, though sometimes even I want to snap at him.”

Dean chewed that over for a moment. Cas made it sound so simple. Maybe it wasn’t so black and white as either lying to the kid or yelling that he’ll never forgive him—the only two options that Dean had been able to come up with so far—of course, it meant talking, which Dean was notoriously bad at, but the way Cas broke it down, it didn’t sound so hard. Jack was a smart kid for a three-year-old after all, and he could definitely understand ‘I don’t hate you but I need time’, which was basically what his feelings boiled down to. He didn’t have to explain everything. Hell, he’d never even tell Sam everything but Jack deserved at least the basics, what with the way he’d been freezing the kid out lately.

“What’s the other part?” he asked suddenly, remembering the first thing Cas had said, he twisted his neck around to see Cas frowning at him, his head tilted adorably to one side (yeah, he thought it, so what?).

“Isn’t it obvious? He misses you.”

Dean just blinked stupidly. “Huh?”

Cas huffed and walked forward to stand at his side. Somehow he knew not to walk in front of him and obscure his view of the clearing, but instead stayed a solid presence next to him. Cas was good like that, Dean thought, he just knew things so they didn’t have to be said; he understood in the quiet kind of way that meant more to him than he could ever express, but he was pretty sure Cas knew that too. Still, sometimes he toyed with the idea of saying it aloud.

“He misses spending time with you,” Cas clarified. “You took him fishing once, let him drive your car, taught him how to fire a gun and got him hooked on those horror films you like. He loves you, Dean, and he hates that he hurt you.”

Dean looked down then, and he dug the toe of his boot into the soft dirt. “Oh.”

A comforting weight landed on his shoulder and he didn’t need to look up at the sudden touch. Somehow, Cas had become a safe person even to his subconscious. He didn’t know when that had happened, honestly he tried not to look too closely at it, but he’d arrived at a place now where he could admit to himself, however briefly, that he really, really liked that it had.

“You’re his father too, Dean. Just as much as and me and Sam. You know that, right?

Dean shrugged the shoulder Cas wasn’t touching, not wanting him to remove his hand. “I was thinking of myself more like the fun uncle,” he said, trying to keep his tone light through the ball in his throat.

“No you weren’t.” Cas said, soft but firm, not letting Dean joke his way out of this. Which, actually, he was okay with. Cas always knew how far he could push, how far Dean needed to be pushed. Even when Sam couldn’t get the balance right, Cas always could. Still, he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t try.

“Prove it,” he said, flashing a grin at the angel, who merely rolled his eyes and let his hand drop. Suddenly, he was the one toeing at the grass, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said. “For what it’s worth.”

“I’m right here.” Dean said, and then it was too late to take it back, because this wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to make another joke, a playful jab, not admiring the way the freckles of sunlight through the trees highlighted the chestnut in Cas’ hair, nor heeding the gentle warmth in his belly that only happened around Cas, nor stepping forward to place his own hand on Cas’ shoulder because he needed the contact, he needed to be grounded in these last few moments before he fucked everything up, again, and that pleasant warm feeling was beginning to twist into panic.

But then Cas met his eyes and he breathed again, even though the look in them was melancholy.

“You haven’t been,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding me as well. Or, not avoiding but you’ve been different. I wonder if perhaps you’re unable to forgive me either, but too kind to say so.”

Dean almost snorted. He was a lot of things, some of them even good, but kind wasn’t even in the top fifty. Cas gave him a look that said he knew what he was thinking and not to respond to it, so instead he pushed through his instinct and went with pure honesty.

“I can’t forgive you because I never blamed you, Cas, not really. I was just lashing out because… I dunno, because I expect more from you than I should, I guess. And it’s not fair, I know that, I just… I’m used to you fixing things, and I don’t know what to do when you can’t. And you left because I was being a dick and I can’t blame you for that. I can’t be mad because I let you slip away.”

Cas’ expression shifted then, and it was only that moment that Dean realised they were standing so close. One of Dean’s hands gripped at the arm of that damned coat and Cas was so close that he could probably—fuck—he could probably see the small tracks his tears had made. Dean was so close that he could make out the hope in Cas’ eyes, and for the first time, he wasn’t scared shitless at the sight of it. Or at least, he wasn’t so terrified that he could let Cas slip away again.

“I’m right here,” Cas echoed.

“We could be something.” Dean said, his voice a very unattractive croak, well aware that talking about this shit was so far from his wheelhouse it had a different zip code. His breath hit a few errant hairs on Cas’ forehead and they flinched in rhythm to the slight bump at the crest of each inhale where their chests nudged together. “If, you know, if you wan—”

Cas was already kissing him.

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Handmaid's Tale: Unfit (3x08)

Um. Well, that happened. That certainly was... something.

Cons:

Can we talk for a second about the utterly clumsy way this show deals with race? It makes me cringe every time. For the most part, they try to pretend this is a totally post-racial society, but obviously they can't pull that off. And then they have some casual moment where Aunt Lydia tells some other aunts that a certain couple doesn't want a "handmaid of color," so clearly casual racism is not only present here, but also condoned by the elite. Because, duh. Gender politics cannot exist separate from racial politics. And yet this show is not willing to grapple with what that means.

Especially considering June, who is the Whitest of White Feminists in this episode, and honestly, throughout the whole show. Her plot armor is seriously becoming a problem for me. June and the other Handmaids are open and unsubtle in their shunning of Ofmatthew, because they are all furious with her for turning in the Martha who was helping June. What happened to the first season, when the rebellion was deep, deep in the shadows? Now the majority of the Handmaids are allowed to be insolent. And then June is even more insolent, right to Aunt Lydia's face. She seems to think that her usefulness as publicity in the hunt for Nichole will protect her, and... that seems to be true, for some reason. But why? June could be flogged, or she could be castrated, or any other number of horrible things that would be invisible to a camera. June's cocky self-assured attitude is only made more frustrating by the fact that she seems to be right about being weirdly untouchable.

There were some things in this episode that I liked as individual pieces, but I'm still frustrated with these aspects as I look at the episode as a whole. For example, the idea of Ofmatthew cracking under the strain of her public shaming, in conjunction with her fear for her pregnancy, is a totally reasonable avenue to explore. But since we haven't spent any real time getting to know Ofmatthew, it feels instead like this big blow-out at the end of the episode is all just a part of June's story, instead of the story of a woman with her own story to tell. There was potential here, and there were moments that came close to tapping in to that potential, but the reality fell short. There are also two other reasons that the ending of this episode, particularly Ofmatthew's death, annoys me, and they are the two reasons discussed in earlier paragraphs.

1) We're seriously going to end two episodes in a row with the death of a black woman while June looks on, untouched by the physical consequences of her own actions? Yeesh. 2) She's pregnant. I give the show props for making me gasp when Ofmatthew got shot, because even as I critique this episode, I will acknowledge that I have very much bought in to the universe they've created. I was shocked that a pregnant Handmaid would be shot, because... it's shocking, and despite that moment of adrenaline, it's ultimately a stupid call for the writers to have made. Aunt Lydia is not as valuable as a pregnant Handmaid. Part of the visceral horror of Season One was the idea that the Handmaids would be punished physically and psychologically, but they never had to fear for their lives, because their bodies were far too valuable. There was something twisted and creative in how the system worked to break these women without ever being able to directly threaten them with death. And now, apparently we're just shooting pregnant Handmaids in the grocery store? That actually really broke me out of the moment.

Let's turn to the flashbacks for a moment. This is another instance where as a stand-alone thing, I quite liked learning about Aunt Lydia's past. I get the sense from other reviews that I'm in the minority on this, but I think Ann Dowd is so talented, and the story worked for me on the level of examining the early symptoms of Gilead, even before things had started in earnest. But on a macro level, these flashbacks still bothered me for a couple of reasons. For one, the themes explored in the flashbacks did not connect with the story in the present-day, other than that both were centered around Lydia. The flash-backs are about a woman who genuinely wanted to help people, turned bitter in part by her evangelical beliefs and in part by her loneliness. The present-day story is about June turning more and more ruthless, and Ofmatthew losing her grip on her sanity. What am I meant to understand by learning a bit more about Lydia's former life? And that's the second problem, honestly - from just this episode, I might get a good-ish understanding of who Aunt Lydia is meant to be as a character, but if you combine these flashbacks with what we've seen of her character so far, it doesn't really track. Aunt Lydia's characterization is all over the place. She seems to slide on the scale of devotion to Gilead depending on what the plot needs from her at any given moment. For a long time, I've held out hope that we would come to some sort of emotional core for this character and finally understand what makes her tick. But if these flashbacks were meant to provide that clarity, in my opinion they failed.

Pros:

Let's talk about June. Because on the one hand, I'm annoyed about the plot armor, as discussed above. And it's tempting to be upset and frustrated by how unlikable June is becoming. Last week, I certainly felt that way. But I'm trying to take the long view. Turning June into something of a villain is... well, it's not a totally crap idea. Maybe the final consequence of the torture she's been through is that there is no coming back for her. Maybe she'll keep being cruel and single-handed, focused on saving Hannah and nothing else. Maybe she'll nod sagely as Handmaids hold guns on her, and maybe we'll be hearing more voice-overs indicating that June is not only willing to inflict suffering on others... she's starting to enjoy it. I can't really sense what the endgame would be here, short of killing June off and letting the story continue without her. But that might not be as crazy an idea as it first sounds. This universe that they've created has legs. There are so many stories to tell. I'd be okay with telling those stories in a world where June is no longer at the center of them. Maybe that's not where this is going. Maybe I'll have to eat my words and be frustrated in the next couple of episodes at the direction the show turns. But for now, the idea of villainous June is kind of interesting!

One thing this show always does well is showing the creepiness of Gilead through the ceremonies. We have the birthing ceremony that ends in tragedy, as another Handmaid's child is stillborn. And then we have the shaming ceremony. It might be ridiculous to me that June doesn't suffer harsher consequences, but I do like the way Aunt Lydia's role in this shaming ceremony echoes her past as a teacher. The Handmaids are her students, parroting her words and internalizing the harsh messages they are forced to repeat, again and again. It's chilling, and it's meant to be, and it's a good scene, even with the flaws in the larger setup.

As I said, Ofmatthew unraveling and breaking down was actually an interesting idea, in and of itself. The acting and the pacing in that final scene was truly superb. At least in the moment, when I wasn't questioning the larger writing decisions going on, I was totally gripped. I thought Aunt Lydia might be about to die. I even thought Ofmatthew might actually shoot June, although I wasn't thinking June would actually die from it. And then when the shots rang out and Ofmatthew dropped, I literally flinched. I wish this story-line had explored more of its potential, but I did think this high-intensity scene worked really well on its own.

And again, I did enjoy the flashbacks for their own sake. I think it's interesting that Lydia was turned towards a darker, more cynical path because of her attempts to find love again. I read in another review that it seemed stupid to make Lydia evil because she was rejected by a man, but that's not the way I read the moment at all. She breaks so many of the rules she had set for herself on that New Year's Eve. She drinks, and she lets herself be comfortable, and she indulges her desires. Suddenly, she realizes that she's slipped away from the righteous path, and she over-corrects in a big way. That's interesting to me, and I hope that we can get some more clarity on Aunt Lydia's characterization moving forward.

I also like all the hints of the changing world. It reminds me of some of the Season One flashbacks. We learn that Child Protective Services has been replaced with privatized organizations, ones that ask questions like "do they go to Church?" in order to determine if a home is fit for a child. We see how Lydia is uncomfortable and judgmental of Noelle's behavior, and at first it seems perfectly reasonable, because she is neglecting her child. But there's something more dangerous underneath that, as Lydia is judging not only Noelle's parenting style, but her wearing of makeup, and use of profanity, and relationships with men. It all bleeds together, so you can see the sinister creep of Gilead's power beginning in these moments.

So... yeah. This is a very long review, and unfortunately a lot of it is less than positive. There are elements that have promise, and I'm giving this show the benefit of the doubt, because I believe it deserves that. But I'm also starting to feel like the writers need to re-evaluate some aspects of the story, and figure out how they're going to keep moving forward with June as a protagonist.

6/10

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies 13/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content. 

Chapter Notes: Okay y’all, the reunion that you all have been waiting for is finally here! But things aren’t always what they seem. Thanks to @daveyjacobsthepotterhead for helping beta this monstrosity and helping me write (good) angst for the first time these last couple of chapters. Also huge kudos to @princesse-swan for being an amazing artist. More art from her to come in the following chapters!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

Art by @princesse-swan here and here

Chapter 13

Emma burst through the doors of the planetarium, cursing soundly when she didn’t initially see Killian in the room.

This was the most likely place where he would have come to, she was sure of it. Killian had always said it was relaxing and peaceful to be back under the stars, but considering that it didn’t seem like he was here, she was at a bit of a loss as to where he could have gone.

Emma whirled around as the doors opened behind her.

“Emma. Is that you?” Killian asked, walking into the room.

Emma sighed in relief. “Killian, thank god you are okay.” She said, rushing up to him and pulling him into her arms.

Killian’s arms came around her in a crushing hug. “I was so worried about you Swan,” He said, his hand coming up to touch the top of her head. “No one had any idea what happened to you.”

“Riggans happened to me.” She whispered, shivering a bit remembering the cold of the ICE block. Killian gripped her tighter in response.

