#its so nice to just automatically be on the same page about so much with someone ive met only once before

[minotaurfemme]

got to hang out with a friend i made at a punk show a couple months ago and it has reaffirmed my love of trans women i love y'all so much

[soracities]

oooh please tell us what writing rules are garbage I would love to hear more

it's not that they're garbage, which isn't what i said, just that they annoy me and even then what annoys me is not the "rules" themselves (because i do believe they can be useful depending on what you're writing) but when some of them are put out as the only way to write something as if storytelling is a one-size fits all approach, as if you can reduce the millenia-long history of literature into a fail-proof formula that will work for all writing across all cultures with no room for experimentation.

i think there are as many ways to tell a story as there are stories and how you tell something and the kind of language you use will vary depending on what language actually means to you as a writer. hemingway and faulkner both famously took digs at each other for their styles (even though i think there was a lot of admiration between them) but they are also two very different writers with two completely different approaches to language and how they use that language to say the things they want to say: neither is inherently better, or more right, than the other--their approaches were just right for them; if faulkner wanted to write using the "older, simpler, better" words hemingway loved, he would have. if james joyce wanted to depict dublin the way dickens depicted london, he would have done so. but they didn't.

someone once posted an excellent breakdown by jeff vandermeer of the different writing styles employed by different authors which i was silly enough not to save at the time, but in it he gives an overview of the structure of their sentences, and how complicated or "rich" the language is, without pitting one style against the other. and to be honest, i think writing advice that encourages you to examine and look at that relationship with language, and what it holds for you (and others) and why, is probably more helpful than blanket statements like "stay away from ambiguity" or "avoid long sentences" because neither of those actually mean anything--a sentence is a vessel but it's also a tool, like a hoghair brush or a palette knife; the value of its impact is not an essence that exists in and of itself, but entirely dependent on how you use it, otherwise all literature would just read the same way.

strict adherence to a particular form or structure within a language does not automatically make for better writing, especially not when so much literature actually consists of, and is built from, works and authors actively rebelling against those same traditional forms and structures (but which is also not to say that those forms and structures are inherently useless, either). you can say that long sentences "risk distraction" or are "ineffective" but then where does that leave someone like laszlo krasznahorkai, whose prose runs on like some kind of breathless, hypnotic incantantion for 20, 30 pages without a single full stop in sight? or a book like solar bones by mike mccormack which is made up of a single sentence going on for 200 pages? i'm not saying long sentences can't be boring or tedious, but in all honesty so can short sentences--so can any writing that follows the "rules" to the letter. if something is poorly written, the "rules" matter very little; if it's well written, they matter even less.

all that said, telling people to "avoid long sentences" is not inherently a bad thing because i think the core of it is wanting to ensure your writing remains clear, which is a fair point--but it's an issue, to me at least, when it turns into one of those dictums or pronouncements that actively narrows the potential range language can actually have. clarity is not always about length, or whether or not you cull all of your run-on lines--mihail sebastian drew a very nice distinction in one of his novels when he said "[is] there’s a single way of being clear? A notary can be clear, or a poet, but they don’t seem to me the same thing". a long sentence can be clear, but its clarity exists on different terms to a sentence that is five words long, because its relationship to its content is different. and at the end of the day, that relationship is really what it's about for me and it's distinct to each work and its author.

writers use the language and form they use that best allows them to say what they want to say. no one in their right mind is going to dismiss zadie smith for not writing like angela carter or angela carter for not writing like hemingway or hemingway for not writing like beckett or beckett for not writing like mallarmé. robert frost and sara teasdale were no more correct than the beatniks were. i love pared down, beautifully concise prose, but i also adore books that relish in language and all the various, multi-coloured layers of it, books that eschew (traditional) plot and books that question their own form and the reality of that form, and books that tell a story as straightforwardly as possible.

to be honest i think one of the most formative things i came across, years ago now, was this piece by gary provost, which really sums up the whole notion of "writing rules" for me:

this is not about do's or dont's. it even breaks the first writing rule i learnt in school ("never begin a sentence with 'And'"). but what it does is center an intimate understanding of language, where it can go and how it can get there, and what you want that to do. that's where it's at for me!

[cherubchoirs]

ferryman in fallen gabe au is now real!! how would they interact with gabriel and v1?

(see this!)

YES i love the ferryman's part in this au because they are in a very, very strained place with gabriel - i did talk about their respective relationships with gabe here and v1 here BUT since i just gave like. a couple pages of background reading, i'll summarize real quick!! basically, the ferryman feels betrayed by gabriel's fall, having so idolized him to the point that he was their reason for hope, to continue on in the bleak ocean styx - now he is no better than they are, tearing away the little comfort the ferryman had in their darkness. after all, he is the only angel that offered them that little light, but if he falls then...did it ever mean anything? was he just like them all along? it breaks them to think of him so but it's unbearably painful to lose that promise of salvation no matter how ephemeral it was. as for v1, they initially see it as in instigator of gabriel's fall but they can't ignore it despite the hate they feel because they need to understand what it did to make him lose his way, what it did to gain his love. v1 at first isn't interested in the slightest, but after it faces the ferryman in a fight they instantly grow to understand one another - v1 is an artful combatant, it is an embodiment of an intimate war, and the ferryman is far more capable than they appear, a skilled and brutal husk that challenges v1. soon after, v1's curious nature leads it to investigate the ferryman and they can't deny its paradoxical charm. so. while still rejecting gabriel, they find something of a companion in v1. WHICH...is where they're at when they seek out gabriel after michael has destroyed their ship.

despite their complicated feelings, they have nowhere else to turn that has a possibility of keeping them safe, especially bereft of their holy cloth and as damaged as they are from michael's assault. their mind is hardly clear anyway, in a haze when gabriel's virtues offer them assistance after their initial, automatic recoiling at seeing more angels coming toward them. gabriel has struggled himself with the ferryman's rejection but that doesn't even really register when they're brought to him, bones broken and bleeding with the ferryman themself seeming unable to articulate what's happened. somewhere they feel they can't deserve gabriel's help, not with how they've treated him as he is now, but he gently brings them into his and v1's little home without question. gabriel's kindness, the same he's always had, shines through his darkened armor and freezing hands (he apologizes for it quietly, but they act like a nice ice pack really) as he tends to the ferryman's wounds. his voice is just the same even in the language of hell, melodic and soothing, at turns telling them they'll be safe here and asking how this happened, who did this to them (with a silent promise to protect them from it) even in their daze it takes them offguard, mercifully taking their mind from michael's condemnations to find comfort in gabriel. hope, not the same, but more personal.

v1's much more blunt and nosy than gabe, pestering about what did this with gabe trying to wave it off (it CLEARLY wants to fight whatever was powerful enough to best the ferryman so thoroughly) but...it then asks why the ferryman didn't fight back. their wounds are all defensive, v1 can tell. still they stay silent even as gabriel looks on in much deeper concern, his body tensing in worry that the ferryman can see. they had thought of him as so different, as a demon against the righteous ways of heaven but now...what can they think? what can they do when he is so gentle, when he cares for them and keeps them safe just the way he did so long ago when he first saved them? everything about him feels the same in this moment and it stands in sharp contrast with the treatment they had received from an actual angel. v1 settles down by their side (they must be cold without their cloth, and v1 lets them know it is an EXPERT space heater now) with gabriel not much farther away, their thoughts circling around what could be right or wrong or if it matters. if there's even an answer now. gabriel has fallen but his kindness hasn't diminished in the slightest, while michael acted with immense cruelty yet isn't that what's right? he is the prince of heaven...yet was he? it breaks the ferryman down, they need their answers and somewhere, despite the damage done, they are concerned for the angel that had come to them. in spite of it all, they can't forget the sickness they had seen...the suffering of michael.

and so eventually they ask about him, and once again they see something so different from gabriel than might be expected of a demon. his weariness, his long hesitation in answering, his quiet, worn way of telling them michael is sick. a voice that suddenly reflects gabriel's infinite age, a grief untouchable by human understanding. and he is like them, but not in the way they believed. he is so, so old, so exhausted, yet still moving forward in an abyss that fights against him at every second. in that moment, i think the ferryman first sees gabriel not as an idol nor as an evil, just a being so much older than they can comprehend burdened with their own pain and sorrow. he is not just a holy angel sent from god nor is he just a demon that turned against him - he has had an entire life, an individual existence that is ancient and battered, but that is gabriel. of course. michael is his family, isn't he? not a concept, but two tangible people that have eons of history between them. the ferryman apologizes even as gabriel tells them there is no need. in fact...he is sorry, sorry for their pain and for what they suffered at michael's hands. he will protect hell from this...he will protect the ferryman like he once failed to. all of this serves to encourage the ferryman's quiet reflection, to reckon with the idea that the objects of their worship are alive and dynamic too, not static, constant perfection but instead fully formed with minds, with trouble. it isn't easy to face, but at the very least their heart can open once more to gabriel....and they really need that when they truly begin to process the trauma michael's left them with.

[snorky]

Cupid's Chokehold

Hey y’all! Derek Forbort is someone I’ve always found interesting, he’s just a simple fella it seems and my brain enjoys that fact. Darla, my sweet baby Darla, is a main star in this fluffy fic, and so I hope you all enjoy it! This fic can either be read as platonic or romantic and the title is inspired by the song "Cupid's Chokehold/Breakfast in America" by Gym Class Heroes. Once again, I hope you enjoy this fic and take care of yourself!

Pairing: Derek Forbort x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

—

—

The Massachusetts autumn wasn’t too harsh, surprisingly, with only a couple of rain showers here and there, and nothing more. Leaves on trees were a vibrant mix of golds and oranges and reds, scattered in the air and on the pavement. It was truly, a beautiful day to have a simple walk around the Boston Common.

Grabbing their bag with their book, snacks, and water, they walked from their quaint apartment to the Common, as it was only a few minutes’ commute. The leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked, the traffic bustling on the road beside them with a typical symphony of car horns and an occasional profanity.

They shivered slightly as the wind blew past them, thanking themselves for bringing a heavier jacket, considering how much colder the breeze seemed that day. Nonetheless, it was still a nice day with the sun peeking out through the clouds.

Shortly after, they arrived at the Common, a little less crowded than it would be in the summer, which seemed perfect for them. Families walked around, enjoying the sights, joggers and runners getting in their early dose of exercise, and seniors taking in life, enjoying the beauty in everything.

They sat down underneath a tree, getting comfortable leaning against it, and grabbed their book from their bag. Opening the book, they started reading it, getting lost in the words and stories within. The outside world seemed loud and relentless, and so to have a simple break through a book was more than enough for them.

Unbothered and relaxed, it was automatic for them to seemingly endlessly flip through the pages, immersing themselves in a new world. That was until, a dog came running up beside them, barking playfully and jumping in their lap.

“Oh—” They set their book down beside them and looked at the dog again. “Hi there bud, where are you supposed to be?” Looking at the dog’s collar, it read “Darla” in a sweet font. “Darla? What a cute name you’ve got,” they chuckled softly. The dog looked up at her and wagged its tail, an almost smile it seemed on its face.

A man came running in their direction, holding a leash that seemed to be broken. “I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly. He looked slightly tired, a weary expression on his face. The dog leaped into the arms of the man, getting cozy. “Darla, what are you doing girl?” He scratched the top of her head.

“It’s alright, she wasn’t bothering me.” They smiled. “Darla is so precious,” they added.

The man looked at them and smiled, “She is.” Darla seemed to snuggle deeper into his arms, trying to find warmth as another cool breeze brushed by. “I think I should head back home now,” he sighed. “Poor Darla is getting cold.”

They nodded their head in agreement, “Hope Darla gets nice and warm once she gets home.”

“She will,” he chuckled. Standing there, he wondered if he should tell them his name, but Darla seemed slightly adamant about not wanting to be out in the cold for too long. “Okay, let’s go home, Darla.” He walked away, waving them goodbye, and they did the same.

The next morning, he hoped to bump into the kind stranger again, and by him, he meant Darla bumping into the kind stranger. He grabbed a new, unbroken, leash for Darla, and took her out for a walk again in the Common. Like the usual Boston weather, it was ever changing, and luckily for him, it was slightly warmer outside, meaning Darla could tolerate it slightly better.

When he reached the park, he followed his usual routine of taking her on the path he always took around the Common. It was a slightly busier day in the Common due to the warmer, kinder weather, but nothing too crazy in his opinion. Darla seemed to enjoy the warmer weather, her tail wagging with each step, and a bright look on her face.

“Having fun?” he asked as he looked down at his dog while walking.

He bumped into another person as he wasn’t paying attention, accidentally making them drop their things. “Shoot! I’m sorry about that.” Quickly, he tried to help the other person pick up the things they dropped.

“No worries,”

Recognizing the voice, he looked up and saw the face of the kind stranger he had met the previous day. “Oh, hello,” he said in a friendly manner.

“Hi to you as well,” they responded. “I see Darla is back and happy?” They bent down to her, reaching to pet the top of her head. “You don’t mind if I pet her, right?”

“I don’t mind.” He smiled. They started petting her, making her happy with the attention. 

It was silent in the Common besides the children playing in the distance or old couples reminiscing about their past. The wind blew lightly occasionally, rustling the leaves against the ground or a tree.

He stood there, thinking about whether or not to tell them his name this time, and he decided to do so. “My name is Derek.” He extended his hand out for them to shake.

Grabbing his hand, they shook it, introducing themselves. “It’s nice to meet you, Derek.” They smiled looking up at him. He had short brown hair and a gentle look on his face.

Derek smiled back kindly, “You as well.”

They both continued to chat about the more mundane things in life together, such as living in Boston and their jobs. Sitting on a park bench beside each other, Darla sitting in Derek’s lap, their conversation seemed to flow so smoothly. 

“Yeah, Darla is a sweet Bassett Hound,” he smiled. “I adopted her back when I lived in LA.”

“All the way over on the West Coast?” They said in surprise.

“Yep, moving to Boston was something,” he chuckled.

“Definitely is,” 

Peaceful silence overtook them, allowing the autumn air to truly make itself present in the sight of beautiful foliage in the Common. Darla seemed to fall asleep in Derek’s lap curled up, his hand gently petting her.

“She’s a little sleepy,”

“Don’t move,” they laughed. “If you do, I’ll be upset that you woke up sweet Darla.”

He laughed along with them, finding it nice how easily he got along with them. Derek felt like he could talk to them endlessly and appreciated the company. Plus, he found them to be lovely and pleasant in general, especially when they spoke about their passions.

“Yeah, this book is really good.” They held the book in their hands, showing him the front cover. “I’ve been reading it for the past few days and let me tell you, the plot is beyond what it seems,”

Smiling at them, he made a mental note to check out the book sometime soon. “I’ll read it to Darla,”

“For Darla!”

They both laughed together, inadvertently waking up Darla, and they decided to go on with their day. Exchanging numbers, they decided to stay in contact with each other.

“Well, I need to run some errands, hope I talk to you again Derek.” They smiled.

“You too, Darla will miss you greatly,”

[vvatchword]

Chapter 1: Take the Head

You remember Pa teaching you how to pop the head off of a chicken. You weren’t very big yet, maybe five. You had always been taught to treat the animals with respect, so it jarred you to yank the chicken up by the throat. The chicken flapped and kicked; the golden eye latched on yours, a panicked pinpoint.

You couldn’t break her neck. You tried and you tried but you just rubbed her throat in a circle over and over like you were trying to give her an Indian burn. She frantically scratched your arm up and down, her beak gaping in a terrified pant. You know now that you could have done it easily—a chicken’s spine is little more resistant than a dry stick or a pencil—but that was just the problem: she wasn’t either of those things.

Then Pa took her from you, wrapped his fist around the throat, and popped the head clean off. He held the head out to you. The eyes had closed. The lids were soft and pink. Her face was peaceful. Her body still kicked.

“See?” he said. “Easy. She didn’t feel a thing.”

There was blood on Pa’s hands. When he pointed out the cockerel for you to try again, there was blood on your hands, too.

