#like this dude should have gotten help which in the process would have prevented all this

[moe-broey]

Like not to talk about it too much but god. Dude at large is mentally unwell/unstable too. Like. A part of me WANTS to be sympathetic to that, and I absolutely blame piss poor mental health resources/institutions for like. Being piss poor. Like it is just as much of a systemic issue as it is a This Guy Did Something Horrifying issue

[blueskittlesart]

wait wait wait, I get oot being a narrative about being forced to grow up early bc literally everything abt kokiri forest, but how is it a narrative about adults failing children? Link in particular? I'd think if anything they failed Zelda by not taking her warnings seriously so she had nobody to help her prevent it except Impa and a kid she met less than a week ago, which in the end was their ruin that Link had to deal with...oh ok that sums it up doesn't it. but I'm. Actually struggling to recall concrete, on-screen adult characters lmao.

Ok ok recap, the Deku tree didn't actually send for Link until he was Literally Dying (and given that it was too late to save him from the curse and some kokiri had noticed something wrong with the forest, he must have stuck with it WITHOUT saying anything for a while) and given that literally all the kokiri are kids he didn't have much of a choice pick. Can't remember if Darunia actually asked Link to clear the dodongo cave or if he did it on his own...but yeah the Zora king was useless—dude, don't ask the nine year old to crawl in the belly of a giant fish and GET OFF YOUR BUTT. Sage of Light was a BITCH like, shut up and don't blame the 9 yo for opening the sacred realm, ganondorf would have gotten there eventually and hurting a lot more people in the process, where the hell were you when it happened given that this is YOUR temple. And then when he was 16 most ppl wouldn't know that he's still 9 inside so I think I glazed over from there? Maybe I shouldn't have, but I get the feeling that kids come of age and are trusted with adult responsabilities earlier in their world—I mean, in wind waker Link came of age at 12.

OK that's like 4 adults who failed to deal with their own problems but I really think the Deku Tree tried his best until the curse forced his non-existent hand. Honorary mentions for useless adults include Malon's lazy father and the greedy stable hand (poor Malon) and the castle patrolling guards. And the windmill guy not checking the well after u play the song of storms bc HOLY SHIT. And whoever sealed the well in the future nor sealing the top too, are you ASKING for someone to fall down there

oh this is great. more people should come into my asks and then literally make my entire point for me

[brendaaaa]

Please Hurry?! (Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader)

“Oh my god-! Billy, babe are you okay?!” Your eyes widened as your boyfriend climbed through your window, collapsing on the end of your bed. He groaned and lifted a hand to his purpley bruised face, grimacing at the blood on his fingers. “No…?” he didn’t seem sure of his condition, nor very right in the head on this Friday night.

You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking him to make sure he wouldn’t pass out. “Stay awake, Billy. You hear me?” He nodded dazedly. “Good. I’ll be right back.” You made it to your bedroom door, took one glance back at him to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, and walked to your bathroom to get supplies. He was a mess, and would surely need to be cleaned up. You were generally a pretty tough-skinned person, but even this threw you off. You wouldn’t exactly consider you and Billy’s relationship as secret, but it was along the lines of hidden.

Your parents had never met him, although you occasionally dropped his name as a nice boy that you did school projects with. Which was not true of course, Billy didn’t do shit for school, but the idea was that if maybe you eventually were going to introduce him to your parents it would help soften the blow if they had heard his name in a good liking before. You and Billy had been more or less dating for three months. You weren’t going to lie, you liked his bad boy persona, but after spending more time with him, you realized that there were moments when you could see right through it. When he was vulnerable, and seemed like he didn’t want to be the way he was. So that’s why it broke your heart when he came through your window tonight, bloodied and bruised.

It appeared that his bad boy act had gotten him in some trouble. You held up two tubes of medicine to see them better in the light, one labeled neosporin and the other bacitracin. The hell am I supposed to know which to pick? You thought to yourself, and groaned, mentally cursing Billy for getting himself into this mess, and took both tubes with you as you walked back to your bathroom. When you entered your bedroom again, to your relief, Billy was still conscious, and sitting on the stool in front of your mirror. He grimaced as he lightly touched the cut on his forehead, pulling away almost immediately. You smiled sadly, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your head on his shoulder. You leaned around and kissed his bruised cheek before setting your supplies down on the end of your bed, except for the washcloth you held in your hand. You gently wiped some of the dried blood off his face, being careful not to graze any areas that were directly wounded. “Mind if I ask what happened?” You said, raising an eyebrow as you worked at cleaning him up. “I got in a fight,” he stated shortly. “No shit,” you put a hand on your hip, stopping your process to look him in the eye. “What I mean is who did this to you? And why?” You wondered, exasperated. “Can you please hurry up?” Billy pleaded, glancing over at your alarm clock, balanced precariously on the edge of your nightstand.

“Why?” you gave him a suspicious look. “You have somewhere to be? Cause I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be going anywhere in the state you’re in.” He put his palms together, like he was praying, and took a deep breath before saying, “Y/n. This is serious. I promise that I’ll tell you about it, but can you please fix me up while I do?”

You huffed, but nodded. “Okay…” “And please hurry,” he added. You nodded again in compliance as you resumed cleaning the blood of his face. “You know, I’m not apart of any gangs or anything-” he started to say, but you cut him off, “You better hope you aren’t, pretty boy! I might just beat your ass myself if I heard of any such thing!” He made eye contact with you in the mirror, clearly annoyed. “Don’t interrupt if you want to know the story.” “Fine. Sorry,” you held your hands up defensively. “As I was saying, I’m not a part of a gang, but what I got involved in tonight was gang violence.” You had to physically bite down on your tongue in order to prevent yourself from cutting in.

“You know Max Shepard and his boys right?” He continued without waiting for your response, “Well I was chumming with one of them. I was just at the old dirt bike grounds, hanging around, I swear to god, y/n, I didn’t know who he was. We were talking about going to his cousin’s place, smoking a joint or two, having a good time, when some other dude jumped us. He beat the crap out of me.”

Billy paused to take a breath, and continued with his story. “He got some good hits,” he gestured to his face, “And then left me alone, and got a few in on my buddy, before I’d had enough and trashed him good. Me and my guy were just going to leave, get the hell out of there. See, I had no idea what was going on here. But then my friend told me he was one of Shepard’s boys, and that the guy who jumped us was one of them Hawkins Tigers, you know, the football jocks.” You nodded, worried about where this was going.

“That’s when I realized that I’d gotten into some gang shit, and that this was going to be harder than I thought to work my way out of. Because, now, more guys were showing up and they were pretty pissed that I’d knocked one of their own out cold. Before my buddy and I knew it, they had us surrounded. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of that, because, c’mon, me and my friend vs ten other guys? Stacked odds. But lucky for me, my friend’s pretty good at talking, so he cooked up this plan, this whole car race. It’s in…” he glanced at the arm clock. “Twenty five minutes. All I have to do is show up, and win the race. The Tigers will let me off the hook, and I’ll have nothing on my back.”

“And then what?” You asked, taping the last bit of gauze to cover one of his bigger gashes. “You become one of Max’s gang?”

“No,” he spun around on the stool. “I don’t do any of that gang stuff, and you know it, y/n.”

He kissed your neck gently, the highest place he could reach from where he sat, and you leaned your head on his, hands going to his hair.

“Ok,” you finally said in a whisper. “You should probably go now,” you kissed the top of his head.

“What? You’re actually going to let me go?” He smiled lightly.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes. But please come back here when it’s over. I need to know that you are safe.”

He nodded, getting up and heading towards the window.

“Billy?” He turned around at your voice. You grabbed onto his shoulder, looking him in the eye a moment before you said, “I love you.”

It was the first time you had ever said that to him.

He tucked a string of your hair behind your ear, looking at you as if you were the single most most precious thing in the world, and said, “I know.”

And he left your window.

Word Count: 1286

[itsnothingofinterest]

I’ve often said that it seems like a lot of the main pros below All Might seem to end up representing serious flaws in hero society; specifically the ones on the hero side of things. So as a fun little exercise I thought I’d go over all those main pros and what flaws they represent (should be easy, they’re usually their own personal character flaws). Maybe also give my assessment to what I think their chances of living to the end of the series are while I’m at it, since representing serious flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health if treated poorly.

Endeavor

A man who needs no introduction if you’re any kind of HeroAca fan. love or hate him, everyone knows the new no.1.

Funnily enough, he’s actually the main exception to the rule we mentioned before about a pros’ character flaw being the flaw they thematically represent. See, his character flaw is that he focus so much on heroics, his career in heroics, or just his own general needs over his family; to the point that he only had a family to have children he could live vicariously though, and felt no obligation to love the ones he couldn’t live through. What he represents, is actually two-fold: 1) the toxicity of the ranking system which makes heroics so competitive and encourage heroes focus on some arbitrary number, and 2) the power heroes have that let them do horrible things and get away with it. They’re connected concepts, for sure, but not exactly synonymous.

And with that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, the ranking toxicity is out of his hands, but besides that...it can be hard to tell. He has, under semi-aggressive guidance of his family, publicly taken responsibility for the things he’s done and vowed to make up for it; which helps his chances considerably. But in that same scene he also said that the only way he can atone is to keep doing what he’s always done; beat up villains and at least 1 family member. It sends a mixed message. But in general; I want to say that he’s gotten enough development that he doesn’t feel set to fail his arc now. I’d be tempted to say his chances look pretty good...were it not for all the separate reasons I think he’s likely to die anyway. Oh well, no one’s situation can be perfect.

Hawks

The controversial hero; Hawks!

I’ve summarized Hawks’ main flaw before as ‘hubris’, partially because he’s an Icarus figure so generalizing it like that feels clever, but it’s a bit more complex than that. Hawks main flaw isn’t so much pride as it is self-righteousness. Hawks represents the belief that everything is just right as it is, and the status quo must therefore be protected at all costs. A denial that the heroes he believes in have done anything wrong even after staring their mistakes in the face and spending months talking with those the heroes failed. In fact to contrast Endeavor’s line to the press; Hawks tried to excuse what he did as though it had to be done. That’s the opposite of promising.

With that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, I’d actually put him at 50/50 odds; since I see 2 endings for him, and it’s too early to tell which is more likely. See, while we’ve only got two instances of a “pattern,” Hawks seems like a guy who falls to the ground, recovers and gets back up, only to fall even further down because he never learns. So his two futures are either: A) To actually learn. Take a fall so hard that in the aftermath, he can’t convince himself he was right all along. Maybe he gets Endeavor killed, or does something to sever their relationship. Something that’d force him to self-reflect. B) To take a fall so hard it proves fatal; his mistakes catching up to him in a way that doesn’t give him a chance to self-reflect.

Best Jeanist

Sir Long Neck McImagine Obsession himself.

Best Jeanist represents the self-interest in hero society can have over justice itself. Already known for being focused on superficial image; he’s dramatic reappearance revealed just how deep that went. For when it’s revealed by a villain that a hero has committed great crimes that ended up motivating that villain’s actions; Jeanist’s immediate concern was the damage this would do to the reputation of heroes. More than what kind of person he’s been working alongside, and even more than saving lives, Jeanist’s first thought went the wellbeing of the industry he works in and how bad they would collectively look to the public; that’s what he’s most angry at Dabi for.

Chances of survival are...maybe 40-50%? There’s no real leaning one way or another frankly, so that kind of feels like it’d put him at even odds for the exact opposite reason as Hawks. Will he live? Will he die? Who can say? Leaning just a bit towards death though, because again, representing flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health.

Mirko

And here we have the violent one.

While I’m tempted to lump this one with Hawks, I actually think Ms.Mirko represents the heroes use of incredible violence best. See, Mirko is someone who really likes to beat people up, even once in a spin-off said Bakugou’s drive to murder was a good thing in a hero. And while she won’t even feel the need to kill like Hawks apparently did, her response to fighting the High End Nomu was something like “finally, some villains I get to just kill with no ethical issues, that makes things easy”. (Which, considering the High Ends are sentient is, um, hmm). Her love of violence borders on villainous, and she freely admits it is simple obligation that prevents her from crossing that boundary. It’s reminiscent of when Shigaraki pondered what the difference really was between heroes’ & villains’ violence. And, well, if it closes the gap in morality between heroes and villains, it’s going on this list.

Regarding her chances of survival, like Jeanist she’s not exactly defined enough to really say anything for sure or end up on any extreme end; I’ve no real reason to think she’s very likely live or die. That said; on the one hand she seems a bit more eagerly reveling in the flaw she represents, plus a blood knight getting back into the fight after sustaining heavy injuries is never a good sign. On the other hand, Horikoshi clearly likes her for reasons we won’t address here. I think I’m gonna average it out to 50%. Maybe even 60%.

Kamui Woods & Mt. Lady

You wouldn’t think some of the most plain as bread heroes would be joining the ranks of the problematic, and in fairness that’s because they mostly aren’t, but they are the ones who best represent a serious issues with heroes. They represent the way heroes will focus on flashiness & the problems they cause/exasperate in the process. Misconduct performed in the quest for fame; in so many words. Kamui showed this in chapter 1; calling a giant purse snatcher “evil incarnate” because that villain was attention grabbing and disturbing the peace. This is especially noticeable in hindsight, after we’ve see some real problems heroes could be dealing with but aren’t; like lost children on their way to becoming villains. And Mt. Lady represent it by how she operates in a big city despite her powers really working better for more rural or neighborly environments; because city work makes her more popular and rakes in the cash (that she loses paying for repairs).

That said, even if those are flaws I feel are highly associated with them, none of that is stuff they’re actively involved in; they’re naïve at best, and have already improved considerably (for minor characters at least) into better heroes. Frankly speaking, their changes of survival are probably averaging at 85% (80% for Kamui, 90% for Mt.). Like, they’re not gag characters per se; but they’re not super serious characters, they’re not connected to the MCs in any real way, and they don’t knowingly contribute to any of society’s corruptions. Really, so long as big H doesn’t really want to off someone we know for a shock, they’re probably fine.

Gran Torino

And lastly, the only non-big shot on the list, the unpleasant old geezer himself; Gran Torino!

What GT represents better than any other, I think, is the idea of passing any blame a hero may have for the actions/very existence of a villain on to the villain in question, thus allowing the heroes to better absolve themselves. You know like how with Shigaraki, he ignores any fault he has with that guys’ existence and simplifies him down to a criminals they can only beat down; and how dare he exist and thereby hurt Toshinori’s feelings. On that note, I’d say he also represents the idea that the villains are what they are, they’re too far gone, and there’s nothing the heroes can do about it. The most convenient excuse to not ever have to try to make up for what they did wrong, which you can’t even blame them too much for because they “tried their best” (even if they really didn’t).

So, what are his odds? Well frankly I wanna put him at 0% just cause he’s so old that if a villain doesn’t get him, time will. But that’s cheating. In actuality, it’s hard to say; dude’s a stubborn old man, and it really feels like it will depend on his ability to admit how wrong he handled things regarding Tomura. Now admittedly, he did admit to making the wrong choice in handling Kotaro, but he’s said nothing of Tomura so far. For now I’ll put him at 30%, but we’ll have to see if he sticks to his guns regarding current events next time he talks with All Might or whoever to really get a gasp on his chances.

And that’s about all the big ones so we’ll wrap it up. Anyway the point is it feels like a lot of heroes are gonna need to get their acts together lest they risk coming down with Not Alive Syndrome sometime in the future.

[klanceyuri]

And it begins

A month had passed since Dexter had gotten everyone to calm down, stop fighting and agree on a more civilised fighting instead of a 'barbaric' royal, and now, everyone had to meet up at the same null realm as before before we learn the rules.

"Mom! Dad! I'm going to Sam's for the night! See you in the morning!" I shouted out across the house before taking my leave, let's hope I'm not in shit after the tournament ends, which should only take ten hours, which is just enough time to get a few hours of sleep when we return.

Heading straight for the sewers, I pulled off my hoodie, no human would be out this late, sure the time is only eight, but right around now is when people are eating their food before heading off to bed or getting ready to have a night on the town.

"I think that I take one more left then head down into the sewers..." I mumbled before taking said left, finding my friends waiting for me the metal plate already removed.

"What took you so long?" Tucker asked as I walked over to the two, Sam was eating a piece of fruit, maybe a tangerine, and Tucker, had a burger in hand.

"I was eating food, with my sister." I said almost deadpan before hopping down the opening, holding onto the metal bars that served as a ladder before dropping all the way down taking a roll to prevent getting hurt but having to hold my balance as to not fall into the river of grime, Sam tossing her tangerine to the side before hopping down, I caught her before letting her down, Tucker taking the normal way down.

"Let's hurry up and find that rift already, I hate being down here, the place reeks." Tucker said before starting to lead us down the maze that was the city sewage system.

"Agreed." Sam said, rubbing her arms a bit, I handed her my hoodie ,which she thanked me for sliding the fluffy jacket over her head.

"I'm sure the rift is here someplace close by." I said hopefully as we took another turn, the rift appearing before our eyes like the subspace tunnel cracked open on command when we got close enough to the rift.

"Cool, let's hop in and see if we have the right one." Tucker said before grabbing my hand and dragging me in, not even bothering to make sure Sam was gonna be there to, lucky me, reflexes to grab onto anything when stuff like that happens come in handy to make sure no one is left behind.

The warping process was shorter than last time and instead of just ending up on the ground we fell for a bit before the idea of me having ghost powers decided to reintroduce itself at the last moment, letting me clutch to prevent fall damage, just barely grabbing Sam and tucker in time before gliding over to the spot finding everyone just chilling, chatting and sitting on the floor.

"Dude, what was that for?" I questioned glaring at Tucker a bit.

"I wanted to get here sooner, I told Dexter I would help with his speech again." Tucker explained before I dropped him down, only a small two foot drop, doing the same to Sam who landed on Tucker who let out a pained groan.

"At least wait until we know that Sam's gonna be dragged through as well next time." I sighed before hovering down, having ghost powers is such a flex, and I love that small detail about having these powers.

"I'm with Danny." Sam said crossing her arms a little bit.

"Everyone! Calm down! We have a plan to make ze most of ziss problem!" Dexter shouted out over the crowd everyone stopping chatting completely and pull his attention over to the man on stage.

"this better be good!" A small, spindly, caterpillar like, black and white striped monster shouted out over the crowd, murmurs of agreement erupting around me and my two bros.

"Ze plan is zat we hold a tournament across all of your universe while I figure out how to fix ze portals!" Dexter shouted across the crowd, getting some shouts of agreement.

"Where will we hold the first match?" The kid in the orange shirt with white hair said, I still have to thank him.

"I found places in each of your universes to hold matches, because you asked we will hold the first match at your house." Dexter said, the kid muttering something in agreement before I walked over tapping the kid on his shoulder.

"Who are you?" The kid asked.

"Danny Fenton, I forgot to thank you for taking care of the other turtle with who I'm assuming is your friend last month." I told the kid.

"My pleasure, my name is Lincoln Loud, and the one you saw beating the shit out of the turtle with me is my sister, Lucy Loud." Lincoln told me before putting out his hand for a shake.