“That’s what we were all worried about,” He murmured, burying his face into her neck.

“We?” She asked. Her brief conversation with David didn’t give her any idea as to how long Killian had been locked up for either. “How long did they lock you up for?”

“I only got released this morning.” He said, pulling back from her a bit. He held his hand out between them, what she now realized was a suppression glove was different than when she had last seen him. “Apparently that’s how long it takes to outfit me with a new one of these.”

“Where did they put you?” She was concerned that they had locked him in some super max wing like they had done with her.

“I was locked in my dorm, where were you Emma?” He asked, searching her eyes like they held the answer.

“They put me on ICE,” She said.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” He asked. The look in her eyes must have been enough, because he cursed soundly, pulling her back into his arms. “That explains why you are still shivering love. I didn’t think you could get cold,” Killian chuckled a little bit, trying to lighten the mood.

Emma wasn’t in any kind of laughing mood. Far from it actually.

“You saved me.” She said, pulling back from him again.

He looked down at her in confusion. “What?”

“That fight with Gaston, you saved me. I wasn’t doing well. If it hadn’t been for you. I don’t know what would have happened.”

“It was really nothing Swan.” He said, shrugging his shoulders a bit uncomfortably.

“No, it wasn’t nothing. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did.” He said.

“Why?” It was all the questions that she had been scared to ask wrapped up in one. Why save me? Why use your powers like that? Why didn’t you just leave after I had been so horrible to you?

“Because I couldn’t just sit by and let that bastard hurt you. And I couldn’t just sit back and not do anything. I had to help you, however I could. I don’t really know how my powers work, but I knew the one thing that I could do to help so I had to try.” He explained.

“I don’t know what to say.” She said, getting lost in the way he was looking at her.

“You don’t need to say anything Love. Besides. I should be apologizing to you anyways.” Killian pressed a finger to her lips to silence whatever she was about to say. “Yes, I do. So just let me get this out. Okay?”

He waited until she nodded her head silently before removing his finger and taking a step back.

“Look. I didn’t mean what I said to you before Emma, back over break. I was scared, and frustrated. And I took that out on you when you were scared and frustrated too.” He sighed, moving his hand from her elbow where it had been resting to run it through his hair. She belatedly noticed he had gotten it trimmed since the last time they spent any real time together. Too much had happened too fast that day back in the commons for her to have really taken any notice of it anyway. “You don’t own me anything, especially because I have told you virtually nothing about myself. It was horribly rude and selfish of me to demand that you have to tell me about things that you can hardly think about, let alone voice. I’m truly sorry about that Love.”

Emma smiled softly at him, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She was unbelievably touched to say the least. He gave her a small smile in return.

She pressed up on her toes and leaned her face in towards his, hoping he would get the message and meet her halfway.

He did.

Every kiss with Killian felt like the first kiss to her. They were all the same and yet completely different at the same time. Some were flames, burning and rushing under her skin. Some were quiet, and soft, like a sleeping baby. Others, like this one, were tender and warm, like standing in the sun on the middle of a cool fall day.

Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping his mouth on hers as she dropped down from her toes and planted her feet back on solid ground. He wrapped his arms around her in turn, his hand coming to tangle in her hair while the left arm wrapped securely around her waist.

She pulled back before the kiss became any more intense. She still wanted to talk with him about what she had seen with his brother.

“I missed you, so much.” She said, staring at his sky blue eyes. She didn’t want to think about those long days down on the block, not knowing when, or if she would be released. When her next meal would come. What had happened to her friends.

It had been the hardest to think about Killian. Not knowing if she would ever get to speak with him and begin the process of repairing what had been broken those weeks ago.

He squeezed his arms around her and buried his face back into her hair. She tucked her nose into his neck in return, enjoying the safety of being in his arms.

“Besides,” Emma started, “I wanted to tell you that I understand.”

Killian pulled back from her abruptly, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. “Understand what?” He asked.

“I understand what it is like to come here under...Not the greatest circumstances.” She said, struggling to find the right words.

“Not the greatest circumstances, what are you talking about Emma.” He asked, even more confused than before.

“Well, after what your brother said…..”

“My Brother?!?” Killian said, sounding alarmed. “When have you ever talked with Liam?”

“Just a bit ago, I went over to find David…” She started, not understanding his reaction to what she was saying.

“How much of that conversation did you hear Emma?” He questioned, gripping the tops of her arms, this wild look coming into his eyes. She pulled back from him a bit, his reaction starting to concern her, for a number of reasons.

“I heard enough, but it was more of what Liam said to me after you left…” She trailed off as Killian pushed away from her and shoved his hand into his hair, groaning in frustration.

“So you know.” He said, looking back at her after a few heart stopping minutes.

“I don’t know everything, but he told me enough to-”

“To what Emma! You know enough about me now to know that I am not the sort of man that you want to be with anymore? Is that it?” He asked, growing more agitated as he lobbed question after question at her.

“What? NO! Killian, I’m not explaining this well. Let me explain.” She pleaded, moving to grab his hand.

He pulled away from her, putting both arms up next to his head in frustration and walking around the room.

When they had both arrived, the room had been dark. Emma’s eyes had adjusted some to make out where he was and the expression on his face when he was close, but she marveled at the way he avoided running into any of the mechanics and other objects in the room.

She supposed for someone whose powers were darkness, that granted him a bit of an advantage.

“Killian-” She started again, trying to salvage what was happening in front of her eyes.

“What do you want me to say Emma? That I’m okay with everything happening to me? Because I am not.”

“I’m not saying-”

“I have never been farther from okay than I am right now. Not everything around here is like those books Emma.” He said, whirling around to look at her.

“What books?” She asked.

“All that Shel Silverstein crap. The world isn’t all butterflies and rainbows.” Killian said it with such viciousness, he might as well have slapped her.

She reared back as if he had, feeling a sharp stabbing pain flare in the middle of her chest.

“Oh don’t look at me like that Emma.” He said, exasperated. “You know what I mean.”

She didn’t. Yeah, life hadn’t been all butterflies and rainbows for her, far from it actually, but she didn’t let that cloud her view point.

Most of the time anyway. She knew she was guilty of letting her past experiences change how she would have reacted to something or how she would have approached a situation, but that didn’t make a difference in how she saw other people.

David had been helping her with that since they had met. Killian helping her more recently, more that he seemed to have realized.

“Yeah, I get it. But that doesn’t mean you have to talk down to me Killian.” She said.

“I’m not talking down to you Emma. I am trying to get you to see the world the way that I have experienced it. I haven’t had it easy Emma.” He said, still yelling at her.

“Well I wouldn’t know anything about that, now would I! Since you don’t tell me anything.” She hurled a point from their last argument back at him.

“No, you just go to my Bloody Brother to learn all of my darkest secrets!”

“Like you don’t go and get all of your information about me from David behind my fucking back.” She yelled back, feeling her flames; which had winked out earlier, come roaring back to life.

“Now don’t you go accusing me of going behind your back Emma.”

“Why shouldn’t I, you just threw the same accusation at me!”

“Because how in the bloody fuck would my brother know that I was here? I haven’t had any form of communication with him since I was deployed on my last mission.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know that? I was on lock down for the last week and a half, or have you forgotten about that” She said, getting angrier with him by the minute. She couldn’t remember a time she had been so angry.

“By your own fault.” He said, stabbing a finger at her.

Emma could have sworn smoke was coming out of her ears, she was so angry. Her mouth tasted like ash.

Smoke must have been coming out of her ears, because the sprinklers in the room began going off, drenching both her and Killian in a matter of seconds.

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, screaming her frustration.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Dr. Hopper burst through the door not even a minute later.

“Is everything okay up here?” He asked, catching sight of the two of them as he turned the lights on.

“Just fine Doctor. That was all my fault. Sorry for triggering the sprinklers.” She said over the rush of the water.

Dr. Hopper moved to a panel on the wall and flipped two of the switches, turning off the torrent of water.

“Anything you two want to say about this?” He asked, crossing his arms, looking at Killian more than her.

“No.” She said, both pairs of eyes whipping across the room to look at her. “I don’t have anything more to say. It’s pretty clear what just happened. So I am just going to leave if that’s alright.”

She wrapped her arms around herself as she turned to leave the room. Feeling hurt and lost at what just happened.

She made it out of the building before Killian caught up with her. She heard his shoes squelching along the sidewalk before she saw him.

With the full intent of ignoring him, she pressed on faster, trying to make it back to her dorm.

“Swan.” He shouted, his watery footsteps getting louder before she felt his hand latch onto her upper arm.

She yanked her arm free before turning on him. “What do you want Killian? Don’t you think you have said enough already?”

Killian looked down at her, his hair dripping down into his eyes, clothes plastered onto his body. He looked downright miserable. Emma had no sympathy for him.

None at all.

After another agonizing minute of waiting for him to do something other than stare down at her, she had had enough.

“If that’s all Killian, I am going to go back to my room now.” She said, not bothering to hide the hurt and anger in her voice. “Don’t follow me. I don’t think I want to talk to you for a while.”

Emma turned her back and made her way across campus. Ignoring the curious looks that the other students were throwing her sopping wet appearance, she made her way into her building and climbed the stairs up to her room.

David was waiting for her when she got to her door, a bottle of rum in his hand.

Tears welled up in her eyes without her permission. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” She said, wiping a wet sleeve under her nose.

“I wasn’t planning on talking about anything.” He said, raising the bottle. “I thought you could use a drink.”

He didn’t say anything further as she opened the door to her room. She held the door open and gestured for him to join her.

After changing into a dry set of clothes, she sank down onto the floor next to David, skipping the offered glass and taking a swig right from the bottle. It burned it’s way down her throat, offering some relief from her feelings.

“Today sucked.” Was all she said, a few silent tears falling down her cheeks.

David just nodded and took the bottle from her, taking a swig of it himself.

Emma leaned her head against his shoulder and finally allowed herself to cry.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

posts about things with absolutely no introduction but it's because i was reminded of the topic the other day

this one's for those of us in the lifelong isolation no friends society, i know sometimes there's other people out there!! anyways i've been thinking about how like, personally, obviously, b/c idk how other ppl do it b/c we aren't friends with each other lol, its just a fuckin wild thing to deal with in part cuz its one of those answers to which there's not necessarily any Right Way to handle things or Answer or Solution or anything. isolation p much = more isolation and plus not having friends makes ppl less likely to socialize with you so that's rough; anyways yknow, the point is just oops you can't Choose to like, obtain a friend. u can try to get ppl interested but you can't control it beyond that, so, yknow

anyways what am i getting to? yeah so i've never had close friends in that i was never able to share personally honest things anyways for the longest time for a couple reasons, and also, people just didn't like me. the double whammy of "oh no its abuse" and "oh no you're lowkey socially ostracized by your peers from preschool on without end" is like, good luck to little me getting friends! i had sort-of friends in like a couple ppl who'd hang out with me regularly and on occasion we'd go to each others houses or smthing but it wasnt able to be like, the normal fun event it should. oh well. middle school was a little better and a little worse but i didnt keep up w ppl cuz i went to a different school later and its that situation where you're friends-ish Because you're at the same school right...smh...didnt thrive in college magically, but one essential thing was i was away from home more often than not so, that was real important ultimately. but anyways in the end i had like a handful of college friends-ish (accepted by other friends groups lol) and theres a couple of them i still talk to now and again

so like, yknow, friends, mostly friendly acquaintances, my siblings i'd classify as friendly acquaintances, i'm very glad about all of them really. just unfortunately i've only just started to have friendships that are like a decade old and the "longtime close" friendship is nonexistent b/c college is just four years and then you go other places, and i'm not at the heart of friend groups and not "good" at communication in other ways so its hard to keep in touch in ways. smh!!

funnily enough i'm also not good at internet stuff though it's been absolutely essential, god knows. that's why i'm able to talk to anyone rn!! but i can't do group chats and i only like approaching things "one on one" aka i don't like feeling like im in the midst of a group even outside group chats. if you get what i'm saying. like even back being in the small early mh fandom of like, three dozen ppl, in retrospect i didnt like having to be in the entire Group yknow. lemme just be over here. which is what i do now.