** You aren’t much of a conversationalist. You’ve gone on dates where you barely spoke a word. Your coworkers don’t know your name. You work in a factory line, screwing in one piece at a time. Dull work, monotonous work. Lets your brain run on its own time at its own pace.

You like to remember lists during such times. Pa taught you about something called a “mind palace,” a detailed map you build in your mind and store thoughts inside of. Somehow recall is easier when you can imagine them in a physical space. You store your shopping lists there. You also store guns—lists about makes, models, ammunition.

Guns have been a special interest of yours since childhood. You would save pages out of the Sears catalog as a child and tape them on the wall so you saw them when you woke up. You were fascinated how they went together and would draw them in their disparate parts before drawing them put together again. You liked drawing them from all different angles just to admire the geometry. You checked out books on guns from the library so often that the librarian started setting aside new offerings for you. You had never been able to own guns of your own, but you practiced with your father’s Mark I Sturm Ruger and the old .22. You could ping prairie dogs like a pro.

You like to think that eventually, you’ll buy one of your own. You know just the model—the BAR, or Browning Automatic Rifle—full-aut, carried by Bonnie and Clyde, running second-fiddle to the M1 Garand throughout World War II. When you repeat the gun list, you think “BAR” before any of the others; it is the highest honor you can bestow.

You like monotony for the same reason you like lists. There’s something relaxing about rhythms. It’s like music, like dance. You can’t dance, of course—you never learned. You don’t own a record player, either—you don’t spend money on frivolous things. The Depression is still a heavy black cloud in the back of your mind. You lived on a farm, so your belly never went empty, but you also didn’t grow up wearing shoes.

You are 28. Or is it 29? It’s been a while since you’ve thought about your birthday. It’s on July 3. “Our independence baby,” someone said. It may have been Pa, but you don’t remember exactly; you were very small. You do remember Ma replying that it was one day off and they weren’t in America anyway, so it didn’t count. You were disappointed for some reason; sure, you know it doesn’t make a difference either way, but it would be nice to have something special that was just your own. Oh, Ma and Pa told you you were going to do great things someday—that’s something you could believe when you were, say, eight. But then you had to make your way in the world and all the world offered was a factory line, a small dark room, and the weather. It’s hard to believe in anything magnificent at the bottom of a hole.

**

You live in sparsely-furnished rooms in cheap apartments near the ocean. On weekdays, you make your bed, eat breakfast (eggs, toast, coffee with cream), shave, dress, go to work (screw, screw, screw), come home and turn on the radio (evening news, then whatever entertainment strikes your fancy, usually action and adventure programs), drink a beer while completing the evening ablutions (wash dishes, pack lunch for tomorrow, shower, set alarm clock, read evening edition in bed until you get tired).

Sometimes you go to your neighbor’s to watch their television in exchange for a beer; you sit side by side and quietly drink as Lucy gambols and the laugh track rolls. On Saturdays, you go shopping for the household essentials and stand in lines while the grocer bags produce and the butcher cuts your lunch meat.

If it’s nice enough, you walk down to the ocean to stretch your legs. It’s not a pretty place by any means; a sodden gray beach where colorless rushes thrust insistent heads and sun-bleached shells lie. In winter, it’s even more dreary; the Atlantic is a sullen gray sweep and the nasty cold steals your breath. It’s the kind of cold that makes you feel wet and heavy even if you haven’t touched water.

You have never felt as though the sea is a nice place; you distinctly remember deciding this back when you first entered the town. Even in the summer, when the water is glassy green and the beach crowded with tourists, you feel as though the sea is a vast and apathetic monster—apocalyptic in size, in scale, in potential. Apocalyptic: you don’t go to church, but that’s the word that comes to you. The sea feels as though it should be the focus of worship, the kind of thing you sacrifice to; you’ve never held much by spiritual claptrap, but you will grant one place worthy of godhood.

You did not grow up near the sea. You grew up in Kansas, a land so flat you used to roll up papers like spyglasses and try to see Japan. You moved to the coast of New Jersey because you’d wanted to see the ocean. No—no, it may well have been because of the factory job. They do pay well and they probably printed something in the help ads. A family friend in New York often sends newspaper clippings with his letters just to be of service. Yes, that would make a great deal more sense: “I heard Jack is looking for a job,” he’d say. “Here are some local ones that are right up his alley.”

Yes, now that you think about it, that’s exactly what happened. The sea was a bonus—until you saw it. But how were you to know what the sea was really like until you went there? It’s too bad someone couldn’t have told you.

Sometimes you think you should move away, but learning new routines is such a pain that you just put up with it. Someday you’ll probably get tired enough to leave. The way the cold weaponizes itself with humidity tires you down to your bones.

You know, you haven’t thought of the family friend in a while. What was his name again? Joe? Jim? John? One of those common names. You’ll have to check your address book. It’s been a while since you’ve heard from him. You should write sometime to make sure he’s all right.

For that matter, you haven’t heard from your parents. When did they last write? Hell! Maybe it’s your turn to write. Yes, it’s your turn to write for certain; that would explain why you haven’t received any letters recently. You do tend to forget minutiae with the humdrum flow of everyday life. Your parents are older now; you know better than to leave them without a word every now and then. Your mother must be worried sick.

You decide to purchase some stationery and stamps that weekend, but you forget until the invitation comes, and by that time, it’s far too late. You didn’t know that then, of course. You didn’t know much of anything, if you have to be honest.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[brilliantdisguises]

im only writing this so the thoughts stop rotating around my brain, but i do think tumblr introducing a "view this persons blog in a standard dash/theme view" is a good thing.

i dont think its good that they are making it opt-in to actually be able to view a blog as a seperate page. (hey i just realised, theyve fixed it so going to [yourblog].tumblr.com actually recognises the fact that you are logged in) (so its clear this is a part of tumblr they are really working on rn)

ANYWAYS my original point is that some of your blog themes are incredibly inacessible and just straight up bad website design. "omg its the best part of tumblr, getting to design/customise your own blog!!" (has a fully unusable blog). sure yes theres an artistic point to be made about designing something specific to you, and maybe you dont want other people to be able to easily view all your stuff. ok, fair. but i dont think this is the case with most people.

the new blog view makes it so much easier to see content in a way thats guaranteed to be the same as you're used to, and clearly be able to interact with it. ofc because its tumblr it still has issues (not showing/being able to access peoples additional pages on mobile, automatically using their terrible "search" feature rather than searching through user-given tags, etc etc).

i ALSO have a lot of the same issues with peoples carrds. i think alot of it is just from inexperience with designing such a thing, and actually thinking about How someone is going to use it. (i.e. how you can move from one page to the other). and then tied into that is not thinking/caring about accessibility: having random images be links with no explanation, no alt text, tiny/complex fonts etc etc.

its difficult to make something look nice while it also being able to work properly. i really dont know where im going here but i needed to write something and then never think about this <3 OH maybe my final point is: have a look at some resources for designing websites, and designing for accessibility before you design a website.

[hoghtastic]

My response to:

"A message to Johanne’s ass kissers like Rachel, alex.andersen.love and alex.hogh.fans and so on : look at Alex being her little lapdog accessory for attention on social media 😂. And he is always the one admiring her or kissing her. Her trophy. Look at her very veeeery arrogant selfie video. Enjoy guys enjoy supporting her hahaha 😆 a very very sweet person 😂😂😂 "

First of all, you don't know me. So don't pretend to know my reasons for posting and/or commenting anything. If you have a right to dislike, not support, or even hate Alex and/or Johanne, then I sure as f*ck have a right to do just the opposite! I don't judge you as a person or call you all names or automatically think you're ignorant for not liking or supporting them. So why is that what you do because I do like and/or support them? Don't come on here and talk about how you hate someone being a bully, but then you attempt to bully others yourself! If you have a problem with me, my inbox is OPEN! Come to me directly instead of coming here and talking shit anonymously. Grow a pair! I'm just here, waiting. 👋🏼

And if you want to know which of the 3 that you mentioned is me, why does it really matter if we're all the same "ass kissers?" We can't think individually for ourselves, right? 🙄

And furthermore, apparently, I've done something right. YOU think poorly of ME, but you're still looking at my damn page! So thanks for that!

Anon to anon, in response to this ask. 😊

While I do recognize your right to reply, now that it's been done, I am once again reminding everyone to try and keep the conversation on topic, refraining from exchanging personal attacks. If I may add my two cents, I do think that rather than criticizing someone for disliking/liking them, it's much more productive to discuss one's reasons for doing so, for example. The inbox is always open for everyone, so if the posts are mostly negative, it's because those who have positive things to say aren't sharing them here. Which would also be nice for a change and promote (civil) discussion, instead of "demonizing" this blog, while still discussing its content elsewhere. (This is just a general consideration, and not intended at the sender in particular.)

[huntingbounties]

the-blackest-spider​:

Continued from here @huntingbounties

She can never tell when it happens, just like now she realizes at some point along the way, Roman had found his way under layers she had built up over time, some on purpose and some without even realizing it. He had become important to her, and she found she missed him when he wasn’t there, she worried about him when she didn’t at least get some kind of communication or heard about him. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, but she wasn’t going to stop it either.

The sudden embrace surprises her, he had caught her off guard which wasn’t an easy feat. She could feel the tension of his fingers, how his breath made him shake against her. Her arms had automatically moved, returning the gesture and she let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He was warm, solid and so very real. Natasha didn’t resist the urge to turn her face and bury it in the crook of his neck. She inhaled his scent deeply, memorizing it. She notes how his voice vibrates in his chest and two words that speak the amount of a thousand pages. She wonders if he realizes what he’s saying, and how desperately she wants to believe it, but logically, what they did, it was a nice dream, but one she was more than happy to exist in, reality be damned at least for now, in this moment.

As wonderful as his arms were around her, and the lofty promise he spoke, standing here in the open like this, with whatever he had in that duffel bag wasn’t the smartest of things, but all the same, she lingered a little longer, before pulling back slowly and pressing a warm, gentle kiss on his cheek. She’d like to do more, kiss him again, but it was enough for the moment.

“Thank you.”

Those two words left her softly, in a whisper, and the emotion they carried showed in her features, in those ever sharp green eyes, and she smiles for him, that rarely seen soft expression, that only the privileged few had ever witnessed the existence of.

“Let’s keep moving.”

She resists the urge to touch that mystery bag of his, she knows she can figure out or at least get a better idea of its contents by weight, but she respects the unwritten rules of the world they both existed in and whatever that bag was, was his business unless he made her privy to it.

   Roman was never really good at looking far ahead. He was very much one to live in the moment and to stretch it as long as he could. The path they led didn’t guarantee a tomorrow, that much was certain, but that didn’t mean they had to live in fear. As they embraced, he took her all in. Her warmth, the way her body shape compared to his own, and the beautiful red locks he’d grown so attached to. It all stuck in his head. He couldn’t see her emerald eyes at the moment, though his memory fit them into the image perfectly.

    She was there. She was always there. A map in his head that he refreshed over and over, no matter how far he went. Now? Distance was the last thing on his mind.

     As she pulled away and gave him a kiss, he couldn’t help the little bite he gave to his lip in slight embarrassment. For a man that had lived a life such as his own, he still felt himself blushing like a child. 

    “Aye aye, captain,” he muttered with a little tinge of playfulness before he swooped his bag back over his shoulder. A part of his mind lingered on how she thought he had a head in his bag. She wasn’t far off from his kind of antics, but he knew better than to do such a thing. 

     They soaked through the fabric far too fast.

      “My place, right?”

[eileen-crys]

Hello here are some soft weekend thoughts for you about John's letter to the fanclub in March 1996– he spends about a third of it talking about his family, and although it sounds like illness had been causing stress and difficulty, it's heartening to think about the way he writes about his life.

'I am mainly involved with looking after the children at home. We've had a bad winter with our youngest having a lot of trouble with his ears. It's been a difficult time, but he seems to be getting over it now.'

He doesn't even need to refer to Veronica by name for us to know how much of a team they are: it is "our" youngest he refers to, and the winter that has just passed has been a season "we" have had, rather than simply "I". It feels to me like it's completely natural for him to write about his life as a thing he shares with another person. He's writing in the same way someone would send an update to a family friend – despite having told us so little about her (!) he assumes that familiarity with us because, I think, it's automatic for him to conceptualise himself as part of a unit. And yes it's been rough but this unit has weathered the storm, and now the sun is on its way 🌤️

Aw thank you for this message anon! 🥺🥺🥺💕💕💕

Your insight into John's letter is so sweet, I've never really thought about it but you're right, the way he shifts from singular to plural when getting more into detail of what's going on about his family is very kind of him 💖 On the same issue of the fanclub magazine there's also his "50 questions", which has always sounded very gloomy and unwelcomed from his side, as he clearly didn't want to answer. Perhaps he struggled and was stressed also because of his son's health issues, which can be very draining, so it's nice to read him writing things are getting better. (This is my speculation obviously)

The Queen fanclub's magazine did mention Veronica more than once and as far as I can remember they announced Joshua, Luke and Cameron's birth on their pages, also comforting the fans about Veronica's well-being, so it's fair to think John is writing as to a friend who knows who he's talking about 😊 That's really cute, I agree!

Just to complete the infos: here is the letter from 1996 and down I also added the announcement of Cameron's birth I mentioned, thanks to @natromanxoff for all the magazine's scans!

[blackbat05]

I need a break

Shangqi x Reader (Platonic) 

A/N: I feel like I’m loosing steam towards the end of my placement and wow I have never needed a break this badly before. Perhaps a short Shangqi x Reader imagine where they are both University students. Seriously at this rate I’ll just be solely a Shangqi writer HAHAHA. Doing this on my phone because I don’t want to open my work computer. Let’s see where this impromptu idea takes me to. Hope you enjoy it and as always like and comment if you wish!

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: None really, just friends supporting each other! I guess there’s an inaccurate timeline if you look at the MCU but hey this is an imagine plus if you look at some of the wiki pages, Shangqi is actually born in 1998/1999. So appreciate if you’re kind enough to go with the flow to read this comfort fic! 

‘Y/N!’ Shangqi rushes to catch up with you after class. You made an effort to conceal your tiredness but he saw it right through. ‘Gosh…you alright?’

You think to yourself. Were you really alright? The answer was pretty obvious. You were ten weeks into your placement and your emotions were a jumbled up mess. Having to deal with work responsibilities was one problem, school assignments were another issue all together. At this point, you felt like you were just getting through each week for the sake of it.

At first, you believed that what you were going through was simply a transition to becoming an adult. You thought that naturally, you would be able to persevere through the stressful periods by yourself. But of course, it has been hard.

You were a social work intern at a neighborhood youth centre, thirty minutes away if you took the train and bus. The work was fulfilling in it’s own ways, but recently there were self-doubts filling your brain, if you were really cut out for the job in the future. If you weren’t, what else could you do?

As you sat with Shangqi in the school’s student-ran cafe, you found yourself pouring out the exact same concerns to him. Credit to him, Shangqi never interrupted your monologue, he just simply listened. That’s what best friends were for. That’s what you did for him to when he ran into issues with his family.

Even then, he couldn’t deny that hearing you doubt yourself broke his heart. He had known you since high school. You mostly kept to yourself and one or two close friends. Despite joining the school’s athletic team where you were one of the main athletes, you preferred to stay in the shadows unlike some of your teammates. That didn’t stop you from going out of your way to help other students in need; like helping the girl who was in an arm cast to copy the social studies notes, even if it meant you had to do it twice. Or maybe just talking to a friend who was stressed out about their results.

Basically, you had studied your ass off to get a secured spot at this university who were only one of the few that offered the degree. He remembers you telling him the moment you got your offer, ‘I’m finally good at something. I don’t have to worry anymore!’

Shangqi wasn’t stupid. The pandemic had done some crazy things. And by crazy, it affected the self-esteem that you had been working so hard on by participating in various projects and events, with you being in charge of a drama production that was promoting on mental health. That was a big deal considering that you were a major introvert.

Online engagement was never easy. In fact he has heard some of your struggles that you’ve shared with him regarding this and it only makes him admire you even more. For someone who preferred to keep to themselves, stepping out of one’s comfort zone, to take on a role that wasn’t just simply about helping people - that took guts.