"Truce?" I asked gripping his hand firmly.

"Definitely, but if we meet in the ring, don't think I'll hold back." Lincoln Said before we shook.

"Same to you and your sister." I said before taking my leave and sitting back down to pay attention to the rules Dexter was telling us, both Tucker and Sam eventually getting bored and leaning on me.

[unsaidholland]

maybe in another universe | h. holland

this is supposed to be pt. two to the sweater, but you don’t need to read that before reading this! 

warnings: alcohol consumption but everyone is of legal drinking age, a little bit of angst(?)

harry holland was still on your mind five months after your break up. he was still the love of your life and nothing could change that. as much as you missed him you guys were over, nothing could change that. everything reminded you of him, as it should have after spending more than two years together. you couldn’t help but wonder if he still thought of you.

autumn leaves had already begun to fall. you were sitting on your bed, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders to keep you warm, as you were working on an analysis for your statistics class. you missed the way he would keep you company while you were doing your schoolwork. you missed the way he would remind you to take breaks when you were too motivated to stop, or when he would get you to focus when you lacked motivation. you missed the comfort of his company, you missed him. after saving the document, you shut your laptop and thought about him. but if the universe wanted us together, then we would’ve stayed together. in an attempt to distract yourself, you headed to the kitchen to make yourself a snack and a cup of tea.

“things will get better,” you said in a failed attempt to make light of how you were feeling. 

hours later you found yourself getting ready for a party. allie had texted you half an hour ago saying that she was coming by your place at eight and that you guys were going to go to a party that a mutual friend of hers was throwing. you wore a black mini dress, did your hair and put on some makeup. after putting your heels on, you looked at yourself in the mirror and felt confident. 

you poured a shot but a knock at your door prevented you from taking it. you opened the door to see allie standing there. her tanned skin practically glowing under the porch lights, and her red dress hugging every curve of her body. she looked like a goddess, and she knew it. “hi lovey!” she pulled you in for a hug. “are you ready to go?” you looked back inside at the shot glass sitting on your counter, but instead grabbed your bag and phone and nodded. “great! let’s go!” you followed allie as she got into a car, an uber perhaps, and then you were off to the party. 

bodies flooded the house. as you and allie shoved your way past you found yourself searching the room to see if anyone else you knew was here. before you knew it, you and allie found yourselves in the kitchen pouring and mixing your own drinks. mostly vodka, very very little of anything else. your eyes scanned the room looking to see if harry was here, but you didn’t spot him.

“you know, y/n, you need to stop acting as if you’re gonna run into him everywhere! just relax dude, have fun!” allie said, taking a sip from the red solo cup in her hand shortly afterwards. you followed her actions, taking a sip of the mostly vodka, barely anything else, concoction that you had made. scrunching up your face at the taste, you looked around the room for some exit - there for not even 5 minutes and you already wanted to leave. 

“i still don’t understand why you dragged me out here allie.” you took another sip of your drink, suddenly thinking that this odd mixture tastes good.

“you are gonna have fun tonight and you are gonna thank me, babe. trust me.” a sly smile appeared on her face. though she didn’t have anything planned, you could tell that something was going to happen. you wanted so desperately to go back home and work on an essay for one of your classes. you wanted so desperately to get out of here and go get some fast food, then go home and binge-watch new girl. you didn’t want to be alone, you just wanted to leave the party.

the cogs in your brain started turning as soon as she gave you a look that screamed she was scheming. what in the world did she have planned? you thought. you leaned back onto the granite countertop, deep in thought when it suddenly dawned on you. she’s going to get me absolutely wasted. 

allie grabbed your hand and led you out of the kitchen, through the sea of bodies yet again to where everyone was dancing. blinding lights by the weeknd was playing through the speakers as you and allie sang along and moved to the beat. for a while, it felt like all of your concerns had left your body and all you were focused on was dancing with your best friend. swaying your hips back and forth. you were drunk, but you were having fun. you forgot that you were heartbroken, that was all you needed. 

•••

harry holland walked into the pub with his friends and brothers. they sat down at a table near the back of the pub, as per usual, and ordered a few beers. ‘guys night’ was what they had called it, but harry wasn’t dumb. he knew he had been sulking for too long and they were trying to take his mind off the breakup. it had been five months, but the wound was still as fresh as ever. 

“we’re just gonna have a few rounds and then go to drew’s party, yeah?” sam asked. of course he knew the plan, but he was making sure that his brother knew the plan. harry nodded in agreement, but he didn’t know why they didn’t just pre at their house, or how they even knew drew. harry stayed in the dark with his questions.

harry looked around the dim pub as if his eyes were searching for an escape. he may not of had any work to do, but he wanted to spend the night watching netflix with tessa by his side. harry was never one to turn down drinks and a night out, but he was out of it. 

tom snapped his fingers in front of harry’s face, breaking his thoughts and bringing him back to the conversation.

“you alright there?” tom said lightheartedly, a gentle laugh being let out. 

“yeah i’m fine.” the drinks had arrived just as harry finished his sentence. he grabbed one and took a long sip of the alcohol, hoping that it would loosen him up and make him more present.

the group quickly went back to their initial conversation, except harry participated this time around. 

“do you even know who’s gonna be at drew’s party?” tom asked, taking a sip from the beer in his hand. the truth was, no one knew who was going to be there.

drew was one of sam’s friends that he had met through a girl that he was seeing at the time. even after she and sam decided that they weren’t really meant for each other, he and drew stayed close. drew had a reputation for throwing huge parties, and they were the best parties. though harry didn’t want to admit it to himself, he really wanted to go knowing that he could take his mind off of y/n and find another girl in place of her.

a few more drinks and an uber ride later, the boys found themselves outside of drew’s house. it wasn’t extravagant, but it was a little bit larger than harry, tom’s, and harrison’s shared house.

they walked up to the door and let themselves in. sam led them down a hallway, pushing past the crowd of people so they could enter the kitchen. as they walked in and started pouring their own drinks, harry couldn’t help but notice the couples sprinkled about the room, making out with no shame. he was ashamed to admit it, but he wishes he had someone with him so he could be one of those couples.

sam handed him a red solo cup filled with a mixture that was sat in a cooler. harry didn’t know how long it was sitting there for, but it was still cold, and that’s all he needed. harry downed the drink, handing the now empty red cup back to sam for a refill as all his friends looked at him with wide eyes. 

“mate, he just handed you the cup, what the fuck?” harrison said. the whole group was shocked. it wasn’t a secret that harry was more likely to get wasted at a party, but they’ve never seen him like this.

sam handed harry back his cup, now full, and said, “don’t you dare down this, i’m not getting you another drink and i sure as hell won’t be carrying you home.” though sam would willingly give up a kidney for his twin, he didn’t want harry to turn into an alcoholic. he was one of the few people who know how bad the break up was for him, and he really didn’t want harry to have a bad time tonight because he was dwelling. somehow sam knew that harry was going to be okay tonight, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

•••

four drinks later, you and allie had teamed up for beer pong. the table was set up in the backyard of whoever’s house you were in. it had been a few hours, and you still hadn’t figured out who owned the house or whose party you were at, but the important part was you and allie kicked the other team’s ass. it was a glorious moment for you, and in it, you completely forgot about harry holland.

you were very obviously drunk at this point. after almost falling over multiple times while you and allie made your way back inside the house, your eyes landed on harry. he was with tuwaine, harrison, sam and tom. you wanted so badly to believe that you were imagining this, but as tuwaine noticed you and allie, he immediately stiffened up.

harry had a cup in his hand and was leaning against the countertop. the black bomber jacket that you used to steal was the only thing you processed about him before allie pulled you into a quieter area of the house.

“shit, babe i swear i didn’t know he was coming or that he was even invited. i’m so so sorry y/n.” allie said. she was freaking out as much as you were, but instead of freaking out with her, you brushed it aside.

“allie, seriously it’s fine. let’s get another drink, get me wasted, dance a little bit, and then let's go to a twenty-four hour macca’s!” the alcohol was clearly speaking and acting for you as you dragged allie back into the kitchen, which was now holland free, grabbed two cans of beer and handed one to allie. you opened your can and took a large sip. the plan was in motion and nothing was going to stop you. allie looked concerned for you, but she knew there was nothing she could ever do to stop you once you’ve gotten this far. allie knew the night wasn’t going to end well.

the two of you made your way back to the dance floor and began dancing with each other. the sound by the 1975 was filling your ears, you and allie singing loudly along with it. 

as the song ended you decided that you couldn’t stay inside any longer, so you and allie went out to the back where you had played beer pong earlier. it was much quieter than the loud and bass-heavy room you were previously in, much cooler too. you’d had enough of the sweaty bodies pressed around you, so you and allie went to the back of their backyard and sat in some empty chairs.

you had begun to go on about how you were sure you weren’t going to remember much from this night, transitioning into questioning how much you had to drink. allie laughed at you as you tried to count on your fingers, but failing to add up the total. then there was comfortable silence between the two of you. the occasional cheering from the beer pong players accompanied by the conversations that other people in the yard were having had calmed you down. you looked up at the sky, a little cloudy, but you could still make out a few of the constellations that decorated the night sky. it was well after midnight at this point, but it felt like the night was just beginning. you looked back at allie who smiled at you, and you smiled back with your red lipstick stained lips.

•••

harry stumbled down the steps as he decided to call an uber back to his house. after seeing you, he decided that the universe was giving him a reason to go home and be alone. he was also a little bit too drunk to hold his own and any reason to leave was a good reason.

as the copper curly-headed boy walked up to the sidewalk he noticed two girls talking. one wearing a red bodycon dress, the other wearing a black dress. they were clearly invested in the conversation, but as the red dress wearing girl, she froze. harry’s eyes widened as he realized who she was. to ease the awkward tension between him and the two girls, one of whom still didn’t know he was there, he gave allie a small smile which she returned.

if he had known the girl who he was still in love with was going to be at drew’s party, he wouldn’t have shown up.

allie had walked away without harry knowing, leaving y/n alone with him. they were standing out on the sidewalk alone in silence while harry was struggling to call an uber. harry let out a quiet, ‘fuck,’ as he realized his uber was 15 minutes away. he sighed and quietly laughed at how badly his night was ending. harry looked to his left to see y/n still standing there. 

“so, how was the party for you?” y/n asked. allie forced you to talk to him, bribing you with a nice bottle of rosé and a fresh baguette, things that y/n could easily buy, but just didn’t want to. the offer was impossible for y/n to turn down, mainly because you were a sucker for wine.

harry looked at the girl next to him, confused that you were talking to him, but relieved that they weren’t left in awkward silence.

“it was good,” he paused for a second before continuing, “wait, how do you and allie know drew?” harry moved to sit on the edge of the sidewalk, and you followed his actions.

“drew is one of allie’s mutual friends. i think she knows him because of hayden greene, not sure though.” silence reentered their conversation, but this time, it was more comfortable for the both of them. minutes passed before you spoke up again. “i’m gonna be honest with you for a second, i only went because allie dragged me out here. she said i was wallowing in self pity.” a small smile appeared on your face and you gently shook your head knowing that allie was telling the truth.

“sam planned our little escapade. honestly, i’d rather be on the couch with tess right now watching netflix or a film that i’ve seen one too many times.” he sighed realizing his brother’s efforts had failed to distract him and had failed to give him a night free of you, but he was glad he saw you and was talking to you. “there’s not a day that goes by where i don’t think about you, you know that?” a small chuckle left his mouth. he was looking at her, hoping that you would look back at him, but you never did. eyes focused on the road in front of them, eyes on the lawn of the house across the street from drew’s, eyes on the sewer grates, eyes on everything but his brown ones. “i really miss you.” the alcohol was making him say this, but his words were nothing but the truth. 

the desperation in harry’s voice was evident to you.

“i miss you too h.” you tilted her head to look up at him, and for the first time that night, you had a good look at his face. your eyes focused on every freckle that appeared on his skin, his lips, on every curl that you once swore was perfect. “you know, maybe in another lifetime we’d still be together h.” you let out a small laugh. ever since the breakup, you’d blamed everything on yourself. you’d convinced yourself that if you hadn’t made the decisions that you did near the end of your relationship that he would still be with you.

harry looked down at the road under his white high top converse, taking in the words you had just said. his eyebrows furrowed as confusion took over his thoughts.

“why can’t we be together in this lifetime? i know our breakup wasn’t something that either of us wanted.” he looked back up at you, shifting his body slightly to face you better, and you mirrored his actions to face him. he took your hands in his, his thumbs running over the backs of your hands as if he was trying to memorize them for the last time. “can’t we fix us?” harry was pleading at this point and he knew it, but he just wanted you back.

“harry, i-“ the uber pulled up to the house.

“come with me, we can go back to my place and talk this over. i’ll uber you home afterwards. please, just come with me y/n.” harry searched your eyes for any sort of opposition, but he didn’t find anything. you nodded and stood up. harry opened the car door, and after confirming that it was his uber, you both got in.

the ride back to harry’s place was filled with silence. you texted allie apologizing for leaving without her, but you promised her that you’d tell her everything that happened. the good and the bad.

after getting into the house, you quietly sighed in relief after taking your heels off. harry was now shoeless as he led you into the kitchen. you sat on a barstool, forearms resting on the countertop that capped their kitchen island. harry’s back was facing you as he grabbed two glasses of water in an attempt to sober you both up. you so desperately wanted more alcohol in your system, doubting your abilities to talk to your ex without the liquid courage.

“harry, i still love you. i really do, but didn’t we break up for a reason?” you couldn’t look at him. being the first to break the silence, you were sure your hands were shaking a little bit. they sat wrapped around the glass of water harry previously handed you.

“y/n this is the first time we saw each other in months, that has to be a sign!” his tone rose as he began to get really passionate. harry never believed in signs from the universe, but tonight changed everything. when he saw you at drew’s party he knew he had to do something, as if the universe was nudging him in your direction. “i know i never believed in the universe giving signs, but tonight had to mean something, right?” his volume dimmed at the end, as if he was getting too vulnerable and needed to retreat. you looked up at him, needing to search his expression. a sigh left your lips as you realized for the second time that night that he was wearing his heart on his sleeve just for you. 

“i don’t know.” maybe the universe wanted the two of you to have closure from one another or maybe the universe was pushing you two to get back together. you couldn’t tell what the universe had in store for you, but harry on the other hand was sure that you two were supposed to get back together. he knew in his heart that this was going to be his last chance to get you back, and he was ready to put everything on the line for you. after all, he was still in love with you. 

silence. no one said anything for what felt like an eternity. as you started drinking your water, harry started to bite his nails - a habit he had only when he was nervous. you picked up on this immediately and after putting down the glass, you reached over to gently pull his hand away from his mouth. your hand on his skin brought harry a familiar warmth that he didn’t realize that he was so desperate for. as for you, the feeling of your hand on his wrist only made you miss the feeling of his lips on yours.

enough was enough, you decided. you got up from the barstool and walked around to the other side of the kitchen island until you were inches away from him. he closed the gap between you, hands resting on your hips. your hands moved up to rest against his chest. the two of you didn’t need to say anything, you both knew what you wanted.

“i love you h.” your voice was so soft that you weren’t sure if he heard, but as a small genuine smile appeared on his face you knew he did. 

“i’m never letting you go again y/n. i promise.” he lifted one hand from your waist, curling all his fingers down towards his palm except for his pinky and his thumb. you moved one of your hands to lock pinkies with him, then pressing the pads of your thumbs together to secure the promise.

“i don’t ever want to lose you again,” you said, moving your hands up so they rested at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the curls that sat there. he leaned in to kiss you, and you met him in the middle. his lips were soft, the kiss tender. when you two pulled away from each other, he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you in for a hug. in that moment you decided that you were never going to let him go, not again. 

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Mabel’s All-in-One Guide to Being a Shooting Star: How to Avoid Being Caught and Other Tips You Should Know

Chapter One: Just for the Summer

Shoutout to my betas/brainstorming buddies @edward-or-ford and @pacific-ship!

You’re never gonna love me, so what’s the use? What’s the point in playing a game you’re gonna lose? What’s the point in saying you love me like a friend? What’s the point in saying it’s never gonna end? - Marina and the Diamonds, Lies

Mabel was in a rut. Her boyfriend- no, it was ex-boyfriend by that point, huh? He’d dumped her, after all. Her ex-boyfriend was a dick. And Mabel didn’t jump to these types of conclusions lightly, either. When Mabel was of the opinion that someone was a dick, they weren’t just a dick, they were a Dick™ with a capital D.

Such was the case with Andrew Craddock (or AC, as she’d taken to calling him a few times; as it turns out, he was not as cool as his initials implied). Andrew was a Dick™. Like yeah, they’d been dating for, like, a month, month and a half maybe. And sure, maybe lots of nineteen-year-old college freshmen are willing to jump into bed with anything that moved, which was perfectly fine, but while Mabel was okay with holding hands and making out and maybe even the occasional butt grab, she was not okay with her boyfriend trying to grope her during a movie when she’d said she wasn’t ready for that sort of thing yet.

So she didn’t wanna sleep with him right off. Big whoop. She reiterated this to him, of course. And then! And then the absolute butthole had pointed to Clueless (the movie they’d been watching, cause it’s a mother-flippin’ classic, aight?) and said, “ya hear that, Mabel? You’re just a virgin who can’t drive!” and then the dude straight up stormed out of her dorm. Like. What? Seriously, who even does that?

Also, Mabel could absolutely drive. She had her license and everything. It was just Mabel really liked looking at the UC Santa Cruz campus (go Slugs, woooo) while riding her bike, and cars were expensive anyway, plus she didn’t really need one. She lived on campus, so a bike ride to and from class or the library or the cafe or whatever, it was all nice. It was fun. And economical. And better for the environment. It was a win-win-win situation!

And yeah, okay, fine, she was a virgin, but several of her friends were still virgins, so it wasn’t like… this big huge deal, it really wasn’t.

At least, that’s what Mabel had thought.

Until Andrew decided he wanted to be a Dick™.

And then, after all that, she’d gotten an email from her Painting 101 professor that her final was… acceptable, but if she wanted to make it into 102, she needed to have a little something extra. So Mabel had to scrounge up an extra credit project at the last minute before the grades were in for the summer.

She’d passed, thankfully, and her professor had approved her for 102, but even so…

Mabel had perhaps taken part in too many clubs (UC Santa Cruz’s LBGTQ+ club, two separate environmental clubs, an animal advocacy club, and a club that made crafts for kids in hospitals), She loved them all, she really did, but five clubs was a lot, and it was tiring. She probably wouldn’t go back to all of them when she returned in the fall, but she was still very much on the fence about which clubs specifically she should stay in.

Dipper was… Dipper was Dipper. He’d never been anything but. He’d come out as gay their senior year of high school. That was fine with Mabel. She didn’t mind it. Really, she didn’t. Sure, she mighta kinda sorta had teensy little feelings for him that were maybe slightly a bit on the not-so-platonic side of things, but just a bit, okay?