anyways for additional reasonsl, communicating has been trickier these past few years and for the most part its been kind of a situation where i wasn't necessarily going to get to talk to someone every day, though usually it'd maybe only be like, a gap of a day or two. and anyways, the thing is that, over the past ten years especially its started to be Distressing like wanting friends, not as much having them, and also having it be more obvious that there was some kind of deficiency keeping me from having (and having had) friends like other people did. not fun! but what i'm getting around to here, whats been wild, is just this like, decade-ish (or two decade-ish if you want) Personal Effort to just figure out how the fuck to stop having to feel like shit about it all the time right? then you're lonely AND stressed and probably self loathing also

so like yeah, the thing is that the other day something was going on about like, yknow, the idea of the longtime close friend with a steadfast presence in your life, and that's just always like, lfjdglmao what!!! sounds nice. i had a friend for a week in second grade and im not sure we ever spoke and then the teacher made us sit on opposite sides of the classroom and it was too embarrassing to be friends anymore. that's kinda close but lol for real......it's not only the lack of friends to tackle but also like, i don't assume to have friends in the future. it's something that like, i would obviously theoretically want, and be happy if it happened, but i can't say i hope for it, because that implies too much being expectant or whatever. and it's weird!! its a weird time just kind of presuming friendlessness until otherwise occurs. and it's not great, i'm definitely still unhappy about all this shit. its just that i've also like, been able to shave off how distressing the issue mightve been in earlier years yknow

like it sounds all depressing to say like, i've just had to be less emotionally invested in the whole thing, but it's kind of true. not by ignoring it or ignoring the feelings so much as like...just acknowledging that this is how it is and there's only so much i can do but not hating myself about it is a start. and yeah it's like "oh, feeling less, depressing" but also frankly when i decided also that its less horrible to be friendless than to feel stuck w crap ppl / ppl who you aren't too important to / etc, i figured that i'd also rather be friendless and just enjoy being myself than try to make myself easier to talk to. i'm not like intimidating or anything, i just can't hold a conversation. but i'm not very interested anymore in trying to convince ppl to like me, yknow, i'm out here, and if i'm ever going to have friends i'd like them to be people to like me For Who I Am, wipe tear. what i'm just saying is "a weird dumbass" b/c its just vague social weirdness that ppl don't necessarily like, loathe, but probably they'd rather talk to someone else. i'm not great at socializing stuff, like i said, hence social rejection since age 4

oh and i meant to say!! i've been able to turn up my emotions by turning down my investment in the idea of Needing To Always Be Trying To Make Friends b/c, as anyone might know, all i like to do is talk at great length about whatever weird, niche shit i'm into at any given point. and that's pretty much it. i'm not pretending to be deep by not really knowing how to do small talk. lmao you guys know what i'm talking about. and obviously not everybody is into Getting Enthusiastic or super focused on whatever weird thing at any point, and i'm not Into getting my passion all fired up and being brushed off or anything, so we can all avoid each other, and i get to continue entertaining myself

so that's a way i've been able to turn my feelings up actually lol.....dunno how to segue into it so i won't but it's also just like, not saying that i Truly Don't Care about not having friends, or that it doesn't hurt that i've had this relative friendless past and the futures looking bleak, b/c it does!! it's still distressing. but like, its turned down. the whole general issue can be a very Bitter one for sure!!!! and it has been in the past sometimes and like.....it's still there basically, i've just been able to turn down the volume a lot on a bunch of these shit feelings like "that's upsetting" or "i'm bitter about that" and just kind of calmly let it simmer back down b/c i'm sort more familiarish with what sets it off and more familiar with Dealing With It Always overall

no idea if i've made the point i was setting out for there. dealing with the No Friends Isolation Life society life is not fun but we're out here, sometimes. it continues to be not fun. "oh well," is an often relevant sentiment. c'est la vie. c'est ce que c'est? i think. and i think it's nice that after years and years of just like, struggling to figure this shit out myself, and probably feeling like shit most of the time, i've at least managed to go "shh" at some Bad Feelings. definitely still there. but this time it doesn't heap extra shittiness on top b/c of having to deal with the intensity of it and feel bad about that too etc etc. it's all weird! getting more familiar with dealing with some shit which is just, the way that it is in part because of bad luck and of course i'm jealous of everybody who does have friends. but oh well. b/c c'est la vie. im also glad for everybody who has friends, obv. it's all complicated!! which is just part of why this post exists. it has no real point, i'm just kinda going like, weird, huh? and kind of good, and kind of a bummer. oh well

also im aware this is a suddenly long, technically depressing post at like circa midnight for a lot of people, but basically this is just me in normal mood. sometimes it's depressing posts time out of nowhere, but i'm not especially depressed!! nighttime is just more of my Peak Hours. night owl 4 life. thanks

oh and ps. another thing i would think about (with more distress in the past, and like, no distress now) is that its also funny cuz, one thing i’ve generally had to do is be aware that it’s a bigger deal for you (me) to get a new Friend than it is for them to be getting you as a friend, b/c math says so. and so i’ve had to push myself to not be overly hopeful or invested in order to be both fair to them and myself. and nowadays that’s just kind of how i view the no-friends-ness of it all, like. i’m not mad that i’m not for some reason way closer to anybody i know. why would i be. and i don’t expect anybody to think like “oh my god we have to be Good Friends” because like. not in a self deprecating way but like, why would any random person want that. and i dont expect to be better friends with ppl im just casual friends with, which is great, cus like Friendly Acquaintances and other lite friendships are fantastic and im very grateful. but i am aware there’s plenty of reasons making it difficult to just like, pick up a Close Buddy and i’m not like “oh i demand one from somewhere, from some reason.” so what i am trying to say is that keeping my expectations honestly realistic is an effort to be fair to both other ppl and myself and i think it works. no friends!! we out here!!!!

[spookenstein]

Character Meme

@some-cookie-crumbz tagged me in this like an asshole like a week ago (j/k) but I was busy finishing a summer course for college. I gotta pick my favorite characters from 10 different fandumbs so this will be fun.

I’m really inactive on here so the only people I know who may do it are @space-exeggutor, @waytootired, and my horrible husbando @newgroundsguru. I’m doing this in no particular order.

Also this post may contain decades old spoilers so you know read at your own risk, all 5 of you out there in Tumblr land.

Luke Fon Fabre (Tales of the Abyss)

It’s hard not to like a character who causes so many people to drop the game within the first 10 hours because they find him so unbearable - never getting into the meat and potatoes of his character. While I hate that he loses a bit of his asshole-ish ways, but the combination of killing an entire town of people and the big plot twist (he’s a clone, and he’s been alive 7 years) it makes sense. He’s both figuratively and literally a child mentally - as he was raised to be a brat in the sort time he’s been around. Watching Luke strive to become better, come to terms with who he is and his own worth, and just bonding with the rest of the cast really makes it worth while. 

Kuron (then Takashi Shirogane aka Shiro) (Voltron: The Legendary Defender)

Prior to season 3, while I enjoyed Shiro - he really started sticking out to me as a character. Kuron, even though a clone, clearly had some of his own little personality quirks that made him stick out to me more. He was more willing to put his foot down and take charge opposed sort of smiling and taking it. Poor precious clone baby, how I will miss you. You will always be a paladin in my heart. Shiro is second only to his clone - it’s hard not like Shiro the best when it feels like he’s the only character who has had any well rounded character development throughout the series.

Relena Darlian/Peacecraft (Gundam Wing)

Moving away from the clone character trend, but staying with the mech show that’s more melodrama than actual robot fighting - the most hated characters of the early 2000′s that I loved. Much like with Shiro, Relena felt like the only character who had a legitmate arc throughout the series and grew as a person. She starts as a spoiled rich girl, attempts to avenge her adopted father but ultimately decides to take on her biological families ideals, is a political puppet at one point, and then ultimately takes up her adopted father’s role. Did I mention she’s only 15? I’ve always felt bad for the amount of flak she gets, despite all she does throughout the series, because of the “Heeeerro come back and kill me” schtick. Also I was torn between her and Duo but I knew if I said Duo it would be because he was my first husbando.

Vegeta (Dragon Ball)

I actually hated Vegeta growing up, and it wasn’t until high school that I really came to appreciate his character. I like the villain becoming a good guy thing, and that in Vegeta’s case he really still seemed more like the “grey” guy then good guy - like he wasn’t necessarily bad anymore but he wasn’t really good either. I like that in a weird way he surpasses Goku in being more human the longer the series progresses - he genuinely cares for his family’s well being even if he’s a little tsundere about it. I’ll admit too, while Super maybe horrible in certain aspects, I really do appreciate Vegeta of all people sort of becoming a voice of reason among everything that happens within the series. Like, it’s hard to believe the former antagonist is in that role.

Todoroki Shoto (Boku no Hero Academia)

This was a real hard pick because I like a lot of character’s from BnHA and I can think of at least 3 more I could say are my favorite all for different reasons. However I think Todoroki would be my number 1 pick. He’s a character who’s gone through a lot and post the sport’s festival fight with Deku, he’s growing. Todoroki could’ve stayed a quiet, anti-social, sticking to his guns kind of rival like so many shonen do but instead elects to grow. Reconnecting with his mother, not squandering his opportunities to use the resources his father has, and willing to crack the occasional joke - it makes Todoroki a breath of fresh air as one of Deku’s growing list of rivals.

Tadano Hitohito (Komi-san wa Komyushou Desu)

I started reading Komi-san wa Komyushou Desu when it was first getting translations because I thought Komi was so adorable, but as time as gone on Tadano really stole my heart. Tadano is the definite of average - and that’s literal, his whole character is being basically vanilla ice cream in 31 flavors. I never truly understood the concept of moe until this character. He’s just a earnest, hardworking guy who’s willing to help anyone - even people who treat him poorly (which is basically everyone considering his standing with Komi, the class idol). Out of all the smile I want to protect, I want to protect Tadano’s the most.

Tangy (Animal Crossing)

Cute, orange kitty cat. I don’t know what to say, she’s peppy, talks about being a super star and she’s an ORANGE KITTY CAT. She’s just too much, too freaking cute.

Gill (Harvest Moon Tree of Tranquility/Animal Parade)

I was torn between Gill and Ellen from OG Harvest Moon, but elected to go with Gill because I’ve married him so many times. Truthfully, the type A pretty boy types aren’t normally my thing but I made an exception for him. I like to think that the MC and Gill start off as a couple of convenience - Gill wanting that sweet farming bux and the MC wanting to have a political in. It’s stupid but that’s how I like to play Harvest Moon, by inventing soup opera drama in my head.

Matsuno Choromatsu (Osomatsu-san)

Again, I’m not normally into the type A personality but Choromatsu is almost like the pseudo-middle child so I feel for him. Also, I’m a terrible person so I can relate to feeling like your the least piece of shit in a room of crap (i.e. all my coworkers even though I know I’m not even better). Plus I’m otaku trash and I love cute anime girls (opposed to his idol love). In a lot of ways he pales to the other Matsu’s but everyone needs a straight man, and he’s good at it.

Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

She’s cute, she can sing, she can dance, and because she’s different depending on who’s writing the song she’s can be easy to relate too. My bedroom is also decked out with like 10-11 Miku figures so she had to go on here somewhere. My dream is to see her live one of these days.

Thanks to anyone who took the time to read my post on characters I enjoy. Even if I don’t know you, feel free to do it yourself. It’s a real head scratcher.

[raging-violets]

Fictional Kiss Prompts - 01

1. Breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths

ZackxRiley; age: 17

Riley could tell, even from across the school courtyard, that Zack was having a bad day. Smoke practically flew from his ears as he huffed, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. One that had a suspicious stain across the front.

Was that the milk stain from the week before? She hoped to God it wasn’t or else had to have another conversation with him about his hygienic habits. Again. She cared greatly for him, but that was something she couldn’t quite get over. Nevertheless, it wasn’t as concerning as what was currently bugging him.

If she had to guess, something about his grades was bothering him. It was the main source of his contempt of the school and everything that went with it. He always had some sort of complaint; Leaky roof. Squeaking steps. Horrible lighting in the locker room. Bathrooms that were never cleaned. Teachers riding his ass about late homework, tests, and papers. Principals waving his report card in his face. Guidance counselors continuously trying to figure out ‘what’s really going on?’

It didn’t help that Cody, once again, managed to upstage him in a grade he was proud of. B-. It was much better than the Ds he continuously got. Riley did her best to support him with his work, encouraging him even when he got Cs, noting the effort he made was enough. Yeah, Zack would snort. Effort put in he’d never get back, and having it pushed aside so that Cody could brag about his atom accelerator or particle smasher or whatever the hell it was he was working on. A cure for cancer, maybe. It’d be just his luck.

Still, she flashed him a smile when he dropped to the empty bench seat next to her. Watched him straddled the bench, fold his arms, and say, “I’m having a bad day.”

Point for me. Riley lifted an eyebrow, pushing her tray of food away from her. “I can see that, mate. Looks like Pouty McPouterson has shown up again, yeah?” The corner of Zack’s lips turned up. Riley tilted her head, running her hand through her hair, smoothing the non-existent flyaways. “Let me guess…” She narrowed her eyes, shuttling through everything that could’ve potentially angered him. The list was growing longer each day. “Mr. Forgess gave you double detention for not doing your English homework?”

Zack snorted. Somehow, he managed to convey everything through the one gesture. “I don’t think he’s recovered from his nervous breakdown yet,” he said. “He hasn’t been to class in a week.”

“Does he have you to thank for that?” She nodded as he responded with, ‘Have you seen him? He was already on his way to the nuthouse.’ “Of course, he does.”

“Well, he got a free vacation. If anything, he should be thanking me.” Riley laughed. “You know, I haven’t gotten a postcard yet.”

Finally, Riley managed to stop her laughter long enough to scold him. “Zack.”

Zack blew his hair from his face and pouted even further. He lowered his gaze, picked at the splinters in the wood below him. “I’m so done with this crap. I’m done with school, done with grades, done with all of it.”

Riley shook her head and watched her boyfriend sulk. He didn’t even go for the rest of the food on her plate. Something that generally irritated her, at least proved he was in a good mood. Zack in a bad mood made him even more obnoxious. Something she could put aside when his wounded pride needed some boosting.

At least she knew what to do to cheer him up.

Riley swung her leg over the bench, mimicking his stance, and grabbed his face. Zack’s eyes shifted to hers—taking a few seconds to register what was happening. Riley smiled and jammed her lips against his. True to form, he responded quickly, closing his eyes to kiss her back, hungrily. (He was never one to shy away from a kiss thrust upon him, though Agnes was the only one who really made him question it).