‘I’m sorry I’m just loading you with all this. I just feel…’ You trailed off, suddenly becoming emotional again. Again, Shangqi does not pry. ‘That I can’t do anything right.’ You emphasize that you had ended the statement for you were unsure that you could keep your cool if you had tried to continue on.

‘If I hear you saying sorry another time,’ he chides, ‘you’re paying for our meal later.’ Your lips curved upwards slightly before returning to its somber position. Shangqi decides that a meal won’t cut it. He needs to deploy ‘Operation Y/N’. Standing up with your buzzer to collect the food, Shangqi whips out his phone. There will be a few changes for today.

Food was definitely a cure in this situation, but it was only a part of the solution. After inhaling your ramen at light speed, Shangqi tells you that today will be a different Friday. ‘And you can’t complain! It’ll be a weekend tmr,’ he tells you. So why not? You figured that even if you went back home early, your head wouldn’t be in the right place to complete the essay for your English module.

‘Hold up! The VR studio that Katy was talking about?’ You look at the tickets inside the taxi that was taking you and Shangqi to the location. ‘How did you even, it was so hard to get these tickets!’ From the time Shangqi met you outside the classroom, he had yet to see you so ecstatic. Until now.

‘Well,’ Shangqi gives his best shrug. ‘I called in a favor from a friend. Said that it was for emergency purposes.’ He raised his fingers to make connotations in the air much to your amusement.

‘Wow… just how much do I not know about you Mr Popular?’ You teased. Shangqi decides to leave the fact on him having to persuade the Wakandan Princess in giving him free tickets.

‘Please! I swear whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it! It’s for Y/N!’

‘Ey well why didn’t you say so? If it’s for that nice friend, of course!’ Shuri leaves the entrance of the compound, an exasperated Shangqi trailing behind.

Yeah, the VR studio that Katy told them about was also funded by King T’Challa himself. With stunning life like visuals thanks to Wakandan technology, the VR studio was located in a middle class neighborhood. T’Challa believed that no matter where kids came from, they should have the right to enjoy and to explore the world. For now, he wasn’t ready to share that he was on the way on becoming a full-fledged Avenger yet - you just had too much on your plate. He’ll just have to settle with this white lie.

‘Is Katy coming?’ You were on the verge of vibrating off your seat. ‘She would love this place!’ Even when you were struggling, Y/N still manages to think about other people. Today, Y/N will put her needs first.

As if to answer your previous question, you can see an equally excited Katy waiting for the two of you at the roundabout. ‘HEL-LO EVERYONE! LET’S GET OUR FRIDAY STARTED IN PROPER SHALL WE?’ Her loud voice had attracted stares, some very displeased looks too but at this point in time, you didn’t give a damn. Katy was right, it was time to enjoy!

You wished that you could slow down time, or even replay it continuously when you needed cheering up because the only thing you felt was pure happiness - euphoria even. Your stomach was in knots for laughing hysterically together with Katy when Shangqi jumped in shock from a surprise scare from a zombie. ‘I’m keeping that for leverage,’ she tells you, quietly slipping her phone into her fanny pack. 

The Wakandans had really outdone themselves this time. Your favorite VR was the paradise VR. Slipping the headgear, you say goodbye to the smiles of Katy and Shangqi, whisking away to a beach that oddly reminded you of your dream destination - Hawaii. From where you were standing, you were surrounded by green and majestic islands. Despite their sheer size, you weren’t intimidated. In fact, you were healing. 

Your mind was no longer in the room of the VR studio. How could it when the sun kissed your skin, giving you the much needed energy that you were lacking for so long? In the room, the two sees you kick your shoes to the side, going barefoot. It may have seem strange, but with the monitor beside you, your actions were perfectly logical. 

As a kid, you used to despise the prickly feeling of sand in between your toes. But now, you grew to love the sensation that each grain of sand had on your skin. It made you feel grounded, that everything was going to be ok. You raise your virtual hand to touch your face - were you crying? 

‘She must have been really stressed huh?’ Katy whispers to Shangqi who nods in return. How he hated the fact that you were giving so much to your work but still felt underappreciated. Forget the Avengers with superhuman abilities, you were the true MVP. The VR ends and you remove your headgear. ‘I’m ok,’ you automatically reassure them despite the dry tears left on both cheeks. You step down the platform slowly, trying to regain sense of the real world. 

What you didn’t expect was the two embracing you in a hug, squishing you in between them. Maybe that had set off the waterworks. For someone like Katy, she had sage advice.

‘Life can be pretty shitty right? But I’m so proud of you fighting it Y/N. Just remember that it’s ok to be weak. I mean, I’ve seen worse from Shangqi,’ she jabs her finger towards his direction, earning a glare from him. That’s Katy, always trying to add a bit of humor to this grey world. Calming down, you let go of the both of them. ‘Thanks guys, for everything.’ 

‘Hey,’ Shangqi responds, slinging his arm over your shoulder. ‘We’re friends, so we don’t leave each other behind.’ Phone beeping, he retrieves it to check the message. ‘And look at that, nice timing. Who wants Korean BBQ?’ 

Trailing behind them, you get an amusing view of Shangqi bickering with Katy on how many Soju bottles she’s allowed to order later. As San Francisco welcomed the night, you were just thankful that you had the two of them to walk through this crazy maze called life. 

‘Last one to the shop is paying!’ 

‘Oh you’re on Mister!’  

A/N: I really just think that this was also an imagine for me to cope too. So I can only hope to finish my placement/assignments/exams well! To anyone who does studies and work simultaneously, I fucking respect you (allow me to use expletives for now, these people deserve the respect). If you’re going through a stressful time, I hope this brings the slightest comfort for you and remember… YOU ARE NOT ALONE! Again, thank you for reading! 

[permafusion-stevonnie]

So this idea isn’t leaving my head. While I’m not going to get it started for now, since I want to concentrate on my current Stevonnie comic, ideas are still ticking away and I just really wanted to draw this cover for the idea.

Maybe I’ll get its own page started in time. I’ll let you know if I do. But even if I did, I wouldn’t expect regular updates to it, not while I’m working on Together Forever.

I want to quickly say something that I think some people may have gotten confused about when I was talking about the Fallout Universe before:

Crystal Gems are still called Crystal Gems, but their role is similar, but not the same as the Brotherhood of Steel. In that they are isolationists, who will try to protect humanity from dangerous gem technology, and corrupted gems. they aren’t bothered with human mutants, human problems, or human technology. But I feel that, ove time, Steven will help their character growth away from this and help them, at least, start opening up to the local comminuty and helping where they can.

Homeworld Authority is still called Homeworld, or The Authority, but take on a similar role to the Enclave. They view themselves as the rightful masters of earth and they’re automatically more superior to any other lifeform by birthright.

I have been thinking over what could have occurred to create this world, how’s this for a (work in progress) backstory: (ended up a lot longer than I thought it would, so I’m space saving by putting in this break)

The Gem colonisation of earth happened later than it did in canon. A couple of thousand years, maybe. Unlike the 6000 years ago in canon, it was perhaps 5000, or maybe 4000 years ago. Enough for a bigger human civilisation to take part in the gem war for earth.

Pink still gets her colony started, still changes her mind about it, and finally chooses to become Rose Quartz to lead the rebellion. I think the human zoo will still be made, because I like the idea of that being around to give a mash-up of the human zoo and the mother ship zeta dlc from Fallout 3.

What really diverges from the timeline is when the rebellion starts fighting back with larger groups of human allies. 4000 (or 5000) years ago we are talking some good military strategies, chariots, bows and arrows, cavalries and tactics, etc. Some research will be needed to really flesh out the lore.

Homeworld, facing a bigger threat than a hundred or so rebels, puts a little more effort into research and development of newer technologies to counteract the human strategies. Nothing develops technologies quite like war.

Rose and the others start capturing some technologies from Homeworld and start studying them to not only understand them, but even attempting to reverse engineer them. They obviously won’t be able to replicate the weapons in form, but hope to do so in function.

This is where Scribes would come in for the Crystal Gems are the replacement for the Brotherhood of Steel that I’ve talked about before. Some Gems and some clever humans, would dedicate themselves to trying to understand the newer Gem technology they’re starting to see.

With inventive people like Bismuth to build their own version of it.

The actual Gem Technology will be locked away in the temple- or whatever name I may give it- but the remake versions that the Crystal Gems turn out will be spread far and wide.

I’m just thinking off the top of my head, but it’d be like- if they tried to make their own version of the gem destabiliser, it would be like a giant tuning fork hooked up to something similar to a large Baghdad Battery (google it, it’s kinda cool) that they would carry in a backpack.

The war would carry on like that, with Homeworld making new tech to combat the threat, sooner or later the rebellion captures some, they make their own version of it, and Homeworld makes new tech to combat the threat.

This drain on resources does take its toll on Homeworld though, and their war against earth is perhaps much shorter, between 300 and 800 years, I haven’t decided yet.

Things do play out similar to canon though. Homeworld decides to abandon earth as a lost cause, implant the Cluster so they’ll get something out of the deal and the three Diamonds blast the earth with their powers as a final middle finger to the rebels.

Gems are destroyed, except for the original Crystal Gems, and Bismuth! Canon Bismuth made a lot of regular weapons and armour and the rebellion was still losing. She was driven to making the Breaking Point because she didn’t think they had a chance of winning any other way. In this new canon, however, because Bismuth was working on newer and newer weapons all the time, each one she was confident would help turn the tide of the war, she never had chance to work on the ultimate weapon of the Breaking Point. She may have designed it, or may have the idea kicking around the back of her mind, but never got around to building it. 

Rose does her thing of finding somewhere isolated to live in both peace and regret for the war. This is where the Crystal Gems become isolationists

With the Gems gone, humans are left to their own devices with all this more advanced technology than they should have in this point in history. Tech continues to develop with this head start.

Fast forward to the year 1929 and people are living lives as you’d see in the Fallout universe in the 2070′s. Nuclear fulled cars, robot assistants, laser rifles and power armour and all that other stuff.

The reason I chose 1929 is two-fold. The first Fallout game was set 84 years after the nuclear war, and 84 years after 1929 is the year 2013; the year Steven Universe first aired.

The failing of the world is the same reason the Fallout universe failed. Resources started to become scarce, wars started over what remained and the whole thing was escalated by a race that may have been too young to fully understand the forces they were really dealing with, having come a long way, but still too fast, thanks to the ancient interference.

Nuclear hellfire rained down and some people took their shelter in the vaults, while everyone else had to find ways to survive outside.

Rose and the Gems stick to their isolation as humanity all but wipes itself out. Rose is heartbroken to see the beautiful world that she fought so hard for, so easily destroyed. There can be a lot to explore there. Maybe Rose will leave the group, maybe she’ll just wander off and be alone a lot but still return to the temple eventually. I haven’t decided yet.

Perhaps all the gems will have some additional guilt, knowing that their old tech is what pushed humanity so far so fast.

Fast forward 70 years and Rose meets a travelling wastelander named Greg. They fall in love. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail here mostly because I haven’t really thought too much about it, but partly because I know I want it to be explored within the story itself to show how different from canon it would be. Not just the flashback elements from “Story for Steven,” and "We Need to Talk," with a Fallout flair. I want to work out some other nice adventures to bring them together.

Rose and Greg come back to Beach City with Rose expecting their baby.

Steven is born and the Gems immediately take custody, with the logic that their secure base is a better place for Steven to grow up than the harsh wasteland. Greg is allowed to visit as often as he likes, but not stay there. Nor is Steven allowed off the base. They want to protect the legacy of their leader, Rose.

I’m going to say that Steven starts showing hints of Gem powers around 10 years old. Nothing he can control. Perhaps his Gem glows when he’s really happy, if he falls down some steps his bubble forms but immediately pops so it’s just enough to save him from injury. Little things like that.

But this serves as a point where The Gems start “encouraging” Greg to visit less and leave the raising of Steven to them, as his upbringing has now become “Gem Business”

Steven may have snuck off the base once or twice to see the world beyond the base, but after this he’ll do it a lot more often to see his dad and the Beach City settlement.

I think Bismuth suspects he sneaks off but both can’t prove it, and doesn’t want to try and prove it, Garnet knows but says nothing, both of them are letting Steven have his fun, and Pearl has no idea he does it.

Amethyst is not part of the group in the beginning, she’s out as part of a raider gang somewhere. Thank you to theyarheeguy for giving me that idea, and many others, to work with.

A total of 84 years after the bombs dropped, Steven is now 12 years old, sneaking off the base for another visit to town, when he spots a pretty young girl dressed in a strange blue jumpsuit, emerging from a hidden trapdoor that was underneath the old Beach City water-tower.

Steven is 12 because I believe that’s how old he was when the show started. Based on the timeline, the passing of the seasons and so on, he has to have a 13th birthday that we don’t see on screen, before we do see his 14th birthday.

[luna--reading]

[PICK A CARD] WHAT IS THE PERSON ON YOUR MIND’S THOUGHTS, FEELINGS AND INTENTIONS TOWARDS YOU?

Hello lovelies~ ♡

This is a pick a card reading for “what is their thoughts, feelings and intentions towards you”. Think of a person and note that this is a timeless reading and you’re meant to see this right now! Please do find peace if it doesn’t resonate with you~ ♡

So take a few minutes to mediate on these 4 piles:

Left to right: 1 - 4

Once you’re ready, just scroll below to find the reading that you have chosen!

You can always leave a comment or simply like the post if it resonates with you, thank you so much~ ♡♡♡

Pile 1:

Tarot: The Star, 6 of Pentacles, 10 of Wands

Oracle: PEACEFUL RESOLUTION // TAKE ACTION

Emotions are a natural and necessary part of life, but they can also distort your perception and cloud your vision. In order to see things clearly, you must let go of resentment.

HEALING – Imagine yourself and your beloved surrounded by light. Feel your relationship being healed this very moment.

You may not always understand why certain things happen, however there is always a higher purpose to the events in your life. Through turmoil, a blessing will soon be revealed.

Deep in your heart, you already know the answer. DO what feels right.

Okay, darling, I feel like your person thinks very highly of you. I feel like there is this sense of seeing you as someone who is very popular, very well-known, someone who is like the shining bright star in the night sky. They definitely think very highly of you and in fact, I feel like they see you as a very healing energy. I do feel that this person might have some heavy burdens on them, be it if it’s within this connection or outside of this connection, and that your connection with him has definitely helped them to heal past traumas and hurt. It’s like upon interaction with you, they are kind of forced to see their shadow side which they have been avoiding for so long. Or that previously they would have avoided, but now, it’s like your energy has allowed them to face this shadow side and to start healing from their past. I do feel that they definitely see you as someone who is very generous. And that they are feeling apologetic for how they have treated you in the past. They want to make it up to you. They understand that it was their problem in the past and that they want to make up all of the hurts that they have caused upon you. It’s like maybe this person has ran away or pulled out of this connection, ghosted or blocked you and it kind of make you question yourself what is it that you’ve done wrong. But darling, it wasn’t you, it was them. And they now know that they were the issue. I feel like maybe deep down you’ve understood this point as well, but you’ve been so understanding of their circumstances and continuously being that supportive and healing energy around them. I’m sorry is what I’m hearing and I feel like they do have some inner work that they have to do first. But I definitely do see them coming in again, darling, and I feel like they would apologise for whatever wrongs that they have done to you in the past. It’s honestly up to you if you want to take them back into your life, but darling, there will be a peaceful resolution for this connection eventually. And if this is someone that you are currently with, they want you to give them a bit more time, they will soon open up why they’ve been acting this way. They have some inner work and inner healing to do first, but they truly hope that you will continue to be the supportive and caring energy around them for now, till they are ready to come in. And like I’ve mentioned, it’s truly up to you darling, but this peaceful resolution will help you to restore certain balance in your life. Whatever wrong will be corrected, and this person will come forward and offer this apology to you.

Pile 2:

Tarot: Queen of Swords, Page of Swords, Justice

Oracle: LET GO // IN THE NEAR FUTURE // TRUST

Look deep within your heart and you will feel my love. My love for you is as deep as the ocean.

Let there be closeness between you but always give each other space. Love never claims, it simply allows and gives.

