#its on Spotify and YouTube please go check it out and yell at me about it

[polydamnory]

I remember seeing a couple people headcanon that Darlin has a good singing voice, so I thought I'd put my take on what I think specifically Fem!Darlin's singing voice would sound like (no clue what Masc!Darlin might sound like yet lol) via a clip of one of my favorite songs. Minus the scream singing. Or not. You decide!

Any other Ok Goodnight fans in the Redacted Fandom? Just me? Ok.

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 8:

18

Boat Playlist: Youtube, Spotify

“Noelle… Why did I run!? That was a terrible decision!” Thomas has been pacing around the room at the foot of their bed for the past hour, butt ass naked. He came to find Noelle at Judy's, obviously something was wrong, when Thomas starts to worry he starts sweating which means he takes off his clothes.

“I don’t know babe, but we need to talk to him…. Also,” She smacks his ass with a pillow as hard as she can and lets out a frustrated sigh. “WE HAD A PLAN!” She sits back on her heels and puts her face in her hands. Taking a deep breath she looks up at him. “Tomorrow is a new day, we can hopefully get Clay alone to talk to him. Did you even stay to see how he reacted?” Thomas shakes his head and flops down on his side of the bed, limbs resembling a starfish. She looks down at him and smiles a little. This beautiful, yet stupid, man makes her heart beat so fast she doesn’t know how to react.

Clay another beautiful, yet stupid, man was someone who makes her feel the same. Hopefully they can show him how they feel in a less chaotic way.

Hopefully.

The next morning the sun woke Logan up by blinding him through the small opening in the curtains around the bed. They left it slightly open so Leo would know they were there and waiting for him… but he didn’t come to bed last night. Logan rolls over just to make sure Leo didn’t sneak in on the other side of the bed.

Nope.

Logan gets this odd sinking feeling in his chest and wakes Finn by shaking him. Finn rolls over and wraps his arms around Logan just shushing him.

“It’s too early.” Logan rolls his eyes and pinches Finn’s side making him scoot away from Logan. Whining a little he opens one eye and looks at Logan, pushing himself up on his elbow to look over him to see if Leo is in bed, he frowns. “Did he come back?”

“I don’t think so, and I don’t know where he went so we can’t go find him.” Logan sits up and sighs, he yawns and stretches, rolling his shoulders out. Flopping his arms down he turns to look at Finn and notices he has already fallen back asleep, he was up a while after Logan had fallen asleep waiting for Leo so Logan just kissed his forehead. Rolling to the edge of the bed he sits up and puts his feet on the ground. Cracking his toes and ankles he sighs in relief, standing up and walking to the closet to get some clothes for the day. As he is digging through his bag looking for a pair of socks he hears the door slide open and close. Then there were warm arms around his shoulders and a chin resting on top of his head.

“Leo?”

“Logan.” That familiar drawl sunk its way into his heart and gut, he turns around in Leo’s arms and cups his face. He looked exhausted, there were a couple of leaves in his hair, the bags under his eyes were purple against his golden tan skin. He notices a few freckles on his nose that are just barely there. Running a thumb over his chapped lips Logan looks him in the eyes. That dark blue has gotten duller and he frowns. “Logan.” Leo closes his eyes and brushes his nose against Logan's.

Suddenly Leo stands back up straight, towering above Logan and starts to sink down to his knees, running his hands down from Logan’s shoulders to his sides and landing on his hips. Looking up at Logan with these half open eyes that causes a spike of arousal throughout his entire body. Leo grabs his hand and puts it into his hair as he starts to press soft kisses into Logan’s hip bones.

Logan knows what Leo wants him to do, and he wants to do it. He feels himself getting hard and takes a shaky breath, he was only in his boxers from sleeping last night so there wasn’t much for Leo to pull away. Tipping his head back and gasping as Leo swallows him down he grips his hair tightly. What takes Logan by surprise is Leo doesn’t move, it's like he was waiting for something, and he was. Logan moves his hips on reflex and Leo moans to let him know what he wants. Logan looks down at him surprised, Leo pulls off for a moment to tell him the words that would ring in his ears for a long time after.

“Use me, please.” and he did as Leo wished. He started slowly to push in and out of Leo’s mouth, groaning at the feeling because Leo knew what he was doing. Gripping Leo’s hair tighter and moving faster he sees Leo completely relaxed and almost peaceful. He curses under his breath and moans when Leo moves his tongue just right.

Hearing the closet door open again he looks up to see Finn walk in, stumbling and still half asleep. His socks match his underwear like the ‘loser’ he is, according to himself. Logan goes to say something but Leo gives him a nice long suck that draws out an incredibly pornographic moan from him.

Finn startles a little and looks up to see Logan fucking into Leo’s mouth, it was beautiful… and got him extremely hard, blood rushing down. Leo gestures him over with his hand and Finn moves on autopilot. Leo grabs him by the back of his thigh when he gets close enough and pulls off of Logan, yanking Finn’s underwear down and taking over the situations he swirls his tongue over the head of Finn’s cock while running his thumb over Logan’s. Smiling a little as he hears them groan in pleasure and grab his shoulder and hair.

As time passed Logan and Finn were kissing and just breathing each other in as Leo would switch between who he was jerking and who he was swallowing. Panting his name Leo kept a steady pace until he felt they were getting close. He pulls off Logan one last time and takes them one in each hand, he starts pumping them in a quick pace, twisting at the head. Logan throws his head back with his eyes closed as he holds on to both Finn and Leo. Finn closes his eyes and presses his chin to his chest as his hips stutter.

“Leo!” They both say as they finally break and cum off over Leo’s face. Finn opens his eyes after a few moments and looks down at Leo, his dick twitching from the sight he sees. Leo being flushed red, his pupils blow wide, and the cum slowly drips down his face. He wishes he could take a picture and keep it forever.

Logan kneels down next to Leo and smiles. Picking up a white shirt off the ground and starts to wipe Leo’s face. “Do you want us to get you off?” Leo shakes his head and smiles lovingly at Logan and gives him a peck when he is finished wiping Leo off. He stands up and kisses Finn as well before walking out and whistling to a random tune. Looking at each other confused, Finn helps Logan up.

They just get ready for the day with an ominous cloud over their heads.

A half an hour later, Leo was pulling on his jeans and about to button them when the bathroom door burst open. Reg comes stomping in with a fury behind his eyes, grabbing Leo by his arm he marches him back into the room and to the door of his bedroom. Past Finn and Logan who were pulling on a shirt and fixing their hat. They ended up following behind the two younger guys and stumbling down the stairs.

“Clayton London Bruss!” his mom could be heard yelling from the kitchen as he exited the entrance hall. Pausing Clay takes a step back but hears his mother call again and he sighs, walking into the kitchen he sees the whole team getting breakfast. Mom looks like she is fuming, Leo is half naked and being pulled behind Reg who looks like a twin demon to his mother. He makes eye contact with Leo and sees the same fire light in him.

Fuck, he really messed up.

“Good morning! How was everyone's night.” Clay put on his most charming smile and waltzed over to his mothers side and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He goes to grab a piece of toast when a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him to look at them. Leo was furious.

“What so you are going to walk in to MY house and act like you didn’t almost destroy my fucking trust in you!?” Leo let go of his wrist and cupped his neck, getting close enough that only Clay could hear him. “Are you okay? What did she do to you? I can tell something is bothering you.” Before Clay could answer he felt a sharp slap on his ass with the bottom of what he knows is his mom's house slipper. Jumping away from Leo he whips around and looks at her offended while rubbing where she just smacked him.

“Ow!”

“Why would you go somewhere with that- that bitch!” Judy is not one to curse so wildly, so Clay knows she is upset. He smiles shyly at her and shrugs his shoulders. She starts hitting him with her shoe, not trying to cause any harm or anything, but she suddenly lands a hit in a place he was going to try and hide. His side, where lovely Ashley gave him a giant fucking bruise last night after finishing… the deed. She kicked him out of the bed physically and decided to land a couple more to make sure he stayed off the bed.