When Andrew had asked her out, she’d said yes, because, well. Get under someone to get over someone, right? That’s what one of her friends had said. And no hate on her friend, ‘cause her friend was the bomb dot com, but like. Her friend was one of those aforementioned college freshmen who was totally cool about jumping into bed with anything that moved, which was fine for some people, but, well…

Kissing Andrew felt weird. It felt wrong. He didn’t make her knees tremble, and he didn’t make her sigh blissfully. She’d hated being alone with him, because he’d always, always make a move on her, like, it was ridiculous how consistent he was about that, and whenever he kissed her, she’d just…

Well, there was no way around it, was there? She wished he was Dipper. Whenever Andrew kissed her, she spent every second thinking about Dipper, her twin bro, her best bud. Absolutely the worst possible person for her to fall in love with, but Mabel had never been one to play by the rules, and that didn’t appear to be any different in matters of the heart, either.

‘Cause falling in love with one’s twin brother who just so happened to be of the homosexual persuasion broke pretty much every rule in the rule book. If there was a rule book. Which there wasn’t. But maybe it would be better if there were, because then, like, she’d feel better about the set social norms and where she was in relation to them. Not that she thought she was in the green with her not-at-all platonic feelings for her bro bro, of course. She knew that. She knew it was kookoo bananas, okay? She knew.

But she couldn’t help it. He was everything to her, and pretending she’d felt something she didn’t for Andrew had felt all wrong, like she’d been going against everything her heart and soul yearned for. Which was probably because she was going against everything her heart and soul yearned for. But it wasn’t exactly like she had a choice. It was either go against everything she wanted or do nothing, and Mabel had never been particularly good at doing nothing.

Sometimes, a bit of moping becomes necessary. Sometimes, you just need to listen to sad music and cry for a while to process your emotions.

And so, Mabel found herself walking around Gravity Falls, which, in retrospect, was maaaaaaybe not the best place for her to visit in an effort to forget about her very romantic love for her gay twin brother, with whom she had had more adventures in Gravity Falls than she could count. Staring out at the lake, Mabel wondered if her feelings for Dipper began there, in that small town surrounded by trees and teeming with mystery.

Thinking she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her, she whipped her head around, only to find nothing. No one. She was alone, it would seem. She’d always been alone, ever since she and Dipper had gone off to college separately. She’d stayed in California. He’d gone off to some tech college or other on the east coast, and was having better luck with guys than she was.

Dipper had a boyfriend. He loved his boyfriend. He’d told her so just a few nights prior. Mabel had fought to keep her voice even, pretended to hear her roommate calling her from the living room, and promptly hung up. Her roommates weren’t even home.

Mabel had sobbed into her pillow until her eyelids were raw.

Candy and Grenda weren’t in town. They were coming home for the summer at some point, but not yet. Mabel had just needed to get out. She loved Santa Cruz, but she needed to get out.

Just for the summer. Just for awhile. Just to purge herself of her feelings for Dipper so she could finally, finally move on.

But first, she needed to cry. She needed a place to cry. So she got on her bike and, with one last look at the setting sun reflecting off the still water of the lake, Mabel rode off in the direction of the Shack.

———————————————————————

The sky was a bit darker by the time she got to the Shack, resting her bike against the porch and walking off into the trees, fallen leaves and grass crunching beneath her sneakers. It wasn’t terribly dark outside, since it was only, like, six-ish, but the trees shielded some of the sunlight, and Mabel was grateful she’d thought to shove a flashlight in her backpack before she left. She doubted she’d need it, but hey. The night was young.

She trudged through the forest, stepping over fallen branches before finding a clearing that felt… familiar. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it felt as if she’d been there before. It was as good a place as any, she supposed.

Mabel took off her backpack, leaned against a tree trunk, and slid down to sit on the leaves. She unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out her wallet (Hello Kitty with a whole bunch of lace and rhinestones expertly glued on by yours truly). Opening it, she stared at the picture she had of her and Dipper, grinning in front of the Mystery Shack on their thirteenth birthday.

It had been better then. Simpler. Everything was simpler before she fell in love with him.

If Mabel closed her eyes, she became fifteen again. Young and stupid and so, so naïve. It was like everything had changed overnight. One day, she looked at Dipper, and her feelings were completely platonic, as far as she was aware. The next, they were anything but.

She’d nearly broken down when they were sixteen. She was sitting with him on the roof of their house on a Saturday night, looking out at the lights of the city. They blocked out most of the stars, but the moon was still bright.

She made a joke, and when he laughed, she looked over at him, and he was just… he was beautiful. There was no other word for it. He was just beautiful. There wasn’t much light, but what light there was illuminated his face as he smiled at her. In that moment, she’d almost lost it. She’d almost told him how she felt. Almost kissed him. She’d been inching closer to him, and it was entirely subconscious. But then, their mom had called for them, and they’d gone back inside.

Two years later, he came out as gay. And Mabel was so, so relieved that she’d never ruined their relationship by telling him she loved him in a way she never should’ve loved him.

But she did, and there was no helping it. She’d fought against it, but in the end, she probably couldn’t have prevented it or avoided it. There was nothing she could’ve done.

Mabel was convinced that she’d been destined to fall in love with Dipper. And maybe, in another life, he could’ve loved her, too. But not this one. Never this one.

She didn’t realize she’d been crying until a tear plopped onto the picture of her and Dipper. Right on Dipper’s stupid thirteen-year-old face, too. She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so upset.

“Mabel?” a voice said, not far from where she sat. “Is that you?”

Swiping away her tears as quickly as she could, she looked up.

“Jeff?” It had never occurred to Mabel she’d see any of the gnomes again.

He approached her. His beard was longer, she noticed. “Been awhile,” he observed.

“Seven years,” she agreed with a small nod. “How, uh… how’ve you been?”

He shrugged. “Been better, been worse. I’m not the leader of the gnomes anymore. Haven’t seen ‘em in a long time.”

“Oh, I’m… sorry to hear that,” she said, not feeling sorry in the slightest. Maybe if she seemed disinterested, he’d leave her alone and she could get back to her very important business, which was, of course, crying her eyes out and staring miserably at Dipper’s picture.

“Ah, well. Such is life.” There was silence for a moment, and he spoke again, his tone much snappier than it had been before. “I said, ‘such is life’.”

There was a little “oh!” from the trees behind her, and then a rustling, and then something was put over her head, and she screamed.

The last thing she saw before the cloth fell over her eyes was Jeff’s smirking face.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

If your Runaan is King theory is true, do you think there might be any parallels between Runaan and Lain friendship and Harrow and Viren friendship (before Viren was taken over by dark magic)? And if Harrow died before he and Viren drew apart, would he have asked Viren to take care of his kids (same way Lain did with Runaan)?

Oh man, this is such a fun question! Gosh gosh gosh. I think there should be parallels there, yes! Lain is Runaan’s BFF, and Viren was Harrow’s. Like, that parallel is already there. The BFFs have/had a wife, and the leaders have had spouses too. There’s a group of four for each of them, two couples, with these pairs of men as the closest friends. 

Both sets of relationships are complicated, and though we know a bunch of the issues Viren and Harrow have dealt with, we really don’t know much about Lain and Runaan’s friendship or how it’s affected their friend group and marriages, aside from two things: Lain got Ruthari together by encouraging Runaan to tell Ethari how he felt, and Laindrin trusted Ruthari with Rayla’s upbringing. That’s kind of all we got so far.

But I would love to see a handful more really key mirrors and parallels in place. Some things that are the same, and some that are different. That’s really how this show’s characterization works, so I’m practically expecting it.

Viren and Lissa divorced because Viren was creeping her out with his dark magic, apparently. Lain and Tiadrin are still together, and they fight as a dedicated battle couple. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t face some kind of crisis moment too, where maybe Lain had a hard choice to make and Tiadrin decided to support him instead of pull away--or maybe Tiadrin was the one making the choice. 

Maybe it involved having Rayla? Or joining the Dragonguard? If Lain was the one invited, and he really wanted to go, Tiadrin would have to choose between staying with Rayla or staying with Lain. That’s a big echo of Claudia’s “Don’t make me choose!” right there, so maybe there’s something to that? (I have an angsty hc that Runaan, as the assassin leader, sent them both to the Storm Spire for many reasons. If one of them was to prevent Tiadrin having to choose, and if he chose to suffer the loss of both so they could remain together, gosh...) If they struggled with a decision and then left together, then Runaan and Ethari would have to support their friends’ departure while trusting that they’d be stronger together. Oh man, the feels.

Harrow and Viren are both men who will do things on their own if they must. We saw Sarai as more of a “I can go with you or leave you to your folly but clearly you need my help” kind of person when it came to the Magma Titan mission. And iirc there’s a tweet out there saying that Tiadrin and Sarai would be great friends if they met under peaceful circumstances. 

So maybe Tiadrin, with her tactical mind, has the same approach as Sarai, and Lain is more of a “Dude, bro, dude, let’s just do the thing, bro my dude my guy, I gotchu.” He’s very supportive, but that can also become enabling if it goes a little too far, so maybe Lain has gotten Runaan into some tight spots, or at least not talked him out of said spots, over the course of their friendship? And it was Tiadrin who saved their butts, which she does not let them forget. I can see Sarai teasing her boys about their follies and her needing to save the day, too, gosh I love that.

We don’t know what kind of societal role Lissa had. I’ve been assuming she didn’t fight like Sarai did, but I could be super wrong on that. If she isn’t a combatant, then she actually kinda parallels Ethari. Three fighters and someone who doesn’t fight, but with the pairings are swapped. That just adds more possibility to the paralleling options, though. 

And I’m wondering, maybe Runaan and Ethari had a moment like Lissa and Viren, where Ethari might’ve had to choose whether to stay with this stabby idiot after he saw something very unpleasant. Perhaps it was Runaan getting his scars? Viren sacrificed someone (presumably) to save Soren’s life. Perhaps Runaan nearly sacrificed his own on a mission. There’s a really dark parallel with these two about how little they value life--extra ironic and complicated for Runaan as a Moonshadow--and I can totally see a big scary moment happening where their spouses realize exactly how different their loved one’s philosophy is from their own. Except that Ethari stayed and Lissa left. and now Runaan has gone but Viren remains, aaaaa

I wonder how the other couples might’ve played out, there. When Viren and Lissa split, how did Harrow and Sarai handle it? What did Harrow try to do for his friend? Did they try to reconcile the couple? Probably. That could’ve felt like political pressure to Lissa. And I wonder if Harrow even knew what Viren had done to save Soren’s life, that he killed someone. I bet Viren wouldn’t tell him that part. Maybe he even lied, because his need to be Harrow’s friend, to be close to power and allowed to practice his magic, was so strong.

Lain and Tiadrin would’ve tried to talk to Runaan and Ethari too, I’m sure. They’re both assassins, just like Runaan, so they’d see his side, and Ethari might’ve felt very pressured as well, to just submit and go along. Not just as a freaked out spouse, but as the craftsman who made weapons for the assassin leader and for others, keeping them safe. If he left... who would keep Runaan safe? That’s kinda sus, bro. But I can see the Moonshadow logic in it.

Viren has attached himself to Harrow as friend and protector, and he’s dedicated years of his life to helping Harrow protect their people. Possibly Lain had the same motivation? “This guy’s important, so I wanna be his friend and help him out with that.” That’s not a bad thing at all. Viren’s motives were a little tainted by dark magic. Maybe Lain’s a stand-up guy. But maybe he also has some kind of self-interest involved in being Runaan’s best friend, too. Moonshadows be complicated.

tl;dr: Yes anon I am very here for an interwoven, complicated friendship between Lain and Runaan that involves spouses and plenty of good and bad history, similar to the long and complex relationship between Harrow and Viren. I am jonesing for more moonfam backstory so bad.

As to your other question, I do think that Harrow would’ve wanted to entrust his children to Viren before he and the dark mage drew apart. The question that arises for me is: when did that begin? 

I think it began with Sarai’s death. Harrow had his own plan, but he trusted Viren and did it his way, and he lost his wife in the process. Fifty thousand lives is a lot more than one life. But that one life was the most precious one to Harrow, and it made the sacrifice personal in a way that losing fifty thousand citizens never would be. 

Harrow might still have given his kids to Viren. But Amaya was also a choice. The general or the mage? Neither are super safe for a childhood environment.

Interestingly, in this parallel, Amaya is a lot more like Runaan: the fighter, who would’ve trained Callum and Ezran to fight because they grew up in such a dangerous environment. I wonder if there was another option for Laindrin to give Rayla to, one that was more magical, or more dubious? Lujanne comes to mind! Hah, can you imagine? Crikey!

I think that if Harrow and Sarai needed to give their boys to someone, Sarai would advocate for Amaya and win: “With troops like Gren and Corvus and the whole Standing Battalion to protect and raise them, there’s no safer place in all of Katolis!” It sounds like something Tiadrin would say about leaving Rayla with Runaan and Ethari, amidst the assassin corps. It’s not ideal by miles, but I can see why she, as a warrior herself, would see safety and a like-minded community as the strongest benefits.

If it was only Harrow, after Sarai died, it might still be Amaya, because his trust in Viren had begun to fracture, but it’s hard to say. I get the feeling that Harrow has never really seen Viren as dad material, even though he has kids. That hug thing in the S1 novelization was really weird, and I will never unsee Viren saying “familial clasp.” Viren, why are you like this. Anyway, Harrow might just decide that leaving his kids with a guy who literally doesn’t know what a hug is, might not be the best move for their emotional development.

He’s a good dad, an angry widower, an iffy king, a great jokester, a loving husband, and a loyal friend. He’s as complicated as Runaan is, kings or no. But I hope that he and Viren had many years of true friendship, just like I suspect Runaan and Lain have had. Positive, healthy relationships are good for everyone.

Please though, TDP, moonfam friendship stuff. This parallel is begging to happen and things don’t feel balanced without it. What’s that, there’s not enough time? 

*magically sprinkles five extra minutes onto each episode* Reality schmeality.

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas: True Might

Also on AO3! 

TL;DR:  Powers don't make the hero - passion does. Luckily for Izuku and Toshinori, this is something the quirkless have in droves.

AKA: All Might is a quirkless vigilante, One for All isn't a quirk that exists and 1A gets a whole 3-week buffer before villain's start kicking their face in as opposed to the 3 days of canon.

Basically: Quirkless!Vigilante!All Might and Quirkless!Successor!(gen ed) UA Student!Midoriya. It’s a riot.

Yagi is stupid strong, his only form in this AU is basically Muscle Form from canon, but he’s a little less ridiculously cut. Not quite chubby, but huggable. This is mostly because he A, isn’t a celebrity that needs to have a marketable image and B, he really likes carbs.

He’s not exactly a vigilante by choice, in his day and age quirkless kids weren’t permitted to apply to UA, either gen ed or heroics. When Nezu got the job, that all changed, but it was a solid decade too late for Yagi.

He’s admittedly a little bitter about it, but he refuses to do anything but his best. He might be a little snippier with Pros than he really needs to be but oh well.

Katsuki and Izuku are utterly enamoured with this crazy vigilante that just doesn’t lose, refuses to back down from a fight even when he’s outmatched, and somehow coming out victorious anyway, rescuing everyone. They have a tense relationship, but often find time to get together and just ramble about how cool All Might is, share theories and dissect his fights. It’s not uncommon for Katsuki to have been hurling abuse at Izuku during class, only to show up at his house after school with a backpack full of snacks and a notebook full of questions.

Izuku knows most of what Katsuki does is to keep his status in the school. If he showed pity to a dumb quirkless runt he’d be painted with the same brush. This doesn’t make what Katsuki has done right! Only Izuku doesn’t blame him because he’s way too forgiving.

Izuku is the smartest person Katsuki knows and vice versa – they are each other’s measuring stick. Katsuki shows Izuku bravery, Izuku shows Katsuki determination.

Episode 1 goes as it does but you see a real flash of regret when Katsuki tells Izuku to jump off a roof because they are kinda-sorta friends. Izuku looks so betrayed. We meet the slime villain like before, All Might saves Izuku and 100% doesn’t expect the kid to fanboy about him and ask for two autographs – one made out to a “Kacchan”.

“Can someone quirkless be a hero?” “The whole world will be against you. Most places won't even give you a shot – no matter how good you are. You’re better off picking something else.”

Izuku is crushed but he does understand. All Might leaves and Izuku trails off kinda hopelessly. He follows the sounds of explosions without meaning to.

It’s Katsuki! He’s dying! Like usual at this point lmao. Izuku rushes in much like canon, All Might shows up, pulls Katsuki free and slams a dumpster on the slime villains head before making a speedy getaway. The police rip into Izuku but Katsuki actually defends him. “You were doing fuck all while I fucking died – don’t knock the only asshole who tried.” Izuku quietly slips him the autograph before running off the scene. Katsuki cries because Izuku got that for him even after he was such a fucking bastard that day? He can’t bring himself to be a dick to Izuku again, even only for show.

All Might finds Izuku and he's like “Sorry I was an ass I was being a dick because I had low self-esteem – I’m quirkless. If you’ll have me I’ll make you into the best hero the world had ever seen

Izuku, obviously, says yes please!

Also, hypermobile Izuku with joint braces as support gear because just let me project please my arms are killing me ( I wrote this a while ago and yes. My arms are still killing me - yes even now). He gets them after All Might sees him miss a dodge because his ankles rolled beneath him. They support his joints beyond the normal range of strength, letting him do some crazy pivots and handsprings, making it easy to support all his weight on a single-arm with very little strain. They can also lock in place, lessening muscle fatigue if he needs to hold onto something for ages and preventing injury if he’s pushing against something. Produced by David and Melissa Shield and imported through Nighteye Heroics.

Is support gear illegal for civilians to own? Yes! But medical equipment isn’t so if you can just convince people its medical not support you can get away with a lot.

Yagi has no weapons himself, other than the random shit he picks up and swings at people, and has little support gear other than a communicator, panic button, and a whole lot of zip-ties.

Izuku should probably have weapons but I’m struggling to think of anything other than war fans because how cool would that look? Because Shonen they would also have the ability to create powerful downdrafts that would give a boost to a jump or dodge.

Probably doesn’t get them until later and needs to train with them.

In this AU, One for All isn’t a quirk. Rather, it’s a role, passed from quirkless person to quirkless person, the only people who can’t be hard countered by All for One. They tend to be vigilantes, crime lords or hero managers, doing their part to foil as much of All for One’s plans as they can, through whatever means necessary.

It’s a role with a pretty high fatality rate.

No one knows All Might is quirkless other than those close to him, they instead think he has a strength quirk. He’s the most prolific vigilante in Japan and is almost as much of a household name as canon All Might. More divisive though, with most people decrying his vigilante status when he could ‘easily make a respectable hero’. He’s also pretty brutal with his takedowns of some villains, leading a lot of people to call him an unregulated brute. Still more call him a villain which, legally he would be - were he using a quirk.

Nighteye is his contact in the heroics industry, gives him loads of inside info that’s typically not something he should be passing on. He’s still close with David Shield. Nighteye imports any costume parts he needs from David and leaves them at various pickup points for Yagi.