SURRENDER – At times we must surrender the old before something new can enter our lives. Let go and all will work out.

Give thanks for the blessings of love soon to come your way. Know that you deserve to be and have all that your heart truly desires.

Now, darling, there is a lot of air energies here, so either you or your person has strong air in your charts. Else, I’m also getting the message that this person thinks of you a lot. And I do feel that they will never admit it but they definitely think of you a lot. I feel like they definitely see you as someone who knows what you want. You are intelligent, smart, and you set those healthy boundaries. You don’t let others take advantage of you, as naïve or as pure you might seem to be on the outside. They definitely do feel that below that pure and innocent image, you are someone who is very strong and tough and you know what exactly you want so you don’t let others get the best of you. This person, if it’s a romantic interest, does have interest in you but they don’t seem to express it. Or they might be afraid to express it because they are afraid that you don’t feel the same way for them or that they feel like they might get hurt while expressing themselves on a very emotional level. If this is the case, note that this is someone who might have been hurt previously or they might feel inferior towards you and that they feel like they can’t express themselves on a very emotional level towards you. And if this is a platonic connection, I do feel that they find you to be very intriguing. It’s like how can someone who just seems so nice, but deep down, you just don’t tolerate bullshit. And you know what is it that you want. They want to learn from you, especially in regards to your attitude and they are very amazed at your own standards and how you set those standards not just for the people around you, but for yourself as well. I feel like in regards to their intentions, this honestly can be a 50 – 50. I do feel for those who are asking about a romantic interest, this person is more so trying to leave it to the divine. I feel like as much as they do have feelings for you (and honestly, I’m seeing deep feelings here, but maybe they themselves don’t really understand them right now), they are just going to surrender and leave it to the divine. I do feel that they might feel that they are not worthy of you, or that they might not be your cup of tea as well. I also do feel that another group of them, is more so waiting for a sign from the Universe, or maybe it’s from you as well. I feel like they want to know how you feel and that they are trusting in the Universe that if this is really meant to be, there will be a sign from the Universe. So, I do feel that they are going to let go of control issues and trust the signs that are coming in for them. Regardless, this person’s intentions are very much focus on the divine. It’s like if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. And I feel like if this is a friend that you are asking for, they definitely do feel that this connection is going to be long-term. And I feel like they definitely see you in their life in the long run. If there has been a falling out with this friend, they are currently trying to release certain past karmas, and in the near future, things are going to come together. I do feel that the Universe is also asking you to have faith and trust in this connection that it is going to withstand the obstacle of time, darling!

Pile 3:

Tarot: 8 of Pentacles, 7 of Pentacles, 6 of Wands

Oracle: WITHIN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS // COMPROMISE

MANIFESTING MIRACLES – Your dream is soon to become reality. Trust your heart and continue to follow its guidance.

WAIT! – Don’t rush into it. Allow nature to take its course.

FORGIVENESS – Stop focusing your energy on past events, for life is too precious to waste. You create your reality by what you think, dream and imagine.

TRUST – Transformation occurs through acceptance. Once you accept the current situation, it will automatically transform.

Okay, darling, there is a lot of pentacles energy here, so maybe work is significant for you and this person, or that maybe both of you met at work. But the overall idea I’m getting is that this connection has been very slow-moving but very stable as well. I feel like it just feels like nothing much has changed within this connection on the surface, but actually a lot of things have changed deep down, in a good way. Because only by doing so, can you then build things on a more solid and stable ground. I do feel that this person definitely sees you as someone who is very hardworking. So, especially if both of you work in the same place, they definitely admire and appreciate the hard work that you put into your work and your job. I do feel that if this is a romantic interest, this person’s feelings are growing in a very slow but steady manner for you. And it’s so slow to the point that I honestly don’t feel like they actually understand how much you mean to them. I feel like they might have been pretty used to having you around. I do feel that these feelings are constantly growing and that maybe you’ve been manifesting this person as well. And if you’ve been trying to manifest this person, the angels want you to know that your dream is soon to become a reality but you have to trust this process and that everything is going to unfold itself. And I’m seeing it happening within the next 6 – 8 weeks, honestly. I feel like things are going to progress quicker as time goes by as well. And if this is a friend you’re asking about, I feel like they definitely feel that this connection is worth the investment and that they are seeing this connection going to continue in the long run as well. I do feel that they see you as a miracle in their life and they are very grateful and thankful to have you in their lives. I do feel that for most of you, things are really going to start to progress and improve within the next few weeks, 4 weeks, I am hearing. Else, it could be within the next 6 – 8 weeks. Summer seems to be a very significant season here as well. I just feel that for those who are asking for a romantic interest, this person is going to come forward. And I feel like they want to bring forth certain success and victory into this connection. I feel like if this person hasn’t been very balance in their energies with you in this connection, they would want to make that compromise with you. I do feel that they are pretty sorry for not treating you right in the past, and that they want to make it up to you. If this is the case, forgive them if you want to and honestly, it’s up to you if you want them back into your life. But remember, forgiveness is always for yourself and not for the other party. I do feel that a compromise has to be made here because balance and harmony is definitely needed within this connection, be it if it’s a romantic interest or a platonic connection. I do feel that things weren’t very balanced in the past, and what is to come within the next 4 – 8 weeks is the achievement of balance and harmony. I feel like things are going to transform slowly but steadily and you are asked to trust in this process, darling. Things are really going to be aligned in your favour, and this is something that you’ve been manifesting for a long time, so please don’t give up now, darling, trust!

Pile 4:

Tarot: The High Priestess, 8 of Cups, 9 of Pentacles

Oracle: OPPORTUNITY // LOOK FOR A SIGN

Life is a series of constantly shifting cycles. When we resist change, we resist the natural flow of life and create unnecessary stress. Go with the flow – you will be surprised where it leads.

LOOK INSIDE YOURSELF – Examine what is causing you to feel this way.

A MESSAGE FOR YOU – I’m thinking of you this very moment. Your love fills me with light. I love you.

ONLY TIME WILL TELL.

Now, darling, for most of you, I’m getting a no-contact or separation situation. And if you don’t resonate with this, maybe you can try a different pile because this pile just may not be for you. I feel like this person on your mind sees you as someone who is very highly intuitive and that you are someone who is in your power. But more often than not, this person sees you as someone who is very secretive. And it’s not in a very bad way, in fact it is very alluring and charming to your person but I feel like sometimes you might have kept things to yourself too much that it makes it difficult for this person to truly communicate their needs and wants to you. I feel like this person does love you, be it if it’s a romantic interest or a platonic connection, but I’m hearing disappointment. I feel like this person might have felt that you were never ready to open up to them, or that they can never get you to open up to them and that there are feelings of sadness, of disappointment when they are being reminded of you. I feel like this person feels that this connection is constantly in some sort of cycle and it’s just hard to simply break free from it, because there are no changes on either side. Honestly, I feel like it’s not just you, I feel like they do have their own problems but they are not seeing it clearly either. I do feel that while they do have feelings (and I’m feeling that they currently still have feelings), they aren’t going to act on it for now. I feel like they are more so going to focus more on themselves. In this sense, I feel like they are intending to just put in the work and focus on themselves and leave this situation behind. I do feel that they feel that if this connection is meant to be, both of you would eventually come back together again, but of course, this is only due in time. I do feel that they are currently trying to put in the focus on their career and finances and just trying to leave this situation behind. And darling, I’m hearing that if you’ve been confused about this situation on whether if you should stay and move on, this is a sign that you should move on and work on yourself as well. It’s not entirely your fault that this connection didn’t work out. It honestly takes two hands to clap in any forms of connections, and while it’s not entirely your fault, it’s important for you to examine the part that you’ve played in this connection. Learn and grow from these lessons, darling, and again, if this connection is meant to be, it will eventually happen in the future. You’ve just got to be patient and in the meantime, work and focus on yourself first, darling!

[sageinacage]

Why I am leaving this blog

This is the truth as of why I'm abandoning my tumblr, @/sageinacage.

CW: swearing/harsher language; mentions of breaking boundaries, sexualization, bondage, non-con/tickle torture, kinks, toxicity, overall rly uncomfortable topics

TLDR at the bottom.

Before I start, I want to say that I’m not talking about everyone in this community. Not everyone is like this, but still a lot of people are, and unfortunately the negatives are louder than the positives.

Having this blog was quite an adventure. It definitely had its ups and downs, but I was quick to notice that it had a majority of downs instead of ups. As of now, I'm dreading being on this page.

I don't feel comfortable here anymore and it's incredibly hard for me to feel any sense of safety in this community, and I honestly feel personally ashamed to be in the MCYT tickle community with the bullshit me and others have seen and experienced.

People go around on anonymous and practically harass creators, I've seen so many rude anons get sent to myself, my friends, and people on my dash. People are also breaking CC's boundaries left and right, and no one will listen to anyone when it's spoken up about. I remember making a post stating that if you send anon hate then DNI, and I lost 4 followers. So disappointing. Actually after I took a screenshot of my boundary/trigger list and posted it, someone sent me an ask and did EXACTLY what was listed in my triggers. It went fully against my boundaries, and it caused me to feel scared whenever I get a notification in my inbox, because I’m scared that somebody is trying to purposely trigger me again; and I shouldn’t have to be on Tumblr with such paranoia as I’m experiencing.

Going onto the topic of the more weird and uncomfortable side of the community, I also remember I made a post a while ago saying "if you support putting minors in heavy bondage, then unfollow," and I lost 5+ followers. To put it bluntly, that’s fucking disgusting. For those people to admit for putting minors in a borderline NSFW situation, since heavy bondage is quite literally something that only happens in the kink world and there’s nothing wholesome or cute about it, and for them to admit to doing it, is fucking weird. Though, I’m thankful those people got off my blog.

I have literally seen someone post art of c!Ranboo in heavy restraints and it didn’t even look remotely fun or consensual. It was pictured, or at least my friends and I interpreted it, that he was being tickle tortured and it was non-con. Though, it’s to be expected when the art is a dark-lit room with an intense tickle machine with heavy bondage, with a blindfold and what looks he is genuinely struggling. What made me even more uncomfortable is that an adult drew it. Another person wrote a fic of c!Ranboo in a lot of bondage with the sign “tickle toy” attached to him. That’s fucking weird. That’s practically something that never gets condoned in a strictly SFW sense. The sad part is that others and I have seen a lot of this happening around.

I was actually informed that an artist the other day on another MCYT tickle server drew literal non-con tickle art of Technoblade (/srs). I was revolted. The worst part is, some people didn't even have an issue with it and reacted to the image with heart emojis. For someone to draw non-con in a completely SFW server filled with a bunch of minors is creepy and weird. Non-con isn't a fun thing, and so many people, including me, have horrible experiences related to it; and for someone to turn it into a "heehee fun tickle" situation is fucked up. For someone to even fantasize non-con as a tickle fantasy just makes me feel sick. There are a few fics like this I've seen as well, unfortunately.

Related to non-con things, I've actually gotten a request before asking me to write Schlatt literally tickle torturing Tubbo, and multiple asks that are similar to that; even when on my request rules it stated not to ask for things related to that. Anything with the word "torture" in it is not consensual, especially in the context it was in. I’ve probably had to delete around 5–8 asks in total from my inbox that were related to non-con or torturous things, even after I already stated in my rules I do not write that stuff.

Another thing I've seen is romantic-esque things written with CCs and then the creator slaps a "/p" onto it, and all of a sudden it's okay? Ranboo has even stated in a stream that he is uncomfortable with his IRL self being written/drawn cuddling his friends, and I see so many fics and concepts of IRL Ranboo cuddling in some way (which I've spoken out about before, but again, no one listened).

Moving on, I've probably met the most toxic people in this community than any others I've been apart of- and I've been apart of a lot, I've been on Tumblr on different blogs since I was 11. For some reason, so many people love to guilt trip here (both my friends and I have noticed and experienced a bunch of people doing it in this community), and the people who get called out for it avoid apologizing like the plague. A person in this community made me and a few others literally scared to say no and scared to advocate for our boundaries, because of how much we got guilt tripped. And no, no one received an apology. But still, people DEFENDED this person, even though me and other people spoke out and explained how this person hurt us. That’s so fucking upsetting. I automatically don’t feel safe in a community where people willingly associate with a literal manipulator and someone who hurt probably over 10 people in total (/srs).

Another thing I've noticed is that so many people seem entitled to something. For example, when I got practically harassed by anons for my discomforts/triggers, basically trying to squeeze out reasoning. No one needs to explain their boundaries/discomforts to you, and this community doesn't understand that from what I've experienced; after being harassed by multiple people on anonymous multiple times, all of which were because of personal reasons I was not obligated to share. No one should be able to say that they got harassed by people on anon for their OWN BOUNDARIES. ON 3 DIFFERENT OCCASIONS AS WELL.

Long story short, I can’t help my triggers. Each of my triggers has developed from trauma I’ve gone through or a bad experience, and I shouldn’t even have to defend myself for my triggers/discomforts if people were respectful and weren’t so fucking entitled for an explanation. So many people in this community can’t mind their own business, and I unfortunately had to learn that the hard way.

I've also seen people project onto IRL CCs. Those are real and breathing people. I understand doing it for comfort, but, the CCs have a literal character that people can project onto, but for some reason, people have to push their things onto real life people. I’ve seen someone headcannon IRL Tommy as trans. That's like the same as your friend "headcannoning" you, a real person, as a different sexuality that isn't what you identify with, and one you may not even be OK with being seen as, and without knowing if you're comfortable with it or not. It's weird.

There are more points I could bring up and more specific things I could state, but I think you got the gist of why I'm leaving. I don't feel comfortable being a member in a community which a lot of its members condone in this stuff.

This is the reason why I'm only active in the MCYT tickle community on Discord, because my server, "Mcytickles," actually respects CCs boundaries and is truly an SFW server, and people are respectful towards each other. It's the only safe space I have in this community anymore, so please do not join it if you exhibit any of these things on this post.

No, I will not be coming back, so please do not try to convince me to stay. I’ve been wanting to leave for about a month now, so this isn’t some impulsive decision. I’ve been in the MCYT tickle community since April, and these problems have always existed but have just gotten worse and more extreme, so I’m leaving for my own mental health and to protect myself from further harm than what I’ve already received.

TLDR: I am leaving this blog and the MCYT tickle community on Tumblr due to the many boundary breaking and unacceptable behaviors I've seen be exhibited, and it makes me not feel safe and comfortable to be here anymore.

I want to thank my mutuals, though. You were all awesome and such kind and loving people, and I’m happy to be your guys’ mutual. I want to thank those who were always so nice to me and hyping up my work, and those who were respectful to everyone and advocated for boundaries. Thank you so much for everything, moots <3 (/gen)

[comehomeducklings]

Past [Part 2] (Obsession)

A/N: Some chapters will be named with either “Past,” “Present,” or “Future,” then their numbered part coming right after it. This is to confuse you less when flashbacks or anything happens. As you have probably noticed, it says “Past” for Part 2. This is going back near when Tom and her just met. Thank you for reading! <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1940 - 3rd year

“Potions is not that bad, I swear. You just have to be good at measuring.”

At the table, my friends and I are discussing our classes this year. Potions being one of my favorite topics. Devyn absolutely loathes that certain class. We have to drag her there to make sure she doesn’t skip. Poor girl tries her best to not mess up but the cauldron always ends up blowing up. I even watched her do every step once, never missing a beat. The potion still ended up failing, even though she did everything correctly. She gave up after a while, who wouldn’t. I help her do extra assignments for extra credit to keep her grade up. She also studies with me to make sure she can memorize everything and pass her tests. Amelia is pretty good at the class, she’s luckily paired with Devyn most of the time. Carrying the potion to success, with a little bit of my secret help. It’s not cheating, it’s using your resources.

I’m resources.

“Potions is not that bad,” Devyn mocks me. “If it weren’t for you two I would have gone insane in that stupid class.”

Amelia just laughs at her while eating her hash browns on the plate. She reaches her hand out to take some more eggs.

“You were able to do it before. Not the way you were supposed to, but it worked,” Amelia says.