He gasps and clutches his side when she hits him and everyone freezes, his mom, Leo, Reg, and the entire team who was just trying to mind their own business. Reg doesn’t waste a second, he lifts ups Clays shirt and whispers a ‘holy fuck’ when he sees the bruise that covers the side of his friend. Judy tells him to take his shirt off and like the good son he is, he does. She starts examining him in the way the retired nurse was trained to do.

“Leo, does your mom have any Tylenol?”

“Let me go check.” Leo turns and walks down a hall to a linen closet where they keep all their medicine and injury stuff. They can hear him rummaging around. Judy continues to poke and prod at his side and he flinches sometimes and just sucks in a breath at the others. He tries to keep his eyes down to the ground but he knows there are two particular sets of eyes on him.

“We only have Ibuprofen, it looks like she took the other first aid case when she left for France a few weeks ago.” Leo walks back over and stands next to Reg who is just boiling over with anger. “Reg and I can go to the pharmacy in the mall and pick some up while you keep him here.”

“Actually I think it would be best if he goes with you. She hands Clay his shirt and gives all three of them a look that says ‘work this out.’ They all nod and head to Leo’s car because the truck was still packed full of junk from the summer.

They drive in silence.

Pulling into the mall Reg points out that maybe they need to stop at the pet store they always stop at when they come to this mall. They all agree and walk in, the familiar bell ringing above them. Clay had worked here for a short time a couple of years ago and is still friends with the owner. The teenage music playing over the speakers as one of the employees feeds the little parakeets in the corner, they give the guys a wave and go back to their job.

A song Leo has never heard before was playing, but the words stuck with him… it's an insecurity he has actually had for a while in his relationship.

“So if you wanna piss off your parents. Date me to scare them. Show them you're all grown up. If long hair and tattoos are what attract you. Baby, then you're in luck, and I know it's just a phase. You're not in love with me. You wanna piss off your parents, baby. Piss off your parents. That's alright with me.”

“What if we casually sneak a fish?” Clay is looking at the beta fish in small square tubs just waiting to be snatched. Knocking Leo out of his slowly spiraling thoughts from the music and bringing his attention to something else.

“Out of us three you would never be able to do it.” Leo has a challenge to his voice as he joins Clay in looking at the fish. He has his eyes on an orange one, it reminds him of Finn. It also has the attitude of Logan by trying to attack the fish in the next tub.

“Oh god…” Reg sighs and watches them share a look and smirk, they were going to try and steal the fucking fish. He watched them go up to the counter with their fish just out of sight of the cashier while buying some fish food and small square travel bowls… but not the fish. Reg rolls his eyes and gets his own fish, bowl and food. Walking up to the counter after those two idiots scurried out of the shop as quickly as they could.

Reg got rang up with all of his items. He thought for a moment and decided that he wasn’t going to tell Leo and Clay that he paid for their fish.

“Add two more fish to my price, the yahoo’s that just left happened to steal one for each of them.” The cashier laughs a little and has a polite conversation with him about his friends. Once he is done paying he finds them both in the car with the air conditioner blasting onto the fish to keep them cool as they go into the pharmacy.

Judy was not impressed when they came back with fish, but they got what she asked for. She hands Clay a bag of ice and tells him to go relax. He rolls his eyes and earns himself another smack on the butt from her house slipper. He runs away into the main floor bathroom before she can get him again.

He doesn’t realize he didn’t lock the door until two familiar faces walk in. One standing in front of the door and the other coming over to examine his side. Noelle and Thomas.

“Noelle, I’m sorry. I promise I wasn’t thinking and I know Thomas loves you with everything and I’m not trying to get in the way of tha- OW!” She had taken the ice from him and pressed it on his side just a little too hard, the Tylenol hasn’t quite kicked in yet.

“Sorry, sorry! Also, you know how you are going to get in the middle of Thomas and I.” She looks at him straight in the eye, he swallows. He hasn’t been able to get close enough to her to see the warmth of the brown around her pupil and the green surrounding it yet. He couldn’t stop staring. Sometime when he was looking at her eyes she moved to be between his legs and is now resting the hand that isn’t holding the ice pack to his side, on his thigh. His eyes flick down to her hand and then over to Thomas who is just giving off these vibes that Finn gets when Leo and Logan are flirting. “Like this.” She takes the hand from his thigh and turns his chin to face her.

She kisses him, and it doesn’t have the same fire in his veins like his kiss with Thomas did. But it made him feel like he was floating in one of those sensory deprivation tanks. Nothing else was being focused on but Noelle and Thomas. Clay felt a hand rest on his lower back, pulling away to look he was pulled into another kiss by those lips that set him alight the night before. His hands move to grip a shoulder from both of them.

After a few moments Thomas pulls away, Clay keeps his eyes closed for a moment to calm his spinning thoughts. When he opens his eyes he sees the most beautiful sight. Thomas and Noelle were kissing right in front of him, smiling into the kiss Noelle nips at Thomas’ lip as they pull away. Both turning to look at Clay. With the same look they give each other.

This could work.

Leo is watching his new fish swim around in its new travel tank when he gets a sloppy kiss on each cheek.

“One of you needs to shave, you’re prickly.” He looks at Finn who is rubbing his cheek and shrugs. Smiling he turns back to his fish and watches it just… exist.

“So, is this what you’re replacing us with?” Logan puts his face near and glass and swatches the flurry of orange and red swim around the tank.

“I got it because it reminds me of y’all. It’s red just like Finn.” He sweetly pinches Finn’s cheek, getting his hand swatted away by a snorting Finn. “And aggressive like Logan.” He pinches Logan's ass and gets slapped on the arm.

“How can a fish be aggressive?” Leo blinks at them a couple of times, he gently moves the fish’s tank a little closer to Reg’s fish’s tank and they watch as the fish tries to attack the other. Leo raises both his eyebrows and purses his lips in a sassy way. “Huh… that fish really is Lo.”

“Okay, instead of comparing me to a fish, can we talk about where you slept last night Leo.” Leo pauses and moves the tank back away from the other, deciding on whether to tell the truth or not… he decides to show them. Standing up from his stool he nods toward the back patio door and walks towards it. As they follow him he takes them down a path towards a pond where the mama and papa duck are feeding.

He walks over to the large willow tree and leans against it facing out to the pond. Logan and Finn are still taking in their surroundings, the leaves dangling off the drooping branches, it was serene and calm. The light breeze moved those same leaves like wind chimes. The sun rising through the gaps in the tree lights up the ground like a spotlight on the few wildflowers that have been able to thrive in the small spot of sun. Marigolds were planted around the trunk besides a spot that was the perfect size for someone to sit against.

“It’s very calming out here, I see why you’d fall asleep out here.” Logan was braiding a few of the smaller branches together. Smiling when they unraveled themselves.

“It’s my dad's tree. When he passed, he didn’t want to be buried in a casket that would keep him from giving back to the earth… So we cremated him and buried him with this willow sapling.” Leo was leaning against the tree in the trunk of the tree right in the spot where the marigolds weren’t blooming. He looked like he belonged there.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” Finn looks at him sadly and then back at the ground where a squirrel ran past like they weren’t even there.

“It wasn’t your fault, don’t apologize. It wasn’t my dad’s fault either… the police report and his death certificate say he committed suicide but, its not what happened. When I was 16 Ma and I were at one of my baseball games, we came home to find our entire property was covered by police. Obviously something wasn’t right. Know that about a month before I came out as gay and my dad came out as bi, we came out together and Ma was so proud of us.” Smiling a little at the memory. “I remember she made a cake that said “I love my gays” dad found it hilarious, I was just still processing that everyone knew about me so I cried.” Leo laughs a little and sniffles, getting a little teary from the last happy memory of his dad. “ My dad had told me he was bi by telling me about a guy he would mess around with in highschool… I found out who that guy was after his death. Basically what happened was dad was found in the middle of one of the pens with a bullet to his temple. It was in the right side of his head and the gun, which was the only gun on the whole property by the way, was in his right hand… Daddy was left handed.” Leo shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from cracking his knuckles, a habit he picked up because his mother hates it when he does it.

Finn and Logan were keeping themselves busy by watching the ducks and the ripple of the water but listening intently to the story.