He went to college with David in America after Nana died; America having a quirk blind admission process helped - but he’d have gotten shit talked a lot if people didn’t just assume he had a strength quirk. Dude was and is crazy big.

David was one of the only people that knew he was quirkless

OH FOR FUN; Nighteye was also going to this American college and that’s where he met All Might. The three of them became the world’s strangest group of friends and may have lowkey done some slightly illegal vigilante work around the campus and surrounding town. They had a reputation for getting no sleep ever and being the most mismatched set of people

Secretly Smart Jock, Business Man with a Touch of E-boy, Science Hipster. They all tumbled into class together with varying levels of alive-ness. Nighteye and David were very much not morning people.

UA! It’s a ride. Izuku fails the practical but he’s not shocked – he was prepared for this.

He actually got like 30 hero points? But they refused to admit him on hero points alone due to his ‘deficiencies’. They don’t exactly tell Izuku this but Aizawa was there and he was furious.

Gets into 1C with Shinsou, Shinsou fuckin hates him on sight for reasons best known to him (It’s bc he was so god damned cheerful he just – assumed Izuku had a quirk. I love Shinsou but he’s more than a little judgemental). Izuku is like smiling through the pain because he just wanted to make a friend his age – Katsuki barely counts.

He sits with him at lunch and makes friends-ish with the hero kids who dragged Katsuki along, meets Ochaco again. She’s upset he didn’t get in – especially after he tells her he apparently got 30 points. The whole table gets mad on his behalf and hes embarrassed and happy.

Like day 2 he’s leaving gym and someone is like “Oh LMAO it’s Deku – he was in the year below me at Aldera. Only fuckin quirkless kid in the whole school; can’t believe he got into UA.” He turns to Izuku. “Who’s dick did you suck to get in you - ?” And Shinsou just decks him. He grabs Izuku – who is super confused fyi – and s p r i n t s. They have to stop after a while because hes having a panic attack and Shinsou doesn’t know what the fuck to do and he’s mad and upset and the sunshine boy is sobbing –

Aizawa shows up, having seen the (end of the) altercation and is ready to expel some gen ed kids he can’t legally expel – until he sees the two kids from the entrance exam he was interested in – including the quirkless kid who should have gotten in. Well he’s much more willing to hear them out.

100% requests expulsion on those 2 2E kids because that’s Discrimination and they should know better as second years. Nezu grants it because those 2 were di ck s

No USJ because no All Might – stuff like that will come,,, later : )

Sports Fest! Izuku and Shinsou kick ass, Aizawa is Watching. All Might may have gotten in as a crowd member with Nighteye and a visiting David and Melissa and they are cheering on their sun son. Also, Nighteye is going to go cheer on Mirio so he just got a pass to attend all 3 days of the sports festival. He’s just buying snacks on the second day because he’s never talked to one of the second years in his life.

Shinsou and Izuku make it to the tournament. Izuku has been training pretty seriously with All Might for a while now and hes a very good fighty boy. Makes it to the 3rd round of the tournament where he loses to Iida. Shinsou makes it second where he loses to Katsuki. Izuku is like “Iida might you be Ingenium’s brother or something?” “Yes, I am!” “OH MY GOD I LOVE INGENIUM ISN’T HE THE COOLEST” “YES MY BROTHER IS AMAZING” Shinsou is just watching while faintly amused.

[anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya]

Savior (Series 81) - Erik Černák

(This GIF is mine, but feel free to share his beautiful smile. *wink*)

I whish you a wonderful day. I decided to finally post this thing. It is the very first part of a little project of mine. I named it Series 81 (yes very creative of me, sue me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) and it is a serie of oneshots, which should make sense without reading the other parts. I am creating a new universe for this serie and all of the Series 81 oneshots will be from the same AU. Does that make sense? No? Too bad.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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Part 1 of Series 81

Word count: 2577

Noise, lights, people and alcohol.

Loud music bouncing off of the isolated underground walls, to prevent the noise complaints from coming, is blending together with the voices of dancers. Dancers, who would stubbornly claim, that the sound was actually singing. If you asked anyone else, they would tell you the exact opposite.

Flashing lights could cause more than one seizure to an epileptic, but make no worries to the tipsy dancers. The dance floor is flooded by not the smallest amount of bodies per say. Only one spot remains almost empty. In the very corner, next to the DJ booth. Just a few seconds prior it was occupied by a group of young girls, dancing their night away. Gradually they slipped away to go god knows where. Safe for one.

Little blond girl is suddenly left all alone, her friends excusing themselves with a promise to be right back. They aren't. But the creepy looking guy, who's been eyeing her the entire night, is. Now he is trying to get closer to her, but she's not having any of that. She makes the bee-line for their table. However, the table is now claimed by some strangers with drinks in hands. She huffs and turns on her heel. He's still looking. More like staring.

She fidgets with her phone and clicks the contact icon. No signal. Is this some kind of a sick joke or bad karma? She thinks. She runs up the stairs and next to the very entrance, the signal is back.

The number is dialed and it rings.

She doesn't pick up.

"Why the hell can't she pick up the damn phone when I need her?" she mumbles desperately under her breath. Suddenly she remembers. Her jacket. It was left forgotten in the booth filled with strangers. She goes back. Speed-walking by the pair of eyes making her skin crawl. She asks for her jacket. When she is handed the jacket she makes a run for the bathroom. In the tiny space she splashes her face with water. It’s times like these she is really grateful for not wearing any make up at all.

She stays there for a little longer than necessary, hoping that by the time she leaves her friends will have returned already.

When she emerges and walks over to the dance floor she is met only with the disgusting stare again. She turns on her heel to leave, but is met with a hard surface she is pretty sure wasn't here couple of seconds ago. A yelp escapes her mouth and she takes a step back.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?"

The hard surface is in fact a broad chest of a tall man standing in front of her. She takes in his features. Light hair, or so she assumes since it is pretty dark in the club, besides the flashing lights. His shoulders are wide and that face...

Recognition flashes in her eyes. Her lips form an "o".

The voice speaks again. This time in English instead of her native language.

"I am fine." She finally responds, in Slovak. "I'm sorry I didn't see you I was... " she trails off. Trying to get away from that creepy dude over here. She thinks.

"Which one?" he looks around.

"What?"

"That creepy guy. Is that him?" he jabs his chin behind her. She looks over her shoulder briefly.

"Yeah," she nods.

"I'm Erik, by the way." says the not so mysterious man and extends his hand to her.

"Lucia," she accepts his hand.

"So, you want some help getting rid of him?"

"I- yeah, actually yes." She mentally face palms for tripping over her own words. He only smiles.

"Would you like to dance?" He offers. She gives him a small nod. She is led towards the dance floor with her hand in his, which makes her heart rate quicken. But not the same way like when she was followed by the creepy gaze. The blaring music pulses trough her veins while she does her best to forget the weird guy. Having Erik as a distraction right in front of her helps a lot, though. The way his eyes stay glued on her face makes her insides warm. His gaze flicks behind her and he reaches for her. He grabs her waist and leans in.

"He's looking." He talks over the music.

"So you're doing it only because he is watching us and you are definitely not using the situation to your advantage." She muses.

"I might be." A smirk stretches on his lips.

Her hands wrap around his neck and her smirk mirrors his own. The roaring noise makes her almost deaf, yet she swears she can hear her heart beating in her ears. That's what his cocky little smirk and touch do to her. She might have just met him, but she's realised one thing the moment she met his gaze. She's fucked and under his spell. She might be a little shy, but she sure as hell ain't giving up that easily. Two can play this game.

Her palm slides down his chest and back up to his arm. She traces the muscles on his arm all the way down towards his wrist. She grabs it and brings it in the air. She makes him twirl like men do to women while they dance. Erik laughs, but plays along. A smile makes its way on her features. He takes her hands. He turns her in his arms, with her arms crossed over her chest. He leans down to her ear.

"Why are you here alone?" his breath fans her neck, making a shiver run down her back.

"I am not alone," she turns and pushes his chest. His hand reaches for her wrist before she can get too far.

He spins her and brings her back to him. Putting his hands on her waist she places her small ones on his broad shoulders.

"I take it there is no boyfriend to worry about."

"If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't need you in the first place," she answers confidently.

He squeezes her hips dragging her closer. His lips grazing the delicate skin of her exposed neck while he speaks his next words."You sure do run your mouth."

The breath gets caught in her throat. "But you like it," he doesn't miss the teasing in her words. A deep groan rumbles in his chest. She might not hear it, but she does feel it under her fingers.

A familiar song comes through the speakers and she pulls away a bit. She grabs his hands and smiles big. She starts waving around their conjoined hands like a mad person. Apparently this is her dance style.

When his gaze falls upon her moving figure he smiles just as wide. He's just gotten back home from Tampa and decided to blow off some steam in a club with his friends. It's been a long season and corona delaying the playoffs sure as hell made this summer different. Thank goodness for having the bars and clubs open, with limited capacity of course. Tonight he won't be thinking about hockey, though.

Who would have thought that after everything that is happening around him he would quite literally stumble upon a woman like Lucia.

Behind Erik she spots her friends coming back in. They haven't noticed her yet, but are looking around. She slips away from his grip.

"I have to go." She looks away from his piercing gaze and makes a move to step around him.

"Wait," he catches her arm gently. "Don't run away from me. Even Cinderella left a shoe behind," he smiles.

"Smooth." The corner of her lips tugs up into a devilish smirk. "Give me your best pick-up line and I just might leave something behind."

He pauses, thinking. Then he opens his mouth as he speaks. "I've got one, but it's in English," he rubs the back of his neck. Suddenly seeming out of place.

"Try me."

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

This one is her favourite. If it's finished correctly, that is.

"No, I actually crawled from hell," she gives him an innocent smile. This is the part where she tests him.

"So that's why you're so damn hot." If it wasn't his words, then it was the smirk what did it for her. Lucia motions for Erik to hand her his phone. He happily obliges. She goes to his apps and adds herself on snapchat. He didn't think he would get her number that easily, did he?

"Here," she pushes the small box into his palm. She stands on her tiptoes and leans on his shoulder. She quickly presses a kiss to his cheek and disappears as if she's never been there. But she was. And the proof is now in his phone.

"There you are. Where were you?" one of her friends, a short brunette, asks her as soon as she approaches their group.

"Me? All of you disappeared and left me here alone. Which reminds me. Where the fuck were you?" She jumps into the defence mode immediately.

"I told you I went out to buy cigarettes. Calm down," the girl resists to roll her eyes.

"Wanna dance?" a tall equally brown-haired girl asks.

"Sure," all of them answer as one. The girls make their way to the dance floor. From the very center where they managed to squeeze in, Lucia catches a familiar par of eyes. And then another, one she would rather forget. She fixes him with a glare and resumes her dance moves. Her favourite song comes up and she squeals. She leans toward her friends. "This is my song." She yells over the loud music. They all laugh, but scream the lyrics on the top of their lungs with her.

Suddenly Lucia feels a presence behind her. She tenses, her eyes crying for help.  But her friends are too busy to actually notice that. Hands settling on her waist finally get a reaction out of her. She spins pushing his chest. She is in the middle of the process of raising her hand when she realises who it is.

"Do riti Erik! You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, but that guy was getting close again so I thought I'd give you a hand, " he smiles innocently.

"Or two hands on my waist, right?" she raises her brows, a smirk stretching on her lips.

"Didn't think you'd mind,"mirroring her expression he extends his arm towards her. "Shall we dance?"

Before she has the chance to grab his outstretched hand her friends are dragging her away. She grimaces kind of apologetically.

"I'll see you,"she mouths. Yeah, in the friking TV. She thinks bitterly.

//

After a rather long walk through the town they finally get to the bus stop. Maybe and maybe not four police cars go by and maybe and maybe not one of them actually stops to ask if everything is okay. Because maybe and maybe not some of the girls were dancing on the bus stop.

When Lucia finally gets on the bus she fishes her phone out of her purse. She takes a pic of the darkness behind the bus window and posts it on snapchat.

Erik.Cernak

Are you going by bus?

Lucyy

Yes?

Erik.Cernak

Are you alone in a bus at night??

Lucyy

I mean, there are some people in the bus...

Erik.Cernak

What bus are you on?

Lucyy

N1 why?

Erik.Cernak

Do you get off on the terminus?

Lucyy

Yes?

Erik.Cernak

If anything happens during the bus ride text me okay?

Lucyy

Okay.

He is worried about me?

Why, yes. Erik is indeed worried about Lucia. Finding out a pretty girl from the club is going home alone in the dark, sure does make one feel unsettling to say the least.

The bus ride goes rather smoothly. It's just the fact that the guy sitting a few rows in front of Lucia on a seat facing her keeps looking at her. To say it makes her stomach bubble with uneasiness would be an understatement. The closer to the terminus the bus gets the emptier the bus is.

When it's time to get off it's only her and another older lady sitting in the very back. She steps outside into the dark of the night and looks around to make sure no danger is waiting around.

A tall male figure is standing near the lamp post. His hair is indeed blond, just like she assumed before. She approaches him with a rather quiet "ahoj".

"Hi. Where to?" he asks.

She rises her eyebrows with an amused smile playing on her lips. "At least ask me out first."

"I might. If you are nice." He smirks.

"Too bad. I am a very mean person." She shrugs.

"Are you now?" He lifts his brow.

"Yeah." She moves her shoulders again. "Come on it's kinda cold." She gestures with her hand and starts walking.

"Is that an invitation?" He follows.

"Don't push your luck Erik."

After a minute or so Erik's deep voice cuts through the quiet air of Košice. "Watcha doin' next week?"

She smirks."I am going out with this hot guy I met recently." She answers nonchalantly.

"Really? And who that might be?"He catches on her intentions quickly.

"You see he lives in Florida, you probably don't know him." She shakes her head. Just as the chilly breeze wraps its arms around her a shiver runs through her body. Soon a denim-like hoodie is placed on her shoulders.

"I though he was some local or something." He states as if he didn't just give her the only layer of his clothing other than the tight T-shirt.

"He's a Košice born guy actually." She shrugs. "Won't you be cold?" She looks up at him, but pulls the hoodie tighter.

"Nah, I can hear your teeth clattering. Keep it." He shakes his head. "So when are the two of you going out?"

"Monday at two I guess." She shrugs again. She sure does shrug a lot.

"Good." He nods.

They stop in front of an old flat and she turns around to face him."Thanks for walking me home and making sure and I didn't die along the way."She laughs. He likes her laugh. He really does.

"Mom would be ashamed of me if I let a pretty lady go home alone at night. "She chuckles again. A shiver runs down his spine when the wind blows again. She makes a move to return him the hoodie, but he extends his hand and shakes his head lightly.

"I'll get it back later."

She laughs shaking her head."You guys always let us have your clothes just to see us again."

He smirks. "You caught me."

"Just try not to freeze to death."

"I'll try to stay alive till Monday. Your smile will keep me warm." He winks.

"Gosh you're cheesy." She couldn't help, but roll her eyes.

He takes a step closer."I am glad I met you."

Lucia's confident facade wavers for a second."Same here."

They just stand there looking at each other not letting out a single tone slip past their lips. Erik leans closer, his hot breath fanning over her cold cheeks. Lucia inches towards him, but not connecting their lips yet. She wants him to take the last step. And so he does, slightly leaning in meeting the pink lips of the girl he quite literally ran into.

[morganaspendragonss]

mind over matter (matter over mind)

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Slammed into a wall

Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star

WARNING for hate crimes and homophobia

“Where do you think you’re going?”

They’re not two steps away from the club when it starts, some guy who’d been eyeing them up the whole night following them. T.K. groans, sharing a look with Carlos; it’s their first joint night off in weeks, and the last thing they need is something ruining it. They keep walking, trying to get to the car before anything else happens, but the guy who followed them clearly speeds up, catching T.K. by the shoulder.

T.K. clenches his jaw and bunches his hands into fists, ignoring a soft “Don’t,” from Carlos as he shoves the man’s hand away and turns to face him. He’s at least three inches taller than T.K. and jacked, but they could take him, if they had to.

“What’s your problem, man?” T.K. asks, trying to keep the challenge out of his voice.

The guy shrugs, far too nonchalant. “No problem,” he says. “Just thought you should know, we don’t want your kind around here. It upsets some people, you understand.”

T.K. scoffs. “Whatever, man.”

And he’s ready to let it go - really, he is. Comments like that were a dime a dozen in New York, and he learned a long time ago how to brush them off. But then the guy grabs him again, and T.K. just reacts. Before he can really process anything, the guy is staggering back with a hand to his cheek, and there’s an ache in his knuckles where they connected. 

Carlos is staring at him in horror, his hand shifting towards his badge, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull it out. They’re suddenly surrounded, four other men - the first guy’s friends, T.K. would guess - appearing from what seems like nowhere. They seize T.K. and Carlos, and drag them into a nearby alley, and - fuck. 

This isn’t good.

Two of the men hold Carlos, preventing him from getting near his badge, whilst the other two slam T.K. into the wall. He groans, stars exploding in his vision, as blood begins to drip down his face, though T.K. can’t tell where it’s coming from. He tries to struggle, but his attackers are strong and, disoriented as he is, he can’t get free. There’s a scuffle off to the side, then the distinct sound of Carlos grunting in pain. T.K. strains to get away, but he’s just shoved back into the wall and all strength leaves him.

“You know, I was prepared to let you off with a warning,” the first guy whispers, his breath tickling the back of T.K.’s neck. “But then you hit me. For that, we’re going to let your boyfriend watch as we ruin that pretty face of yours. How’s that sound?”

T.K. doesn’t catch what he says next, but he gets the message soon enough. The men holding him pull him away from the wall, spinning him to face the one he punched. He smiles dangerously, then slams his fist into T.K.s face, sending him to the ground. 

T.K. groans, trying to push himself upright, but before he can do so blows start raining down from every angle, and it’s all he can do to bring his arms up to protect his face. He’s not sure how long the onslaught continues for, his back and chest on fire from the abuse, but it stops as quickly as it started, the sound of a siren accompanied by yelling coming from somewhere to the side, Carlos’s voice rising above the rest.

There’s a few seconds of blissful silence before arms are on him again. T.K. tries to fight against them, but then a familiar voice joins them.

“Hey! Hey, calm down. Calm down, it’s just me,” Carlos says, and T.K. sags against him. Carlos gives him a minute, then puts a hand on T.K.’s back. “Can you stand?”

T.K. nods, then tries to push himself up, only for his arms to give out underneath him. In any other circumstance, it would be funny, and he can imagine the look on Carlos’s face right now. But it hurts to laugh, so he settles for a weak smile before trying to get up again.

He hears Carlos sigh, but he helps T.K. anyway, resigned to T.K.’s stubbornness at this point. He sways dangerously once he’s on his feet, only upright thanks to Carlos’s arms around him.