“Exactly, just start doing it your way at this point. I don’t think Slughorn will care how it’s done, just how it comes out.”

Devyn nods her head and points at me with a fork. Her mouth full of food so she settles for that response. My plate doesn’t have much other than some bacon and fruit. I’m not usually a breakfast eater. I get my appetite at lunch and dinner time. It’s just too early for a bunch of food smells, the smells make me kind of nauseous. I’ll eat though, enough to hold me off till lunch.

The chatter in the lunchroom rises by the minute. Everyone refilling themselves before their busy day. All energy levels rising while everyone wakes up from their groggy morning mood. While my friends finish eating we continue to talk about our classes and share the schedules for this year. Most classes we had were the same except for our electives. I tried taking as many electives as possible. My family back home never really did magic. I actually came a year and a half late since my family wanted me to have a normal school experience. I learned to do everything without the use of magic, the only thing my mom taught me was the floo network, creatures, and plants. I would often accompany her to Diagon Alley when she shops. I got an Owl for my 10th birthday. A cat would have been amazing if I wasn’t allergic to it. My owl is a brown and white-furred barn owl. Don’t ask me why I named it Bartholomew. I was ten okay, give me a break. Speaking of the floo network, my mom had to chase me through it quite often because I kept teleporting everywhere. I once ran into the Ministry of Magic’s building and got lost. They had to take me home to my parents. Their faces told me everything I needed to know about the punishment waiting for me.

Halfway through the second year is when I came to Hogwarts, a second letter coming that year asking my parents to let me learn more there. So when they finally let me attend, everything was pretty new to me. My mother was the magic one in the family. Her grandmother, my great-grandmother, before her had the magic gene. Going to school was the same experience as going from a muggle-borns perspective. The difference is, I knew more about its existence. I would look at yearbooks my mom had from when she went here. She earned a lot of titles, all the achievements being recorded down. I always wondered why she never wanted me to come here. Did something happen to me, to her? I’m guessing she just wanted a normal life with dad. He has always supported her through everything. A love, a bond like that is hard to come by. He would also learn about magic right next to me. At least, the stuff my mom allowed to let us know.

That’s why I want to learn as much as I can, of what’s available. Why learn math in the muggle world when I could be learning divination. Spells of all types, potions for everything of inconvenience. My chores could be completed with just a flick of my wand. I’ve lately been learning wandless magic, on my own. Albus has helped by providing me with material to study that type of magic. The only thing I’ve managed so far is a spark coming from the tips of my fingertips. Sparking hope that I could actually, maybe, achieve that level. Now I won't get my hopes up, but that can lead me to a certain advantage in dueling. That being one of my weakest skills. Always panicking, saying any spells that pop up in my mind, and making random movements coming from my wand. Often confusing who I’m up against, although they recover from that confusion fairly quickly.

Riddle, met him once. One too many if you would ask me. I dissuade ever wanting to speak to him. Arrogance and pride flow through his tongue like second nature. I do take pride in succeeding above him in 3 classes. He is 2 classes above me but, that’s not the point. I do admit, he’s attractive. Only a little though, how else would he charm his way through the professors and students.

“Alright, I’m ready to go. You guys done?”

“Yeah,” I say. Devyn and I start leaving our seats and heading towards the huge doors.

Amelia hurried from her seat, a few steps behind since she took some fruit with her to eat on the way. More and more students also started making their way towards the first period. Not wanting to be blamed for the loss of house points. This system causes so many fights, everyone’s competitive side getting the best of their common sense. I would be lying if I said it didn’t get the best of me before. Amelia being her usual bubbly self skips backward while chatting with us. Before we could warn her to stop, she pushes someone ahead of her. Both falling down, hitting the floor. She spins her head extremely quickly, her hair sticking in her mouth from the force of the wind.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she explains. Quickly trying to digest her situation. I make my way towards her and pull her up. I fix her robe and dust off any dirt on the cloth from the floor.

“Clearly idiot, can you not use those bug eyes of yours to see?”

Devyn and I make eye contact. We understand that there are witnesses here, and one of them is bound to snitch on us if we fight. A huge scene would probably make Amelia feel even more embarrassed as well. Instead, I guided Amelia by her back. We continue on to class while I comfort her. Devyn is staying back to “talk” to the guy. Lestrange is in for it now, any poor soul would be when in the fiery path of her anger.

Devyn’s loud yells could still be slightly heard when entering the potions classroom. First class of the year, and day. On Slughorn’s table, I can see a vial with the wideye potion contained inside. I set Devyn’s textbook on her station, turning to the page that contains information on the potion. Hoping to save her confusion and time.

“Welcome, welcome! Nice to see some old faces, and new ones,” he says with the biggest grin on his face. “Today we’ll be learning about the Wideye potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion does?”

I quickly raise my hand, rather eager. I did some reading about a lot of potions during the summer. Trying to get a headstart on my studies. This potion being one of them. Only 3 students raised their hand, one of them being me. The other, well, Riddle.

“Yes, go ahead and answer,” the professor looks my way.

I smile, “The wideye potion prevents the person consuming the liquid the ability to fall asleep. Which is often used in the medical field to wake someone from a sleep caused by a blunt force or drug.”

“Precisely! 10 points.”

I look back rather smugly at Riddle, rather happy I got chosen instead of him. I know, he could have easily answered that too. I’ll let myself bask in the small achievement for now. 30 minutes of class is just spent writing down notes, preparing us for the potion we will make. Note-taking is my favorite, especially the little doodles I get to make. We use a feather instead of the regular pen. I found it rather amusing and liked the certain feeling of writing with it. The dipping noise that the point of the feather makes when hitting the liquid ink is a very profound sound. No real writer’s bump forming on my fingers.

“That’s enough writing, I need you all to prepare your cauldron, gather the materials you need, and start your potion. If done correctly, tomorrow when we add the finishing touches and check on it the potion should be a blue/green color,” Slughorn comments. “You have 10 minutes to study your notes, then the rest of the class to make your potion. No looking back at your notes after those ten minutes.”

After scanning my notes, I stand up and walk towards the ingredients on the shelves. If I remember correctly my potion requires snake fangs, standard ingredient, and wolfsbane. I gather all that in my hand and set it down near my cauldron. Before I start, I take a moment. I’m missing something, I’m sure there was another ingredient.

Wolfsbane, check.

Snake fangs, six of them.

I have the measures of Standard ingredient.

There’s one more, I try to look around the room. Then I remember that we get an automatic failing grade if caught cheating. There’s no way I’ll let my grade drop like that. Over something so small and inconvenient too. Making my way to the shelves, I scan over the ingredients over and over again. Trying to see if any of the names pop out to me.

No.

Definitely not.

That’s an ingredient?

I don’t even want to know how that one was obtained.

This one, of course it’s this one. I even remember putting a star next to the name in my notebook. Dried Billwig stings, I believe six of them were needed. All that time wasted. Hurrying to my seat I get to work. The time goes by quickly, all that could be heard was the sizzling and whooshing of our potions. I almost knocked down my vials a couple of times. Someone actually did, their time spent on cleaning the glass off the floor. After heating the first three ingredients, I crush them together in the mortar. Then stir clockwise from what I recall, three times specifically. Finally, I wave my wand over then leave it to brew.

Just in time from the looks of it. I glance at Devyn to see how it went for her, and she looks pretty proud of herself. I take that as a blessing that it didn’t blow up this time of round. I’m guessing she took our advice and did it her own way.

A student raises his hand, “May we leave?”

“Oh yes yes, go ahead. No assignments for the first day, only the potion you made in class.”

Before I leave the classroom I examine Riddle’s station. He already left the room. His potion looks similar to how mine turned out, his workspace thoroughly cleaned. Everything used properly placed back to where it should be. Perfectly spotless, not a single speck of dust in sight. All done without magic too, surprising for someone born into the wizarding world. When I mentioned that I met him once, it wasn’t much of anything. The only way I know how he really acts is through other people. Much admire his intelligence and strong will. Others are jealous of the potential he holds for the future.

Girls are already trying to slip love potions into his drinks. I would feel bad if he wasn’t so rude to them. Only just before touching the disrespectful line. He almost drank one of their attempts before. Wouldn’t want to imagine how that turned out. Tom riddle, in love. That man probably doesn’t know the feeling of happiness, let alone love. I feel bad for his future girlfriend, she’s going to have to deal with a handful of baggage.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“How much do you want to bet Nott will demolish him?” A Gryffindor girl to my left whispers.

Nott, part of Riddle’s group from what I’ve seen. They all eat lunch together and talk to one another so it’s a reasonable guess. Very talented duellist, one of the bests here.

“I hate to admit it, but he’ll definitely win this. I’ll still have hope for the other guy though,” I whisper back trying not to sound mean.

Nott and the other Slytherin boy are up right now. It’s a courtesy for the audience to stay quiet until someone casts the first attack or defense. From then on all you will hear is shouting of encouragement and the opposite. Nott’s eyes are focused, zoning in on the opponent before him. His wand is steady, mouth slightly parted to breathe through better. Whole-body alert and tense waiting for something. From what I'm getting, I believe he’s waiting for the Slytherin boy to go first. Nott casts spells quickly and thinks them through decently. Sometimes you're not able to create a counter-spell quick enough to defend yourself against him.

Riddle’s group and himself are near the corner of the platform. All seemingly analyzing every breath he inhales and exhales. I finally hear the whoosh of a wand and a whiz of light fly past the platform. The glow from the spell lighting our faces for a millisecond. Nott quickly counters that spell and moves to cast his own. Magic flies across the platform, all of our eyes going back and forth like a ping-pong match. The Slytherin boy starts breaking a sweat. He’s only been able to get a couple of offensive spells in there, most of his plays spent throwing off Nott’s. If he doesn’t turn the battle soon, the outcome will become very clear.

It is a little less exciting since we only know a handful of spells. So whatever you know from your own studies you use in these duels. When we move up the years the class will become more serious and dangerous. Right now it’s just to teach us how to counter and cast quickly. The proper etiquette and movement. You use spells that you know, they aren’t supposed to harm someone. Either stun them, make them fly back, or disarm. Most of those spells require a little of a higher level, most of us not even knowing of its existence yet. So what’s mostly cast between competitors is a basic spell to exert force. That force should be aimed for the legs, or the wand to disarm that way. The way someone can win here is to make their knees or hands touch the floor, or disarm their wand. As I mentioned, it will get more intense as time goes by. We're only just starting 3rd year right now, a lot more charms will be learned later on.

I shake my head to get rid of any lingering thoughts. My attention goes right back to the duel taking place in front of me. Nott quickly aims a spell at the knees and manages to bring the other boy to his knees.

“Mr. Nott wins this duel! Please step off the platform, we will evaluate your performance.”

During the practice duels today, you watch it, think of ways to help the person improve, and point out things they might have done wrong. At the end, the professor picks people raising their hands to allow them to give their feedback. Participating is part of the grade you get in here. I personally prefer giving feedback then dueling. I’m not the best at casting, I do give out good defense spells though. That should mean something, I hope.

“Let’s start with Nott, does anyone have feedback for him?”

A couple of people spread apart raised their hands. One by one they all ask questions and give feedback. They mention his feet and posture when he stands. Arms fully stretched out where it would have been more flexible to bend it slightly. When he casts he shouldn’t be walking backward. They shortly switch to the other boy’s questions and feedback. The way he never gave himself the opening to cast an offensive spell often. He would move around his area a lot. Almost slipping off the stage during one of those movements. Tom and his group privately discussed with one another. They’re probably giving Nott their own feedback and suggestions privately.

“Now, Riddle I want you to come up and…,” he scans the room for another student. After some time he points his finger at me. “You.”

I could have had a smooth sailing class. I was so close to not having to go up there. My hands start sweating a bit, my anxiety jumbling my thoughts together. Riddle’s already up there and soon to be on his side of the platform. Taking his wand out and wandering his fingers over the design. I gulp, a big toad stuck in my throat. I wipe my hands on my robe and start up the stairs. Riddle seems as unbothered as ever. We bow, turn, then walk ten paces back. During this time I try predicting who will cast first. I don’t know him very well, I’ve also never seen him duel.

I take my dueling stance and wait for the signal to start. Hoping, praying, that I don’t embarrass myself. Slipping up is not allowed, not when going against him.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Taglist:

@empath-bunny

[cloverque]

monochrome (miya atsumu)

黑白 (宮 侑)

your life is like the black and white panels in a manga, until a certain someone dyed his vivid colours into yours

5190 words

past highschool, present post timeskip, nostalgic themes(?), tiny enemies to lovers trope, theme revolves around unconfessed love until years later

a reuploded request from an anon-then-now-my-friend! <3 not edited

Monochrome. Your life was like the black and white pages in a manga; dull and neutral. There was nothing special about you, for the most part, you were ordinary.

At some point, almost every girl would like a colourful romance. One with blooming roses, scintillating sparkles and handsome young men. Topped off with promises of abiding love and vibrant days filled with never ending mirth.

However, you never pursued it, nor did it find you, and that was alright. Besides, what was the point of heart throbbing ardour if it were all to come to an inevitable end?

With a few clicks, your computer was turned off. You began clearing your desk, sorting out your folders and files when your colleague spun around in their chair.

“Hey, (l/n)-san. Did you hear?” The mousey woman enquired. A small smile was etched across her makeup coated face as she continued. “There’s going to be a dinner function! It’ll be held in the fancy hotel across the building.”

Your coworker across your table stood up to peer pass the desk divider. She chimed in with avidity, “I’m soooo going tonight! I heard the other divisions has a ton of hotties. No way in hell I’m gonna turn down a chance to meet ‘em!”

“Geez, you’re always thinking about men...” The lady beside you sighed, before returning her gaze back to you. “So, wanna go together?”

You shook your head, “Count me out. I already have plans tonight.” As you got up and shifted your handbag, you smiled apologetically. “Let me know if anything interesting happens, though.”

“Oh, okay... See you tomorrow,” she bid you farewell, albeit disappointedly. You nodded and bid the duo the same.

When your back was turned to them, the lady across the divider whispered to the one beside you. You knew what they were prattling about: that you were plain and boring. Wordlessly, you left the room, your heels clacking against the tiles as you made your way to the elevator.

As the double digits on the digital screen changed to singular ones, you closed your eyes.

Truthfully, it would be a lie to say that your life was completely monochrome. It was once colourful, after all, despite being for a short period.

Those days had involved a boy named Miya Atsumu, and he was the one who had brought colour into your high school days.

It all began in a manga shop.

You were in your second year of high school then, and would frequent a manga shop on the way home. It was sandwiched between a decently sized Lawson and an antique shop, on a quieter side of town.

The shop was abundant with not only manga, but also multifarious classics and second hand books. With its reserved location, not many knew of its existence, thus it went unnoticed by hordes of rambunctious manga fanatics.

It was perfect for you; your little safe place. However, you didn’t know that it was also frequented by a particular faux blonde.

You had wandered in with a specific title in mind, looking forward to getting your hands on it the whole day. Meanwhile, the boy’s brain was so preoccupied with volleyball and upcoming matches that he didn’t notice you, in an identical school uniform, lingering in the same section.

And like a sick cliche, your fingers bumped into his.

Withdrawing your hand, you snuck a side glance, only to see a broad chest in your line of sight. You slowly tilted your head to meet his steely gaze. Flinching, you practically whipped around when you realised the boy was towering over you.

“Um, sorry...” You mumbled out whilst backing away.

Atsumu’s brows were scrunched together as he took in your form. He half expected you to latch onto him with your eyes, but you were looking away, at anywhere but him.

Maybe once you got a good look at him, you’d react like all the oestrogen in his life. Squealing his name, asking for his number, all thirsty for his attention.

However, all you did was stand awkwardly, without uttering a single word. The oddity took him aback slightly. Thus, he decided to play with you a bit.

The teen perked his brows slightly before pointing at the manga’s spine. “Don’t cha want this?” He gestured, making you nod. A cruel smirk sneaked up to his handsome face.

You thought he was going to pass it to you. Instead, he slipped it out of the shelf and sauntered away. He slapped a few notes onto the cashier’s counter, making the store owner jump at his boldness. The boy with the undercut swiftly shuffled towards the entrance, his book bag slung over his back with the manga dangling from his long fingers.