“Yeah, the guy my dad was messing around with in highschool… he was the first person on the scene. It was the sheriff. He has always made Ma’s and my life a living hell so I guess it makes sense. You know the funny thing, random flowers will show up at this tree sometimes. I know it's him who is sneaking in and putting them there. He’s such a piece of shit.” Leaning his head back on the tree Leo takes a deep breath to calm down. Something is poking at his leg, making him look down.

It was Daisy, the mother duck of all the ducklings every year. Also, Eloise’s best friend. Leo smiles and gives her a couple of pets and pats and she waddles away back to the pond.

Hours pass, Leo is still distant when speaking but he is always touching them in some way. Whether it's a pinky linked with Logan’s or resting his head on Finn’s shoulders randomly. It was cute but they also know he is letting himself process his emotions. Once, he was back to wanting to interact with people. He mentions how Clay and he own a small pontoon on a lake about 15 minutes away. Everyone was up for it so they packed coolers and got into their swimsuits. Judy made sure they had bug spray, sunscreen, food, and water. Remus was in charge of bringing that because literally anyone else would have forgotten it.

Everyone piled onto this, obviously not old, pontoon and got comfy in the pleather seats. There was even a top deck with a slide that Kuny was dying to try out. As Leo was pulling off the dock some people went up to the top deck to sunbathe and feel the wind as they drove. Clay was hooking up his phone to put on the only radio he cares about, the pontoon radio. (Youtube, Spotify)

No one was surprised when some country music about a pontoon actually started playing over the rather impressive speaker system on the boat. Leo drove past a small, large, corner that was much less well kept than the rest of the lake. Clay, Reg and Leo all waved over to the corner smiling like idiots.

“What's over there?” Sirius is looking over and trying to see a person but no one is there. The rest of the team is also trying to see literally anything.

“Our favorite gator! His name is Scar because he, like Clay over here, has a fat scar across his face.” Leo smiles and pats Clay’s shoulder who slaps his back and runs away to hide behind Thomas before Leo can grab him.

Leo gets them into the middle of the lake, the deepest part, and hears a bit of a scuffle. Looking over to see Clay trying to push Thomas off the boat and failing, smiling at them he watches as Thomas picks clay up over his shoulder and jumps into the water with him. It causes a chain reaction of everyone else jumping in.

Minus Finn and Lily who were still applying sunscreen.

Everything was great, they were all relaxed and drinking. Clayton got to show off his super power of a human bottle opener by literally opening a bottle with his fucking buttcheeks. Kuny asked for a bottle opener and Clay just used the crook of his elbow.

When something other than country music came over the speakers the team was fucking shook, especially when Clay, Reg and Leo all started doing a fucking line dance to the song Working Bitch by Ashniko and singing it word for word. The only response they got was .

“We may be cowboys but we are still gay.”

When Up by Cardi B came on they went fucking nuts, changing specific words to fit Leo and Reg’s pasty ass skin, Clay took on the first verse, Reg the second and Leo the third.

It causes four people in particular to have mini heart attacks when their boys would rap all this raunchy stuff. They know these two are slutty but when the actual song S.L.U.T came on they didn’t expect them to sing it from their heart. Nat and Lily also joined in on singing some of these. Sometimes Remus and Finn would join in too but more lowkey than the others. All around it was a good time.

“Leo… Look.” Reg was next to him as he was holding Finn from behind as they watched Logan and Sirius arm wrestle for one of the last cigarettes. Reg points out the left side of the boat, looking where he is pointing Leo notices a small fishing boat that he’s never given permission to be out here. Sharing a look with Reg, he has a sinking feeling he knows exactly who it is, binoculars and all.

Calling everyone onto the boat so they can go and confront this person, Leo takes a lap around the lake to collect himself first. Slowing down as He pulls up next to the fishing boat at an appropriate distance not to knock him over.

“Howdy Sheriff.” Leo leans over the side of the boat, resting his forearms crossed on the railing. “Snooping?” He smiles at him.

“Let me on the boat son, I need to check you’re not drinking.” Leo rolls his eyes and opens the side door so he can climb on but doesn’t move closer. He sticks his hand out behind him so Reg can put a couple of pennies on his hand, Reg also gives some to Clay and takes two himself and puts them under his tongue. The sheriff checks everyone's IDs that he doesn’t know and walks over to the youngest ones. Taking out a breathalyzer from his jean pocket, because he is off duty and still policing for some reason. “Blow.”

“I thought you were trying to prove you’re not gay?” Clay smirks at the sour look he gets and blows into the breathalyzer and blows a 0, smiling and blowing a kiss to the annoyed 40 year old he walks back over to everyone else. Spitting his pennies into a cup.

“Blow.” Reg rolls his eyes and blows a 0 same as Clay walking over and spitting his pennies into the same cup. The sheriff doesn’t even tell Leo what to do, but he also blows a 0. Smiling a tight smile he crosses his arms.

“Happy? I’m just providing a boat for my friends to hang out on.”

“Having a gay orgy?” Leo smirks and looks down at him.

“Nope, but I know you’d want to join in.”

“You know this is private property and I know the owner and-and can get y’all kicked out!” He was turning red with embarrassment and anger, it was entertaining.

“Oh yeah? Call them then.” Leo picks at his nails as the sheriff calls the number posted on the sign out by the gate of the lake.

After a few moments, Leo’s phone rings.

He picks it up and says ‘hello’ It echoes through the sheriff's phone who is standing there stunned.

“Get the fuck off my property.” With that the sheriff gets back on his boat and drives off to the boat dock. Rubbing his temples he looks up to see Reg who gave him a thumbs up as he ended the video he was recording of the idiot, just in case anything else happened.

“Man, that guy is way worse than dad.” Noelle sips her beer as Logan nods in agreement. “Dad at least doesn’t patrol off duty… I don’t think.”

“Your dad is a sheriff?” Leo looks at them shocked because he doesn’t get along with any law enforcement besides Derek the keeper of the jail cells. The stab of worry that goes through his chest makes him have to take a breath. He tells them he is going up for a smoke and goes to the top deck.

Lighting up he listens to the music start again to keep everyone down stairs. Someone, who he is guessing is Clay, drives them back to the center to keep swimming.

Leo can’t help but think maybe… just maybe Finn and Logan are actually with him because they want him and not because they want to spice up their relationship, or to piss off their families.

He knew he was reaching though.

[pumpkins-s]

Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker

Read On AO3 Here

When Pidge is offered the spot as communications officer for the Kerberos Mission, to accompany her father, and her friend and former classmate Shiro, she’s expecting eight months of quiet, beautiful cosmos, ice samples, and—if she’s lucky—some broadcast signals to support her alien life theories.

She is not expecting to end up the prisoner of a fascistic race of alien cat-lizards hellbent on apparently reenacting the ugliest parts of the Roman empire, down to the massive enslavement and expansion effort and the gladiators as entertainment shtick.

But, if she’s going down, she figures she might as well go down swinging.

(Or, in which Pidge is the third Kerberos member, is decidedly not a damsel in distress who needs protection—thank you very much Shiro—is very much done with this crap, and fully intends to make it home to her little brother, no matter what it takes.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: platonic Pidge & Shiro, Pidge & Matt, Pidge & Sam Holt

Characters: Pidge, Shiro, Sam Holt, Matt Holt, Thace, Ulaz

Rating + Warnings: Rated Teen; trigger warnings include graphic violence, blood, combat, murder, and systematic transphobia on the part of the Galra. I recommend checking AO3, or in my author’s notes under the cut, for a more extensive list.

Stormbreaker was written for the @pidgebigbang, and is accompanied by art from @anime7otaku7artist7. 

Chapter 1: Willow

((Author’s Note: 

Hello, hello! Welcome to Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker, my fic for the Pidge Big Bang. Developing the concept and storyline for this fic was the work of months (even if I wrote 90% of it in the last two weeks before it was due shhhh), and I'm so pleased to finally be able to share it. I love Pidge and the friendship she holds with Shiro, and I really wanted a chance to explore that in a setting where they were closer to being peers, as well as what her relationship to Matt would be like if she were the older sibling, and hence that (+ my desire to just see Pidge kicking ass as a gladiator) is how Stormbreaker was born.