Riley moved her hands to Zack’s neck, ignoring the jeering coming from nearby tables at the public display of affection. A move she typically found to be crass when having to navigate the hallways filled with couples stealing kisses between class. (Though, she knew, it made her hypocritical, considering how often Zack would grab her into the janitor’s closet and empty classrooms for some time alone. But at least she wasn’t clogging up the hallways). Riley simply focused his pulse beneath her fingers, the way he held her wrists in his hand, smoothing his thumb over her skin, holding her close to him.

Riley started to pull away, but Zack closed the gap between them, working his tongue into her mouth, making her laugh. Zack sighed, his lips parted enough for Riley to nibble on them. She felt him relax beneath her, started to smile.

Finally, Riley broke the kiss. Moved far enough so that the tip of her nose brushed against his, so that their hot breaths filled each other’s mouths. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, she could feel his pulse under her fingertips. Riley looked at him lovingly and murmured, “Your breath stinks.”

And at the same time, Zack and Riley burst out laughing. Zack wrapped his arms around Riley’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug, kissing the side of her head as he did so.

Mission accomplished.

--

CodyxRhuben

With every breath he took in, Cody’s nose and lungs were filled with the smell of milk and honey. His eyes would fall shut, but he would catch himself in time and force his attention back on to the textbook in his hand. He had a lot of assigned reading to get through and he needed to it done. High school was easy; he got an assignment and had it ready for the next class. But in university, things were more do or die, even he had to admit it. He had to stay on top of his assignments, even re-read to make sure he truly understood the text, outline everything, and make note cards. Nothing he didn’t do when he was younger, but now he wasn’t the smartest person in the room. He was one of them and needed to stand out.

But...

He couldn’t focus on the smell of her hair, or the feeling of it sliding through his fingers, or the small, happy sighs from the girl that leaned against him whenever his fingernails would graze her head. The weight of her as on his chest, in his heart, was harder to ignore.

Mind over matter was futile against an emotion like this.

Rhuben turned the page in her own book. A fantasy novel from what he could tell. Keeping the book open with the thumb and pinky on her left hand, she used her free hand to find his. She pushed her fingers, in between his.

“I need to turn the page,” Cody said, a lift of amusement in his voice.

“Learn to play an instrument, mate,” Rhuben replied in her heavily accented voice, “and you’ll learn how to turn a page with one hand.” She tilted her head upwards to look him in the eye; her own gleaming with mischief. “Maybe you should pick up the keyboard again. We can start with something simple, like The Entertainer.”

Making sure to mark his page, Cody closed his book, balancing it on the arm rest of the couch. He waited for the punch line, and wasn’t disappointed.

“‘Cause you’ll be entertaining me for sure.”

Cody smothered her laugh with a well-timed kiss. Rhuben squeaked in surprise, but responded in kind. Free hand gently cradling the back of her neck, he slowly slid his lips over hers. “I,” he said quietly, pulling back enough to barely brush his lips against hers. Even his tingled in a way that wanted him to dive back in for more. But he held off. “I have a better idea.”

“Like what?” Rhuben asked, eyes still closed. Face pink. Cody leaned back when she kicked a leg into the air, pointing her toes. “Foot massage?”

“It’s-” he cleared his voice as it suddenly caught in his throat, “it’s my turn. I gave you a massage last time.”

“That’s a laugh.” Rhuben opened her eyes, sitting up. Her black hair fell into her face and she used a hand to brush it back. “That was barely a massage.”

“Because you fell asleep.”

“Not my fault you have magic fingers.”

Cody hummed. He couldn’t argue with that. He had no complaints. Ever. With a good understanding of the muscular system, he knew just what areas to massage with which amount of pressure. Just like he knew which muscle in her thigh was the most ticklish.

“Stop!” Rhuben immediately burst out laughing when he pulled her over to him. “Ha, ha, ha. Cody, stop.” Straddling him, she grabbed onto his hands, that were currently digging into her sides, and forced them onto the top of the couch, above his head. It was Cody’s turn to blush. The heat was trapped between the two of them as her hair fell down around his face, tickling his cheeks and ears.

For a moment, they just breathed, staring into each other’s eyes until she closed the distance between the two of them. His muscles strained in his arms to move, to hold her closer, but he pressed firmly on his hands. He had to admit defeat.

“You’re,” he manged to get out, extending his neck to kiss her again, “distracting me.” She stayed just out of reach, lips barely touching.

“Thinking,” she said the word slowly, so slowly. The tip of her tongue pushed out just slightly between her teeth, a feather-like touch on his bottom lip. “Is overrated.” Cody took in deep lungfuls of air when she suddenly sat back on her heels. His gaze stayed fixated on the ceiling. “Let’s get some ice cream.”

He mutely nodded. He definitely needed to cool down.

[Fictional Kiss Prompts]

[xspideyimaginesx]

1113 Days of You (Part 1)

Pairing: Tom x Reader

Warnings: Loads of fluff

Summary: I wish I had done everything on earth with you.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: There will be three parts. Please let me know if you like it or if you have any requests. Thank you!

44 Days Before You

You could tell that there was something off with me. I knew there was something off with me too. Dominic was out with friends once again and left me without plans for the night. It wasn’t the first time and I didn’t doubt that it would be the last time. I knew you felt guilty for going out as well, but I wasn’t going to let my best friend blow off a date because I was feeling insecure about my own relationship.

“Tell me about her.” I asked as I helped you pick out the right pair of shoes to wear on your date.  

“We met at that cafe down the street from your place. She’s a baker. She’s bakes all the pastries that are in the glass case in the front. You know those mini cupcakes with the little mini pumpkins on them that you always wanted to try?” I nodded, cracking a small smile at his excited expression. “She gave me one and they were mind-blowingly good. I don’t know if they beat your slutty brownies, though.” You nudged me with your shoulder and I remember my heart falling into my stomach when you smiled at me.

You had left for your date a few minutes later and that was when the emptiness inside me had taken its place. I was so confused that I didn’t know what to do for the rest of the night. Harrison found me curled up on the floor, leaning against your bed. “What am I doing here?”

“You tell me.” Harrison murmured as he sat down next to me.

I shook my head side to side swiftly as if I told myself  ‘no’ enough times that maybe it wouldn’t be true. “I can’t be.”

“Why not?” He cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m with Dominic.” I glanced down at my hands that were fumbling together in my lap.

“Barely, he’s out with friends more than he’s with you.” He sputtered out, but cut himself off when he realized I might not want to hear it.

“I can’t be in love with him. He’s my best friend…” A tear slipped from my eyes at the realization of how scared I was of being in love with you. I didn’t want to risk you becoming somebody that I used to know.

Day 43 Before You

You left me a voicemail after I didn’t answer your call. I was scared to answer because I was scared about what you might say about your date, but even more scared about what I might say in response.

Day 32 Before You

You had filled up my voicemail box with messages asking me where I was and why I wasn’t answering your calls or texts. I’m pretty sure you thought I might have died if it wasn’t for Harrison reassuring you that I was just busy. I was busy with school and work, but you didn’t need to know that I was avoiding you because I still hadn’t confronted my feelings for you.

Day 11 Before You

“It’s nice to finally hear your voice again. I was getting worried that I might never hear your rendition of  ‘Party in the USA’ again.” Your voice was light and cheerful when you answered the phone. I had wished that mine had been the same that night.

I had successfully avoided you for around a month, hearing about what I was missing in your life through your voicemails. I had learned about how the filming of your most recent movie had gone and how the baker girl was not around any more and that you were back in town. Two more dates had come and gone before things had fallen apart for the two of you. Is it horrible to say that I had been relieved?  

“Dominic left me.” The words burned in my throat. He had been my reality for the past two years while you had been my dream. Where did this leave me?

I don’t know if you had forgotten to speak or didn’t know what to say, but I sat there trying to keep myself composed, but leaving me in silence had brought all of my fears to the surface.

“Tom?” I murmured softly into the phone, wondering if you were still there.

“I’ll be right there.”

It had taken you less time than ever for you to get to my apartment. It caught me completely by surprise when you stormed through my front door. “What happened?” I didn’t even have a chance to greet you before you demanded answers.

“He met someone else.” I kept my answers as short as possible. I didn’t trust myself to speak any longer and I had no idea what was running through your head.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Your fists were clenched tightly. I had never seen them with so much intensity within them except for when you were at the gym.

“It’s not worth it.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Your chest was moving up and down with such ferocity, I had never seen you so angry.

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly. “Tom-“ I placed my hand on your chest to get you to focus onto me. He wasn’t worth wasting energy on. I had learned that awhile ago, but hadn’t realized it until a few weeks ago. Your eyes focused on my face, and your muscles started to loosen up. I could feel your heart under my fingertips and it was not slowing down.

You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw slightly, tightening up your muscles again. “You ignore me for weeks and you finally pick up the phone just to tell me that your boyfriend left you. Why?” His voice came out in a rasp as he spoke his confusion.

I froze as I didn’t know what to say.

“I just got caught up in school and work and you were in a different time zone that we would never catch each other at the right time to talk and-“

“Cut the crap, Y/N. This was never a problem for us before. I called you at least once a day to try to hear your voice and try to make sense of what I’ve been feeling for you and you just shut me out. I’ve been here thinking that I’m in love with you and I can’t even get you to answer a simple phone call.” You kept rambling on, catching me completely by surprise.

“I love you too.” I cut you off, watching my words visibly change your mood. At your baffled look, I continued, “It’s why I never called. I didn’t know what to do with myself knowing that I was in love with you while you were dating other girls. I was hoping it was like a ‘fake it till you make it’ situation, but it wasn’t. I was miserable even more so when I thought I couldn’t talk to you about it.”

Your hand reached out, stroking my cheek as if seeing me in a new light. Your touch was so light and careful as if you were scared that you might make the wrong move and frighten me away. Your fingers ran lightly over my lips, feeling the way they slightly trembled under your touch. I leaned forward, wanting to finally taste your lips on mine, but you stopped me. “You don’t know how badly I want to…oh, I want to. Dominic just broke your heart and I don’t want your emotions for him to interfere. I don’t want to be a rebound.”

“Tom, you’d never be a rebou-“

“I just want to make sure that what you feel for me is only for me. I’ve wanted you for too long to go and have this screwed up.” Your voice was steady, but I could see in your eyes that you were nervous. I made you nervous. Little did I know that you were just as terrified as I was.

Day 1 of You

You had been patient with me. You truly meant what you said about wanting to take it slow. Looking back, I appreciate that you wanted the start of us to be genuine and not muddled up by the disaster that he had made me, but at the time it drove me crazy.

Fall had come and gone as winter blew its icy chill across the ground. Snow made its presence very rarely in Atlanta, but that year it demanded that its presence be known as it had covered the ground with a couple inches of its white blanket. I had flown back to Georgia with you after I had finished my exams as a short vacation.

Your filming for the day had been canceled as snow had not been called for. Our hands were buried in our coat pockets as we left the comfort of the warm rental house and trekked out into the tundra.

Ok, tundra is a bit of an exaggeration, but for two people who hadn’t spent much time in snow, this was a new experience. Snow was falling from the sky lightly, sticking to my hair and clinging to my clothes. I picked each foot up and set it down carefully as I had not anticipated this sort of weather and was fashionably unprepared.  

Snow clung to the branches of the leafless trees, creating an icy fortress surrounding the house. Our breaths came out like clouds of smoke. I wanted to reach out and grab your hand, but I didn’t want to impose on your wishes for us to take things slow.

Before I had a chance to vocalize about the beauty around us, I heard you grunt next to me. I turned to see you wiping snow off the back of your head. That snowball was not alone as two more followed, aiming for you.

“Ready, aim...fire!” Sam called out and all of a sudden your brothers, Harrison, and Jacob start to throw snowballs at the two of us.

“Eh, watch it!” You called out, after a snowball just barely missed my face. I smirked at you as I held up a snowball of my own.

“Shall we?” I tossed it in my hands as you gathered one of your own.

“We shall.” You smiled before turning and throwing your snowball and getting Harrison in the middle of his chest.

Snowballs were being thrown hastily from each side, but two was no match against five. A retreat had to be called. “To the trenches!” You yelled, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the side of the yard where a small mound of snow had gathered, giving us some cover from the fire. Our war resumed, making our gloves grow wet from the snow and our noses become red from the chill. We glanced at each other, laughing throughout the battle. The raging war started to move towards the back of our minds as our concentration was torn away from the snowballs and more towards each other.

We threw less and less snowballs as we dared to catch our breath from all the laughing. The curls that had peaked out from underneath your beanie now stuck to your forehead as they were wet from the snow.  Your cheeks were flushed, matching the soft pink hue of your cold nose.

I got caught up in your smile and the happiness that radiated from you. I guess you got caught up in me too as we ceased to throw snowballs.

“Oh, just kiss her already!” Harrison yelled out, making us both blush.

“Fuck it.” You muttered, dropping the snow from your hands. You leaned forward, placing your hands on my cheeks, lifting my face until my lips met yours.  I squealed against your lips from the touch of your freezing gloves on my face. You smiled into the kiss at my reaction, but even more so when I leaned in more, deepening the kiss.