Gawking, you watched as the automatic sliding doors opened for him. You wanted to call him back, to demand him to return it to you. But you knew it was impossible. The manga wasn’t yours, after all.

The blonde cocked his back to catch a glimpse of you. Noticing your conflicted expression, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He stuck out his tongue at you, cackling as your eyes widened and your face flushed. Then he left as soon as he came.

Your entire body trembled with embarrassment and humiliation. What just happened...!?

To make your day worst, you later learnt that the manga was the last one in stock. The rest of your day was spent stabbing your food and antagonising your pillow.

The next day, you found him again in the manga shop, but with grey hair. You almost dropped your book bag as you stomped towards him, fuming and ready to pounce on him.

The ash grey haired teen glanced at you with a deadpanned expression as you stopped beside him, shaking with infuriation.

“How could you do that to me yesterday!? You took the last one! The! Last! One!” Your nostrils flared as you exhaled. “Now I have no wait an entire week– And why’s your hair grey now–!?”

Despite your confrontation, the boy remained unfazed as he cocked a dark brow. It took him a few seconds to realise. He glanced up at the ceiling then back at you.

“Sorry, I think you’re mistaken,” he began politely, maintaining a neutral expression. “But the person you’re talking about is probably my obnoxious twin.”

This encounter had ended with a deep bow and a deluge of apologies. Nodding, the more reserved twin gave you a cold ‘ok’ before ambling away.

Since then, you realised that there were two twins in your school: the Miya brothers. The asshole was Atsumu, and the quieter one was Osamu. Or at least, they had seemed that way to you, on account of your personal experiences.

You wondered how you had never noticed them until now, especially when they stood out during assemblies due to their dyed hair. Not to mention their questionable popularity with the girls.

Maybe Osamu was reasonable, but who in the right mind would fall for someone like that blonde jackass Atsumu!?

On one occasion, you were shuffling past the gymnasium for a nurse’s errand when you saw a glimpse of the volleyball club. Bright blonde hair swished past the doors, and you remembered your meeting with the haughty male.

“Nice kill!” A deep voice hollered, followed by the high pitched squeaks of shoes against polished floor. You peeked past the doors, eyes shining with curiosity, when the twins you had met suddenly jumped into the air.

Your eyes were set on Atsumu as he deftly set a volleyball for his brother, who spiked the ball without delay. Sweat glimmered down the faux blonde’s forehead, tracing his jawline before dripping onto the floor. The slap he gave Osamu’s hand reverberated in the gym as they shared matching grins.

Seeing them together really highlighted the fact that they were carbon copies of each other. Your train of thoughts were derailed when a member with dark hair and narrowed eyes pointed in your direction.

Atsumu glanced at you, his smile turned upside down whilst you jolted up. With confident strides, he was in your face in an instant. He gave you a once over before grimacing.

“Get lost.”

Then he slammed the door shut in your face. As you stood frozen in place, unable to register what had happened, Osamu pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“‘Tsumu, that’s no way to treat a lady.”

His golden haired twin simply snorted in response.

Your next encounter with Atsumu took place at the manga shop again. A fight had broken out between the two of you, both unwilling to relent. Gripping the limited edition copy tightly in your hand, you refused to budge.

There were extras, but you had arrived first before the haughty boy and both of you had touched the same copy. Consequently, warring with each other.

Both of you shared exasperated expressions, tugging and pulling desperately for the manga. Neither wanted to throw in the towel. Atsumu was much stronger than you, clearly, his biceps flexing as he clenched his teeth and tried to pry the book from you.

Meanwhile, your two feet were planted firmly in the ground, all your strength poured into rooting yourself into the tiles or risk falling backwards if he were to let go.

However, he would not in a long time.

“Let go, you brat!” He chided, grunting with exasperation. Tugging it back harshly, you almost stumbled.

Growling animalistically, you retorted, “Never!” Then you lunged forward to bite his hand.

The blonde released the manga with a yelp, shoving your face off his hand brutishly. You stumbled back in response, tripping and landing on your bum. A string of saliva dribbled down your lips as you stared up at him, grinning victoriously.

Atsumu glowered, holding his bitten fist with his other hand. A row of teeth had punctured his skin, and you realised there was a little blood. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

As you stood up and brushed your school skirt, you adjusted your book bag and gripped the manga to your chest. Trembling with anger, you were giddy with pride and sheepishness.

“You slammed a door in my face, asshole!”

Then you rushed past him to pay for your purchase. Atsumu turned to watch you leave, your loafers tapping against the floor softly as you ran off. But when you hopped out of the outlet, you gave him a side glance and stuck out your tongue.

Atsumu recognised the gesture; he pointed a middle finger in return.

Days and weeks went by like that, with Atsumu and you contending against each other to buy the weekly Jump, the first copies of mangas or limited edition prints. It was childish, for two seventeen year olds to tousle with each other.

Atsumu would ruthlessly tug on your hair, screaming bloody murder of your existence and stubbornness. Meanwhile, you resorted to calling him all sorts of colourful words, which would result in the shop owner throwing the two of you out. There was even a time when you both were banned from stepping in until you made up.

It happened eventually, and the two of you would at least communicate with less insults and more civilly. Your peace treaty with him didn’t mean letting him snag first copies of new arrivals, though. But Atsumu and you settled it through more human means, instead of ripping out each other’s hair.

There was one moment in which Atsumu had made your heart beat a little faster, too. It had happened like this: you were found beside the school’s vending machine, crying because you had dropped your shoujo manga in a muddy puddle. It would never have happened if it weren’t for a group of girls that bumped into you on purpose.

Your emotional breakdown ended when Atsumu found you in that pitiful state, squatting by a murky ditch with a floating black and white book. He had stumbled upon you by coincidence, as he was buying a Pocari Sweat.

He recognised your (h/c) locks and your figure even from afar, and when he realised you were crying, he was stumped. Sure, you would cry when he tugged at your hair during fights, but for him to see your tear stained face outside arguments felt weird.

Atsumu remained silent, standing near you as you sniffled. You knew he was standing behind you, you could tell him from the hairdo in the shadow looming over you.

Instead of asking what had happened, his eyes scanned the scene and realised that a limited edition manga was floating in the dark brown puddle. Probably yours, he had thought. He connected the dots instantly. Atsumu may be childish at times, but he wasn’t an imbecile.

The blonde setter knew how much you loved your manga, how brightly you would beam whenever you got your hands on them. For you to ruin it must have felt like a heartbreak, or worse.

“Was that the one we bought two days ago?” He mumbled, and you nodded meekly.

With a soft sigh, he approached the vending machine. After slotting his coins in and pressing a button, a drink dropped to the bottom. He bent down to scoop it out, mumbling as he did so.

“You can borrow mine, if ya want.”

At that moment, your mind went blank. This immature boy was going to lend you his? It wouldn’t be such a big deal if this was anyone else, but this was Miya Atsumu you were talking about.

An insolent big shot who refused to let you win. Someone whose mental age degraded when he fumbled with words to support why he deserved to get the first copy. A selfish guy who never wanted to share.

You glanced up at the teen silently, tears still streaming down your face. He flinched as you croaked, “Miya-kun... Are you sick or something?”

“...Never mind. I think I’ll retract my offer!” He huffed, spinning on his heels as he shuffled away.

Scrambling to your feet, you blurted out, “W-Wait! I was joking, I swear!”

You chased after him, and although he couldn’t hear it, you wished Atsumu wouldn’t be able to hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Inevitably, the blonde twin and you grew closer. Sometimes, you would walk with him to school, though it was more like you were third wheeling with him and his brother. The two of them would converse about volleyball, homework, and even little things like bentos and nonsensical topics.

You grew used to their frivolous antics, and Osamu eventually opened up to you as well. The two of them even let you call them by their first names, especially since referring to both of them as ‘Miya’ was confusing.

Atsumu only learnt of your name when you both exchanged it, and when you told him he could call you by your first name, he chaffed you for the overfamiliarity.

There were days when the blonde and you would visit the manga store together. And in time to come, the teenager grew fond of your ebullient nature towards comics. He would poke fun of you for reading ‘unfeminine’ genres, such as horror and sci-fi. Whenever he found you peeking at boy love books, you never heard the end of it.

At the same time, you began to appreciate him, despite his snide remarks and snarky attitude. There were times when his jokes crossed the line you, making you pout and sometimes cry, but he would apologise through his actions, like gifting you the new arrival of your favourite manga.

It was almost impossible to get him to apologise, due to his pride, but he always made up with you in his own way. And for that, you were grateful.

As months passed and you both became close friends, Atsumu began hanging out with you during school hours. On one occasion, the both of you hid in the rooftop to eat lunch. Osamu wasn’t present due to a cold, so it was just the two of you.

Picking up an octopus shaped wiener, you gave it a half hearted glance before popping it into your mouth. Atsumu was rambling about morning practice, blathering on how pissed he was that his brother wasn’t around to spike his perfect sets.

Suddenly, without thinking, you interrupted. “You know, you’re not a bad guy, Atsumu.”

Your eyes were fixated on his when you blurted out. His cheeks were stuffed with rice as he turned to you, surprised. With a perked brow, he gawked at you like you had grown a second head.

“Wait, are you falling for me already, (y/n)?” His deep, buttery voice was muffled by the contents in his mouth.

You grinned and waggled your brows. “No way, your personality is like sewage water.”

With a giggle, you leaned in to take away the small grain lingering by his lips. Your soft knuckles brushed against the corners of his lips and he swore he had stopped breathing.

Atsumu’s cheeks were dusted pink at your kind yet intimate gesture. Nobody had done that to him before, and he was unsure of what to feel.

Taking notice of his sudden silence, you raised your brows. “Atsumu, are you okay?”

“Haaaah–?! What are you talking about, I’m perfectly fine!” He scrunched his brows together, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Then he turned away, his back facing you as he scarfed down the remains of his lunch.

You tilted your head, unsure of what had happened, but resumed eating too. Truthfully, he was a little abashed. Ever since then, his heart would beat a little faster for you too.

Atsumu’s presence in your previously dull life meant new found colours. Days went by in a blur, with jokes, nonsense and memorable memories. He had snuck into your life when you least expected it, and so did you in his.

You began watching the volleyball team‘s matches. Sitting in the back row, you would cheer for Atsumu in your own special way: inwardly.

You didn’t understand much about the game, but you knew that your blonde friend loved it more than anything else, even his manga. So it must have meant something strongly to him, and as a friend, you had to support him.

The game was moving quickly, a bit too quickly for your taste. You didn’t comprehend what was happening, but at least Inarizaki was winning. The intimidating black screen beside the court flashed with a new digit, eliciting an eruption of cheers from the cheer squad.

“Isn’t he cute? He’s kinda dreamy,” a girl in front of you sighed to her friend, and you perked up instantly. Unconsciously, you began eavesdropping. “I wonder if Atsumu-kun has a girlfriend...”

“Are you kidding? Men that hot are either gay or taken!” Her peer bubbled with conceited giggles.

You wrinkled your nose at the insensitive response, but you mulled over her words. You had never seen Atsumu with a girl before. However, there were instances when you stumbled upon him during a confession. You would hide in a bush or behind a wall, listening curiously as the girl rambled on about how much she loved or admired him.

Without fail, his words would be laced with distaste while turning them down. Usually with harsh responses like ‘you don’t even know me’ or ‘I betcha say that to every guy’. He would even go as far as ripping a love letter to shreds.

They were total knock outs to the girls’ feelings. And as they ran away in tears, you couldn’t help but feel devastated for them. Atsumu sure was a prick at times.

“Him? Having a girlfriend? Never in a million years,” you mumbled under your breath.

Strangely, your chest had tightened a little with the thought.

The game finished shortly and the volleyball team gathered together to thank the watching spectators. Atsumu’s eyes bore holes into the black banner hung over the wall when suddenly, he glanced in your direction.

You flinched under his discerning gaze, stiffening nervously. He didn’t know that you were here until now.

His eyes narrowed a bit before a smirk settled on his sweat stained face. Your face burned, a little too hotly for your liking, and you looked down at your shoes to hide it. Why was he staring at you like that?

The girls in front of your row squealed that he was looking in their direction, but when they called out to him, he looked away. His cold attitude almost made you snigger.

Now that the match was over, you decided it was time to head home. You were ready to descend a flight of stairs when a familiar voice called your name. Spinning around, you came face to face with the handsome blonde, who was wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Didn’t know you came,” he breathed, arms akimbo as you cocked your head.

“Yeah, I wanted to cheer for Osamu.” You gave him a cheeky, lidded eye smile. An irk mark formed on his temple as he chopped your head with his hand.

The two of you went off after that: you teasing him on his missed serve and how his brother had to pick up his slack. Atsumu bared his fangs and fired empty threats and curses, all the while you pulled your bottom eyelid and blew a raspberry mockingly.

A dark haired teen in a jersey with the number ten stood idly by his teammates. Leaning on a railing, he hummed. “Who’s that, Osamu?”

The mentioned twin watched his brother and you with a softened expression. As the two of you fought like cats and dogs, he chuckled. “Someone who can stand Atsumu more than me.”

“Huh... If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re in love.”

The Inarizaki volleyball club watched as Atsumu pinched your cheeks and spread them ruthlessly, earning a high pitched whine from you. You resorted to clawing his face and Osamu had to put an end to both of your antics–

The voice on the intercom derailed your train of thought. Getting up, you stumbled out of the train in a daze.

You had unwittingly gone down memory lane, a bit too much. As your heels tapped against the concrete sidewalk, you glanced up at the dark sky twinkling with a streak of stars. Clouds rolled by leisurely, and waning luna peeked from her wispy blanket.

The rest of your high school had gone by in a blur, most of it involving Miya Atsumu. There was one time when you went to an anime and manga convention with him.

You smiled fondly at the distant memory: Atsumu was teary eyed as he shook hands with his favourite mangaka, who was a hunched over man. Out of respect for him, he knelt down, to be the same height, and took a photo with him in that state. You had never imagined a day would come when he would kowtow to someone.

Taking out your phone, you searched up for his social media and tapped on his Twitter account. There were posts after posts of his activity in the MSBY Black Jackals.

A silly selfie with a dog filter made you titter aloud. The comment section was overwhelmed with questions of his next match, his day, relationship status and the like.

Atsumu was an even bigger shot now. He also moved nearer to his volleyball team’s hometown, just to be able to practice longer hours there. He had left his hometown a while ago, and the both of you hadn’t contacted each other for years.

You once had his phone number, until a sneaky crow took off with your old mobile phone. No clue as to why that had happened.

Sighing at the thought, you stepped foot into your destination: a manga shop. The same one you had first met him. It never really changed; faded beige walls and oak wood shelves with blanched posters. Walking back in here only reminded you of how colourful your life had once been.

“Welcome back, (l/n)-san!” greeted the young boy behind the counter. He was the grandson of the shop owner, whose knees had deteriorated over the years.

You glanced in his direction. “How’s business been, kid?” He gave you an ‘ok’ sign and your expression softened. “Hope it’s okay if I take a bit. I finally found some time to shop.”

“Store’s closing in ten. Don’t take too long!” He waved back earnestly and you nodded.

Making your way past the familiar shelves, the clacking of your heels resounded in the almost empty store. Your hair bounced behind you as you tread past the sports manga section, past a tall, blonde.

You had failed to notice the old friend behind the mask. The blonde man glanced up the moment you passed, and his eyes widened in shock.

Without hesitation, you picked up the latest issue of Jump. It had been a while since you read manga, as everyday was swamped with work. Flipping through the black and white pages, your mind drifted to the reality in the panels.

You were oblivious to the male strutting towards you. As he approached, he took in your more adultly figure and attire. You were dressed in a white button up which clung to your chest, and a black pencil skirt that hugged your waist and hips.

You looked ravishing, to say the least, and Atsumu had to swallow the lump in his throat. There was no mistake, the beautiful woman in front of him was you.