As always, music played a big part in my writing, and I'd like to take a moment to credit that: I wrote and outlined this fic largely to the work of Barns Courtney and Florence + The Machine, particularly his  The Attractions of Youth album and her How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful album, respectively, and the influence of both is definitely there in how the story turned out. The title of this fic was chosen as a nod to two songs that pushed the concept and development of Stormbreaker by leaps and bounds. Of Monster And Men's Winter Sound, and Florence + The Machine's My Boy Builds Coffins. And of course, I can't not mention the song that played the original inspiration for this fic: No Doubt's Just A Girl.

For your listening enjoyment while you read, there's also an actual playlist for this fic (with more than just those previously mentioned couple of artists in it, promise). You can find the tumblr post for it here, with art by the wonderful corpus--corvus, or jump straight to the Spotify or Youtube link.

Before you read, a final warning for the content -- this is a gladiator fic, boys & girls & nonbinary pals. That means violence, blood, injury (Shiro's probably an obvious indication but people do lose limbs), fight to the death scenarios, and murder. People die in this story, and not all of them necessarily deserve it, though rest assured Pidge and Shiro themselves stay (relatively) intact. There's also the presence of underage drinking in a flashback scene, some mentions of the sexual abuse and forced prostitution of slaves within the Empire, and swearing. So much fucking swearing. Additionally, while all relationships are written to be strictly platonic, Shiro and Pidge's longer friendship and view of each other as closer to peers does mean their friendship has an emotional intimacy that wouldn't necessarily be seen in their canon counterparts. They lean on each other for support, quite literally, so if any of that would be a personal squick to you for whatever reason, please look away now.

That's about it! Enormous thanks to the Pidge Big Bang mods for putting this all together, and to my artist, anime7otaku7artist7, for their phenomenal work. Their art is embedded in the story, and you can also find a link to it here.

Stormbreaker is split into eight sections, with the entirety already written out pre posting. Chapters range from about 4-10 thousand words, with the first one being the shortest. It will update every day until its completion (so long as everything with editing and posting goes smoothly on my end, at least. Here's hoping). Enjoy!))

(( Author’s Note [Cont.]:

Willow: Forsaken

The gorgeous title art opening this chapter, while not provided by my official artist for the Pidge Big Bang, is provided by the wonderful corpus--corvus, who put up with months of my ranting about Stormbreaker!Pidge, and generously provided me with both this title art, and coverart for this fic's playlist. Thank you Logan you're a peach.))

Oh I'm just a girl, living in captivity

Your rule of thumb

Make me worry some

Oh I'm just a girl, what's my destiny?

- "Just a Girl", No Doubt

“Careful,” is the first thing Pidge’s father says to her, and she sighs, blowing errant bangs out of her eyes—she knew she should have pinned them back when they were suiting up—as she steadies her arms and inches the ice sample out of the extraction drill.

“Yeah, Pidge, careful,” Shiro says with a grin she can only classify as shit-eating, leaning over the back of the drill with his forearms resting on top.

“I am careful,” she snaps, fully removing the sample and hefting it between her arms. The weight is less than that of Earthen ice of the same mass—which is expected, given the gravity on Kerberos is much lesser than that on Earth. It’s a lucky thing their suits are specially designed and weighted to model Earth’s gravity on their interior, Pidge wouldn’t want to be hopping and stumbling around like the astronauts of her grandparents’ generation.

She hands the sample over to her father carefully, his eyes bright as he studies it. “Extraordinary.”

Pidge glances over at Shiro, who is doing his best to look anything more than politely interested, and smirks. “What? Not impressed?”

Shiro looks down at her, and shrugs ungainly against the bulk of his suit. “You guys get…a little more excited about ice samples than I do. I understand their value, but it’s not exactly my area.”

“Yeah, yeah, motorboy.” Pidge rolls her eyes. “I get it, you’re only interested in things with an engine and that go really fast.”

“That’s—“ Shiro makes a face. “Ok, that’s only partially true. I also like…uh…” He trails off, brows furrowed, and Pidge grins. “…What do I like?” he finally asks, looking to Pidge in askance.

“Uh. Reading? Fixing Keith’s bike?” Pidge counts off on her fingers, squinting down at them. “That’s…you’re really bad at having non-work-related hobbies, dude.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh! Me!” Pidge holds up a third finger triumphantly. “You like me!”

Shiro groans. “You’re my best friend, that’s a given—“

“You know what I like?” Pidge says, and then continues on before Shiro has the chance to respond. “I’ll tell you what I like. Motherfucking aliens, that’s what I like, Shiro.”

“And here we go again—“

“And that—“ Pidge points at the ice sample, “could be the key to finally proving their existence, right Dad?”

“Well,” her father says, looking quietly amused as he shifts the sample in his hands. “We certainly can’t rule anything out, all the way out here. And I’d hardly complain if one of these ice samples wanted to come along and solve my life’s—“ There’s a rumble all around them, rock vibrating slightly beneath their feet, and he pauses. “…What was that?”

“Earthquake?” Pidge asks as another rumble starts up, stronger than the last.

“Kerberos-quake?” Shiro mutters behind her, and she turns to tell him just how terrible that was, before the strongest shake yet occurs, throwing her off balance, and she yelps, falling forward.

“Pidge!” She catches herself on Shiro’s outstretched arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She shakes her head, trying to dispel the hair blocking her vision and the vague sense of dizziness she feels. “We should get back to the—“ She stops, caught up in the feeling of something suddenly here, large and looming and right behind her, and slowly turns around as a ship comes into view.

For once, all her knowledge—all her calculations, her observations, her vast vocabulary, abandon her, and she is left with one thought, and one thought only.

That isn’t one of their ships.

“It can’t be…” She hears her father say, but it’s distant, muffled, as if he was underwater, and then all she can focus on is Shiro grabbing desperately at her arm, yanking her along.

“Run. Run!”

She runs.

It’s a rush of sudden sound, sudden movement that seems at odds with the serene stillness expected of space. All she can hear is the roaring noise of whatever is behind them, Shiro’s shouts, her own heavy breathing as she stumbles along in her suit, the previously steadying weight suddenly cumbersome.

There’s a sudden pull behind them, around them, everything lit up purple, and Pidge screams as her feet suddenly leave the ground, flying up into the void of black above them. She hears both of the others yell her name, and she reaches out blindly for something, anything—her father’s blurry form, the outstretched hand she knows is Shiro’s, only to find nothing.

Tractor beam, a detached, scientific part of her mind supplies for her. I’m the smallest, so it’s natural I’d be the first picked up.

Sure enough, one of them—she thinks her father—flies up a moment after, Shiro caught up off the ground last.

They’re both shouting in panic, and Pidge thinks she should be screaming, too. Might already be screaming, or perhaps she’s forgotten to altogether, it’s impossible to tell, right now. She is not in control of the motion of her own body, of her senses.

Debris off the ground, caught up in the beam with them, catches on the side of Shiro’s helmet, scraping along, and she can only pray it hasn’t knocked it loose, hasn’t stolen his oxygen, before another rock slams into her own head.

The last thing she hears as it all goes black is the sound of her own voice tapering off, dying in her throat like a person hanged, condemned and left to die.

…Oh, so she had been screaming.

The night Shiro gets offered the position of pilot for the Kerberos mission, Pidge drags him out drinking.

“Shots!” she announces loudly, placing them down on the bar, and Shiro winces. He’s the one person she knows who gets a headache just from being in a bar. Normally, Pidge would have sympathy, as prone to migraines brought on from stress and lack of sleep as she is, but over time she’s come to accept this is an inevitability of taking Shiro out anywhere fun that isn’t space or flight themed. Luckily, the more alcohol Shiro gets in him, the more he seems to forget about his headache, or his apathy towards bars in general—enough to be willing to repeat the same cycle of misery, ecstasy, and then mild hangovers, occasionally, every few weeks, at least.

“What are those?” He picks one up cautiously, sniffing at it. “Whiskey?”

“Mhmm,” Pidge hums happily, sliding into the stool next to his. “Good brand, too.”

“I think I’ll just order one of those fruity cocktails,” Shiro says with an air of quiet distaste, sliding the shot glass back across to Pidge.