“It’s about time. Now I don’t have to listen to him bitch anymore about how badly he wants to kiss, Y/N.” Harrison exclaimed as you flushed slightly after pulling away.

As if on cue, the boys broke out into variations of , “Oh my gosh, I just want to kiss Y/N, so badly.  She’s so pretty,” mocking you even more.

The smile on your face wouldn’t falter, though.

Part 2

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 66 - Happy Birthday, Peaches

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she's certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit…

MASTERLIST

Chapter 66 - Happy Birthday, Peaches...

[Blake enjoys a few drinks with the wives while she waits for Negan’s return...and return he does...]

Warnings: Fluff ;)

It was just gone 1am by the time Blake finally wandered the lonely corridor up towards Negan's room.

She had stayed up late, hoping of course to have seen in her birthday with the dark-haired Saviour himself. But despite leaving almost five hours ago now, with Simon, Arat and a few of the others in tow, there was no sign of him returning any time soon.

Blake, had intended, after finishing off her dinner alone in the canteen, to just head back on over to her room…maybe use that TV and VCR than Negan had given to her, what felt like a lifetime ago now, to watch a movie. But before she had even made it up to the second floor, she had been accosted by Frankie, Michelle and Tanya in one of the hallways, who had squealed and thrown their arms around Blake as though she had been their best-friend since childhood.

From the sounds of it, all the wives were pretty happy to see her back, telling her that the place hadn't been the same without her here, and informing her about Negan's terrible moods since she had been gone. The idea that Blake's presence here had even the slightest effect on anyone, really tugged at the back of her stomach and made her feel more happy than she had felt in a long time.

She truly felt at home here. And facts like those just helped to confirm that to her even more.

The three women had swiftly convinced Blake to come back to their plush room with them, and from there, Blake had spent the rest of the night, sitting with them on luxurious couches and squishy cushions, drinking wine and catching up on all the gossip.

Not that there had been much from this end, mind you.

"Ugh, you know what it's like here," Tanya had huffed, after Blake had enquired. "Boring as usual."

Frankie had nodded in agreement.

"Only one of us has been called up to see Negan too, since you've been gone," the red-haired woman said conversationally. "But even then, he sent me away almost straight away in a fucking horrible mood."

The women all around had nodded.

"So," said Michelle lightly, arching an eyebrow up towards Blake. "Are you and him-"

But she had trailed off before uttering another word.

Blake, however, of course, knew what she was getting at. She had chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes falling to her glass in her lap, as she shrugged her shoulders.

"I….I don't know…" she had replied in a quiet voice, her heart pounding as the words slipped from her mouth.

Blake had felt her cheeks immediately reddening.

But the wives had just smiled encouragingly.

"Listen," said Tanya, pursing her lips and placing her hand on top of Blake's. "He's a monster…and some of the things I've seen him do…."

The dark-haired woman paused, and sucked in a breath.

"…but he seems different with you. Like he actually gives a crap about you. And you should have seen the kinda mood he was in, when you were gone. I mean, all those guys downstairs had to do was breathe the wrong way, and he'd be using that stupid baseball bat of his, on them before they had time to even apologise. So don't feel guilty. Having you here….it makes life better…. for all of us."

The women had all nodded at this, and Blake had felt herself giving a relived sort of sigh, as she had brought her drink up to her lips.

The conversation soon after that, had moved onto, firstly how Blake's plan for a garden was getting on. For not having ventured outside yet, Blake was so so please to hear that the Saviours had manged to get a hold of several large greenhouses which had been assembled around the disused part of the lot. And work had also begun on digging a plot for some vegetables.

But secondly, the five women had somehow managed to worm out of Blake that it was her birthday tomorrow. And, confessing that Negan was currently out and wouldn't likely be back until late, the dolled-up women had refiled Blake's wine glass fiendishly and encouraged her to drink-up to toast her birthday, which Blake had laughingly obliged them.

And so, the six girls had giggled and joked, having a great evening. Blake finally feeling like she had some friends in this world. Women her own age. Who had totally different backstories from one another, but who had all been brought here because of one man.

Negan.

The leader…who had stepped up. Protected them all when they needed it.

For how was that any different to what Rick had done, really?

Defending his people at whatever the cost.

But it wasn't long past midnight, after a couple of swaying hugs from the scantily clad women, that Blake had given her excuses and said her goodbyes and left, promising them at their request with a playful roll of her eyes, that she would hang out with them more.

And so, she had left….heading back down the darkened corridor….And it was only when she reached the long staircase, with one set of stairs leading down to Blake's floor OR one leading up to Negan's, did she realise exactly where she wanted to be tonight.

And so, a couple of minutes later, Blake found herself here…padding down the gloom-filed hallway…her fingers trailing along the wall beside her as she walked.

She had had a few glasses of wine, but felt anything but drunk …just tired, if anything…

Her body was really beginning to ache now, feeling stiff and painful in places from the car accident the previous evening. But she needed to be grateful. It could have been a lot worse. What would have happened if those walkers had gotten in while she was unconscious…or if Negan and the Saviours hadn't have turned up when they did?

Blake gave a shallow sort-of sigh as she reached the large set of doors that stood at the end of the long hallway.

This was where she wanted to be, above anywhere else in this entire world.

The place she had dreamed of being, on all those empty nights spent back in Alexandria in that big bed alone.

And so, giving the door a gentle shove open and flipping on the light switch. Blake couldn't help but smile to herself as she laid eyes on Negan's room, still as neat and tidy as the last time she had seen it….when she had been in here with Mia in that bed…as Negan pressed kisses onto her collarbone, waking her dreamily...

Unfortunately neither of them were here with her now….but Blake hoped that soon enough Negan would arrive back….smelling of dirt and gasoline and leather…and that would be enough for her….for now at least.

Gently shutting the door behind her, Blake ran her fingers through her long hair, before walking over to the bathroom and flipping on the light.

It was quiet in here….shut off from the rest of the Sanctuary. Divided by at least a corridor and a half…and so Blake felt her shoulders un-tensing, relaxing more now than she had in weeks.

Feeling safe…..feeling protected, even when Negan wasn't here….

Strolling over to the washbasin, Blake peered up at her reflection in the large modern-looking mirror hanging above it.

There she was…looking tanned and bright (if not a little tired). A few scratches lifted her temples and upper cheeks, but they were not too noticeable now.

Blake remembered back to all those many months ago….when she had looked a whole lot different…with hollow eyes, grey sallow cheeks…worry lingering upon her features…all because of one man.

David.

He had taken years from Blake's life. So much time wasted worrying over him….fretting about what he thought…what he might say if she did this, or that…or looked a certain way…

That same man who had never even once bought her a birthday gift or even given her a card.

The first year Blake had put it down to forgetfulness….they had only been dating for a few months by that point, and Blake had shrugged it easily off. But by the following year, David had explained that birthdays shouldn't be such a big deal and he didn't really believe in celebrating them. And so again, she had gotten nothing, the pair of them treating it like a normal day.

But by the time David's birthday always came around, almost six-months later, Blake would always feel so guilty about not getting him anything, and so had always scraped the money together to buy him the watch she knew he had his eye on, or tickets to see a basketball game. But yet again….hers would soon come and go, with nothing more than a dismissive wave of David's hand and a chuckle from him, muttering that they should be happy about not wasting money on something as trivial as a birthday.

It wasn't about the gift really to Blake, it never had been, and so she had just smiled and carried on…not really worrying too much about it. Just considering it as just another day.

But now….looking back, Blake felt sad that she had gone so many years without even so much as a hastily-picked bunch of flowers, or even a homemade meal from her fiancé on her birthday. She had never wanted for much…just, well, something….

But Blake sighed contently thinking of the difference a year made.

This time last year Blake had been holed up with David in some god-forsaken warehouse with four or five others, eating cold vegetables from a can…with David not even gracing her with a 'Happy birthday'. She remembered they had just sat there in the darkness, as David had sulked, because he wasn't able to eat heated food that evening. And so Blake had sat alone, mentioning to no-one else that it was her birthday, because, of course, over years of wearing her down, David had convinced her that no one cared now about her birthday, and no one ever would.

And yet one year on and here she was….waiting here….while Negan was out getting a birthday surprise ready for her for tomorrow.

Blake had only been teasing him when she had pushed him to get her a gift…knowing full-well the response she used to get from David when she teased him on the same matter….but she never expected Negan to actually try and make an effort…for him to try and made her birthday special.

Blake rubbed at the back of her neck with her hand, kneading at her aching shoulders.

She was exhausted now….so perhaps she would just get into bed and read for a while until Negan got back.

And so, Blake peeled off her clothes, dropping them into the laundry basket behind them bathroom door….before heading back into the large living space in just a matching set of white underwear….

She threw her caramel-hair back over her tanned shoulder, before wandering over to Negan's four-poster bed and peeling back the crisp, white cottons felt cool and so inviting so her as she hopped up onto the mattress and slipped down beneath them.

And it was no more than a minute after her head fell back against the pillow, that Blake, as tired and as slightly tipsy as she was….fell straight to sleep, with the light still on.

It must have been at least 3am…

Late and silent….

Blake was deep asleep now and stirred only slightly, hearing the sound of the light-switch being knocked off, and a pair of heavy footsteps pace through the darkness, over to the bed.

She was still half in her dream-world now…letting out a long, tired breath of air and shifting her face slightly against her pillow…as she felt the mattress sink slightly, beneath another heavy weight dropping down onto the bed behind her.

She parted her lips, before closing them again, hearing the seemingly distant creak of a mattress…..as the weight shifted slightly on the bed, over her shoulder...

And a brief second later, to her sleepy delight, Blake felt a calloused hands skim over her waist, pulling her backwards, and into a strong and taut body…

...as a heady, warm, musky scent drifted into her nose...and at once Blake recognised who it was, even in her drowsy state...

Negan.

Blake smiled sleepily…feeling a scratchy beard nuzzle into the crook of her neck from behind, as the leader of the Saviours wrapped his arms tightly around her.

Perhaps he wanted sex….but right now…it seemed like something else completely…a need to be close to her…to feel her in his arms…

And Blake could only giving a small contented sigh as she felt Negan's lips reach her hair..

…as he uttered just three words into her ear….three words that made her smile widen into her pillow...

"Happy birthday, Peaches," growled Negan in a whisper…

….uttering just six syllables, that managed to make Blake feel happier than she had felt on any birthday, ever.

And it was not even another second, as Blake, smiling blissfully to herself….drifted off to sleep once again, feeling totally and utterly safe in Negan's arms. As the dark-haired Saviour, behind her, did the same….

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged/untagged in this fic. More coming soon…

@collette04 | @attorneyl | @charoly | @princessmoonspunky | @mssharingisfun | @shimmerybutt | @yellatthetopofyourlungs | @daydreamsandchai | @onemorebeautifulnightmare | @arwa-alii | @letsdosciencekids | @maggiesourie | @blumenkind72 | @toloaughistolove | @alonna-oxoxox | @brebre149 | @hibernatingallyearround | @baked-potatoes | @elinyaes | @jmackie1983 | @starbabysparkle | @christynjay | @mwesterfeld1985 | @letseatandsleep | @xxqueenofisolationxx| @jml509 | @uselessdarylblog​ | @soursuckers | @padmeisgay​ | @waddiwasi44 | @karlbourbonismyhero​ | @lfsbitencourt | @toxic-ink | @laaadygisbooornex3 | @cutiedaij | @warriorqueen1991 | @ask-kakashihatake | @hayjeff54 |  @beast-by-name | @neganslilbitch | @ourtenderescapes | @itstheamandashow | @side-xix-men | @adriannawiggins | @dessie

[gregorsamsadementiaravenway]

Stray notes after watching The Last Jedi

Or: why does this movie just keep getting worse whenever I remember it?

The notes are after the cut just in case someone hasn’t seen the film yet or doesn’t want a long ass bullet point post in their dash. Some of them are serious and well thought-out, some are nitpicky and some are there just for the heck of it.

“Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.” - Why, that’s just peachy, Rian! Too bad the future your selling is a little shit.

In general, Rian Johnson doesn’t seem to have much respect for the past. See tathrin’s post about all the things established in TFA that were turned upside down in this film, but I think Johnson doesn’t have much consideration for the original trilogy either, reducing Chewbacca to a background character and trying to replace “May the Force be with you” with some other, less inspired line.

Seriously, why are they saying “Godspeed”? Did monotheism reach a galaxy far, far away and they now, suddenly, have a notion of God? And, while were at it, why is “treacherous snake” a thing, now? Are there snakes in the Star Was universe? ‘Cause, so far, all animals have been on the fantastic side of things. What else is there? Do they have kittens??? That’s an important question...

The movie had A LOT of hamfisted comic relief. Of course there were some honestly funny scenes (I will forever laugh at Rey feeling the Force with her hand), but most of the jokes felt very out of place. For instance, the first scene, with Hux and Poe. I laughed my ass off at that interaction, but that’s an SNL sketch, not a Star Wars scene. I was half expecting Matt, the radar technician, to show up.

Seriously, someone should tell Rian Johnson that he isn’t directing Guardians of the Galaxy. In more than one scene, the excess of jokes killed what should’ve a truly great, emotional moment.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much indifference do I feel towards porgs?