“Easy there, tiger,” Carlos says, and T.K. doesn’t even have the energy to protest the nickname. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

“No,” he mumbles, but Carlos either doesn’t hear or doesn’t listen, half-carrying, half-dragging him to the car. T.K. lets him, figuring they can hash this out once he doesn’t have to focus on not faceplanting concrete.

Getting into the car is not a quick or easy process, and T.K. has to swallow a moan as he slumps into the passenger seat. But they manage, and he makes an attempt at sitting up as Carlos slides into the driver’s side.

“My dad can’t know about this,” he says. Carlos looks at him, disbelief written across his face. “I’ll go to the hospital with you, but you have to promise me that he won’t find out.”

“T.K.-”

“Please?” he interrupts, pleading with wide eyes. “He’s got enough on his plate right now; this is the last thing he needs.”

Carlos sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Fine,” he says eventually. “He won’t hear it from me. But, T.K., he’s going to find out sooner or later, whether you like it or not. You should tell him.”

T.K. doesn’t respond. He’s got a lot of practice hiding secrets from his dad; it’s not something he’s proud of, but one more can’t hurt. He closes his eyes and leans back in the seat, breathing carefully as the pain really begins to set in. But when a few minutes pass, and the car still hasn’t started, he cracks them open again to look at Carlos.

Carlos has a hand on his abdomen, and there are tight lines of pain around his eyes, blood beading where his lip has split. T.K. immediately feels guilty for not checking on him sooner, and forces himself upright to lay a hand on his thigh.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. “You don’t have to drive, we can get a cab.”

“No, I’m good. Nothing frozen peas and some sleep can’t fix.” Carlos attempts to smile, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. “Just give me a second.”

T.K. purses his lips, but doesn’t push, knowing it would get them nowhere. In the end, it’s more like three minutes, but soon enough the car rumbles to life, and T.K. lets his eyes drift close, giving in to exhaustion.

*****

For once in his life, he’s blessed with some good luck. Somehow, nothing’s broken, and he’s got a day off for the day of bedrest the doctor ordered. Technically, she told him to give it at the very least two days, but T.K. knows that if he’s going to keep it a secret from his dad, he’s going to have to go in tomorrow. It’s fine, though; he’s feeling better even now.

He spends the day at Carlos’s, though Carlos himself had to go in today. He’d be sticking to desk work, telling T.K. that even if he wanted to forget the whole incident, he couldn’t. They’d both gotten good looks at their attackers, and Carlos is a cop, but he’d promised to keep T.K.’s name out of it so Owen didn’t find out.

He hadn’t looked happy about it when he left, but T.K. can live with that. His dad has dealt with too much of T.K.’s shit before; there’s no need to distract him with something he’s perfectly capable of handling on his own. 

He knows his job isn’t exactly conducive to hiding a situation like this, but he’s stocked up on ibuprofen, and it really doesn’t hurt all that much. He’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine.

*****

He slips out of Carlos’s house early the next morning, wanting to avoid an argument about T.K. going into work today. He has to go, and he’d rather not do it on a bad note. Besides, he’s only a little stiff, and that’ll go away once he’s moving.

He’s managed to cover up the black eye pretty well, and the cut on his cheek and split lip are easy to explain away.

“Some drunk asshole at the club the other night decided to take a swing,” he says when asked, a smirk at the ready. “He barely even touched me before Carlos had him pinned.”

The team grin at that, making all the stock jokes, and T.K. ignores the looks he gets from his dad and Paul. It’s not like he told them a complete lie; the guy was drunk. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t the truth either.

And it really doesn’t matter, in the end. It’s a light day, and they’ve only had three calls by the end of the shift. None of them are particularly difficult, and no one is any the wiser about the other night. 

But T.K.’s body is beginning to protest, so he hangs back in the showers until after the others have left. He pulls his jeans on, stifling a groan, then goes to inspect himself in the mirror. 

It doesn’t look good, and T.K.’s almost surprised himself. His chest and torso is a patchwork of bruising of all colours, and he’d guess his back is the same, only it hurts too much to twist round to check. He pokes at his split lip, wincing at the sting, then sighs.

Only, the sigh turns into a cough, which turns into T.K. holding himself up on the counter as pain flares up across his entire body. 

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the door opening or the sound of footsteps approaching until they’re directly behind him.

“What the fuck, dude?”

T.K. jumps, turning to see Mateo staring at him with a mix of horror and concern on his face. “It’s nothing,” he tries, going to grab his shirt from where it’s hanging, but Mateo’s still staring.

“Who - I mean, how - I mean -” Mateo’s hands flail as he struggles for the words. “What the fuck?”

“Look, Mateo, it’s nothing, I swear. Don’t tell -”

The door bangs open again, and Judd walks in. “What the hell is taking so damn long, Probie -”

He stops short as he catches sight of T.K. and Mateo, T.K.’s shirt still hanging open, revealing the full extent of his bruising. Unlike Mateo, Judd just looks pissed, and T.K. can’t really blame him.

“Your boy’s waiting for you, T.K.,” he says, voice carefully controlled. “And, if I had to guess, I’d say this is why he’s not looking too happy.”

T.K. glances between the two of them, Mateo almost scared, Judd stony-faced, then decides against saying anything. He buttons his shirt up quickly, avoiding meeting their gaze, and tries to slip past them, but Judd stands in his way. T.K. just looks at him, and something in his expression causes Judd to relent, moving to let him pass.

He avoids the rest of the crew as he heads to where Carlos is, a nervousness beginning to form in his gut. He hadn’t exactly been straight with him about coming in today, and he knows it was a mistake the second he gets in the car. The ride back to Carlos’s place is spent in dead silence, but the dam breaks as soon as the house door shuts behind them.

“What the hell, T.K.?” Carlos yells, hands coming to rest on his hips. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about my job,” T.K. shouts back, suddenly equally furious. “You know, that thing I need to earn a living?”

“And how are you going to do that if you end up killing yourself?” Carlos stops abruptly, regret all over his face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s okay.” T.K. walks over to him, taking Carlos’s hands in his own. “I know it was stupid to go in today, but I just… My dad has to deal with cancer, and he still manages to do his job fine. If I can’t handle a few bruises, what does that make me?”

Carlos shakes his head. “T.K… Your dad knows what he’s doing. And I’m not saying you don’t, but… You know our jobs are dangerous, right? And if we aren’t at our best, people could get hurt.”

“I know.”

“I get it, cariño, okay? I know you want to help people, but you can’t help them unless you help yourself first.” Carlos closes his eyes and presses his forehead against T.K.’s, pulling him close. T.K. leans into it, comforted by the feel of Carlos’s body against his.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and he means it. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. But I’m pretty sure my dad knows by now anyway; Judd and Mateo saw everything.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door, and T.K. knows instinctively who’s behind it. They separate, Carlos giving him a small smile before going to open the door.

“Officer Reyes,” his dad greets, but he’s looking at T.K., something unreadable in his eyes. Carlos shifts awkwardly, glancing between the two of them.

“I can give you guys some space, if you want,” he offers, but Owen shakes his head.

“No, I think it’s best if you stay,” he says, entering the house. Then, to T.K., “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

T.K. grimaces, barely able to hold his dad’s gaze. “Judd told you?”

“The probie did, actually, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s nothing, Dad,” T.K. says, unable to stop the lie from leaving his mouth. “Just -”

“From what Mateo told me, it doesn’t sound like ‘just’ anything.” Owen’s expression is hard, but his voice betrays concern. T.K. feels sick with guilt, and looks to Carlos, silently pleading for help. 

“We got jumped,” Carlos says, and T.K.’s never been more thankful. “Couple of nights ago. Some assholes didn’t like us being there together.”

Owen’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “And neither of you thought to tell me about this?”

Carlos stutters as he tries to think of a response, but T.K. cuts him off. 

“I asked him not to, Dad,” he explains. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, in that case,” Owen scoffs, but his face has softened somewhat. He sighs. “Son… You can’t hide these kinds of things from me. Because I’m your father, yes, but also because I’m your captain. You can’t be on the job with injuries like those.”

“I know,” T.K. says, only just about refraining from rolling his eyes. “I’ve already had all that from Carlos.”

“Really?” Owen’s gaze goes to Carlos, as though reappraising him. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Carlos makes a noise akin to choking, and T.K. grins as an honest-to-god blush begins to stain his cheeks. The moment doesn’t last long, though, his smile fading as he looks back to his dad. He doesn’t look angry anymore, but there’s a weariness to his expression - exactly the kind of thing T.K. had wanted to avoid.

“I know you meant well,” he says eventually. “But, T.K., you can’t be afraid of talking to me. I know I’ve got a lot going on right now, but you’re still my kid. I need to know when something happens.”

T.K. nods, and Owen smiles. “And I don’t want to see you in the firehouse for the rest of the week.”

He laughs despite himself and, as his dad hugs him, he knows one thing with absolute clarity.

He’s going to be just okay.

[poc-movie-supremacy]

Watcher AU: Cryptids

How Steven Lim, guardian angel, befriended Ryan Bergara, Adam Bianchi, and finally Andrew Ilnyckyj (Shane and Jake Bergara to an extent as well)

look @mousemadej I finally did it!

*Steven is an angel, but not the typical type of Angel. Some traits were taken from the bible and some from what general pop culture describes as angel to make one Steven Angel. I should add though, I mention that Steven has a flaming sword. In the bible the angel guarding the garden of eden was gifted a flaming sword by God to guard it. I decided to take that element and just say fuck it all guardian angels have it now.

-----

He remembers being a young angel and hearing whispers of a new, special angel. About his age, this angel had jet black hair, soft almost sad brown eyes, and jet black wings. He had no halo, no glow, no blinding white wings. Instead he had red eyes, sharp claws, and big open heart. As someone with a big heart too, it was friendship at first sight.

Ryan looked up at him and whispered, “Why do they keep staring at me?” In truth it was because of a genetic disorder, but little Steven didn’t understand that.

Instead he took little Ryan’s hand and said, “I don’t know, they’re weird. Wanna go play?” Ryan smiled at him and they flew off the go play in the playground together. 

Throughout their lives they were near inseparable. Nothing could prevent that, not even Ryan taking on sole responsibility of Jake. Steven just made a joke about being an old married couple and went with it. Adam fit with them too, like another puzzle piece. Steven befriended him while training to become a guardian angel. He was practicing swimming in the ocean when a large man with a big brown beard and similarly brown eyes and the most gorgeous tail Steven’s ever seen approached him. At first they just stared at each other, Steven because his brain overloaded on Adam Bianchi cuteness, Adam because he just didn’t like talking. 

It took a few minutes for Steven’s brain to start up again. Immediately he spewed out words faster than he could say them. Adam was shocked silent. For a while he let Steven ramble about... how pretty his tail was? with a neutral expression on until he took pity and gave him a small smile. 

That smile almost broke Steven’s brain all over again, but luckily he saved himself just before repeating this process all over again. “Hi, my name’s Steven, sorry about the ramble. I’m here with my friends.” He pointed to where the Bergara boys were sunbathing on the beach. They looked unaware of the situation. They were not. “What’s your name?”

Adam continued smiling, “Adam, It’s nice to meet you Steven.” Adam shook his hand. Soft hands, Steven noted. 

“Preparing for the guardian angel entrance exam?” Adam asked. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. The- my friends were lucky enough to already know swimming, I am not so lucky.” 

Adam chuckled. “I can tell. Want me to give you lessons?”

“Would you?”

Adam spent the rest of the afternoon preparing Steven for his test. He wasn’t awful, by angel standards, but Adam knew he could improve. When the sun finally set Adam was satisfied. The Bergaras invited him to join them for dinner. He agreed and they all hit up a local burger joint.

Unsurprisingly, Steven would earn his place in the guardian angel league. They were all so proud of him. Jake loved to hear stories Steven would tell of his charges. His favourite was Keith Habersberger, a soldier in Vietnam. Keith would end up being Steven’s second to last charge, unbeknownst to him. The guy was funny and friends with three other soldiers in his platoon. Steven hoped to get him home alive to his wife Becky. 

On his off days, Steven would try and help Jake be a guardian angel. When Heaven told him no Ryan raged. With some help, Ryan managed to get Jake into heaven’s guardian angel program. Steven wasn’t happy with the cost of such an action, but they were already in too deep to do anything about it. Besides, by supporting Ryan, Steven was put on Heaven’s shit list. One wrong move and he’d be kicked out. Helping people was Steven’s passion, he couldn’t give it up. 

His newest charge was Andrew Ilnyckyj. He was about a 5′ 10′’ white guy that happened to work at Buzzfeed. That bit of information piqued Steven’s interest. He remembered that Ryan had gotten a job hunting demons at that same company and visited the place himself.

Steven ended up getting a job there (don’t tell heaven he lied on his resume).

Andrew Ilnyckyj was nothing like he expected. He was quiet and serious and handsome and oh god. Anytime Steven tried to talk to him he’d start stuttering and blushing up a storm. He couldn’t focus with Andrew which is unfortunate since he’s his charge.

Steven bemoans all this to Ryan one day as they fly up up up into the sky. It makes him laugh. “Dude! that’s not helpful.”

“I know I know it’s just been a while since I’ve seen Steven Lim with a crush.”

Steven could feel his cheeks heat up with a wicked blush. “I-I don’t. I have a crush don’t I?”

Ryan nodded. He patted Steven on the back in a comforting gesture. “It’s not the end of the world buddy, although it might be if you don’t eat enough. You’re getting too skinny.”

Steven squaked insultedly. “I am not skinny!” Ryan quickly poked him in the side and he could feel rib. 

“Oh sure, golden boy. Not skinny at all. You’re burning too much stored fat flying with me and trying to warm your body to regular human body temperatures. Either you eat more or we’re stopping our flight dates.” Steven rolled his eyes at Ryan’s snipe but gave observation some thought.

~~~~

Steven took the advice to heart (well after Adam agreed with Ryan that Steven was getting skinnier) and came up with an idea.

Andrew likes food. Steven likes spending time with Andrew and needs to eat more. Adam likes food.

Thus worth it was born. 

~~~~

Andrew knew that all Buzzfeed employees were going to end up being somewhere on the weird scale but then he met Ryan Bergara and Steven Lim.  Adam seemed pretty normal though. The both of them just oozed eccentricity. They walked like they got an awful weight on their back and rock on their soles of their feet like they’re trying to fly. Ryan keeps looking around like he’s hiding something while Steven wears sweaters in eighty degree weather. 

Andrew makes up his mind to avoid them. He befriended Adam is that not enough? Apparently it was not. 

One day Steven corners him. He’s wearing a thin blue button up and a jacket  is hanging off his arm. Andrew feels Steven drape himself onto his back and the first thing Andrew’s struck with is that Steven’s ice cold. The second is thing Andrew realizes is that Steven is draped over his back and he doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it. 

The air is tense. To Andrew, nothing else can be heard. Adam stares at them out of the corner of his eye, silent. “Hey, hey, both of you. I have a great idea. Food at different price points.”

“What?”

 Adam snorts and says, “Explain it more in detailed Ste, and put on a jacket, you’re going to catch a cold.” The underlying meaning was that Andrew would get suspicious of Steven’s abnormal body temperature. Steven undrapped himself from Andrew and put on his jacket. He also warms himself up but not enough that his angel glow can be shown. 

Angels don’t have blood and hearts, only demons do. Demons are more like humans to convince them to sin using the sympathetic I-understand-what-you’re-going-through method. Angels are supposed to be ethereal, otherworldly as a symbol of what humans should inspire to be. Because of this, angel’s consciously generate heat which can appear as a glow if there’s enough heat. When Steven masquerades as a human he has to always be careful to not overheat. Usually he just ends up under-heating which causes a whole nother set of problems. Adam and Ryan have to continuously remind him to wear sweaters and such to mask this fact. 

Steven can already feel himself warming slightly with the inclusion of the thick jacket all zipped up. Andrew can already feel himself missing Steven’s touch. Wait. The thought makes him blink a few times in surprise. He’s talked to Steven a few times,but liking his touch? Andrew’s going to get an aneurysm at this rate. 

He is so caught up in his own whirlwind of a mind that he almost misses Steven’s slightly more detailed explanation of a new video series. “Ok so we take one specific food like pizza and then we go to three different restaurants at three drastically different prices and say which one is the best.”

Andrew looked at Steven slightly confused. “How did you come up with this? How are we going to pay for it?”

“Buzzfeed agreed to pay for it-” Steven started.

“And Steven’s too skinny.” Adam poked Steven a certain way to make him giggle. The sound was music to Andrew’s ears. The thought of Steven being too skinny wasn’t though. He looked Steven up and down to see for himself. His gaze made Steven blush up to his ears. Andrew fought back a smile, even a self-satisfied one. 

“You want me to go with you?” Andrew asked Steven. He watched as Steven nodded enthusiastically then scratch the back of his neck.

“Yeah that’s the hope. It’d be you and me in front of the camera and Adam behind it. What do you say?”

Andrew thought about it for a minute, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. “Sure when’s the first day of shooting?”

Steven’s smile was the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen. What have I gotten myself into? he wondered to himself. “First day is burgers on Monday! I’ll see you there partner.” Steven gave him a smile before walking off. 

Andrew sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He played with one of Adam’s many bottles on his desk. “You’re going to have fun,” Adam told him, half-comfortingly half-commanding. 

~~~~

Worth it, Andrew came up with the name, was better than Steven could’ve ever expected. Originally it was a chance to keep a better eye on Andrew and maintain a healthy weight. Steven put in the work, but he didn’t think it would flourish like it did. Then he was going to New York, Taiwan, and Japan! It’s been a while since Steven’s been here. He marvels at the difference a hundred years can make on architecture. Adam listens patiently while he rambles. 

Steven and Andrew grow closer after working together long hours. His puns seem more endearing and his giggle is the cutest thing Steven’s heard. He likes to make up many silly dances just to get Andrew to smile. Being called fancy boy only becomes endearing when Andrew or Adam says it. Steven wonders about the consequences about gutting Ryan every time he says it. 

They spend time together. Ryan loves to tease the ever loving shiz out of Steven when they go flying or visit Jake. Steven’s proud of Jake so he tells himself that for Jake and to be able to keep his job he won’t kill Ryan.  That promise is harder to keep when Ryan teases Steven in front of Andrew though. Adam has to steer Steven away before he does something he’ll regret. 

Andrew always gives a weird look to Ryan before getting back to his work. Internally, he wonders what Steven’s look means. Does he like him back? Does just not like to be teased? Andrew really hopes that Steven likes him back. He thinks Steven’s nose scrunch is cute and his enthusiasm is refreshing. Despite how he acts, Andrew craves Steven’s touch. He likes it when Steven drapes an arm over his shoulder or carries him like Steven did in their Sushi episode. 

Adam says that maybe he should say something. (He tells both of them that actually) The fear that Steven doesn’t reciprocate his feelings is too strong. What they have is nice, if it took on a new direction Andrew would love that, but he can’t risk it. He has too much to lose. 

~~~~

They happened to work late that day. Andrew wanted to finish this one edit before going home. Steven had a bad feeling so he decided to stay with Andrew. “Come on Drew, let’s go home,” Steven whined slightly and his eyes kept darting around the room. 