“Weak.” She downs them both, hers first and then Shiro’s, slamming the second empty glass down to the background of his horrified face.

“I don’t know how you do that,” he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Drinking is just one of the many things they do together, but in very different ways. Shiro—perhaps still trying to live down the keg-stand days of his barely-twenties that Pidge remembers sneaking into at seventeen or so all too fondly—doesn’t like anything strong, anything that leaves too much of a burn behind. He finds his preferences in what is sweet, where the alcohol is masked by some more agreeable mix-in.

Pidge, meanwhile, relishes the burn. Chases the chemistry reacting in her own body, the poison her brain somehow just barely sustains, with fascination. Drinking is stupid, objectively. So naturally that only leads to the urge to categorize it, sample every flavor until she understands every urge and every predilection.

She watches Shiro order his cocktail in amusement, and waves her hand when the bartender looks to her. They both know how to take care of themselves—and each other, if they find it necessary. Shiro will sip his fruity drinks, and Pidge will knock back a couple shots before giving it a break and then nursing a beer or some watered down vodka-and-schnapps concoction for the rest of the night.

She’s an experimenter, not an idiot. If she takes it too far, makes herself too sick or poisons herself too permanently, she won’t be able to carry out the next test. She’s the extent of her own sample size, which means she has to make herself last.

“Remember when we were young,” she says languidly, swinging around on her stool and leaning on the bar, head tilting up to watch the ceiling, then Shiro. “And we’d party like the sun wouldn’t come up?”

“I remember going through a bottle of Advil every two months, yeah,” Shiro says dryly. “Besides you’re—I love the way you say that, when we were young. You’re not even legal to drink yet.”

“Shhh.” Pidge waves a hand. “Keep your voice down or you’ll get us kicked out. I worked hard on that I.D., Matt helped me pick the picture.”

“And what a great picture it is,” Shiro offers sarcastically, and Pidge levels a threatening eye at his drink. He pointedly moves it out of her reach, and after a moment, continues. “I still don’t get why you like bars so much. You’re you—I can barely get you out of your room to go to the dining hall.”

“Are you kidding me?” She waves a hand. “Bars are the one place where I can get social stimulus without having to actually talk to or acknowledge anyone beyond the wonderful person providing my drink. It’s an observational heaven. At the Garrison I actually have to make conversation.” She shudders, and Shiro snorts.

“…It still feels weird being out here, with your parents knowing where we go.”

“Joys of being second-gen American,” Pidge says proudly. “Just enough Italian left over where a twenty-one plus drinking age seems like the dumbest thing in the world.”

“I guess.” Shiro wrinkles his nose. “Still just feels weird when my commanding officer knows I go out drinking with his daughter.”

“Shiro, you practically live in our house. You’re in Matt’s elementary school graduation picture, for crying out loud. Bit late for worrying about that sort of thing.” Shiro winces, and Pidge laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Man. Kerberos. I can’t believe you’ll be locked up with only my dad and some poor communications officer for eight months.” She pauses, and at Shiro’s faintly proud, but still somber look, she grins. “Maybe I should suggest to Dad he bring his zero-gravity specialized Scrabble board along.”

“Oh god,” Shiro groans, dropping his face into his elbow against the bar. “Please, don’t.”

“Doing it,” Pidge says happily. After a long moment, she looks over to Shiro, curling her arms into a pillow on the bar for her to drop her head onto, sighing. “…It’ll be weird, without you here. It was going to be strange enough not having Dad around that long, but at least I’m used to him disappearing off for missions.” Shiro grunts morosely, and she hums. “Always got Matt, I suppose. And Mom. I’ll just spend more time around the house or something. Lucky we live so close.”

Shiro says nothing, stealing the discarded beer bottle of some other long-departed patron, and peeling habitually at the label in one of his little-seen nervous gestures. “It will be weird.” There’s silence again, and Pidge is just starting to wonder if she’s expected to say something, before he continues, quiet and unsure. “You know they haven’t decided on a communications officer yet. You could always…throw your hat in the ring. They’re already worried about team compatibility—with a mission this long, and this important—and everyone knows we work well together.”

“Me?” Pidge snorts. “Please. Even if I wanted to—and I’m not saying I do—they’d never take me. I’m still a cadet.”

“Only while you finish up the last of your engineering credits.” Shiro points out sullenly, still not meeting her eyes. “You’ve been an officially marked communications officer for the better part of a year at this point. And there’s no one better at the job.”

Pidge blinks, surprised at the blunt honesty in his tone. “…You…really want me to apply, don’t you?”

Shiro shrugs, glaring down at the decimated bottle label. “It’d just be—it’d feel weird without you, alright? Like something was missing.”

Almost unconsciously, Pidge reaches across, snatching up the balled-up wrapper, freeing it from Shiro’s wrath and contemplating it, as if it might suddenly give her an answer to this new puzzle.

Of course, looking for solutions in beer bottle wrappers is neither scientific nor logical, so Pidge isn’t very surprised when it offers her none.

“…I guess we do do most everything together, don’t we?” she offers softly. Shiro just shrugs again, avoiding both the answer and her eyes as he sits up and sips awkwardly at his drink. He doesn’t want to pressure her, to suggest her into something she doesn’t want to do. He also doesn’t want to go without her.

He’s always been stupidly good at expressly not talking about his worries, especially when he thinks he’s burdening someone else with them. Luckily for him, while Pidge is no feelings expert, she is a Shiro expert at this point, and very good at determining the logical end point to a problem.

“Yeah, okay,” she says unthinkingly. “Why not?” Shiro turns to look at her, still all kinds of conflicted mixed in with his hope, and she steals his drink easily, downing back the last of it, and when she slams it onto the bar next to the empty shot glasses, it sounds like a promise.

Kerberos. What could go wrong?

It’ll give her an amusing story to tell Matt when she gets rejected, at least.

…We come from a peaceful planet…

Pidge comes to with a quiet gasp and a rush of aching pain along her left temple. She startles just ever so slightly—everything blurry and her suit feeling far, far too heavy for either Kerberos or the conditions of their ship—before the weight of strong hands holding her arms behind her back, and Shiro’s muffled voice pleading somewhere off to her left, come to her attention, and she tenses, stills.

It doesn’t all come back so much in a rush as in a trickle of images, feeding into her brain like a lagging video on a bad connection as her quick, panicked breaths fog up the inside of her visor. The ship, the tractor beam, being dragged up and up and away from Shiro and her father, the sudden crunch of the rock against her skull, all sliding through her mind and clicking into place.

For the first time in a long, long time, Pidge feels true panic grip her, staring down into the abyss of the unknown. She’d come close, in their attempt to flee the inevitable on Kerberos, but had been too caught up in the immediacy of the situation. That was instinctive panic, raw and something close to animal.

This is a panic of exercised consideration. Of weighing up her circumstances and what little information she has available to her and ultimately coming up short—short of a plan, short of an idea, short of even a clue. She has no idea where she is—beyond somewhere she never was supposed to be—who has her, or what is going to happen.

Based on her position and her mode of capture, Pidge can only assume herself and the others are being held captives by a hostile extraterrestrial power. Which is not, she thinks a little hysterically, even remotely fucking close to something the Garrison had prepared them for.

For Pidge, sorting all this out amongst the overwhelmed screeching in her head and the dull throb of pain above her eyes that signals either an impending migraine or a concussion feels like the work of hours. But it must only be moments, because one second Shiro is talking, stammering out a few desperate phrases on their behalf, before there’s a shuffle of movement, and Shiro’s cut-off yelp of pain as something strikes him.

At that she does stir, almost involuntarily jerking against the hold on her to turn and observe, check on Shiro’s condition—he was speaking, which means at least he hadn’t sustained any major head injuries, surely. In response there’s a tightening of the grip on her arms, an increase on the weight pressing down on her back, a boot maybe, and she buckles instinctively, head bowing to the ground and her whole body going taut but unmoving.

Eventually, after some further exchanges of words she can’t muddle out in the confused space of her brain beyond the disbelieving fact that it’s definitely English, the grip holding Pidge shifts, moving as something like handcuffs with a rigid bar between them is shackled onto her wrists. Something takes hold of the bar, and begins to drag her backwards, assumedly out of the room. Rough sliding noises on her left and right are the only indication she has that the same is being done to her father and Shiro, she doesn’t dare look to confirm.