The ammount of queerbaiting that went into promoting this film was insane. Look, actors on franchises like this one have media training, so whenever, say, Oscar Isaac ran his mouth about the possibility of Finn/Poe being canon, he was at least authorized by Disney to do so (worst case scenario, he was instructed to sell this narrative). I didn’t particularly care about the ship and I think Poe Dameron could’ve died in TFA without any harm to the franchise, but to hamfist that non-sensical romance between Finn and Rose after feeding the fans’ hopes for a gay pairing was, in my opinion, downright cruel.

And don’t even get me started on Poe and Rey’s meaningful gaze at the end of the film, with Poe going all “I know” as if he’s Han Solo or some hot shit like that! Poe/Rey is the worst possible ship to become canon. Yes, the worst. Yes, you heard me, worse than Reylo.

Speaking of Reylo: after TFA, I said that I low-key shipped them ‘cause that’s the kind of fucked up ship I like. Look, there are people in this website who like to wear diapers and want to fuck Pennywise, so, screw you, I’m not apologizing for wanting to read fics about a fictional pairing made up of two adults. HOWEVER, this is not the sort of thing I want to be canon. From the get go, my opinion on Rey’s official love life has been “either she ends up with Finn or she ends up alone”. That being said, I think they handled the relationship between her and Kylo Ren very well in this film. I’m glad they didn’t deny the fucked up sexual tension that was going on there, especially coming from Ren’s side, and chose to play into it. A failed redemption arc fits them perfectly and Kylo Ren’s “please” when he asks Rey to rule beside him was a great moment for the character and one of the few truly emotional moments of the film.

But that thing were they get to hit on each other through the Force, sharing sad stories and touching hands? Yeah, I’m pretty certain I’ve read that fic. Actually, I’m pretty certain I’ve read about three fics like that.

Let’s keep on the Kylo Ren track for now, then: he did get some very nice character development in this film. The Last Jedi was more his than any other character’s, even Luke. For a minute there, before the movie came out, I thought they were going to make some changes to him due to the whole backlash, but they went full “overgrown angsty kid” with him in a way that actually made him more compelling. I like the way Luke’s fear ended up pushing a conflicted teenager into the Dark Side and that Kylo is still very much stuck at that moment. As usual with Sith and Sith by-products, Kylo Ren is moved by anger, and his anger feels much more real after this little bit of backstory.

Who is Snoke, though? Are they going to explain that in the next movie? It feels like they should’ve done it in this one, but I hope they at least give him some context before the trilogy is over.

Sooooo... Did your conflicted antagonist cladded in black, with black hair falling all over his face, just trick his bald, deformed Dark Lord by using his occlumency powers? *Owen Wilson voice* Wow.

“The Supreme Leader is dead. Long live the Supreme Leader.” - A perfect example of a really amazing moment botched by comic relief, ie, Snoke’s little tongue falling out of his dead body.

After the film ended, @robogigante​​ complained a lot about Hux’s transformation from an actual, threatening villan into a punchline, and, you know what? He’s right. There’s a scene there that looks like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do I hate evil, square-headed BB-8?

I’m sort of glad Rey’s parents aren’t anyone important. Star Wars relies too much on heritage and it’s a nice change having a hero who isn’t Space Jesus or Space Jesus’ direct lineage. Her scene in the cave was incredibly beautiful.

They did point to something else in TFA, though, implying heavily that her origin was important and that Kylo Ren already knew about her. That was some Moffat level of badly written plot twist right there.

There’s something Emma Watson-y about Daisy Ridley. This is neither a compliment nor a complaint, just something I hadn’t noticed before.

Both Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver grew a lot as actors since the last movie, especially Driver. Even though it’s still hard to take Kylo Ren seriously sometimes due to Driver’s cry-baby face, he’s way more convincing in his rage and intensity than he was in TFA, where his acting felt a little too mechanical.

However, some of the other actors aren’t living up to their potential. John Boyega’s charisma is extremely underused and I know for a fact that Domnhall Gleeson can do a lot better than what he was given here. In a couple of scenes, even Hamill and Fisher seemed a little uncomfortable in their roles.

“Shit, we’ve already signed Lupita’s check! Gotta shove her in here, somewhere!” - I’m so sorry, honey. You are so beautiful and talented... You deserved way better than that.

Kelly Marie Tran is adorable and I absolutely love her in interviews and such. She seems like a delightful person. However, her character was completely unnecessary. Her only purpose was to serve as a future love interest to Finn, and I’ve made my thoughts about that pairing quite clear already.

“...it’s saving the ones we love...” - BITCH, YOU’VE KNOWN HIM FOR WHAT? A DAY?

As a matter of fact, all of that storyline felt completely unnecessary. It was as if the writers didn’t know what to do with Finn so they gave him a spunky sidekick and a pointless mission just to kill time. I found myself wishing he had spent the whole movie in a coma, and that’s really sad, because I really like John Boyega and was hoping he would become a strong protagonist for the franchise.

Another thing @robogigante​ pointed out (and I’m quoting him ‘cause I know he’s not making a post of his own) is that Holdo had no reason whatsoever to hide her plan from Poe or anyone else in the Resistance. She just... didn’t like Poe Dameron that much...

Excessive jokes aside, casino planet was okay and helped flesh out the Star Wars universe a little bit more. However, much like Phasma, Benicio Del Toro’s character (whose name I already forgot) was just another Boba Fett, all flash and no substance, and I particularly hate that “squeaky clean abused little children representing hope” crap. It’s one of the tackiest tropes in existence.

I did get the feeling that that kid is going to join the Resistance on the next movie. Like they’re going to do a ten year jump to justify Leia’s disappearance/death. It would also help the Rebels to get their shit back together, Kylo Ren to gain more control over the First Order and Rey to learn some more about the Force in order to meet her fate. The existence of that child is still horrible and that ending was so over the top I can’t even put it into words, but it’s a good hook for a leap that, if handled well, could be very good for the story.

I also got the feeling that they originally inteded to kill one member of the original trio per film. That would’ve been cool. Too bad Leia will have to die off screen.

Was it just me or is the timeline in this movie really weird? Poe’s plan seems to take place entirely in a day, maybe two, while Rey apparently spends at least a week in Luke’s island.

I’m glad Carrie Fisher got to have at least one badass Force user scene before dying. Her flight among the debris of the Rebel cruiser was a beautiful reminder of how powerful the Force can be, on par with Luke’s astral projection, not to mention a gorgeous scene in its own right.

Holdo and Leia definitely had a torrid love affair after the Organa-Solo divorce came through. No one will ever convince me otherwise.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do I love the crystal foxes?

There was a preoccupying absence of wipe transitions and epic soundtrack inserts. Actually, I don’t even remember hearing any music at all. The editing was way too conservative. It didn’t even feel like a Star Wars movie, sometimes.

How is it possible that The Force Awakens was basically a remake of A New Hope and still felt more daring that The Last Jedi? Look, we already know you’re not killing any of the characters ‘cause they have to come back for the next installment, but raise those stakes a little bit, jeez! Give Kylo Ren and Snoke more conflict before their face-off, give Rey an opportunity to actually scare Luke with something that matters, give Finn and Poe a mission that actually means something to the Resistance, not a MacGuffin to keep them busy... Anything!

The Last Jedi is actually an okay-ish movie, to be honest, but, in a way, I think I disliked it even more than the prequels. Sure, The Phantom Menace is objectively a much worse film, but at least it had soul. George Lucas’ midichlorian and CGI packed soul, but soul nonetheless. The Last Jedi has nothing. I know Star Wars movies are all about the money, let’s not delude ourselves that this is in anyway high art, but this one just felt like the biggest money grabber of all. There is no personal investment in it whatsoever and no sign of what makes Star Wars Star Wars in the first place.

When’s Lando coming back?

BONUS: I am never watching a fucking 3D movie again in my life. The background always seems out of focus, it’s too expensive and I hate putting glasses on top of my glasses. I don’t care if I have to wait a month to watch the next Star Wars, I don’t care if I get spoilers, I’m not watching anything in 3D ever again.

[comeonrafe]

Seriously? [Teen!Sam Drake]

Pairings: Teen!Sam Drake x Reader

Request: n/a

About: Sam Drake and the reader outside at midnight, sharing a bottle of vodka. Secrets and suggestive conversations ensue. 

Warnings: NSFW mentions, mention of drugs, alcohol, mentions of abuse (geez angsty)

Inspiration: x

“Hey, calm down,” Sam ushered, catching your fist as you readied it to thump against the skating park ramp. You let out a deep breath, your heart hammering as you willed away the saddened tears in your eyes, angry at yourself for getting upset.

“Fuck! Okay, I’m sorry,” you breathed, exasperated. “I’m just feeling really suffocated in that damn house. Those stupid inconsiderate nuns are starting to piss me off. Am I being dramatic? I feel like I’m being dramatic.”

“A little,” Sam teased, to which you responded by thumping his shoulder. “Ouch. That hurt, you know. I’m sensitive.”

You laughed a little, “yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” Sam spread his arms out, “I am a man in touch with my emotions. Girls think that’s hot, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” I winked at him, “I’m so turned on right now.” 

Sam laughed. “Well, that’s the sort of effect I have on the ladies. Can’t blame them, either.”

“What?” You asked, frowning in sarcastic confusion and laughing. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m a total hit with chicks! They love me,” Sam continued. “A total specimen. Irresistible, charming, dash-”

“Sam, have you ever even got laid?” You laughed, leaning back against the bars of the ramp you were sat on, your legs dangling over the edge, your skateboard to your side. 

“Sure I have,” Sam responded quickly.

“Oh, yeah, to who?” You rose a brow at him, turning to face him. 

“To Crystal,” he announced, folding his arms as if announcing an achievement. In response, you rolled your eyes. That girls name always left a bitter taste in your stomach. She was friendly and she was gorgeous, which was the worst part. You didn’t like her.

“And how long did that take? A week?” You shot back at him teasingly.

“A couple months,” he shrugged. “Why does it matter, anyway? What about you, huh?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Twice in my whole life. Both horrible, scarring experiences,” you laughed.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“I don’t think that’s a territory I want to tread foot in again, thank you very much,” you shook your head, rummaging through your bag and pulling out a bottle of cheap vodka. “Want some?”

“Sure,” he accepted, taking a couple of swigs before wincing and handing it back to you. “You’re still telling me this story, though.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back and took a swig. “Ah, let’s see. Well, the first guy, his name was Keith or something. Kris? Maybe. I don’t know, they don’t sound like jock names. What’s a jock name that begins with K?”

“Seriously? You don’t even remember his name?” Sam laughed, humming for a while. “Kyle, maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” you laughed as he got it right, taking another swig before passing him the bottle again. “Well yeah, it was at high-school party. I was fifteen. He was seventeen I think, and that was just so cool to me. And yeah, it lasted for about thirty seconds and was the most painful experience ever, in some random strangers bathroom.”

“Classy. Sounds like a great life experience,” Sam teased. “Okay, what about the other one?”

“My drug dealer?” You said it like it was a question. 

“You had sex for drugs?” Sam was taken aback, but you shook your head quickly. 

“Oh, god no, definitely not,” you denied. “He was super cute and I was into him, so we hooked up a few times. He used me and kinda broke my heart,” you shrugged, “but yeah, he totally supplied me with free weed after that for like three months, but that wasn’t my initial idea.” You sucked in a breath, still feeling a pang of hurt. You truly did care about that stupid idiot, and you thought he’d felt the same. He’d been nice and genuine, but he’d used you. 

“Tough stuff,” Sam took a swig of alcohol, “they both sound like total assholes, though. You deserve better than that.”

“Name one guy that’d be fucking worth any of my time,” you rolled your eyes, slightly bitter, slightly tipsy. 

Feeling the extra courage from his edge of alcohol, he perked up. “Well, me for starters.”

You glanced over at him for a brief second, his eyes sparkling and his cheeks flushed. Whether that be from the alcohol or his statement, you couldn’t tell. Shuffling, you laughed a little.

“You’re worth all my time, Sam,” you teased, a small grin on your face. “Could you imagine the nuns if they found out? They already know I’m a dreadful sinner, Morgan.”

“Well, they wouldn’t have to find out, would they?” Sam nudged your side playfully, clearly getting excited about the idea. You would be totally down for that, but you’re not sure your emotional stability could handle that. You acted like you were a tough, totally nonchalant girl who didn’t care about anything, but you were quite the contrary. You cared quite a lot. 

“Why would you want to be with me anyway? Or at least infatuate yourself with me, albeit romantically, let alone sexually,” you drawled. “I’m a good-for-nothing seventeen year old who’s parents used to beat the crap out of because they were bored.”

Sam winced at your words and you felt a little guilty for saying that sort of thing. It wasn’t his normality and you had to remember that. 

“Not everybody feels that way about you, you know,” Sam sighed, “not everyone wants to hurt you.”

“Seems like it.”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic now,” Sam smiled sarcastically. “Course they don’t. Nate loves you to bits, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? And you?” You rose a brow, guarding your smirk behind the neck of the vodka bottle as you sucked the dregs from the bottom. 

“More than you’d ever know,” he shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Huh?” You questioned, not quite catching his words.

“Never mind,” Sam smiled, pulling himself to your feet. “Come on. Let’s get your sobered up before you get back to the orphanage. If the nuns see you drunk again you’ll be sleeping in the ‘dungeon’ again.”