Andrew scoffed and payed him no mind. “You’re as anxious as Ryan right now. It’s Buzzfeed we’re going to be fine.”

“Just hurry up will you.” Steven’s hackles were up and every sound made him want to unsheath his flaming sword. Too slow, Andrew finished his work and they said they could go. Steven grabbed his upper arm and brisked them out of the office to Steven’s car.

“I have my own car Steven.” Andrew jokingly protested. He’s not used to this paranoid, over-protective version of Steven. It’s endearing but also concerning. 

Steven gaze, usually not this heavy, was dead on him. “I can drive you home? Please, just stay with me a little bit more? Something doesn’t feel right, and I-”

Andrew could tell that Steven was starting to get agitated so in an effort to calm him down Andrew squeezed his hand, and shushed him a bit. “Ok, ok, it’s okay Stevie. I’ll go with you, just breathe.”

Steven nodded shakily and let go of Andrew. “Sorry if I gripped you too hard.”

“No you’re grip was just right. I’m going...” Andrew trailed off and pointed to the passenger seat. Steven nodded as Andrew walked to sit in the passenger seat. Once catching his breath, Steven slid into the drivers seat. “Hey Stevie, are you sure you can drive now?”

“Yeah I’m fine I got this.” Steven pulled out the parking lot and headed over to Andrew’s house. They sat in tense silence. Steven was too paranoid to make conversation and Andrew was too worried about Steven to initiate any either. 

As they drove along they saw well heard this person cry on the side of the road. Andrew looked at Steven to see if he’d slow down to stop. He didn’t. “Hey Stevie aren’t you going to pull over?” Steven pursed his lip but made no movement to pull over. Andrew was shocked. “Steven!”

At first Andrew didn’t think Steven would pull over. He was worried he would have to get involved but Steven sighed and pulled over. Andrew hoped out of the car and ran over to the person. Steven followed him at a much slower pace. The overwhelming need to draw out his sword was starting to get debilitating. He tried to focus on Andrew’s voice but it sounded like he was talking through water.

Then he screamed. 

Steven never heard anything clearer. 

A giant vampire had torn of a giant chunk in Andrew’s side and was now feasting in his blood. Steven’s vision matched the color Andrew was lying in. His whimpers and cries of pain filled his head and fueled his rage. The Flaming Sword light up the scene as Steven spread his wings and fought. The vampire tried to put up a fight, but he was no match for Steven Lim. All it took was one stab to the heart to take this guy out. Then Steven burned the vampire alive. He figured God wouldn’t be too upset since vampire’s weren’t His favorite creature. 

“Steven?” The voice was tired, groggy and too breathy for Steven’s comfort. Everything was red and Andrew’s pale and Steven might be having a panic attack. 

“Sh. Sh SH. Ok Andy, darling, baby. Just breathe.” Maybe if he wasn’t in panic mode he’d remember Adam teasing him about how pet names slip out of him when he’s really nervous, but the thought completely eludes him now. He strips off his jacket covering the dead body Andrew’s lying next to and then takes off his shirt to try and stop the bleeding. The shirt was pure white with vertical grey stripes running up it. Now it’s soaked blood red but Steven doesn’t throw it away. 

He vaguely feels a hand on his stomach and almost almost jumps at the touch. So this was the bad thing. You idiot, you should’ve prepared for this. You could’ve prevented this. Now he’s dying and it’s your fault. Steven tries to think that it isn’t true but Andrew’s breathing is labored and unfocused and isn’t it true?

“Wow- wow, usually you-you don’t lose the shirt until the second date. No shirt first date is big, this must’ve been en a big first date.” Andrew’s so out of it he stutters and slurs his words. They make Steven pause though, well mentally, he’s not losing Andrew without a fight. 

“Shhshsh Wait what? No Andrew shush this isn’t a date. Just focus on breathing alright. I’m going to try something.” There was a trick he learned when he was a kid. A certain trick that allows you to almost call people when you need help. Him and Ryan used to use that trick all the time they were exploring as kids. Now it’s become even more useful as adults. 

He’s so concentrated on pulling off the trick that he almost misses Andrew’s next words. Almost. “Wh-what? This is a date. This is a date cause I love you and you love me because you have to like me right Steven?” Andrew can barely look at him and Steven wants to cry. He puts more pressure on the wound with his right hand and uses his left hand to cup Andrew’s face. Tears freely falled down his face as he guided Andrew to look at him. 

“Whatever you want.”

Andrew smiled. 

~~~~~

Ryan carrying Adam arrived shortly after Andrew passed out. Together the three of them confirmed that the poor stranger did die, but Andrew didn’t. Steven sobbed in relief when hearing that. They performed an old ritual that Steven and Ryan learned in their childhood (Ryan got a nasty cut and Mrs. Bergara inadvertently showed them a method on how to quickly stabilize critically wounded people). Steven then gathered up Andrew into his arms and flew him to his house. Ryan and Adam followed closely behind. 

They set him down in Steven’s bed and quickly got to work saving him. Since Andrew was human, none of them could donate blood on his own so Ryan quickly got a few blood bags to use. Steven would usually ask if he got them legally, but he was too focused on Andrew to care. 

Adam got some deep-sea medicines while Ryan helped Steven with the initial medicine. It was hours before Steven felt even semi-comfortable leaving Andrew’s side. All three boys were almost fainting with exhaustion. Ryan suggested they all pass out on Steven’s couch after telling Buzzfeed they won’t be at work tomorrow. Steven protested at first. Adam and Ryan each took a hand and dragged him over to the couch though. With tangled limbs, the trio finally fell asleep.

~~~

Andrew felt groggy when he woke up. Then he felt extremely cold. Confusion hit him like a truck when he realized that he couldn’t feel a heartbeat. Panic filled his senses as he tried to do something to fix this. The room around him looked familiar enough. Steven’s bedroom his hand supplied. That did not ease his confused state in any way shape or form. One look around though did confirm that this was in fact Steven’s bedroom. He could see photos of Steven throughout the ages on the nightstand on the bed. A note written in Adam’s handwriting told him to take the adjacent medication. Andrew did as he was told. As his digestive system processed the medication his ears picked up on the sound of commotion outside the door.

Andrew felt too weak to walk so he tried to strain his ears to hear what the voices were saying. He sadly couldn’t understand anything other than the fact that it was Steven and Ryan doing a lot of the arguing. Pain in his jaw started to become more apparent. He rubbed it and felt something sharp prick him. He tried to suck on the wound, but he felt another, more painful, prick. Andrew tried to scream but it just ended up being one loud garbled up sound. Steven burst through the door glowing mad. Ryan and Adam followed him a few paces behind. 

Steven knelt in front of Andrew and tried to help him. Andrew jerked away from him in fear. “Andrew, Andy,” Steven took a step back from him with his hands raised. “It’s- Let me help.”

“I’ll go get the first aid kit Stevie.” Ryan ducked out of the room leaving the Worth it trio alone. A tinge of jealousy filled him when he heard Ryan call Steven a nickname. 

“Take your hand out of your mouth Andrew.” Adam softly commanded. Though painful, Andrew pulled his hand off his teeth. Steven murmured a curse under his breath. His glow brightened a second before ceasing with a look from Adam. Ryan opened the door but paused when he saw Andrew.

“Fuck… at least he’s not dead.” Ryan handed the first aid kit to Adam then went to stand by Steven. He rubbed a hand up and down Steven’s back in an attempt to comfort him. “He is dead Ryan. I failed and -”

“Shush. I’ve been looking for a new reason to pick a fight with God.” Despite his anger at himself and at the vampire that hurt Andrew, Steven chuckled.

“You always knew the right thing to say.”