It’s not until they’re moving along some hallway, and the other dragging noises move past and ahead of her, that Pidge dares to tilt her head just slightly up, trying to catch sight of something beyond her own feet scraping along a metal floor.

She can only get glimpses, between long stretches of endless chrome and the shine of purple lighting coming from some undeterminable source. Flashes in windows of huge containment systems, layers upon layers of prisoners crammed into cages and moved about as if building blocks directed by a child. She sees whispers of floors upon floors of moving figures, all discernable only in the same shades of grey and purple, with splashes of red, outsizing any operation she’s ever seen at the Garrison.

She sees torture. She sees order. She sees cruelty. She sees control.

There’s the bark of voices above her head, and she yelps as she is dragged around a corner roughly, the quick turn putting a strain on her arms. But she doesn’t dare fight back, not at the risk of suffering the same fate as Shiro.

Observation is her greatest—her only strength, right now. She must do what she does best, as she does at officer meetings, in Garrison dining halls and classrooms, even in shitty, dim-lit desert town bars.

Pidge watches. She grasps at every piece of data, commits to memory every variable she can spot, and above it all she is left with only one question, buzzing in the back of her dizzied, overwhelmed mind.

Where the hell are we?

[sorosoroso]

Article for Connect Magazine

I had a chance to write about a music artist I really love, and it will soon be published in Connect Magazine, which is a community driven project where expats living in Japan contribute articles about Japanese culture and everyday life. The issue my article will debut comes out in a few days. It is totally free to read and available online. Please enjoy below!

A Folkin’ Good Time: My Journey from Japanese Traditional Folk Music to 8-bit Technofolk

I stumbled upon Japanese traditional folk music the same way a horror film heroine might trip into a dark, deep pit in an old, creepy mansion: by accident.

And much like said heroine who suddenly wakes up in said mysterious, deep pit, I don’t even know how I got here. The last thing I remember is wondering about Japanese instruments and typing in “Japanese traditional songs” into a YouTube search bar, before being sucked in by the strums of shamisens and the dynamic vocals of Japan’s traditional folk singers.

Although it’s usually put under the umbrella term “min’yo”, there is no exact name for the genre Japanese traditional folk music belongs to. Sometimes they’re called inaka bushi (country melody), other times they’re called inaka buri (country tunes) or even hinata uta (rural songs). However, I think min’yo, whose kanji translates to roughly “the people’s chant”, is a weirdly accurate description of these simple, yet intriguing songs (and for simplicity’s sake, I’m going to be referring to them as min’yo from here on out).

 In the same way certain foods or adorable mascots are part of certain prefectures’ identity, min’yo songs are another way for many regions in Japan to further distinguish themselves. Originally sung by lower class people, their purposes vary from work songs sung while toiling away in fields, to sacred religious chants performed during ceremonies. Many songs tend to have imagery of nature or details of everyday life, and often incorporate special dances or instruments during performances.

Take for example Japan’s oldest min’yo song: Kokiriko-bushi. Hailing from Gokayama village in Toyama prefecture, Kokiriko-bushi illustrates the natural flora and fauna of the village during the harvest season. A performance of Kokiriko-bushi is visually intriguing as well; performers move slowly across the stage in uniquely shaped straw hats, as others play the iconic binzasara instrument: an accordion-like apparatus consisting of many wooden slats that clack together to create the “dedereko-den” chorus of the song.

I fell in love with how all these elements came together into a cohesive experience. More compelling, though, were the powerful emotions behind each song. Each one seemed to condense the essence of feelings like sadness, happiness, or loneliness in a way that you could empathize with, despite the language barrier.

My appreciation for min’yo grew extensively throughout college, and during long hours of nighttime studying or downtime between projects and papers, I often listened to min’yo playlists to keep me company. Whether it was the more New Age, emotional ballads of Ikue Asazaki, or lo-fi recordings of televised performances from the 90s, I listened to it all. I wasn’t too picky, and even if I didn’t always understand the words, I let myself get swept away by the vibrant energy each song and performer exuded.

Unfortunately, my college roommate and study buddies didn’t quite share the same enthusiasm for min’yo, and I don’t blame them. I completely understand that min’yo isn’t exactly easy listening for a lot of people. It can be a bit grating at times, with tunes that don’t follow traditional Western note progressions, not to mention the sometimes startling kakegoe (call-and-response) that seemingly jump out of nowhere. 

Older Japanese folks didn’t understand why I enjoyed the genre so much, either; even they found min’yo to be a relic of the past that didn’t quite have the chops to withstand the more international appeal of modern-day songs. For a lot of people, min’yo was something that only a  few Japanese people sang, and even then only to demonstrate Japan’s nostalgic, rustic charm. I found myself having to agree with them. It seemed that min’yo was reserved for special occasions, like cultural events or TV specials, and so many recordings I enjoyed were decades old. Perfect preservation of the genre seemed to be the goal, and innovation was limited, if present at all.

And then I discovered Omodaka.

I was looking for more min’yo to listen to on the Internet (as per usual), and during a mindless return to YouTube’s homepage, I noticed a distinctive thumbnail. 

A punchy, vibrant red background emblazoned with a stark white, minimalist graphic of an arrowhead flower; that’s all there was to it. The title was equally as simple: “Hietsuki Bushi”, uploaded by “Omodaka”. At the time, I had no idea what any of those words meant, but I was riding high on my min’yo video binge, so naturally I clicked.

Imagine my surprise when, instead of hearing the bare twangs of shamisen like I was expecting, I was hit with a lush, multi-layered 8-bit melody mingling with a classical guitar’s gentle strums. Before I could process what I was hearing, a loud, piercing, siren-like horn cut through, and jarring though it was, I only became even more entranced in whatever the hell YouTube just recommended me. I was totally immersed.

Then the vocals kicked in.

To hear the powerful voice of a trained traditional folk singer sing about a tragic love story from the Kamakura era was absolutely breathtaking, especially with the blips and thrums of the 8-bit chords accenting it every few measures. The singer’s notes swooped up and down with confidence, working alongside the digital landscape of the background music to convey the melancholic longing of the narrator. I’d never listened to such a wonderful marriage between traditional and modern musical aesthetics before, and as soon as the video finished, I was already eager for the next song.

As it turns out, the skilled vocals I’d heard on Hietsuki Bushi and on subsequent tracks belonged to classically trained folk singer, Akiko Kanazawa (whose min'yo rendition of the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” is definitely worth checking out), but listening to her other works, it was clear that someone else had a hand in the skillful mixing of chiptunes and traditional folk standards I was hearing. After a few music videos and a deep-dive Internet investigation, I soon discovered that Omodaka was not just a one-off, eclectic min’yo mashup duo, but a collaborative project that combines traditional Japanese music with contemporary visual artists. But, behind all of it is one man—electronic music producer and DJ, Soichi Terada.

 An accomplished house techno artist and founder of record label Far East Recording, Terada has enjoyed listening to min’yo music since childhood, but felt he “couldn’t say that [he enjoyed min’yo]” to his friends because they weren’t interested in it. He experimented with min’yo/ house fusions, and over time, Terada developed a distinct sound that would define his label. Later on, spurred by a desire to collaborate with visual artist friends, Terada launched the Omodaka project in 2001.

The Omodaka project usually involves Terada’s friends creating fantastical, even psychedelic, animated music videos for his “techno folk” songs (a term Terada has coined to describe this niche genre). My personal favorites are “Yosowya-san”, with its side-scrolling 8-bit exploration of Japan’s gambling culture, and, of course, “Hietsuki Bushi”, an adventure of a love confession thwarted by portal jumping spacemen and a farmer/lion/bird chimera. Oh, and aliens. There are also several albums released under the Omodaka name too, each filled with songs beyond the wild, color bursting music videos.

Where the Omodaka project really shines, however, is during live performances. They are an unabashed bonanza of pure theatricality, with projections of Omodaka’s music videos flashing behind Terada as he waves around props like paper lanterns or bamboo flutes all throughout his set. Even Kanazawa makes an appearance during performances, singing to the audience virtually through the use of TV screens set up around the stage. 