“Oh, right,” you shuddered. The ‘dungeon’ was really just the basement where they isolated you from the others to pray until they felt you’d been forgiven. The worst of kids had been down there for a week, at most. “Okay.”

“Come on,” Sam offered you his hand, which you took, easing down the ramp with him. “Let’s get you back, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[freereignastarwarsstory]

Chapter 5: Landfall

Disclaimer: I (@draksisreborn) own nothing but my OCs. Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm and Disney. Many thanks to @zazabelle once again for making this possible with me. Please review and enjoy this latest installment.

Rating: T

‘The fire, the smoke, the agony.

I couldn’t breath.

I couldn’t think.

I didn’t want to anymore.’

“Wake up Cenden. Come on, wake up.”

Cenden heard a voice as he watched the ship collapsing around him in flames.

He took in a sudden breath as his eyes flew open to blurry blobs and shapes.

His mind caught up with him and he slowed his breathing. Groaning he pushed himself into a sitting position. His head still pounded as he felt the buzzing feeling of a vision still swarming around in his mind.

Leaning up against his bed, he looked over towards the now solid figures of the crew standing crowded near him in his room with BX awkwardly leaning through the doorway.

“What happened Cenden? You just kind of collapsed and the holocron locked itself up again!” Nek rapidly fired out, holding the holocron out to him in a panic.

“Calm down Nek, I can open it again.” Cenden mumbled almost irritated as he rubbed his temples and took the holocron back from the Devoranian.

It was nice that he could say he could open it again with confidence though.

Lerti stepped forward.

“Ok, so explain what happened? You just have fainting man syndrome or something?” The Mandalorian teased, a hint of true interest in her voice.

At that, like a rush of water, the vision came flooding back through Cenden’s mind. His eyes flickered across the images he saw before his subconscious. He had to fight to keep his breathing steady.

‘A temple. A crash. What am I supposed to tell them?’

“I...I had a vision.” Cenden answered, trying to sort through the disturbing images still seared into his brain.

“What did you see?” Now Soron asked, yellow eyes filled with curiosity.

“I’m not sure. There was a temple. I’ve never zeen anything like it before… It wasn’t quite a Jedi temple that was for sure. Yet it didn’t look Sith either.” Cenden replied, uncertainty littering his words as he stroked his thumb across the holocron in his hand.

“Well? Can you show us? Do you know what planet it’s on?” Chol finally spoke, eyeing the device.

Cenden nodded, a pit dropping in his stomach. Bracing his arm on the bed side, he pushed himself into standing position, his body almost feeling hollow.

He let the Force come rushing into his mind, it filled his thoughts easily enough but it felt like pushing on a bruise. Letting the Force take hold of the holocron it lifted steadily from his fingers and began to unlock.

The glow emanated across the room as a star map sprang to life out of the tetradecagon surrounded by orbiting pyramids. Nek smiled while the rest of the crew stood, watching in amazement as the device seemed to be floating through the air held up by nothing. Even BX seemed to lean further into the doorway, a touch of curiosity seeming to appear in his empty eyes.

“It’s here, on the edge of the Unknown Regions.” Cenden told as he stepped forward and enhanced an area on the star map, pointing to one of the many moons surrounding a large gas planet.

“I recognize that planet.” Cholmon cut in. “I’ve overheard pirates talking about that planet’s moons containing unimaginable riches, but most disappear or give up after the fifth moon or so.” Cholmon explained as the crew looked at him.

“You can you get us there?” Soron and Cenden asked simultaneously, their tones conveying very different questions.

“I can put us in the planet’s orbit, but… uh, can we use the holocron thingy to tag the right moon? I won’t be able target our trajectory if the moon’s not on my star maps.” Cholmon replied, scratching his chin.

“Are you sure it's the best idea to go straight there? What if the Empire is waiting?” Cenden asked, a slight bit of worry in his voice.

“Cholmon should have no trouble with them, this ship is stealthier than it looks. Not to mention we can easily use the other moons to lose them if they chase us.” BX stated. Cholmon thanked him with a nod of his head.

“I still think it's a big risk.” Cenden mumbled. Lerti looked at him, dumbstruck.

“Weren’t you the one who just had a vision of this place? Why are you the one second guessing this?”

“Enough.” Soron interrupted. “I’m sure he’s just worried, as we all should. Chol how long should it take for us to reach the moon?”

“Probably a couple of days minimum, a week tops. I’ll go plug in the coordinates.” He replied, exiting the room with his hands in his pockets.

“Good. Nek, I want to go do a check up on the engine and weapon systems, we’re behind schedule on those. BX, be on standby to assist Chol with navigation. Lerti and Cenden, make sure your gear is ready for when we touch down. I’ll broadcast an update when we arrive in the system.” Soron finished, dismissing everyone. The crew minus Cenden nodded and went to do their jobs, while Cenden sat mulling over his vision.

‘I have to warn Soron about what I saw.’ He thought as he exited his room and chased after the Shistavanen.

“Soron, can I have a word? In private.” He whispered to his captain.

Soron raised an eyebrow then nodded.

“Walk with me.” The captain said gesturing as he turned and continued forward.

The two walked down the turning and twisting hallways of the ship. Cenden followed along in a daze. The still unfamiliar paths hardly passing his thoughts as he followed Soron into his room.

Taking in the simple bed and desk as well as the workbench, terminal, and small collection of books, Cenden was surprised to see the window that dominated the far wall, giving a glimpse into the vast expanse of space. Most quarters tried to avoid having that sort of installment for safety purposes, Soron must’ve had it specially installed for his room.

“So,” Soron began, pulling up two foldable chairs in front of the window, “What is it that you wish to discuss?”

“The Force...showed me something in my vision.” Cenden began, taking a seat next to Soron.

“That’s what visions tend to do right?” Soron said with a smirk.

Cenden tried to smile as he ran his hand over the back of his neck, “I’m not even sure how to explain what those are like.”

“I’m guessing how they work isn’t important right now is it?”

“It was something horrible.” Cenden continued, causing his captain’s demeanor to sour immediately. “It was of a ship crashing, breaking apart in the atmosphere before exploding on impact. I saw only one person escape, though I couldn’t make out their features.”

“And you're sure this has to do with our destination?” Soron asked.

“That ship crashed into our destination. And I think the ship is our ship.” Cenden finished. He watched Soron mull this over, eyes staring into the endless black expanse. The seconds turned into minutes as Cenden grew fidgety as Soron remained silent while the Jedi’s own mind snapped from one thought to the next. Cenden felt fear rising in him again.

“What would you have me do?” Soron finally asked, pulling Cenden back into reality.

Cenden’s eyes went wide.

“Isn’t it obvious? Don’t go there! Do you really want your crew to die!?” Cenden asked hysteria taking hold of him.

“Of course not!” Soron shot back. “But what other choice do we have? It's clear that we are supposed to go to this moon, who are we to argue with that?” Seeing Cenden open his mouth to argue he continued. “And besides, this may not have been our ship. But even if it is, it could just be one possibility among many, meant to test our determination.” He saw that Cenden was still unconvinced. Sighing, he continued, “Didn’t the Jedi of old put their trust in the Force, even when all signs pointed towards failure?”

“What reason do I have to put trust in it in return!?”

The two went silent.

Soron squeezed at the bridge of his nose.

“Cenden, I… I don’t know how to convince you otherwise. In case you haven't noticed, we don’t exactly have a goal in mind here. We’re just a bunch of mercenaries, tossed aside by whatever society is left in an ever expanding universe under the control of madmen with just as little idea about how everything really works as we do. Nothing is truly defined for us. All my life, I’ve wanted more. Not more material gain, but more knowledge. I want to do something that really matters, but when I try and think about what that might be, it’s like I’ve drawn a blank at the edge of time.”

Soron sighed again. “I don’t know why I do any of this. It’s not like I’m just going to suddenly become ‘one with the universe’ or some crap. There just has to be more than this. It would be foolish otherwise. A foolish waste of life.”

Cenden was silent for a moment, “There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.” Cenden looked to Soron, an understanding passing between them.

“Back when I was a temple guard for the Jedi Order, the younger generations used to make fun of such sayings, but now I see zhe comfort in it. Soron, if you are truly going to learn to follow the Force, and if I am going to learn to put trust in it again, then I have to start remembering the truth. There is no death with the Force, but life is still worth discovering.”

“There is no life without discovery.” Soron said smiling as he stood.

Cenden gave a small nod and stood in return.

“I swear you are at least 10 times more spiritual than half the Jedi I ever knew. Alright. Let’s go to the vision moon then!” Cenden laughed as the two shook hands.

The captain and the Jedi turned to leave.

“We should probably tell the crew there’s a chance we might die though.”

“But there’s also a chance we might discover something great.” Soron finished.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dawn light filtered through the enormous accidental skylight running through the temple’s interior. Mist rose up through any breaks in the temple’s walls and waltzed through the decaying entrance, blanketing the ground.

From where I watched, all I wanted to do was cannonball down into the ground clouds.

I imagined myself falling endlessly through the mist void, tumbling through beams of light, the cool wind roaring around me. Wings flew from my shoulders and carried me across a sea of sky fluff. It was all very gray.

I shook myself from my daydream with nervous excitement, ‘Focus Vis. They could be here any moment. Right?’

I felt the Force surround my mind. In the distance of time, I could feel a presence walking among the ruins, still at least what felt like several days away. But it could be sooner or later. Either way I had to be ready.

“Alright, let’s go over this again.”

I sat tucked away in a nook crumbled out of a wall in the temple that had long since been eroded by water damage and such. For me, it made a nice little hidey hole type room overlooking the far left half of the temple plus the one of the main entrances to the whole first building. No one’s ever made the effort to get past my traps or the Force’s traps, but there’s a first time for everything.

I was so excited I could barely sleep. The shifting hue of my freckles, I guessed, were in their bright green state of ecstasy 24/7.

The Force was excited for me too I think. In the middle of the night I would feel my own spirit intertwine with it’s and pull me from my sleep to the edges of the “balcony” outside each room to watch the stars through the sky light. On some night I would catch a glimpse of several moons or even a HUGE planet in the sky, and I could just smile and laugh.

Wherever whoever or whatever was coming going to be from that planet? Where they going to be from the other edge of the galaxy!? Sometimes on those night I would just close my eyes and let my mind unravel across the stars. Letting my guide lead me through nebulas and star systems and space ships passing through it all…

Pulling myself from the thoughts once again, a smile quickly stretched from one end of my face to the other.

Taking a shaky breath, I reached over to my side and grabbed the smooth round cylinder resting a few safe inches away from me. The weight of the damaged lightsaber felt calming and cool in my grasp. I couldn’t believe I had found one. Or rather, that the Force had finally shown me where in the temple to find one. I was tempted to relive the little adventure in my head, but I had more pressing matters to attend to.

I adjusted the possible death tube away from my face, making sure my fingers weren’t on the trigger, I decided to hold the saber upside down. It just felt safer. I didn’t have a physical master of any kind, but it wouldn’t make much sense to give a deadly weapon to a 13 year old, much less use it. But who was I kidding? I was definitely going to turn it on. Just not when I was jumping from a ledge onto the slippery mist floor.

‘Now for the finishing touch!’ I thought to myself now grabbing the temple guard mask.

I slid the mask over my face, letting it rest snuggly on my temples. Surprisingly, I could see out of the slits in the mask really well! It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t totally suck either.

“Why didn’t more Jedi wear these? They seem like such a great idea!” I asked the Force.

I could almost hear it laughing. That was the best feeling in the whole galaxy.

“Ok, show me where to go!” I laughed back to it.

I gathered the Force around me.

A dominant scenario begin to be strung from one marker, one foot step, one flying leap after another.

I would fight someone as soon as they walked past me.

There was a chance I’d win and a chance I’d loose.

It didn’t matter if I lost, I was just suppose to do my best and that would do it.

I laughed and leapt down from my spot.

I stood and felt myself in the right path turn on my lightsaber, I would speak, they would speak. I ran forward. I swung up, ducked right, rolled across the ground, swung as I spun, jabbed twice, got punched in the mask, went with the momentum, rolled again, swung.

From there it branched off into three highly likely scenarios that I couldn’t quite make out. But if I just followed the first steps, everything would work out.

“Will they be a friend? Someone I know? ...A Force wielder!?” I asked excited, I didn’t want to speculate but this is huge! “I can’t believe someone’s finally coming for me. Someone finally heard you. They know I’m here… This whole training thing is to prove myself right?”

The Force caressed a few of my thoughts, it was hard to make out, but at least I knew I was right somehow with one of those!

“I’m going to turn the lightsaber on now.”

I pressed the switch.

The lightsaber ignited, sparks flew out of it, and a burst of white hot light shot out of it.

“OH SHOOT.”

A shock flew through me.

I dropped the saber as I fell on my butt.

“Ow ow ow…” My arm felt all tingling,

I took off the mask. Examining my arms, nothing much had happened except my freckles turning bright yellow and red with shock and fear. I let out a breath before I started laughing and plopped onto my back.

“Could’ve warned me about that!” I looked at the saber, “...Huh. Ok I see where you were going with that, I have the idea now.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

‘I… I will go. I never thought we’d see the day when a real opportunity presented itself, and if it’s fate we die, then we die searching.’

‘Well I, for one, am going. Vision or not, I’m the pilot of this ship, and we have a mission. Would it honestly help to worry about something petty like death?’