“I try.”

~~~~

It wasn’t easy, accumulating Andrew to the supernatural. Helping him adjust to no heartbeat and sharp bloodsuckers wasn’t easy, but there were some good moments too. Steven was particularly fond of the moment he got to take Andrew flying. With a lot of convincing from Steven and Adam, Andrew let Steven lift him up into the sky. 

Andrew tightened his grip on Steven as they soared higher and higher. “Don’t like heights, Andy?” 

Andrew grumbled into his neck. “Planes are fine, hiking is fine, this is none of those.”

“You’ll love it, Andy.” For once, Andrew agreed.

One day, before Shane turned into a demon and a new batch of chaos erupted on their lives, Andrew stood with Adam and Steven on Steven’s front porch.

“The whole beach thing, and obsession with water? Makes sense now,” Andrew told Adam. The ever stoic man did nothing but nod once. 

“As much of a mess my life is now, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I would still agree to do Worth it with you and I would still force you to pull over to help the person. No regrets.” A breath Steven didn’t know he was holding flew out of his mouth. He grabbed Andrew’s hand, kissed the knuckles and brought it to his heart. Andrew kissed him on the cheek before leaning into Adam’s side.

“Life has been more fun with you too,” Adam mused.

“Yeah.” The boys watched the sunset on another very, very odd day. 

[hatari-translations]

Hákon interview on ‘Vloggað um ekki neitt’ - translation/summary

This video is a 25-minute interview of Matthías by Hákon from Iceland Music News, about a play that Matthías was commissioned to write for the National Theater (Þjóðleikhúsið). In the process, they talk about how they met, the beginning of Matthías’s interest in theater, and the experience of being a teenager being constantly lectured at.

As it's quite long, I'm not going to translate word for word; this will be mostly summarizing, with choice quotes.

The play in question is called Vloggað um ekki neitt (Vlogging about nothing), and it's written with a specific age group in mind - the theater commissioned him to write a play for two actors aimed at ~13-15-year-olds. The theater's educational department does this, selecting demographics and commissioning educational shows meant to appeal to those groups.

Matthías thinks it's a challenge to write for this particular group; it's not obvious that a play for teenagers should be such and such. "I think teenagers just want to be treated like sapient beings, people with taste, and then it's pretty hard to be deciding, 'Yeah, this is like this, because you're teenagers.'" What's annoying about being a teenager, he posits, is that society as a whole is always trying to patronize you.

Hákon says that he remembers, from being a teenager, that there's also a pretty huge maturity gap between thirteen- and fifteen-year-olds. Matthías agrees, and adds that when you're a teenager you're developing your tastes and your self-image, feeling yourself reflected in the things that you like that somebody else might not, and that makes it difficult to categorize you as an age group. The last thing you want is being told, "This is for you, because you're fifteen" - either you like the thing or you don't.

"I also think that teenagers are generally... you aren't going to be telling them anything they don't know. I can imagine that if I were fifteen and I were invited to see a play that some random Matthías Tryggvi dude has written with your age group in mind, I'd just be like 'Okay, this is going to be some drug prevention bullshit, I've heard it all before, I know exactly what it's going to be like, I've been to the theater, I know what this is.'"

Hákon says teenagers as an audience vary a lot. He brings up Skrekkur, a popular youth talent competition for the 13-15-year-old stage of Reykjavík schools, where groups of teens will put together a short theatrical performance, each school will pick one to represent them, and then the schools compete. Matthías notes Hákon has hosted Skrekkur and participated in it, but Hákon corrects him, saying he never participated; at the time, as a young teen, he didn't think theater was very cool at all. Matthías says, "Those upbeat, positive types were just a bit intolerable. That's where I was at, too, at that age." They agree that they were basically the 'difficult' teenagers that might be in the audience.

Matthías says that he saw Leg (Uterus), a black comedy musical about teenage pregnancy by Hugleikur Dagsson, at this theater, and thought it was awesome. (This was in 2007! I saw it too, and it was pretty great. I was 17 at the time; Matthías would've been thirteen.) He loved Hugleikur's books and their grotesque humour, which he still jives with. Leg really opened up the world of theater to him, surprised him with what theater could be. And he hopes Vloggað um ekki neitt could be that for at least one teenager.

They move on to talking about the play itself. Matthías notes it's still in progress, and he's been working on writing it on and off for more than a year (I'm going to guess he was contacted by the theater about doing this during or after Hatari's participation in Söngvakeppnin; Hatari's huge popularity with youth probably made the directors of the theater immediately pin him as likely to write something teens could get excited about). He expects it to go into rehearsals this fall.

The play is about two people trying to become successful vloggers on YouTube. Matthías says really it's kind of like what they're doing right now, "just projecting yourself, and what you have to say, no matter how ill-advised it may be, out into the world." Hákon will be playing one of the two characters, Konráð.

Matthías notes that one thing about writing teenagers, and characters on social media or YouTube or the like, is that you're entering their domain. His main source on YouTubers is his fifteen-year-old sister. "It's their home field, they know how this works, they know what's cool. So very early in the process, I just admitted defeat. I'm not about to write cool social media content for these characters, or write it to be cool. They're always going to fail. It'll be some kind of attempt the characters are making to make good content on YouTube, but it's doomed to fail, because it's the audience that knows what good content is."

Hákon does think the characters are making honest attempts, having read the script so far, and they're honest characters, critical of themselves, perhaps too critical at times. "Yeah, they're scared to take the leap, scared to publish the material they're recording." Hákon says that's probably a common issue for vloggers, whether to publish something or ditch it or start over. Matthías says he's pretty sure PewDiePie, who his sister introduced him to, records a deluge of material and has somebody else editing it for him. It's become a bit of a production, even though it's just him at his computer playing video games (or other things). The characters in the play have that dilemma, as they're making content but are unsure how to present it and edit it.

Hákon talks about how as an artist you have to have a degree of self-reflection and be able to recognize when an idea isn't going anywhere. Matthías says when you're recording or writing or creating something, you enter a bit of a manic state, start to have delusions about how awesome it is, which the characters do, only to hit a wall and realize actually that sucked. Hákon: "And then they might also get delusions about how terrible it is, because it might be neither amazing nor completely awful." Matthías: "Maybe just a little tacky."

Hákon goes over how this isn't the first time the two of them work together, having attended the Academy of the Arts together. He notes Matthías wrote Þvottur when they were in their first year, as a side project, and that was how they met. He says Matthías has a recognizable style; Matthías says "That's fun." Hákon asks if Þvottur was Matthías's first play; he says no, but it was a kind of first effort anyway, as it was the first one he directed. He also notes that Hákon helped him with that, having more experience, and others - at which Hákon brings up that Klemens helped as well, as he built the set. "Which was 'simple but clever' according to a critic," Matthías adds.

Matthías's actual first foray into playwriting was when he and a friend took part in translating-slash-adapting Gertrude Stein's "Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights". "It's a really interesting piece, very experimental, in some sense not very conventional in its textual structure. And it was really - again, a whole new world opened. Whoa, is this a play? Okay, wow." Working on this adaptation/translation with director Brynhildur Guðjónsdóttir was hugely inspiring for him. "After that process, I've really gotten into it, seeing students at the school acting out lines that Ingólfur and I had been polishing."

From there, he moved on to Ungleikur, where young people work together to write, direct and act in their own plays. He wrote three pieces for it all in all, and then Þvottur independently. He says it was really good to be able to make that connection and try this out at the Academy of the Arts.

Returning to Vloggað um ekki neitt, Hákon asks what besides his sister sparked the idea for this piece. Matthías talks about how he attended his sister's civil confirmation ceremony (the non-religious version of a Christian confirmation; confirmations are so commonplace and important in Iceland that any thirteen-year-old that simply doesn't have one would be considered weird, so there's a non-religious version done by the Icelandic Ethical Humanist Association). At the ceremony, there were a bunch of speeches by various speakers, and he thought it was really clear there how much everyone was trying to lecture them. One of the speeches was a parable about frogs. The frogs were all hopping, but then some people came and yelled insults at them. All of them immediately floundered somehow and fell out of line, except one of the frogs, and the punchline of the story was that that frog was deaf. He could just see in the faces of the thirteen-year-olds that nobody could make heads or tails of this story; it was completely irrelevant to them. He thinks this desperation to push you to succeed and not do this and that and think about your health and your mental health all just becomes noise at a certain point. He can relate to that, remembering when he was a teenager himself.

Hákon agrees that that tends to be how you experience this stuff as a teenager, and that this is also visible in the play, which includes that parable about the frogs. The play also shows a sort of exaggerated version of preventative education. Konráð and the other character, Sirrý, are trying to educate teenagers watching their vlogs ("a hopeless project when everyone's just watching PewDiePie," Matthías quips). So the characters are including a lot of hard facts about drugs, cigarettes, sleep, exercise, screen time, bullying, etc., which they're kind of aggressively trying to convey to the audience. The idea, for Matthías, was to create a character who's just spewing all that stuff and all that noise at a camera, not knowing who's even watching.

They talk about how Matthías has been appointed as one of the City Theater's two playwrights for next winter, after Vloggað um ekki neitt is done, though he expects to still attend the rehearsals ("You're not chained to the City Theater" - the National Theater and the City Theater are the two big competing theaters in Reykjavík). He also might become one of three people working on "Þjóðleikur", a project where playwrights write short plays with many characters, to be produced and performed by groups of teens around the country.

"And then Hatari gets mixed up with all this." "Yes. Hatari will be - maybe there's a performance of Vloggað um ekki neitt, and I'm there in costume, and Klemens and Einar are there, and we do a song or two and then introduce the play." (He's joking.)

As they sign off they sanitize their hands and remind everyone to keep two meters apart (Matthías is unsure if they've quite been placed two meters apart here; Hákon thinks it is two meters, but I'm with Matthías in thinking it seems like a bit less).

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Sun Prince (Chapter 5)

Summary:  It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

-----

Chapter 5: Into the Fire

After all of the running around they'd done, it felt odd to be left with nothing to do except wait. There was little reason to set out and take up a few hunts when Cid promised that he was less than a day away from completing repairs, and so Ignis insisted that they remain on Cape Caem.

There was a sort of logic to it that Prompto couldn't deny, but it didn't stop the boredom from creeping in.

Ignis and Gladio quickly found ways to keep themselves occupied by helping out around the house, while Noctis snuck away to nap in various places until he was inevitably discovered. Prompto entertained himself by walking around and taking pictures of whatever struck his fancy, and eventually his feet led him to the elevator of the lighthouse.

His heart lurched at the thought of rising up to the top in an old lift, but the chance to catch a photograph from the top was too appealing to pass up. He could stomach it for a minute or two, and then he could get back down to solid ground.

That was until he got to the top and found Noctis's most recent hiding spot. The stray cat who kept turning up was there as well, curled up on the prince's chest.

Prompto quietly sat down with his back against the wall, giving himself a moment to breathe and ignore the fact that he was eighty feet up off the ground. His camera offered him a distraction as he scrolled through the pictures he'd taken and deleted the ones that turned out too blurry or were near-identical duplicates. Being near his best friend also helped calm the anxiety he felt.

They would leave for Altissia soon.

Prompto should feel excited about that. He had always dreamed of getting to explore beyond the Wall and see the beauty of the world beyond through the lens of his own camera, and Altissia was supposed to be the most beautiful of all! He would get to take so many photographs – well, hopefully. They weren't going for a vacation, after all.

But...

The more he thought about sailing across the Cygillian Ocean, the more dread he welt, welling up in his chest and threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

Maybe it was just his anxiety talking. Or it could be a side-effect of his powers. Either one would explain the awful nightmares that plagued his sleep, preventing him from getting more than a few hours of rest at a time.

Prompto looked over at Noctis, who was still sleeping soundly.

Their time at the chocobo post was short, and Prompto didn't have nearly as much time as he wanted to cuddle the baby chocobo's before Noctis whisked him out of sight for some extra training, while Ignis and Gladio were busy watching some of the races going on.

His magic came to him more easily each time he used it. Noctis expressed his own surprise at how quickly he was advancing, but Prompto brushed it off, remembering what Rhyos said about his body already being used to magic. With a little extra work, he learned how to craft his magic into a sphere shape, rather than the formless light he produced in the beginning.

Prompto wondered what Rhyos was doing and when he would decide to show up again. He hoped it was before they left for Altissia. There were even more questions he wanted to ask and hopefully the Astral would stick around long enough to answer some of them.

Maybe he was waiting until Prompto improved some more? Either that or he got some sort of glee out of making him wait.

Yeah. That second one sounded about right.

Prompto set his camera to the side and held his hands out, palms up. He guided his magic to swirl around, gathering until two golden orbs floated in front of him. He grinned, pleased by how easy it was becoming. With just a little focus, he could direct them to slowly fly around and move independently of one another.

The stray cat made a “mrrp” sound as she woke and watched the orbs with great interest.

“No, kitty,” Prompto said quietly. He pulled the orbs back to his hands and was about to absorb the remaining energy back into his body, when a voice cut through the air and startled him badly enough that they fizzled away.

“What are those?”

Prompto squeaked and twisted around to find Iris standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, and staring down at him with a determined expression.

“I, uh, what are what?” Prompto winced at his poor attempt at a cover-up.

Iris raised an eyebrow.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Prompto tried again.

“Hard to tell anyone when I don't know what's going on,” Iris responded lightly. She shut the door behind her and joined Prompto against the wall, casting a curious look over at Noctis. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Iris was truly a marvel. At only fifteen, she carried herself with such poise and maturity, even when faced with something unexpected, that it was easy to forget how young she was. Prompto supposed it was because she was from a long line of Kingshields and had also grown up in the citadel. Hard to relax and be a child with that amount of pressure.

“It's kind of complicated,” Prompto said, not sure whether or not he wanted to tell her everything. He still hadn't worked up the strength to tell Gladio or Ignis about it! Gladio would never forgive him if he told his little sister first.

Although, it would be good practice.

“Prompto has magic now.”

Or Noctis would take the choice away from him.

Prompto whined and tilted his head back, letting it thunk against the wall. “Dude, not cool.”

“I promised not to tell Gladio or Ignis, but you never said anything about Iris,” Noctis said as he sat up. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out so it didn't look as disheveled after his nap.

“It was implied,” Prompto said crossly.

Iris looked between them apprehensively. “I can just, y'know, go and pretend I didn't see or hear anything?”

“No,” Prompto bit out. He sighed and sat up straight, forcing a smile on his face as he looked over at her. “I mean, I've got to tell everyone eventually, right? And you already saw it, so I'm not going to make you pretend you didn't.”

Iris relaxed. “Okay, well take your time. Or you can let Noctis explain...?”

“Noct isn't allowed to explain anything anymore, but it's like he said. I have magic now,” Prompto told her, taking charge before Noctis could say anything else. (Not that he looked like he wanted to. He was definitely avoiding looking anywhere near his friend after blurting out his secret.) “I fell into these ruins while we were helping out one of the hunters and found this, um, artifact and it gave me magic. Noctis has been helping me control it.”

Simplicity was best, right?

Iris didn't need to know every last detail, like the deal he made with an unknown Astral, or even that Rhyos liked to pop in unexpectedly to talk. Nor did she need to know about the nightmares that plagued his sleep ever since his illness. Even Noctis didn't know about that last one.

“Can you do anything cool with it, like warping? Do you have your own armiger? Not that the magical balls aren't cool, but...” Iris shrugged, apparently unsure of where she was going with her questions.

“No warping, no armiger, and excuse you but the orbs are super cool,” Prompto responded, hoping he came across as joking in the end. He grinned at her for good measure. “I dunno. I can almost make a shield, but I haven't gotten it to hold up against anything. It might have just been a fluke.”

“It's still impressive when you've only been practicing for a few days,” Noctis pointed out.

Iris looked awestruck by everything she was learning. “Seriously? It took Gladio three days just to figure out how to access the armiger and pull out the correct weapon.” She turned immediately to Noctis. “Do not ever tell him that I told you that. Anyway, I think I'm starting to understand why Gladio won't let me travel with you guys. You're both beacons for trouble. He couldn't handle the three of us running around, even with Ignis's help.”

Noctis chuckled.

“You won't tell anyone about this, will you, Iris?” Prompto asked, seized by sudden worry. “I'll tell them eventually. I just haven't figured out how. I will. Soon. In Altissia?” He winced and shut his mouth.

“I think you're making a bigger deal of this than you need to, but I'll keep it a secret for you,” Iris promised. “And because I'm so awesome, I'll let you practice how you're going to tell them on me! It'll be fun!”

Prompto wasn't sure that it would be fun at all, but it was nice of her to volunteer.

Iris grinned at him, taking his silence as agreement. “I'll even do my best impression of Gladio! I'm pretty good at it, right, Noctis?”

“I dunno. I don't think you've got that patented grumpy stare down yet,” Noctis said thoughtfully.

Iris proceeded to prove that she was very good at impersonating her brother, though the glare looked wildly out of place on her sweet face.

-----

A woman with fiery red hair woven into intricate braids led the way down a well-lit passageway. Water flowed down the tall, white stone walls and pooled along the sides, but never moved closer to where she walked. She was draped in blue silks decorated with golden symbols, and the fabrics flowed as she moved towards a massive door.

Behind her, a crowd of people slowly followed, leaving proper space for those carrying two white caskets, one behind the other. All were silent.

The towering white walls were bathed in the golden light of the sun, though as it began to set, shadows rose from the floor and began to cover the walls. Neither the woman nor the procession behind her faltered in step.

The door, with bands of gold representing the rays of the sun, over which a bird with rainbow feathers was placed, began to shimmer with a red light. It spread across the walls, lighting up hidden symbols, and the door soundlessly opened.

A melodious hymn filled the halls as they began their descent into the depths.

At the end of the procession was a familiar man with long dark hair and red eyes.

“Rhyos?” Prompto gasped in bodiless form.

As though he heard him, Rhyos turned to look around. When his eyes met Prompto's, everything went black.

Lady Lunafreya appeared in the darkness and Prompto opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. He was forced to watch, helpless, as a featureless figure stabbed her in the side and red spread across the fabric of her white gown. She fell back and her trident slid form her grasp.

-----

Prompto gasped for air as he woke, tears streaming down his face. He sat up and pulled his legs to his chest, trembling as he tried to silence his sobs.

Nearby, Noctis mumbled in his sleep.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but even as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep that night. He lifted his head from his knees and that was when he saw the figure sitting near the window, moonlight illuminating his form.

“Rhyos,” Prompto whispered, too drained from his most recent nightmare to feel surprise.

“I apologize for visiting at such a late hour, however it came to my attention that things are progressing more quickly than anticipated.” Rhyos gave Prompto no chance to respond. “There has not been a wearer of the crown who experienced visions like yours since the height of Solheim power. Why did you not tell me?”

Prompto glanced worriedly at Noctis, but his friend showed no signs of stirring. “They're just nightmares. It didn't seem important,” he whispered.

Rhyos narrowed his eyes. “You speak of more than the funeral you glimpsed. Tell me about this nightmare of yours, and do not worry about your prince. He is a heavy sleeper.”

That didn't mean Prompto wanted to risk waking him up, but he also couldn't let his chance to talk to Rhyos go to waste. “I keep seeing... someone getting hurt. Someone important,” he said, being purposefully vague.

“You will need to be more detailed than that.”

Prompto closed his eyes. “I keep seeing Lady Lunafreya being stabbed. I can't see who's doing it or where she is. It's like I'm floating in this dark void.”

“It is not unusual for visions of a probable future to look that way. Nothing is set in stone and there is always the chance that the future can change. If you are seeing something, it is either to prepare you for what is coming or it is a hint of something that needs to be changed,” Rhyos explained. “Visions of the past are more clear.”

Visions.

Nausea roiled in Prompto's stomach and he took a moment to try and calm it down. His thoughts wailed profanities.

Lady Lunafreya was in danger and he didn't have the first idea of where or who the threat was. Was he not meant to know? Was it like Rhyos said and the vision was meant to prepare him for what was coming?

No.

Prompto refused to let that be her fate.

There had to be something he could do. His powers had to be good for more than just killing daemons!

“How can I stop it from happening?” he asked.

“The visions themselves will ease up now that you understand their warning, but it is likely you will occasionally glimpse moments of the past. Some are to help you in your life. Others, such as the one you had tonight, are because of me,” Rhyos said.

Prompto frowned. “You sent me that vision?”

Rhyos shook his head. “Not intentionally. It was a moment I was dwelling heavily upon. The crown and I have a connection and it likely picked up on that.” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps the next vision you have will be the creation of the crown. I think you would enjoy that one.”

As long as it let him get a proper night of sleep, Prompto wouldn't complain. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the questions that he forgot to write down. “Um, so... are those all of them? The visions and the magic, I mean. Or should I prepare for anything else because of the crown?”

“Your magic will continue to grow stronger, as will your control over it, but I cannot say for certain what other abilities the crown will grant you. It decides for itself who is worthy and of what,” Rhyos said as he stood up. “Long ago, I granted it to the Kings of Solheim, blessing it with the power so that they may protect their people. Now it is in your hands. The power you now possess will enable you to protect your people; those you care about most. That is its foremost function.

“It is not a tool of war, nor of greed. A lesser mortal could not command the abilities to come forth. What you have been granted is a mark of the purity of your soul. Of your desire to do good.”

Prompto could feel the burn of Rhyos's eyes on him. “But I'm not anyone special.”

Rhyos smiled. “And that, perhaps, is why you are the perfect candidate.”

“And what of the cost?” cut in a new voice.

Even Rhyos looked surprised as Noctis sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Dark eyes met red, and the Astral gave a respectful bow.

“What ever do you mean, Prince Noctis?” Rhyos asked.

“There's always a cost,” Noctis said, wholly serious. “I've spent my whole life watching my father's life be drained away. I know what it feels like to ask an Astral to come to our aid. What is the cost that Prompto pays for all of this?”

For a moment, Rhyos did not speak.

Prompto looked between them, wondering if he should be the one to break the silence, but he was curious too.

Rhyos smiled, his expression more gentle than Prompto had ever seen. “Worry not, young prince, there is no price to pay. That crown will not drain his life away nor make him grow weak. I always preferred lifting my chosen people to new heights rather than limiting what they can do.”

Relief washed over Prompto. It hadn't been one of his worries until Noctis brought it up, but the relief came nevertheless.

“I fear my time with you is coming to an end. I would hate to be the reason you lose anymore sleep than you already have,” Rhyos said. “There is one last thing I need to speak with you about, and that is your voyage across the Cygillian.” He waited until both of them were paying attention before continuing. “Altissia is the domain of Leviathan and her favored Messengers. It is not a place where I am welcomed, and as such, I will be unable to help you as long as you are there. Both of you, be cautious. The Tidemother's memory is long and her mood changes with the ebb and flow of the tide itself. Prove to her your strength and she will aid you. Fail and she will devour you.”

“Bleak,” Prompto commented.

Rhyos grinned. “I look forward to your return.”

The last thing Prompto remembered was Rhyos walking across the room and the feeling of warm fingertips against his forehead. Comfortable darkness rushed to greet him and he sank into the depths of slumber, where only pleasant dreams awaited him.

[regular-lord-reckoner]

i was doing pretty okay for a few days there despite the world being even more on fire than it usually is, but yesterday i just started feeling really down and overwhelmed by everything. 

on the one hand, i’m glad that to some degree at least this whole virus situation is being taken seriously and there are least some things being done to try to prevent the spread, but on the other i’m seeing a lot of people getting laid off from work or who just aren’t able to make money doing what they normally do because now everyone’s strapped for cash and it feels like any day the whole thing’s just gonna topple over 

and on the one hand it’s like...okay, good. the system sucks, it’s needed to change, something was gonna have to give but on the other it shouldn’t have been something like this where people are going to get hurt and potentially even die. 

for myself personally, my work has decided to remain open which on the one hand is good because i still need to make money, but on the other hand they are just...absolutely dropping the ball. 

i think so far the only measure they’ve put in place that’s actually good is i think i’d heard something about having either front desk or switchboard call some of these patients ahead of time like, “hey, it looks like your visit is just a refill for medication, your provider will go ahead and refill that and we can spare you a trip coming in to the office”, but i dunno how widespread that is or if it was just a one time thing or if it’s still been going on. 

a lot of patients i think are just going ahead and cancelling their appointments which is good, appreciate that, but then there are some who are still showing up for shit that really could have waited. 