He stopped behind you, hands jammed into his jean pockets before pulling down the white mask. The man with a dark cap atop his fluffy blonde locks peered past your smaller form to take in the manga in your hands. With a soft hum, he spoke up.

“Something’s never change, huh?”

You jolted up in surprise and whipped around, only to come face to face with an intimidatingly tall man. He was almost 190cm, perhaps, and was built with muscles that even his clothes couldn’t hide. His broad chest was in your face, and you had to tilt your head back to meet him in the eye.

With a lopsided grin, the man took off his cap. His tousled blonde locks sprang out of their cage, and your eyes widened in recognition while he smirked, “Sup, (y/n). How are ya?”

“Atsumu?!” You gasped, the Jump going slack in your hands as you dropped it. It flopped onto a pile of similar copies whilst said blonde placed a finger over his lips.

“Shh, I’m here on my day off!” He teasingly hushed, and you instantly clamped a hand over your mouth to silence your confused screaming.

Was this for real? How could the boy, who had painted your monochrome life full of colour, be standing right in front of you? Right now and right here?

Your eyes flitted from the pooling chocolate brown in his eyes to his larger stature. Raking his figure with your wide eyes, you came to a conclusion: Atsumu had changed.

You knew that he was more built from his self-centred topless selfies, but seeing him upclose was a whole different experience. He has grown taller too, though he had always loomed over you either way, but it was still a little frightening how much he could grow even after puberty. Meanwhile, his undercut was relatively the same, except his bangs were not pushed back, unlike before when they were swept to the right.

The only thing that had remained unchanged was the playful glint in his orbs and the smug smile tugging on his lips.

“I...Is it really you, ‘Tsumu?” You murmured, albeit teary eyes as you removed your hand from your mouth.

Running his fingers through his golden mane, he chuckled, “Do ya know anyone with these good looks?”

Your eyes narrowed playfully and you pinched his cheeks. Huffing, you told him off, “Stop trying to be so suave, weirdo!”

“Geh– But seriously, I thought you died or something! Ya never responded to my texts,” He spluttered out as you pulled his cheeks harder, and he managed to add, “But lucky me, you’re still kickin’!”

“Wait, you what?” Your lashes fluttered in confusion. You hadn’t gotten a word he had said since the beginning.

“I tried contacting you once in a while, but you never replied.” He blinked, and you looked down at the ground, suddenly embarrassed.

“Ah... My phone was stolen by a crow. And I lost your number...”

“Wait, for real? That sounds like something straight outta a manga!” He chortled as a sheepish smile snuck on your flushed face.

When Atsumu had calmed down, he placed his hands over yours, detaching them from his cheeks. Holding your hands gently, he wore a mask of calm. You were a bit confused by his sudden, gentle gesture. You gave him a questioning look, although your heart was starting to pound uncontrollably behind your ribs.

Squeezing your hand lightly, he began quietly. “(y/n), I know it’s been a long time and all... But I never forgot the times we had together. And, well, I know it’s kinda late, but I liked you.”

A blush crept up on both of your faces as he continued clumsily. “I kinda still do, so, well... If you’d like, we should–“

“Shop’s closing!” Atsumu and you jumped up in surprise. The boy was standing at the end of the section, a look of genuine surprise on his baby face. Glowering, the blonde barked fiercely.

“You ruined it, ya moron!”

The teen flinched before scuttling away. You burst into giggles as the upset athlete scowled. Whipping his head back to you, he scrunched his brows together, exasperated.

“What’s so funny?” He enquired, still wearing a frown.

Breathing shakily, you wiped away a tear in your eye. “You never really changed, Atsumu!” With a lidded eye smile, you grinned at him innocently, heart swelling with nostalgia.

His glare softened at your expression. Shooting a quick glance at the returned boy, who was peeking from the shelves anxiously, he clicked his tongue.

“Let’s ditch this place,” he grunted, taking your hand in his again as he dragged you out of the shop. You stumbled but eventually matched his pace.

With an apologetic glance at the young boy standing in the shop, you turned back to Atsumu. “Still as mean and pushy as always, aren’t cha?”

The faux blonde gave you a side glance, still pulling you along. Eye rolling, he slapped back on his cap and looked ahead, “Shut up.”

Neither Atsumu nor you couldn’t deny that both of your hearts were pounding. The two of you ended up taking a long stroll in your hometown, catching up on the pass few years and more. The night also had ended on a high note.

Once again, Miya Atsumu’s vibrant colours had seeped back into the monochrome panels of your life. Perhaps, this time, a romance would bloom between the two of you.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　fin.

[goldenraeofsun]

There is Only Try, Part I

“Love spell,” Rowena proclaims as she glides down the stairs to the Bunker floor like it’s her personal ballroom. Her midnight blue floor-length gown and elaborately curled hair look especially out of place - Dean’s pretty sure his shirt has pizza stains from at least three different pizzas. The shirt is red, so at least two of them don’t count.

Behind her on the stairs, Sam chokes.

Rowena turns around to face him. “And I thought this was going to be a challenge,” she chides. “Really, Samuel?”

“What do you mean, ‘love spell’?” Dean demands with a fleeting glance at Cas, who’s gone red in the face. Dean doesn’t blame him - between the hooker with the daddy problems and the stabby reaper, he’d be leery of anything vaguely love-shaped too.

“We called you because we need to translate the runes on a cursed box,” Sam says slowly. “We think it’s in some sort of cipher, since even Cas can’t get a read on it.”

“Well, did Tweety Pie touch the box?”

“No,” Cas says, offended.

Dean nudges him with his elbow, saying in an undertone, “C’mon, like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Dean.”

Dean takes in Cas’s unamused face and scowls at Rowena's tinkling laugh. “Okay, Sabrina, what the fuck do you mean by ‘love spell’?”

“I mean the angel’s been cursed with a love spell,” Rowena says with deliberate slowness, like she’s giving a command to a particularly stupid lap dog. “Was it not obvious?”

Dean glances at Cas, horror trickling down his spine. “No.”

“Hmph,” Rowena sniffs. “Men really are oblivious to matters of the heart.” She waves her hand again, eyes glimmering violet. “Like I thought,” she continues, placing both hands on her hips, “A jardin d’amour.”

“A garden of,” Sam pauses, clearly trying not to laugh, “love?”

“A very basic love spell,” Rowena says disdainfully. “The lass didn’t seem to have any imagination.”

“The witch we ganked two weeks ago was a dude,” Dean says. A beat. “A man witch.”

Sam snorts.

“There you go,” Rowena says, lifting her nose into the air. “Most men don’t have that innate knack for the magical arts.” She turns to Sam, giving him the most obvious come-hither look Dean has ever seen. “There are some obvious exceptions, of course.”

Okay, Dean needs Rowena and her heebs with a large dosing of the jeebs out of the Bunker, stat.

“It starts as a tiny seed, a wee obsession,” Rowena explains, “and grows and grows until it consumes you.” She squints, wiggling her fingers, and Dean just barely stops himself from jumping in front of Cas on instinct. “I’d say the spell’s gone about halfway through its course.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He throws another calculating glance at Cas. “He’s not writing love songs or grabbing a boombox, so he’s obviously not cursed.”

Cas, still suspiciously silent, shoves both his hands in his pockets and stares hard at a spot of the floor between his feet.

“Oh, but he is, darlin’,” Rowena exclaims delightedly. “I can see it clear as day. Look!”

Cas sneezes as the magic washes over him for a third time, and now they all can see the purple sparkles - really, Rowena? - hovering in the air around him.

“Okay,” Dean makes a face, “Now I’m confused.”

“Not for the first time, isn’t that right?” Rowena says with faux-sympathy.

Dean glowers. He turns to Cas. “Come on, she’s making this all up. You’d know if you got dosed with Love Potion No. 9.”

“I-” Cas says, his gaze skittering from Dean to Rowena and back again. He looks… caught.

“Wait,” Dean thunders, taking a step forward, “You knew?”

“I,” Cas starts haltingly, “had suspected.”

“And you didn’t think you’d tell us you’d been whammied?”

Cas shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be affecting me at all. My vessel is functioning normally.”

“Sure, because you’re such an expert on normal-”

Cas’s eyes flash. “It didn’t seem relevant considering everything else-”

“What d’you mean every-?”

“Kelly Kline - Lucifer, again - the British Men of Letters - take your pick,” Castiel retorts heatedly.

“We’ve got that under control-”

“Killing a child is not ‘under control’-”

“It is if the kid’s the literal spawn of Satan-”

“I never thought I’d hear Dean Winchester defending the murder of an inno-”

Dean throws up his hands. “Did you miss my ‘spawn of Satan’ comment?”

“No,” Cas says, his expression as stony as the Bunker’s foundations, “my hearing is excellent.”

Off to the side, Rowena mutters in a carrying stage-whisper, “I can see how a wee curse like this is the least of your problems.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam says, running a weary hand down his face.

Dean rounds on them. “What?”

“Do you want me to remove the love spell or not?” Rowena asks, eyebrows raised. “My time is precious, you know. I don’t live to be at the Winchesters’ beck and call.”

“For the last fucking time, it’s not a goddamn spell!” Dean explodes. “Whatever it is, he is not in love. He hasn’t been acting any different.”

Rowena beams. “Well now, if he were already in love, it would have no outward effects. He’d…” Her expression becomes stomach-turningly sly, “...function normally, so to speak.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a firm line. As Dean goggles at him, Cas demands, “Remove the spell, now.”

Dean swallows. Cas can’t be - she can’t be implying - that’s impossible. He’s an angel. They don’t feel things like that.

Do they?

“I’m going to need some ingredients,” Rowena says, looking up to Sam. “Where might they be?”

Sam gestures her forward. “Back in the store room, I’ll show you.”

Rowena pats him lightly on the arm. “What a gentleman,” she simpers as Dean pretends to hurl behind her back.

Dean can’t bring himself to speak until they’re both out of earshot, their footsteps fading off into the distance. He turns to Cas, trying to keep his voice detached and failing miserably. “So, you think it got you after all?”

Cas looks away. “I know it has.”

“Oh.” Dean picks up his empty whiskey glass. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. It doesn't work. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Fucking witches.”

“I - I could use one as well,” Cas says to Dean’s surprise.

* * *

“So, uh, who’s the lucky chick?” Dean asks as he makes a beeline for the liquor cart in the library off the war room. He grabs an additional glass for Cas and the bottle of Jack, tips the bottle down his own throat to get them started, and pours them out a few fingers.

Cas takes his drink, jaw clenching. He doesn’t look like a dude head over heels. He looks like his normal sleep-deprived, tax accountant self. He stays silent.

Dean thumps heavily down into a chair. “Have we met her?” he prompts because he’s nothing if not a masochist at heart.

“You could say so, in a sense.” Cas raises his eyes to meet Dean’s, face softening, and Dean’s going to hurl for real this time. Cas continues, “There’s not much in my life I keep from you.”

Dean swallows against the ball of self-loathing and disgust clogging his throat. “Some lady angel, then? Been dreaming about plucking her harp strings?”

Cas scowls into his drink. “No.”

“Not an angel?”

“Not a lady,” Cas says, his voice almost unbearably stiff. “And not an angel, either. A human - a beautifully flawed human.”

Dean has no words to say to that, so he drinks. Cas has probably met thousands of people - nice, normal people who aren’t fucked up in the head from ganking monsters their whole lives - since he’s been on Earth. God knows, he hasn’t been plastered to Dean’s side the entire time. Lately, Dean can’t even come up with a good excuse to get him to stay for more than a day or two at most.

“A guy, then,” Dean says to make sure they’re on the same page - because last time he checked, waves of celestial intent cared less about acing a Gender and Sexuality 101 class and more about whether a meatsuit could withstand a holy oil molotov cocktail.

Cas nods, his eyes narrowing. “Your opinion on homosexual relationships is part of the reason I’ve never brought it up before.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” Dean says, not entirely truthfully. He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Homo it up, man. Love is love.”

Cas’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t comment on Dean’s hamfisted attempt at proving his acceptance of ‘alternative lifestyles’ as Dad might’ve put it charitably one time. “It’s complicated,” Cas adds, like any part of this fucked-up situation could fit under a goddamn Facebook status.

Dean hitches a grin on his face that probably wouldn’t fool a blind person. “So, apart from that, how come you’ve never come to me for help? I don’t wanna brag, but I’m kind of an expert in hookups. Sam’s kind of hopeless. He can’t get a chick into bed without her dying on him.”

Cas knocks back his glass. “I didn’t want to bother you with my feelings.”

Dean automatically grimaces at the mention of feelings. But, hell, he’s not a teenage girl. He can man up and be there for his best friend.

He has to - Cas hardly asks him for anything anymore.

Sure, Cas didn’t exactly ask Dean for anything this time around, but Dean can read between the lines. Now that he’s copped to what’s going on beneath Cas’s still waters, he can see how deep those feelings run. Especially if what Rowena’s saying is true and a love spell is barely a drop in the bucket.

“And, regardless, your ‘hookup’ skills wouldn’t be relevant, anyway,” Cas says quietly, lowering his hands. “I’m not interested in… coupling.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That reaper really screwed you over, didn’t she? Look, just because you got shanked, doesn’t mean all sex winds up with an angel blade-”

“I misspoke,” Cas says over him. “What I mean is, I would rather have no sexual relations at all if I cannot have all of him: mind, body, and soul.”

Trust Cas to spout the most profound cheese Dean has ever heard.

And also, what the fuck? Dean can’t get behind that idea at all. Dean’s always been a take what you can get kind of dude. He had to be, with what he has to work with - a pretty face, a killer's instinct, and an inability to have a normal relationship if his goddamn life depended on it.

Like, if Dean had gotten the slightest whiff that Cas was down with gettin’ down and dirty with Dean as his last hurrah (which of course he didn’t), Dean would never have bothered with that stupid den of inequity. As hilarious as the outcome was, he would have gone for a little something-something for himself before the end of the world.

Of course, Dean wasn’t in love with Cas yet then. Whenever it came to mind, it was just a fun thought experiment, an idle what if for him to think about during a dry spell. Like his fantasies about fucking Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Or hatesex with Bela Talbot.

But none of that mattered because every step of the way from Castiel, mighty Angel of the Lord, to Cas, their friendly neighborhood angel-man, he never hinted he’d be down for a quick roll in the hay... or something more serious.

Dean remembers very clearly: Anna fell to experience emotions, even the bad ones.

And Dean’s not an idiot - Cas obviously experiences emotions now. Dude’s been through too much not to feel something. But Dean’s never deluded himself that they could ever include all the romantic lovey-dovey, chick-flick moments crap.

Family love, sure. Cas might love all his haloed siblings. Cas has been around for all the Top 10 worst decisions that are the Winchesters’ version of brotherly devotion. Cas even said the big L-word out loud himself, when he was bleeding out in that barn a month ago.

But romantic love? The big kahuna L-O-V-E?

Dean always thought scaling Mount Everest with a plastic beach shovel would be easier than convincing an angel to feel that way about anyone. Cas is a wave of celestial intent; waves of celestial intent don’t do anything as human, as stupid, as fall in love.

But apparently they do.

So maybe that’s why Cas has always been so hard to pin down, so eager to leave Dean all the time. He’s been off pining after this mystery guy.

Awesome.

Cas heaves a weighty sigh and finishes off his own glass of whiskey. Without another word, he half raises from his chair, reaching around the table lamp, to pour them both a second round. “I suppose there is a bit of a relief in finally saying it,” he says in a low voice. “I can’t be with him, but there is a certain amount of happiness in it being known, just being seen.”

Dean wastes no time in downing half his new drink. Throat burning in warning, he forces out, “Why - why can’t you? You’re a freaking angel - thought you could have anyone.” Dean frowns. “He’s not a civilian, is he?”

Talk about a recipe for disaster: Cas plus normal person equals uncomfortable questions and fucked up babysitting gigs.

Cas’s eyes widen. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. “Ah, no, not really.”

“So he knows about angels.”

Cas gives a slow nod. “He doesn’t have a very high opinion of them, though,” he says ruefully, staring down into his glass. “They’ve made his life very difficult over the past few years.”

Dean scoffs, “He can join the club.”

Cas flinches.