‘The logic in vision is not within my coding. Logic in attempt is, however.’

‘...I don’t know. One minute you all are trying to convince me stuff like the Force actually exists. Now I know it’s real and we’re choosing to take a chance on something like flying right into death? That, to me, seems rash, and risky, and wrong... I thought I’d never rub off on you guys. I’m in. But if I die, I swear I will kill all of you, starting with Cenden.’

Soron stood in the cockpit, gazing out into the massive gas planet looming through space as Chomon began his change in direction towards a small moon.

Cholmon looked to his captain one last time for confirmation, an unspoken question in his eyes. Soron stood and reflected on the crew’s reaction to Cenden’s vision of a fiery crash.

‘Could this really be it?’ Soron’s mind whispered.

Soron tried to shake himself out of the feeling of being torn between contemplating his last thoughts or focusing on the present. He took a breath of uncertainty and with that, nodded to Chol before reaching for the comm.

“Alright everyone, this is it. Cholmon will be setting us down via Cenden’s instructions. I want Cenden, Lerti, and Nek in the cargo hold ready to go. BX will stay with Cholmon and serve as our rear guard.” Soron paused. “Be prepared for anything but cower from nothing. May the Force be with us.” He finished as he shut off the comm and sat in the copilot’s seat. Even if he couldn’t pilot to save his life he wanted to be there to see this through.

“Ya know you don’t have to be up here right? I can handle everything on my own.” Cholmon commented as the ship dipped towards the moon.

“I know, but… this is what we’ve been looking for for so long. I mean, we’ve been temple robbing for long enough, you and me especially; it’s nice to be going somewhere with understanding and purpose rather than a blaster. ” Soron replied as the moon loomed up on them.

“Don’t need to remind me. I still remember when we first met.” The pilot replied.

Any further conversation was cut off when the ship began to shake slightly as they entered the atmosphere.

The ship’s hull dipped slowly into the ozone layer of the moon, falling into orbit around the moon’s surface.

Cholmon’s fingers twitched across the console, his eyes darting nervously from one system status to another.

Soron’s eyes remained locked ahead, his hands laid steadily across the controls, ready to do whatever he could muster up inside himself to help.

The ship shook.

The two looked at each other.

The ship shook again, violently jolting about the sky.

Cholmon reached for his comm, “BX! Are you still in the engine room!? How are we looking down there!?”

“Everything is running smoothly. We seem to only be experiencing turbulence.”

“Turbulence. When we were prophesied to die in a fiery crash. Lovely.” Chol mumbled to himself, his eyes locked on the sky.

“Don’t talk like that. Show some faith.” Soron spat back, the fur along the ridge of his neck visibly standing on end no matter how calm his demeanor claimed to be. “Cenden. Any idea where we’re needing to land yet?”

Down in the cargo hold, Cenden, Lerti, and Nek stood. They had all three braced themselves up against the hold wall, grasping onto the railings lining the walls.

“Not yet Soron. I’ll let you know when I’m told.” Cenden answered back, glancing wearily at the supplies of Lerti’s rocket launcher ammo. “I wish that wasn’t on the ship.”

“Shut up.” Lerti shot back at Cenden.

Cenden sighed.

‘Ok, no fear. Just trust.’ He let his eyes fall shut.

He reached out into the Force. His mind unraveling through clouds of thought and emotion. He connected with the energy inside himself, the energy, his mind, continued to push through the clouds and into the energy within the space around him in the ship. He unraveled further, into the sky around them, he stretched out across the planet.

A pressure in his mind built up as he reached across the world.

Then he felt it.

The Force took the line and tied it to the land. Like an anchor in the sea, the man was tethered to the marker. The Force gushed and pulsated about the marker. Burrowing deep into the earth, it veined out across the planet, like a heart.

“Soron! Chol! We have our heading!”

“Where are we landing?” Chol answered back.

“Keep heading east, in about thirty minutes there should be a strip of clearing in the landscape below. What do we know about this moon?” Cenden commanded.

Chol cleared his throat, “From what I remember, it’s mainly a deciduous forest biome, but the forest floor looks more like a jungle marsh. Colder up north, warmer down south, and not inhabited. Though as I told you, it does have a reputation for driving people away.”

The ship jolted again.

Lerti could hear Nek praying under his breath.

Maybe she should’ve ditched the explosives.

BX came over the comms.

“We have a slight leak in one of the backup compressors. It will now be fixed promptly.”

“We’re ok everyone. Just stick to the course.” Soron’s voice came next over the comms.

For the next thirty minutes, everyone sat about, waiting. They either talked quietly in the cargo hold, or made weather observations up the cockpit, but it all felt wasteful. Like any words at all would not amount to what could be their last words. So then, everyone sat in silence. Of course, then even their thoughts felt unimportant.

Cenden assumed a state of meditation, something he hadn’t done in a while. It felt nice to just let his mind wander through the Force, it’s purposes, it’s paths, it’s thoughts. Eventually, he could even sense the wind currents surrounding the ship, predicting the next bump in the current or shift in the torrent. He pushed down his fear, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to sense a point of crash.

This was comforting at first, but in the back of his mind, he knew that just because you couldn’t sense something was about to happen, didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. He learned that the hard way once, he didn’t want to relearn that again.

His thoughts were interrupted and his heart skipped a beat as Chol’s voice came over the comms suddenly.

“I see our landing spot! We’re heading down! Seven minutes and counting ‘til we make landfall.”

The three pilgrims in the cargo hold gathered together readying themselves to make leave.

Lerti stood adjusting her armor and helmet, “Ya know Cenden, I’m actually glad I’m here to get to do this. I would’ve thought I would’ve had to stay on the ship. I’m not exactly ‘the spiritual type’ ya know.”

“Oh we know.” Nek piped.

“Anyway. Just, I guess, maybe you’re not totally as useless or fake as I originally thought.” Lerti finished, tweaking the positions of her holsters.

“Wait. Was that a complement? Or an apology?” Cenden smiled mockingly at her.

“For the second time today, shut up.” Lerti retorted, “And yes.”

Nek laughed. Perhaps out of humor, perhaps out of hysteria. Either way it was a much needed sound as the ship made its final descent.

Cholmon and Soron both let out a sigh of relief as the ship brushed the tips of the treetops before touching down in the clearing, contrasted with the sound of Lerti and Nek’s faint cheering coming from the cargo hold.

“Guess it's time to see what there is. I’ll keep in contact with you and BX.” Soron said as he stood up and left the room. Cholmon gave a simple nod in response.

Soron quickly stopped by his room to grab his 9118 carbine before entering the cargo hold to see the shore party armed and ready.

“Alright everyone,” He said as he opened the cargo door, revealing the lush jungle. “Same procedure as last time. Cenden and I will take the lead while Lerti and Nek will cover the rear. Now then, let’s get this started.” He finished as he readied his carbine and stepped outside.

Lerti smirked and gave a mock war cry. “Let’s go desecrate some ancient history!” She shouted, earning mild chuckles from the group as they advanced.

The trees loomed up around them, the heart-shaped leaves tipped in purple. The trucks grew so close together they crew could barely see a hundred yards past where they stood.

“So where now, Master Jedi?” Lerti asked wistfully as she looked out across the scene.

Cenden still felt the tether pulling at his energy, drawing him into the woods.

“I guess we just follow the Force.” Cenden mumbled, he felt eerily at peace here.

“Easier said than done for us I suppose.” Soron responded, his voice the same peaceful murmur.

Nek remained silent, his eyes wide and darting about.

“Chol we’ll keep you posted.” Soron informed the pilot over the comms.

Cenden started forward, the other following close behind as they wove their way through the dense flora. Everything was so peaceful, so beautiful. It didn’t feel real.

“So there’s really a Jedi temple on this moon?” Nek asked, his voice sounding far off.

“Maybe not a Jedi temple, but a temple, yes.” Cenden answered.

“I believe it.” Nek sighed.

Cenden smiled.

The Force felt different here. It felt more open and alive. The deep connection with nature here definitely helped, he had to admit, it had been a while since he’d been on a planet not in the city territory. But was so calm here, he didn’t even need to lift a finger to his weapons…

CRACK!

His thoughts were cut off as Lerti suddenly disappeared from sight, falling deep into a hole that had not been there a second earlier. Nek let out a yelp of surprise and Cenden rushed over to the hole.

“Lerti!” He shouted. “Are you al…” He trailed off as Lerti slowly rose out of the hole with her jetpack, arms crossed.

“You two forgot I had this didn’t you?” She deadpanned, earning sheepish looks from the human and Devaronian. As she touched down Soron knelt by the hole, examining it.

“To be fair, you did lose it last time.” Nek joked.

“Probably just a sinkhole or something.” Lerti said with a shrug as she continued walking.

“No.” Soron said, stopping her in her tracks. “This looks like a trap. A primitive one, but a trap all the same.” He said, standing up and facing the group.

“Are you saying that someone is trying to keep us out?” Nek asked. All eyes turned to Cenden.

“Maybe. It’s unlikely given the temple’s age and location, but with how strong the Force here is it's possible these were set up centuries ago.” The Jedi replied.

Soron’s hair bristled a bit before he calmed the involuntary action. “We aren’t going to let this someone try and keep us out. We’ve come too far. But we will be more careful from now on.” He said, earning nods from the others as they continued moving, their formation tightening the closer they got to the temple.

However, Soron felt each step grow more tiresome, the peaceful and calm feeling that had earlier had such a powerful hold on their consciousnesses had turned into a growing sense of calm before the storm. A pressure had built up and with each step it grew more and more urgent. Soron gave a quick glance around the group confirmed that they felt it too. Soron chalked it up to the presence he felt, which had gone from a light prodding on his mind to a full fledged assault on his psyche. His head ached, his legs felt like they were encased in durasteel, and his mind at war with the presence.

Yet it felt different, like the fear existed outside his own mind and was trying to force its way through. Everything felt groggy or anxious.

But he trudged on. He wouldn’t let this presence control him, he hadn’t let himself give into that since-

He sighed, “Cenden, do you know how much farther? Or are we being lead somewhere else?”

“I honestly can’t tell at this point, I still have the lead, but I can’t be for sure that it’s where we want to go or where we need to go.”

The pressure kept building.

Lerti groaned and clutched at her head, “Anyone else have a headache?”

“What is that?” Nek asked rubbing at his own temples.

“I’m not sure.” Cenden mumbled, he felt it but it wasn’t bothering him so much.

Was… was the Force trying to connect with them?

“We should… keep moving.” Soron stuttered.

The captain looked terrible. His eyes darting from one place to another, his breath seemed heavily, his whole demeanor was that of a man who had been fighting for all too long, but he was still fighting.

He moved Cenden aside and kept walking forward, Lerti followed behind.

“Hey wait. Soron. Lerti.” Cenden exclaimed following them through the brush. “Maybe we should take a rest? I’m not sure what’s going on, but it seems to be taking a toll on everyone.”

“We. Are. Fine!” Soron suddenly snapped.

“Hey I’m just trying to help!”

“Well maybe you should keep your mouth shut and just stick to your Jedi mumbo jum…”

“Hey guys?” Lerti interjected.

“What!?” The two said at once.

“Where’s Nek?”

Everyone went silent.

“Nek? Nek!?” Soron shouted.

Nothing.

They looked around them, nothing looked familiar at all.

“What the heck!? Where did he go!?” Lerti’s voice laced with panic as she leapt through the nearest brush patch. “This has to be the way we came!”

She screamed.

Soron and Cenden leapt through the brush.

Lerti had disappeared.

“What in the galaxy is going on!?” Soron screamed.

“Soron…” Cenden put a hand on his shoulder.

A ruined temple now lay in front of them, stretching for miles in any direction, buried in the earth and grown into the trees. An involuntary gasp escaped the two. Soron was astounded by the age of the temple and its beauty, despite the many collapsed walls and plant life that seemed to be choking the life out of the building itself. It looked different from any other temple they had explored, just as Cenden had said, and despite his awe he felt a nagging fear in the back of his mind, a fear of what this temple held. Did this really have answers or more dead ends?

The pressure broke.

Soron’s mind seized up.

He crumbled to the ground.

“Captain!” Cenden yelled driving for his falling body, his dead weight nearly pulling him to the ground with him.

Grabbing the captain around the arm and waist, he hoisted him up. Whatever was going on, the temple was there only source of shelter where they could contact Chol.

He dragged Soron towards the temple, the building drawing him in, yet still seeming weary in his sensing of the place.

The Jedi came to the first entrance he could see, old crumbling stairs sunken into the ground leading up to an equally crumbling gateway.

His feet marched heavily up the nearly decayed steps and through the cool, vine ladened entry way. He set Soron down and checked the man’s pulse. He was alive, good.

Standing, he looked about the immense foyer of the temple. Deep pools bore into the ground along with the most noticeable feature being the giant hole stretching from the ceiling to the ground floor.

Walking forward, he emerged from the shadows into the sunlight from the sky pouring through.

‘How did that happen?’ Cenden wondered.

He felt the Force suddenly break around him, centering around movement behind him.

He turned as a gray figure leapt from a crack in the wall, green trench coat fluttering through the air.

They stood, a mask he never thought he’d see again placed across the figure’s face.

A Temple Guard.

Their green lightsaber flashed to life.

“What are you doing in my home?”