Especially striking is Terada’s costume when he performs as Omodaka. Instead of his trademark, brightly colored shirts, Terada comes onstage wearing a white, plastic mask, a shaggy black wig, and miko (Japanese shrine maiden) religious robes. As Omodaka, Terada transforms into an uncanny, barely human, androgynous entity whose only goal seems to be to get the audience’s blood pumping to some good ol’ technofolk.

Best of all, when you look into the audience during an Omodaka show, it doesn’t consist of solely geriatric Japanese; it’s diverse and, importantly, it’s young. I’m certainly no expert in methods of preserving a cultural property like min’yo, but I think that Terada is taking a step in the right direction to make sure min’yo will stick around for a bit longer. Sure, perhaps some purists may condemn Terada’s genre mixing as sacrilegious to everything traditional folk music stands for. However, when I see the audiences during Omodaka’s performances sway their bodies to Kanazawa’s trilling and yell back kakegoe to Terada, I feel that wonderful energy that drew me into min’yo in the first place. All I hope is that some of these people will also go back and listen to the music that led to the Omodaka project, and appreciate the unique sound of min’yo, too.

If you would like to check out the Omodaka project or Terada’s other works (he’s composed music for video games as well!), I highly recommend looking at his label’s YouTube channel: “fareastrecording” (all lower case, no space). If you search “Omodaka - Topic” in the search bar, YouTube even has a curated playlist with Omodaka’s entire oeuvre! Omodaka is also on Spotify. Furthermore, Terada regularly updates a Twitter account which announces future performances and other exciting news, like the October 28th release of Omodaka’s newest album in five years!

[imagineteamfreewill]

Home and Prison

Title: Home and Prison

Pairing: Reader x Dean

Word Count: 2,755

Warnings: Angst, yelling, minor injury

Theme Song: Home by Susan Egan and Be Our Guest by the Original Movie Cast

Beta: @lipstickandwhiskey

Summary: The castle is becoming more like a prison for you with each passing day, just as it is for Dean. Several interactions with him reveal both a side of him you don’t want to see and a side you’d never seen before. Nonetheless, you still dream of your freedom every day.

A/N: This is part four of the Beauty and the Beast series. Please let me know what you think! The song “Be Our Guest” isn’t an integral part of this installment, but the scene is mentioned briefly so I thought I would include it. The recording of “Home” is much better on Spotify because since it’s from Broadway, there aren’t quality recordings on YouTube.

X

Beauty and the Beast Masterlist

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_________________

When Dean finally awoke, it was already midday the next day. He never slept this much; usually, he dozed for an hour and then woke up, well-rested and already needing something to keep himself occupied until he was tired again. The enchantment not only made him into a monster, but it gave him a lifetime of boredom. If he thought not being able to leave the castle grounds was torture at first, it was even worse now that he’d already done everything that could ever be done in his enchanted home.

Sam was nowhere to be found, so Dean stood from the bed, wincing when the bandaged wound on his side shot a sharp pain through his abdomen. He really should thank Y/N for tending to it, he decided. Sam and Cas wouldn’t have been able to help, as they didn’t even have opposable thumbs.

Holding a hand to his side, he headed out into the castle hallway and began to look for his younger brother. The sound of laughter echoed from down the hall and he followed it, hoping that he wouldn’t disrupt whatever was going on. That was another thing that had developed thanks to his curse; besides the boredom, Dean could always count on the room falling silent whenever he walked in, even if it was filled only with those who had been fond of him as a human.

“I know you’ve been stressed by all that’s been going on, Y/N, and I highly suggest you let us serve you,” Sam was saying. Dean crept closer, being careful not to bump into anything, and peeked through the doorway into the dining room.

Y/N sat at the end of the table while Sam practically danced across the shiny mahogany surface, telling her about the different dishes the servants were placing in front of her. It had to have been a long time since the staff had been able to cook for someone, but Dean was surprised that the food looked just as delicious as it had when he was human. That, of course, didn’t surprise him—Jody and the other kitchen workers were always some of his favorite people, and he knew that it was impossible for them to ever grow out of practice.

The delighted look in Y/N’s eyes, along with the stories of her past life in the village that she’d been telling one of the maids earlier, told Dean that she had never been faced with such delectable food. He doubted that she’d be able to try everything before she was full.

He watched as she laughed at something Sam said to her, her head tilting back as she smiled from ear to ear. The look on her face was almost endearing, and the excitement that filled her eyes was contagious. Dean couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.

Sam turned and caught his brother’s eye through the doorway. He didn’t say anything to acknowledge his presence, but Dean suddenly felt as if he was intruding. There was never any fun to be had when he was around. He didn’t belong in this picturesque scene. Silently, he pulled away from the door and headed back the way he had come. Behind him, Sam’s spiel was winding down.

“Thank you for dinner, Sam,” Y/N said.

Panic filled Dean as the sound of her voice got closer, and he quickly stepped into one of the cavities that lined the hallway, pressing his back to the wall. Y/N passed by without glancing his way while Sam hopped alongside her.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, mademoiselle,” Sam replied.

Dean rolled his eyes; Sam had always been polite, almost to the point where it was annoying. Leaning out into the hall, Dean watched as his brother and Y/N turned the corner, then slipped out to follow them further.

“I haven’t eaten that well in a long time. And I really… I really think that’s the most fun I’ll have in a while,” Y/N trailed off, stopping outside the doors of one of the bedrooms.

Sam stopped in front of her.

“What makes you so sad? There’s plenty to do in the castle!” Sam exclaimed, looking around to find something to hop up on.

When there was nothing in sight, Y/N leaned down and picked him up, holding him so her eyes were level with his metal ones. She sighed, thinking a moment before she replied, “Once your brother is healed, I don’t doubt that he’ll lock me back up again since I tried to escape.”

Dean sucked in a breath. If she knew that he and Sam were brothers, there was no telling what else she knew. She couldn’t find out about the curse and he hated thinking that Sam was telling her every little thing about him behind his back. Irritated, he stormed off, not caring if anyone heard his heavy footsteps. Once upon a time, he’d been able to walk softly, but now that skill was long gone.

Behind him, the door to her room slammed shut and the sound of Sam heading in the opposite direction faded quickly. Dean was once again alone in his prison.

_______________

Living in a castle was every peasant girl’s dream, and you had to admit that some of it was wonderful—like the dinner Sam and his friends had prepared for you—, but somehow you found yourself hating every second you were trapped in your lavish bedroom. It was lonely, and you wished with every fiber of your being that you could be living once more in your tiny little home back in Sainte-Suzanne.

It took you two weeks to get up the nerve to leave your chambers and explore the castle further. The painting almost seemed taboo—you didn’t speak of your discovery of it to any of the animated characters that you encountered each day, and none of them mentioned it to you, either—but surely there were other things in the castle that they could tell you stories about. So, you decided to venture out of your room and try to find something to entertain yourself.

You had been wandering around in the long, winding hallways for what seemed like hours before something finally caught your interest. It was a set of tall doors, one of which had a twisting crack that ran up its side, and you carefully checked to make sure that no one was watching before you tugged them open. They creaked as you pulled on them; it was obvious no one had used them for a long time.

Once they’d swung open enough for you to slip inside, you carefully padded into the adjoining hallway. It was so dark that you had to squint to see, and suddenly you wished that Sam was with you to light the way. You knew that he and Cas would disapprove of your little adventure, however, so you didn’t dare go back to find them.

All around you, more dingy painting hung on the walls, and you could see dust motes floating through the air in the little light that remained. Cautiously, you ventured further down the hall and found yourself entering into a large room. It had been a sitting room at one time, you decided, and you crossed the room, inspecting the wooden antiques as you passed them. Padded chairs littered the space, and a broken chaise lounge was pushed against a wall of empty bookshelves. Although the books were nowhere in sight, you could easily imagine a prince and a dozen charming ladies vying for his attention lounging around the room, all of them dressed opulently as they chatted and laughed. One of them would be reading aloud to the others, providing entertainment as they prepared for a royal ball.