“Hey, no,” Deans says quickly, “Not you.”

Cas raises head, his eyes unbearably bleak. “Why not me? I was the one who set the Leviathans and angels loose on humanity to wage their wars, among a dozen other transgressions.” He adds morosely, “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if a different angel rescued you from Hell after all.”

Dean blinks at Cas, his stomach turning over with dread at the very idea. He tries to picture some nameless angel yanking him out of the Pit or marching into that barn with all the righteousness of Heaven on his heels. Dean can’t do it.

Or worse, not a nameless angel. Uriel, who was ready to kill thousands without a second thought. Zachariah, that dickwad with the mind games. Even Hannah, who Dean reluctantly liked - he still can’t see her sticking by their side, falling, sacrificing everything for them.

Cas is their third wheel, the stabilizer that keeps Team Free Will upright and moving forward. Without him, they’re a tandem bicycle, and nobody wants a repeat of that opening scene from Gabriel’s sitcom from Hell.

“Yeah, but at least you always tried to do the right thing.”

“There is no try, only what I did or did not do,” Cas answers with a strange, defeated expression.

“Okay, but,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes at Cas’s butchered Star Wars reference, “Yoda’s a lot of things, but applicable to the real world without space lasers, he is not. Sometimes the only thing you can do is try, dude.”

God knows, Dean could never have forgiven Cas for any of the shit he pulled if he hadn’t been 100% positive Cas had the best of intentions. Cas did all those things to save the world, and, sometimes, to save Dean personally. Which gives him the girliest, fuzzy feelings and also makes him want to punch a wall.

Cas throws him a pitying look. “Every time I ‘try’ to make things better, I fail.” He shakes his head. “When you were taken, I searched for months to find you. Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. I’m a… dumbass.”

“I thought you preferred ‘trusting,’” Dean jokes, and it only sounds a little forced.

Cas throws him an exasperated look. “Perhaps a few years ago. But now? I’ve made too many mistakes, and people have suffered - you and Sam have suffered - as a result. You don’t need to spare my feelings, Dean. It’s hardly what I deserve.”

Dean frowns, tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes in Cas's defeated air. “Hey, what’s with the pity party?”

“It’s not a ‘pity party’,” Cas counters. “These are basic facts.”

Dean leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “You aren’t serious.”

Cas stares back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean rakes his gaze up and down Cas’s face, looking for a break, for a tell - even though he knows he won’t find any. “You saved the world. A couple of times by now.”

“I also personally put it in jeopardy more than once,” Cas mutters. “I trusted Crowley to steal Purgatory. I trusted Metatron to bring peace to Heaven. I trusted Lucifer to take out the Darkness.”

Dean’s heart sinks with every reminder of Cas’s greatest hits. “Come on…”

Cas’s mouth thins, lips pressing together as he raises his glass to his mouth. “You don’t need to stay to keep me company, either,” he says in a low voice. “I’m the one under the spell. If you have anything more pressing, I can wait here for Rowena.”

“Shut up,” Dean says automatically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas exhales a weighty sigh, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

“Hey, what you need - hell, what we both need - is a win,” Dean says reassuringly. “Everything’s been such shit, you need a reminder to keep going.” He gets up from his seat, his legs itching to move. “Why don’t you tell me more about that man of yours?” he asks quickly, his words nearly tripping over themselves to get out before the regret sets in. “Maybe that’s the key to getting your head back in the game.”

Cas doesn’t say anything as Dean moves to peruse a row of books he has no intention of ever reading. Eventually, Cas protests without much conviction, “My head is in the game. I am still useful.”

Dean’s head jerks around so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It isn’t?” Cas asks, head tilting in confusion.

Dean makes a face. “I mean, if you’re feeling down, you… shouldn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean paces to the other end of the bookshelf, unbelievably annoyed at Cas for making him spell it out for him. “Forget it,” Dean says instead. “I still owe you for ganking Billie-”

“But the cosmic consequences-”

“Will suck, but in the meantime you saved our lives. I owe you.” Dean turns so he’s back to fully facing Cas. “So, tell me what this mystery guy is into.”

Cas’s eyes narrow at him. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Seriously?”

Cas straightens and nods.

“But,” Dean says, words failing as he wars with himself. He could push Cas for more info or keep on living in blissful ignorance. But if he has to choose between his own personal peace of mind or Cas experiencing the one pinnacle of human happiness (or so Dean’s been told in countless chick flicks he’ll take to the grave), it’s no choice at all. He starts again, “If you tell me about him, it’ll make this a lot easier.”

“I don’t want it to be easier,” Cas says, baffled. “I don’t want this to be anything.”

Dean gapes. “Why the hell not?”

Cas taps his empty glass on the table, irritated. “Please, leave it alone.”

“No,” Dean says mulishly. “I wanna help you, man.”

“I don’t want any help.”

“Well, tough shit because you’re getting it anyway. You’re family-”

Cas’s face does a weird spasm.

“-And that’s what you do for family,” Dean continues, a little confused and insulted. They are family; Cas said so, back when he thought he was dying in Ramiel’s barn.

“Drop it.”

“No,” Dean argues, shoving down everything else as his temper rises. “You’re hurtin’, and I can help. Why don’t you trust me? You trusted Crowley, Metatron, fucking Lucifer-”

Too far. Shit.

Cas whirls around, his face a mask of frustration and an emotion Dean has never seen before. “I did, and you know what? They screwed me. And, please forgive me, Dean, but I am tired of being used and used up, over and over.”

Dean blinks, his anger falling away to a raw hurt only Cas can dredge up. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Cas runs a weary hand down his face. He just shakes his head.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s me,” Dean says - pleads, really. “You know me better than anyone else, ’cept Sammy. I won’t do something like that.”

Cas glares. “I do know you, so I know that is exactly what will happen.”

Dean reels back, and he can’t save himself in time before an undoubtedly pained look spreads across his face.

Cas’s hostility cracks, but Dean’s already gotten the message.

So Cas’s one big happy loving family message was only a deathbed thing. That’s… fine. Dean’s done it himself, a time or two. Told Sam to live his life and not go looking for revenge or a way to fix it - all a crock of horse shit, of course. He should’ve figured Cas was more human than angelic with that poison pumping through his veins, making him all weak and sweaty. ’Course he wasn’t above feeling human sentimentality in his death throes.

Face hardening, Dean turns on his heel. “You were right about one thing. I guess I do have more important things to do than staying here with you.”

“Dean,” he hears behind him, but Dean doesn’t look back.

* * *

Dean always hides a spare bottle of booze in the bottom drawer of the desk in his bedroom. It's mostly empty, but, hopefully, by the time Dean's polished it off, Cas’ll be cured, Rowena will be gone, and they all can pretend this never happened - Dean can pretend that Cas stopped keeping secrets because he’s learned they always blow up in his face in the past six years.

Anyway.

First, the booze.

Dean’s barely wrestled the top off with shaking fingers of leftover anger when a knock sounds against his door.

“’S the witch gone yet?” Dean asks without lifting his head.

The door opens. “Dean, it’s me.”

Dean takes a long pull of whiskey.

Cas sighs, audible in the stuffy, tension-filled space between them. He doesn’t approach, instead hovering in the doorway, and isn’t that how it always goes? Always poised for flight, that’s Cas. “Dean,” he repeats, which only makes Dean's blood boil that much hotter.

“What?” he demands. “What do you want now? ’Cause I can’t think of a single thing you need from me, Cas.”

Cas presses his lips together. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“Me?” Dean barks incredulously. “You’re the one hiding things and not letting me help you.”

“You won’t accept this is one area in which you can’t help?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

Cas shakes his head, his gaze focusing on Dean’s face with his patented laser intensity. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah, I’m just a jackass who can’t get a lady to stick around for more than a few hours. I get it.” He glances up to see Cas’s stricken expression. Frowning, Dean looks away.

Cas steps tentatively into Dean’s room, his face weirdly apprehensive. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Sure,” Dean says, tipping the bottle back like it’s water because he needs to be so much drunker to deal with Cas and his love spell bombshells right now.

Cas hovers awkwardly by Dean’s desk, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “You’re so capable of love.”

“Cas-” Dean starts, but he has no idea where he’s going with this.

Cas keeps talking, thank God. “You don’t acknowledge that side of you very often, but I feel it every time we see each other, every time you’re with your brother. You care, you love, so wholly and completely.” Cas chuckles ruefully. “I didn’t realize it for a few years. I didn’t see how unique it was, how special you are, but you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”

Dean’s tongue finally unsticks from the roof of his mouth. Face flaming hotter than the inferno where he first met Cas eight years ago, he rasps out, “Cas - what the hell are you saying?”

Cas swallows, dragging his gaze back up to meet Dean’s wide eyes. “The reason I didn’t tell you about the love spell was because it couldn’t make me love you any more than I already do.”

Dean blinks, dumbfounded, at Cas, the words love you bouncing around his skull like a blocked radio signal. Cas said them; Dean heard them with his own two ears; but the meaning behind the words is getting lost in transmission.

As Dean’s brain struggles to make sense of just about everything, Cas nods once. “Well, now you know. I’ll go wait for Rowena’s cure in the kitchen.”

And then he leaves.

Dean slams the whiskey bottle down on his desk, cursing as it nearly topples over in his haste. He sets it right, swearing more as precious seconds pass by. He hurtles down the hall, half-convinced Cas lied to him to get a head start and is really halfway to Timbuktu.

But Dean finds Cas in the library, sitting more or less where he left him before Dean had his little wallowing session in his bedroom.

“Cas!” Dean blurts, skidding to a halt and grabbing onto the edge of the table for support.

Cas looks up, frowning. “I - “ he gives himself a little shake and starts again, “Is Rowena having trouble with the spell?”

“What?” Dean strides forward on shaky legs. “No - I mean, I don’t know. They could be fucking in a supply closet for all I care.”

Cas’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. For the first time today, he looks almost afraid. “Then why are you here?” he asks, his gaze darting towards the stairs to the exit. “I’m only going to stay in the Bunker until Rowena can finish. Then I will go.”

“Go?” Dean repeats, a spike of panic shooting up his spine. “You can’t.”

Cas inhales a sharp breath. “You want me to stay?”

“You want to bail?” Dean demands, his voice rising.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “You’re upset. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m not fucking upset!”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. “You clearly are. Your pulse is rising. Your pupils are dilated. I can smell your elevated levels of adrenaline.”

Dean makes a face. “Dude - lines - crossed.”

“Fine,” Cas says, his face set. He gets up. “I can coordinate with Rowena at a later date. She should focus on the cursed box, anyway. It’s clearly a more pressing concern and the reason we called her in the first place.”

“Hey.” Dean takes a step forward. “Wait.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a thin line. “What do you want, Dean? I did as you asked. I told you the spell could only latch onto my feelings for you.”

Dean falters, his words failing him.

Cas’s shoulders slump. “I did warn you, you know,” he murmurs, trying to pass Dean on his way towards the door.

Dean grabs onto Cas’s bicep before he can disappear. “Gimme a moment. What you said - it’s a lot.”

Miracle of miracles, Cas stops.

Dean can practically feel the power thrumming underneath the trench coat sleeve in his grip, but Cas wordlessly lets Dean guide him back to the library table.

“Okay,” Dean starts, his head still mercilessly void of the right thing to say, “So that guy, the one you’re - well, it’s - he’s me?” he asks, stumbling over his words like he hasn’t since that one time Rhonda Hurley opened her underwear drawer.

Cas nods once, his face impossibly solemn.

“Right,” Dean grunts. He rubs at his chin, Cas watching the whole while. “That’s - wow.”

“Quite,” Cas says wryly.

“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Dean shoots back. “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Cas sighs. “But now you do.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot. If only he could be more like Cas with the grand declarations.

Cas opens his mouth, pausing for a beat before saying, “I was never intending to leave permanently. I will still help you figure out how to deal with Kelly Kline. I will still assist with research, translations, anything you need.” His blue eyes bore into Dean’s face. “I can still be useful.”

Dean’s chest aches. “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t about that?” he asks gruffly.

Cas’s earnest expression falters. “Of course,” he says, subdued. “Regardless, know that I am always willing to help the Winchesters.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, “This isn’t - it’s never been - about you being goddamn useful.” He huffs an exasperated breath, frowning harder as Cas doesn’t immediately get it and launch himself at Dean.

God, that would make this so much easier.

“What you want?” Dean says, glaring daggers at the tabletop between them, “That whole, mind, body, soul crap? You got it.”

Cas blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You already have it,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Cas cocks his head like a perplexed chicken, still as clueless as ever.

It’s clearly time to bring out the big guns. If Cas is going to spout pretty speeches that steal Dean’s breath away and leave him weak-kneed but not actually, you know, make a move, Dean will just have to do everything himself.

Fine. That’s how he’s always operated, anyway.

Face determined, he leans over and grasps the lapels of Cas’s trench coat.

Cas leans back a fraction, his eyes widening in alarm or shock. But before he can utter another word, Dean brings their mouths together.

Cas takes a moment to get with the program. There’s a split-second (that lasts several years) when Cas almost seems to push Dean off him, but he kisses back before Dean can yank himself away first. Cas’s mouth is tentative against Dean’s, like he’s waiting for Dean to end it all and yell, “Got ya!”, but he unseals his lips with a light sigh as Dean gently parts them with his tongue.

Dean unclenches one hand from Cas’s lapel. He reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw, the raspy stubble a physical reminder of the goddamn win he’s finally getting. His knees twinge from awkwardly leaning over, but rampaging Leviathans could burst into the kitchen and Dean wouldn’t give any less of a fuck.

He has Cas right where he wants him, and he’s going to fucking savor it for as long as he can.

When Cas pulls away, his face shows nothing but pure confusion. “Why?” he breathes, raising a finger to touch his lips.

Dean, still half-standing, half-leaning over him, frowns. He falls back to his seat with a thump. “Because you weren’t going to do it first?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t think you wanted anything like that,” he pauses, “with me.”

Like there’s anyone else around who wants to get real up close and personal with the most dumbass angel in the garrison.

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, the faintest inklings of embarrassment creeping in now they’re not kissing anymore and Cas’s first reaction isn’t to look like he got free tickets to Disneyland. “I did. Do.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat.

Cas looks away from Dean for the first time, and Dean dies a little inside. Stiffy, Cas says, “If this is some misguided attempt to show your sympathy for my situation. I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

“Gesture?” Dean echoes, “What the hell are you on, man? I don’t kiss random dudes because I feel bad for them, Christ.”

“Then why?”

Dean grimaces. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s face. “I have misunderstood your actions in the past, and I have no desire to do it again.”

Dean groans. “Look, I didn’t think angels could have feelings like that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Or I would’ve… done something about it sooner,” he says, and that’s mostly true. Probably would’ve tried to seduce Cas, failed, and then jumped off a cliff, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, normal angels can’t,” Cas says, “but there’s something broken in me.”

“You’re not broken,” Dean swears loudly, his anger flaring. “You’re… better. A new and improved God Squad, far as I can tell.” He narrows his eyes, daring Cas to talk shit about himself one more time.

Cas bites his lip. “You truly mean it.”

Dean tries for a mocking leer, but it comes out more like a dopey, hopeful smile. “You wanna get it engraved? Put up in neon in the Dean cave?” he asks, eyebrows raised as excitement courses through his veins. Cas loves him. Dean can make good on all those what ifs that have been plaguing him for years. “Tattooed on my ass?”

Cas chuckles lightly. “That would be a start.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. He can already feel the insecurities looming on the horizon. There’s always a catch: Cas never stays; Cas might want Dean now, but he’ll fly away the moment Dean fucks up because he has no idea what he’s doing.

But none of that matters right now.

He kissed Cas.

And Cas didn’t smite him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't flutter off to the moon for shits and giggles.

Cas knows him, knows him better than anyone except Sam. And despite all the fucked up shit in Dean's head, Cas is staying anyway, with his eyes wide open like nobody else Dean has ever been with.

Cas smiles in return. “If I had known a love spell would result in this outcome, I would have sought out that witch ages ago.”

And just like that, all Dean’s happy-ending fantasies come to a screeching halt.

Read Part II here!