At the far end of the room there was a raised balcony. The doors were long gone, and you climbed the two stone steps with ease. A single, small table stood proudly in the center of the room, and atop it rest a glass cover. Designs of curling vines and leaves were etched into its delicate surface, and somehow it wasn’t covered with dust at all. It looked out of place among the broken and neglected furniture. Curious, you stepped closer and peered inside. You gasped and pulled away at what you saw, then carefully pulled the glass cover away from its contents to make sure you were seeing correctly.

A single red rose floated just above the table’s scratched surface, with several petals lying beneath it. A faint glow radiated from it, and as you reached out to touch it your heart was pounding. Suddenly, the Beast’s paw was wrapped tightly around your wrist and you found yourself being tossed away from the table. You stumbled backward as he replaced the glass dome. Now on the floor, you looked up at him in fear, watching as his immense furry shoulders heaved up and down in anger.

“I—” you stammered, clambering to your feet, ignoring the blood trickling down your shin from the scrape on your knee.

“You were warned not to come here!” he roared, turning around to face you.

The Beast was terrifying once more. Every trace of humanity was gone from his eyes, and you bit down on your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“You were warned not to come to the West Wing, and you disobeyed my command! How can such an ignorant girl expect to live so long? If it were up to me, you would be dead by now! You should learn to respect authority, Y/N,” he growled.

The sound of his teeth clashing together when he snapped his mouth shut made you flinch and ball your hands into fists.

“I didn’t know!” you shouted. “I didn’t know this was the West Wing, and nobody told me anything about some special rose I’m not supposed to touch!” The Beast seemed furious at your response, but you couldn’t hold your tongue. “How can such a horrible monster expect to ever be respected by anyone? You will never have authority over me, you Beast.”

With that, you turned and stormed out of the room, focused more on holding yourself together than what would happen if your words angered him even more.

Once you were past the cracked doors, you ran to your chambers and slammed the doors behind you. Your back rested against the chipped wood and you slid down, wiping away the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. Hands trembling, you cried and tried to calm down. Your heart still pounded, even though you were now safe, but you couldn’t get the picture of the Beast’s sharp, pointed teeth snapping at you out of your mind.

A heavy knock at your door caused you to flinch.

“Do— Don’t come in!” you cried as you scrambled to your feet and backed away from the door. Slowly, it was pushed open, revealing the Beast, who was standing on the other side.

“I said don’t come in!” you sobbed, shaking your head. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you wrapped your other arm around yourself and backed up until your back was pushed up against a wall.  “Please, just go!”

The Beast opened his mouth to speak, and you let out a whimper when you saw his teeth glinting in the flickering lamp on your nightstand. His eyes were unusually soft as he watched you. Slowly, he lifted his paws in a gesture of surrender, then walked backward until he was standing in the tall doorway.

“I came to… To tell you that you are not to stay in your room all the time,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “You are not allowed in the West Wing, but you are not a prisoner of this room, only the castle. I also… Wanted to thank you for tending to my wound. I would have died otherwise.” You watched him warily, unable to move as he leaned forward in a terse bow before backing out and closing the bedroom door.

Your knees gave out beneath you, causing you to collapse into a heap on the floor. It took you a moment to regain control of your muscles, and once you could stand again, you quickly crossed the room and pushed your nightstand in front of the door. You knew it wouldn’t hold off an angry Beast for very long, but you’d rather have some semblance of defense against someone so violent than nothing at all.

Slowly, you sank down on the edge of your bed, watching out the window as the crows outside swooped and called to each other. Your eyes filled with angry tears as you realized that even the birds had more freedom than you. You were trapped in a stone prison and told to call it your home; it wasn’t your home, and it never would be. Someday, you decided, you’d get out of the castle, because even if it held you now, you would one day return home to Father and the tiny village where you longed to be.

_______________

All Dean had wanted to do was apologize. When he’d found Y/N by the rose, he’d panicked. No one had ever touched it, not even him, and he had suddenly had a vision of the castle crumbling around him. He’d lashed out without thinking, and as a result, she now feared him even more. So, he’d gone to her room to try and apologize. It hadn’t gone as planned, and the sound of her sobs was still ringing in his ears hours later. The scrape on her leg was worrying, even more so because he knew it was because of him, but he couldn’t get past the terror that had filled her eyes. He couldn’t bear to think of how horrified she’d looked when he’d opened the door and revealed that it was him. Y/N thought he was a monster—he knew that he was, but a tiny part of him broke inside when he realized that she would never be able to see any other part of him besides his exterior.

Dean swiped at a vase, knocking it onto the floor and ignoring its shatter as he continued on his way to the West Wing. It did nothing to relieve his frustration and a low growl erupted from his throat.

“I am not a monster,” he snarled. “I’m a prince!”

Dean huffed and slammed the door to his wing of the castle, not caring that the walls shook and a shower of dust rained down around the door frame. After a moment, he opened the door again and stuck his head out.

“Cas!” he roared. “Cas!”

The sound echoed throughout the hallways and only minutes passed before his old friend came scurrying into the room.

“Dean, is everything alright?” he asked. “You look distressed.”

The decorative curlicues on the clock’s face curled inward, imitating the way Cas’ eyebrows used to furrow whenever he was worried. The sight made Dean smile for a brief moment, but then he sighed and sat down on the only chaise that remained in his room.

“She thinks I’m a monster. I’m not a monster, Cas. You think that too, right? I haven’t changed too much?” he asked by way of reply.

Castiel remained silent. After a moment, he crossed the room and hopped up to sit on the end of the chaise that was unoccupied by Dean.

“You are only a monster in appearance. She doesn’t know about what happened, and she can never learn, but if you would only spend ti—”

“I can’t spend time with her if she’s too afraid of me to even be in the same room as me!” Dean shouted. “I can’t force her to do anything! She’s too… Too willful!”

He jerked to his feet, causing Cas to lose his balance and tumble to the floor. Before Dean could help him up and make sure he was alright, however, the building shuddered around them. Horrified, Dean sprinted out of his chambers to the West Wing. He arrived just in time to watch another petal of his rose tumble down to the table. A shiver of fear ran through him, and Dean realized that he was tearing up when his eyes began to sting.

With only a few petals left, it was only a matter of time before his form was permanent and his home became a whole new kind of prison.

_______________

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Dean Tags: @bowtiesandapplepie, @itsemmyb, @ezauraemmaline, @beriala, @charliesbackbitches, @crzcorgi, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @gryffindorable713, @walkingencyclopediaoffandom, @growleytria, @thegleegeneration, @samtomydeanwinchester, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @sis-tafics, @fandommaniacx, @meganwinchester1999, @samanddeanwinchester67, @ferferelli, @lilyoflothlorien, @iridianuniverse, @the-morning-star-falls, @ackleslaugh, @fangirling-instead-of-working, @hellbentcrowley, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @torn-and-frayed, @spnsimpleman, @faith-in-dean, @mamaimpala, @for-the-love-of-dean, @winchesterfiesta, @zanthiasplace, @pada-ackles-reads, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @gadreelsforbiddenfruit, @jencharlan, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @beachy2014, @fandom-book-nerd, @shipping-people-writing-things, @tia58, @sams-little-toy, @sunriserose1023, @dr-dean, @saving-things-hunting-family, @winchesterswoonathon, @gbuttry, @a-closet-full-of-skeletons, @ruprecht0420, @thegoodhunterrr5, @jotink78, @lucifer-in-leather, @i-dont-know-how-to-write, @deantbh, @babypieandwhiskey, @waywardjoy, @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname, @fiveleaf, @spn-fan-girl-173, @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @samsgoddess, @notnaturalanahi, @thegreatficmaster, @megansescape, @faegal04, @everyday-supernatural-af, @supernatural-jackles, @wevegotworktodo, @deerlululucy, @supermoonpanda, @sleep-silent-angel, @trenchcoats-and-bees, @not-so-natural-spn, @shelovesallthethings, @memariana91, @chelsea-winchester, @revwinchester, @castieltrash1, @supernaturalyobessed, @deals-with-demons, @matteson-crazed, @allonsy-yesiwlill, @akshi8278, @donnaintx

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