and the bright idea now is to have front desk do a questionnaire thing with every single fucking patient that comes in basically just going over a checklist of shit that is supposed to help determine whether or not they can still stay for their visit or if they need to immediately leave and just give us a call to figure out what to do from there. 

so tomorrow i’m going to have to do that since it’s my day to go in and do front desk for one of the providers and like...yeah, i see way, way less patients there than regular front desk, but it still sucks that it’s like, “you, front desk person, you get to be exposed to people who could very well be sick but didn’t have better sense to stay home and you have to decide if this person is okay to stay, hope you don’t get yelled at!!” 

i already get shit from these patients over other shit (i don’t remember if i posted about it or not, but i had a dude get mad at ME because he was 30 minutes late for his visit and i said we might have to reschedule, but that i would check with the doctor to see if it was okay...dude stood there and gave me attitude and went on about how the way we run things is all wrong....all because again, mind you, HE was late for HIS appointment. and he thought i should just squeeze him in before people who were on time for their appointments because y’know...that’s fair!!) so i can’t imagine how much fun it’s going to be or the back and forth i’m gonna get into with people over whether or not a cough they’ve had warrants their visit being cancelled. 

but hey, it’s cool because they gave me a face mask so...i should be fine, i guess. it’s not like when i come down with shit it really wipes me the fuck out because i’m already disabled, but no that’s cool. we definitely need to keep our specialty office up and running and use medical supplies we might be needing down the road all so money can keep pouring in!!! 

especially in this day and age where things like office visits over skype or just regular phone are possible. obviously it’s not going to catch every single patient because i know not everyone has access, but here again...we’re a specialty office. we’re not a hospital, we’re not a regular doctor’s office. i could see at least running in a limited capacity for those patients that do have serious shit going on and really do need to be seen, like fine we’ll work that out, but people coming in for shit that can at least wait a few more weeks just...sucks. 

we also do infusions at one office and the nurse that runs that whole thing tried to tell my manager like, “hey, according to the cdc we really shouldn’t have more than 10 people at a time back here” and my manager honest to god said, “that only applies to social situations!!!” 

oh!!! well fuck me, then, i didn’t realize the virus could tell the goddamn difference, wow!!! 

also...it’s not at ALL like we have patients who come in for this one thing but who have compromised immune systems or who have cancer or COPD or anything else like...fuck ‘em!! we’ll make sure you sit in the waiting room while we have our already overworked front desk people doing questionnaire after questionnaire with every person that comes in and stands close to you, good luck!! 

to make things even BETTER one of the MAs showed up to work the other day sick!!! like...coughing a lot, feeling cruddy sick!!! 

but oh no, she doesn’t have any more pto so rather than like...i dunno, either have someone donate some of their own pto at least for the day or rest of the week or even send her home with a laptop and some basic task she could do from home she stayed!!! 

sure do hope there isn’t a boom of fucking people who end up getting it (if that’s what she has, i hope to god it was just sinuses or even the regular flu) because it’s gonna look reeeeeeal bad if they trace it back and are like, “so you guys knew this employee was sick and works in a medical office around vulnerable patients and you just...let her stay?” 

neat!!! 

again, like...i know i should just be grateful my work is still open and i’m still able to have some income, especially since i already mostly work from home, but it’s just so frustrating to see how badly they’re handling this and how the number one priority is making money but then again...why am i fucking surprised? that’s capitalism, babey!!!! 

on top of that, i also finally heard back from my tax guy what that whole situation is gonna be and hoooo boy. 

i get...14 some odd dollars for one (probably state) and 75 some odd dollars for the other (federal, i’m assuming) 

i’m getting...less than $100 in tax return this year.................

bro

on the one hand like...my biggest fear was that i was going to end up owing money and wouldn’t be getting shit, but on the other i guess i had just...hope maybe i’d still manage to get something?? 

i know with my work situation being what it was (and with the government being what it is right now) it wasn’t going to be stellar, i wasn’t expecting $1,000 or anything but uh...i was hoping maybe for a few hundreds?? was hoping i could put a dent in some of these bills?? but uh...that’s fine. 

the frustration of that is compounded by the fact that i’m pretty sure a big part of why it’s that way is because A. my last job was only a 10 month contract so i was SOL for two months and B. to try to cover for that i started back at this job but in a limited capacity so i wasn’t getting enough hours to really compensate and in the process of trying to get hired full time here they kept me on work contract for MONTHS to the point where i thought i’d just have to give up and find something else entirely. 

i had tried when i did finally start full time to set my tax deduction on my checks up so that i was taking out more than enough to try to compensate, but by that point it was so late in the year i guess it didn’t really do a whole lot other than keep me out of the negative so...that’s fine, i guess. 

ultimately i should have known, but i guess with everything else i had just gotten my hopes up that i’d at least have a nice check headed my way and i’m not trying to sneeze at what i am getting because i do still appreciate it i just...was really looking forward to dropping a chunk of that money on some of the shit hanging over my head but okay 

at least at this point one of my credit card bills should be easy to pay off because i’m pretty sure the bts concert i was gonna go to in may is gonna be cancelled at this rate, so i’ll be getting that money back. obviously that’a a real first world problem compared to everything else going on, but it was something i was really looking forward to, one of those “just hang on until this if shit gets rough” kind of deals but with how shit’s been going i don’t feel very optimistic about it. it’s in mid-may and i’m already seeing stuff from other events being pushed to fall so like...neato. it was also kind of like...hey, this time last year you were in the hospital and about to go septic and then had months of bullshit to deal with after that and your personal life got really rough and shit was just BAD, so here’s something special for getting through all of that and now it’s probably not gonna happen and there’s no telling when it will because that’s not an easy thing to reschedule at the last minute so that’s...cool. i completely understand why and i’m not mad about it, i just can’t help but feel disappointed. 

i dunno. i feel like in the past year i’ve really tried to work on myself in terms of not letting myself fall into these horrible depressive episodes and let my anxiety just completely overrun everything and for the most part i’ve been fairly successful although i know i still need to finally make that leap of actually getting into therapy and really getting into the hard work, but the past few days it’s becoming harder and harder to maintain that and there’s a big part of me that just wants to be like, “dude, what’s the point, the world’s ending, who cares if you’re sad and you haven’t fixed your shit yet, it’s not going to matter for you or for anybody, it’s all pointless” so like...that sucks. 

i’m hoping it’s just something i need to go through for a little bit and if i try my best i can come out of it with my head up but for months now i’ve felt one of those really bad depressive episodes breathing down my neck just...waiting for an excuse to take me down and i guess with everything going on i just don’t feel like i have the strength to fight it the way i’ve been trying to. 

i won’t give up, though. not yet anyway. all of this is frustrating, but there’s still a lot i have to be grateful for so i’m going to try my best to just focus on those things, hold on to them, and hope that there’s good news just on the horizon and that better days really are on the way. 

i know still that turning over a new year doesn’t really mean shit and time is fake, but i hope anyway that since this is only the third month out of the year that there’s still time for things to get better. i hope by even thinking that i’m not ensuring that things will in fact get much, much worse but i guess we’ll just have to see. 

in any case, even though i’m dreading going to work tomorrow i guess it’ll be nice to get out of the house. it’s weird, because normally i don’t mind spending a lot of time at home. i work from home and i don’t have any friends that live close by so i tend to just kind of stay put unless i’m going to the store for something or going to pick up food, but the fact that now it’s like...hey, you need to stay put it’s getting to me a little bit. if i’m not feeling better by this weekend i might if nothing else just...go for a drive. 

i won’t go anywhere and interact with anyone or make any stops, i’ll just...get out of the house for a minute before i sink even further into whatever this is. idk. 

if you’ve read all this mess i thank you, i know it sucks to read someone else’s whining while you’ve got problems of your own and shit’s bad just in general, so i appreciate it and i hope that wherever you are and whatever your situation that you’re doing as best as you can be and hanging in there. 

[marril96]

Cassandra

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena’s horrible day gets even worse when everyone in the Bunker suddenly starts confessing things to her.

A/N: This fic is inspired by Joe Hill’s book Horns.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

Rowena was having a horrible day.

First, Sam had called her — because of course he had — begging for help yet again, and she, the redeemed fool, agreed to meet up with him and the rest of his little entourage as soon as she could without a single sound of displeasure she clearly felt. She did roll her eyes, quite epically if she dare say so herself, and mumble a few Scottish things you didn’t understand, but she still packed her necessities and, with you in tow (the two of you were a package deal. If the Winchesters wanted one, they had to deal with the other. Those were the rules), headed for the Bunker.

Then, once they’d all established they were dealing with a particularly nasty witch, Rowena stupidly accompanied the boys and their pet angel and nephilim and had nearly gotten herself cursed. Jack had blasted the witch with his power just in time, preventing her from finishing the curse. She had used the commotion to get away, but the good news was, Rowena was okay. Even you, ever the worrier, could see that.

Hours later, when you and Rowena, through joint effort, managed to locate the witch (she was good at cloaking her location, but not good enough for one of the most powerful witches in the world and the witch who’d meticulously studied under her for four years), Rowena had cleverly elected to remain in the Bunker while the hunters dealt with her. You happily supported her decision. After all, if she stayed far, far away from the fight, tucked inside one of the safest, most warded places around, you didn’t have to worry. It was a win-win for everyone, including Sam and Dean. They preferred to do their job the old-fashioned way. And plus, Sam had been giving her odd glances ever since she’d been attacked earlier. It was better to stay out of their way and protect her arse in the process.

Just when she thought she’d finally - finally! — caught a break, something had to pop up to prove her otherwise, because of bloody course it did.

Rowena was in the library, head buried in a grimoire she’d recently acquired at an auction. The bloody thing had cost her dearly, and from what she’d seen so far, it was worth every penny. Money well spent, no matter how loudly — annoyingly, really — you disagreed. She’d originally intended to leave the book at home, but had changed her mind at the last minute. One could never be certain when boredom would strike, and it was best to be prepared. A smart decision, in hindsight. Then again, that was what every — alright, almost every — decision of hers was.

While she was busy going over new spells, you were up in the temporary bedroom the Winchesters lent the two of you, watching some no doubt trashy movie on your laptop. Rowena didn’t particularly care what you were doing. You weren’t pestering her, weren’t leaning over her, as you tended to do at times, pointing at random spells in languages you didn’t understand, and asking what each one was for. You’d given her peace to study her new toy thoroughly, and for that she made a mental note to reward you later. She already had a few things she knew you’d like in mind.

Rowena’s precious peace shattered as soon as the door to the Bunker swung open and the Winchesters and their angels walked in in their loud, laughing, talking glory.

Much to her relief, though, after an exchange of greetings and a relay of news that the evil witch was finally dead, the boys had enough decency to quiet down and scurry elsewhere, each to their respective corner of the Bunker.

Rowena returned to her book, hoping for at least half an hour more of peace, when Dean walked into the library. She paid him no mind, concentrated fully on a particularly complicated spell in Gaelic, scanning the words, absorbing them to the best of her ability. If she ignored it, it would go away. At the very least she hoped so.

It — he — stayed. And stared at her. Obviously so; she could feel his eyes burning into her head, gaze sharp as blades, intent, insistent.

Rowena pretended not to notice. If he wanted something, he could very well ask. He was a big boy. She didn’t need to hold his hand and patiently get the words out of his mouth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, Dean said, “Rowena, can I ask you something?”

Rowena raised an eyebrow, curious, but kept her eyes on the old, yellowed page of the grimoire. “Sure.”

“If-if a dude likes another dude — like likes likes him — does-does that make him gay?”

She looked at him as if he’d just admitted to killing you (that, at least, would have been a valid reason for wasting her time). Why was he asking her that? Out of everyone in the Bunker, what made him think she was the appropriate person to ask that question?

Dean was smiling nervously. Stupidly. He looked like he wanted to be everywhere but here.

Good. That made two of them.

“Yes,” Rowena replied without missing a beat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, if you weren’t an idiot.

Dean shifted his feet uncomfortably. “What if that dude’s usually into chicks?”

“That would make him bisexual,” she told him.

Whatever game he was playing — whatever bet he and the boys made — she wanted no part in it. She was about to say so when he, with the grace of a clumsy cat that had just fallen into a tub filled to the brim with water, spoke up again.

“Okay, but what if he’s only into chicks, and there’s just this one guy he really likes?”

“Maybe he’s bi-curious,” Rowena said, tone firm, curt, to the point. A clear indicative that she did not want to participate in this conversation, and if he didn’t leave her alone anytime soon, she would get nasty and very, very Scottish.

If Dean picked up on it, he didn’t show it. He looked around for a few moments, lost in thought, then his eyes fell back on Rowena and, in the tone of a child in a sweetie shop, he said, “Dr. Sexy did a photoshoot for Busty Asian Beauties.”

Rowena blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, just as confused. His brows furrowed in thought. “Why am I telling you this?”

With a deep, hard sigh, Rowena buried her head in her hands. She slammed her book shut; no use studying it now, after this… whatever this was. A conversation? Confession? Heart-to-heart? The thought sent a shudder through her, stomach twisting with disgust.

Whatever it was, she didn’t want to be having it, and she certainly didn’t want to be having it with Dean.

A cup of tea. That was what she needed. A good, fresh, steaming cup of tea to get her mind off the Winchester’s problems, if one might call them that.

Rowena stood up; she threw a glance to the book, wondering if she should take it with her and, a whole second later, deciding against it. She headed for the kitchen, leaving the confused, conflicted Dean alone to his thoughts. Charles knew he needed some of those.

“Bloody bampot,” she muttered on her way out.

If he heard her, Dean gave no response.

As soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen, a nice, appealing aroma filled her nostrils. Sam was making dinner. Some kind of meat, sweet, juicy, no doubt as delicious as that from her favorite restaurant. Rowena’s stomach grumbled, an automatic response to the new sensations. She remembered she hadn’t eaten yet; so focused on the grimoire, she’d forgotten to. She could use some sustenance.

“Hey,” Sam greeted, smile wide on his mouth, warm and friendly as always.

Rowena returned it just as brightly. “Hey, Samuel. Mind telling me where the teapot is?”

“Right there.” He pointed to a cupboard to his right. “You guys, uh, gonna stay for dinner?”

“We might as well.”

The trip home would be hours long. Best eat now than stop somewhere along the way, in the middle of nowhere. Rowena shuddered as her mind flashed to a few diners — and she was using that word generously — the two of you had stopped at on your various travels. The last time you’d brought her to one of those places she’d spotted a rat she could’ve sworn was the size of a chihuahua. Ever since then she had a strict no-roadside-diner rule. No matter how much you pleaded and whined, she wasn’t stepping foot in one of those places. Even if her stomach screamed and snarled and begged for food, and you nagged at her like you sometimes tended to do, her decision was final.

“Can I tell you something?” Sam asked.

“Go ahead,” Rowena replied, teapot in hand, looking through the cupboards for the tea. The Winchesters may have eaten and drank unhealthy (one of them did, at least), but they had decent tea. Not as good as her own (imported straight from Scotland, of course), but drinkable.

“I-every time we see each other, I’m scared I’ll kill you,” Sam said after a moment of uncertainty.

“Having murder fantasies about me, Samuel?” she teased in an attempt to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

She would be lying if she said the thought that she might die hadn’t occurred to her every time they met up, but it was never something she paid too much attention to. Sam was going to kill her — it was fact, it was fate, and overthinking it would do nothing but make her depressed. Why hurt herself over and over again with thoughts of something she had no control over?

Besides, for all she knew, fate might have been changed. Sam had said he’d try to do so, and Rowena had promised herself the same thing.

And if it hadn’t — well, then she was going to go. No point in dwelling on the bad when she could be living her life to the fullest. Living her life with you. She owed it to you to never give up, to keep going forward, and that was what she was doing. She didn’t want to leave you any more than you wanted to lose her. If it happened, you would both have to accept it.

“No,” Sam said and shook his head, outraged at the prospect. “I just… I’m scared there’ll be an accident or something, and you’ll get hurt.”

Rowena had to chuckle. “I’m a big girl. I can take a bit of hurt.” If she could survive Lucifer, twice, then she could survive a wee accident.

“I know that. I guess I just don’t want to be the cause of it. Because…” Sam swallowed, cheeks burning a bright, hot red. For such a giant man, he suddenly looked so small. Almost, dare she say, vulnerable. “I care about you. A lot.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Rowena could utter. Was this one of the Winchesters’ pep talks? One of those conversations where she would officially be declared their friend and a member of the family, and then they’d all share bro hugs and sip beer together?

How was she supposed to respond to that? As much as she hated to admit it, she considered Sam a friend, and she cared dearly about him and Dean and their feather friend and nephilim son. She’d said yes to Michael for them. She tried to tell herself it was for you, but she knew well enough it was more than that. She didn’t want you to get hurt, yes, but she didn’t want them to get hurt, either. She wanted to protect all of you.

“A whole lot,” Sam added after a moment of silence.

“I suppose I… care about you, too,” Rowena said carefully, the words falling from her tongue with unease. It took a lot out of her to say it out loud, to admit she cared to someone who wasn’t you. You made it look so easy. Maybe because you fell for her first, loved her first, trusted her before anyone dared even call her an acquaintance, let alone a friend. She knew she could tell you everything, knew she could bare her soul to you without judgment.

Other people? She’d spent so many centuries manipulating them that she still sometimes struggled being nice to them. It would take a while for her to be comfortable to feel around them.

Sam’s smile widened, stretching from ear to ear, white teeth flashing. “I love you.”

Wait, what?

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

A polite way of saying what was actually on her mind, which was, What in bloody fucking hell?!

“I feel like I can be myself around you. I don’t have to pretend that everything’s okay. You understand that it’s not,” he explained, looking strangely relieved. As if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders as soon as those words left his mouth. “Even when I don’t say anything, you just know. You know what it’s like to be hurt. You know that it doesn’t go away. Even Dean doesn’t. He thinks he does, but he has no idea. But you — you understand, Rowena. You’ve been there. You and I are the only ones who know what it’s like, and I feel like that makes this — us — special.”

Rowena was flabbergasted. “Wha—”

“I know you’re with Y/N,” Sam said before she could finish her sentence, though what she was going to say, she didn’t know. “I don’t want to get between the two of you. I can see how happy she makes you, and how happy you make her, and I would never do anything to break you guys up. I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

Rowena stared. Blinked. Gulped. Breathed in and out in deep, hard gulps that hurt her throat.

“Why?” she uttered, voice a whisper, a quiet, little lilt. Her eyes met Sam’s sad puppy ones, the look in them strong, determined. Angry around the edges. “Why did you tell me that?”

“I wanted you to know,” Sam said nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why did you want me to know?” she demanded.

She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know any of it. How was she supposed to be around him now, when she knew how he really felt? Why did he think it was okay to burden her with this knowledge? What would you say when you found out (and you would find out. She had no intention of keeping this a secret)?

What had gotten into this intelligent man’s head to make him so bloody stupid?

“I don’t know,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. “I never wanted you to find out about this, but then I suddenly did.”

Rowena was mad, but one look at his face, and some of her anger subsided. He was honest. He genuinely didn’t know why he told her.

Come to think of it, Dean didn’t know why he was asking her those questions, either.

Was something going on? Had that witch cursed them? Had they ingested some kind of truth potion?

“Samuel,” Rowena said with as much patience as she could muster, “when you were at that witch’s house, did you have anything to drink?”

“No,” Sam said, baffled by the question. “We just got in and killed her. Why?”

She ignored the question. “Did she cast any spells?”

“She tried to, but we killed her before she could do anything.” He cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. “What’s this about?”

“Something is very, very wrong,” Rowena commented, more to herself than to him.

She slammed the teapot on the counter with a bang, startling him, but he quickly regained his composure.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me consult Y/N, then I’ll get back to you. You stay here and keep working on dinner.”

“Okay,” Sam said, uncertain.

“I mean it. Stay!” She raised up a forefinger in emphasis.

“I’m staying.”

“Good.”

Rowena ran out and hurried up the stairs. Thankfully, she managed to avoid Dean. She’d had enough of confessions for one evening.

Before she could reach her bedroom, however, Jack walk up to her with a big, boyish smile on his face and, in a tone that was as cheerful as his his expression, said, “Hi, Rowena.”

“Hi, Jack,” she greeted, returning the smile.

The nephilim looked around, suddenly nervous, almost paranoid. “Can we talk?” he whispered, leaning down to her level.

“I would love to, but I’m in a wee bit of hurry,” she told him.

“Please?”

He gave her the puppy eyes, and just like that all her defenses were down. She could never resist puppy eyes, especially those of children.

“Alright, but be quick,” she allowed. She supposed the curse could wait a few moments. It wasn’t like it would kill the boys. Hopefully.

“I stole Dean’s magazine,” he said.

Rowena blinked.

When she didn’t say anything, he elaborated in a hushed tone, “Busty Asian Beauties. The one with the, um, undressed women.”

Rowena was too flabbergasted to respond.

“They’re, um, nak—”

��I know what undressed means!” she said a tad too harshly than she intended. He flinched as if struck, shocked by her outburst, and she cleared her throat. Must not lose it. Not in front of a child. A child who’d read porn, but nonetheless a child. Curling her lips into a smile that was too sugary sweet to be genuine, Rowena said, “Jack, why did you do that?”

“I wanted to see what it was like,” Jack said innocently. He grinned like a child in a sweetie store. “And I liked it!”

“Okay!”

Rowena’s hand shot up, palm outwards, a stop sign. She did not need to hear this. She did not want to hear this, just like she hadn’t wanted to hear about Dean’s confusion about his sexuality and Sam’s feelings towards her. She wanted nothing to do with any of it.

That witch must have been more powerful than she’d thought, when she’d managed to curse Jack. The Winchesters were one thing, but a nephilim… That required a grand amount of power.

“I liked it a lot!” Jack added.

“I get it, Jack,” Rowena told him. “You don’t have to explain.”

The nephilim’s face fell. “Do you think it’s bad? Do you think I’m bad?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not. You’re a good boy, Jack. Why don’t you go back to your room and… flip through the magazine one more time?”

His face lit up again. “You think I should?”

“Aye. And make sure to lock the door, okay? You don’t want Dean getting wind of this, do you?”

“No. I’ll lock the door.”

“Excellent! Off you go, darling boy! Have a lovely evening!”

“Thanks, Rowena!” Jack said happily.

“Anytime, Jack,” she said, breathing out in relief as the lock to his door clicked.

“Hey, Rowena,” Castiel said, emerging from his own room.

Bloody hell! “Whatever it is, feathers, save it!”

“But—” the angel tried, only to be curtly, rudely cut off.

“Not a bloody word!” Rowena snapped, shooting him a glare that had killed before, forefinger up in warning.

She’d had enough of confessions. She had to put an end to this before she ended up hearing something everyone in the Bunker would regret — though whatever she might hear couldn’t be worse than what Sam had told her. Attraction to actors and pornographic magazines were one thing; excellent teasing material, but harmless in the long run. A love confession, on the other hand…

How was she supposed to act around Sam now? How was she supposed to be around him when she knew that every smile he gave her, every kind word, every joke and laugh came from love rather than friendship?

She stormed into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, practically in Castiel’s face. You were on the bed, laptop right in front of you, eyes glued to the screen. Upon her violent entrance, you let out a startled yelp and shot her a look that told her, wordlessly yet loudly, that you were not amused. You were not in the mood for her temper tantrums.

Well, she wasn’t in the mood for yours, either, and besides, this wasn’t a temper tantrum. You would be bloody pissed, too, if you’d basically been treated like a therapist by people who most definitely should not have treated her as such.

“Y/N, there’s something wrong with the Winchesters,” Rowena said, straight to the point. No use dancing around the issue. The sooner it got sorted out, the better.

“Besides the obvious?” you snarked.

She rolled her eyes. Now was not the time for quips. “I think they’ve been cursed.”

You laughed. “Finally lost it, have you? Took you long enough. I’ve been telling you those guys are pricks, but you never listen.”

“It wasn’t me — it was that witch!” Rowena exclaimed. If she wanted to curse the Winchesters, she sure as hell would not have made them confess grotesque things to her. She was no masochist, not to that extent.

You sighed, face growing serious. “Why do you think they’re cursed?”

“They’ve been telling me things.” Her face scrunched up with displeasure. “Disgusting, repugnant things.”

You looked at her with confusion for a moment, then said in a tone that was too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “Speaking of, I need to tell you something.”

“Can’t it wait?” Rowena said in a tone that made it clear it should wait.

“No.”

She rubbed her temples, urged herself to stay calm. Getting mad at you would do no good for neither her nor the situation at hand.

“Y/N, we’ve got more pressing matters at hand than petty conversations,” she explained in her most patient tone of voice, that of a spent, tired kindergarten teacher at her wit’s end after a whole day of looking after screaming brats.

“I haven’t thought of it in a while,” you told her. “I feel like, if I don’t tell you now, I never will.”

“Is it important?”

“Very.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. She eyed you for a bit, scanned for deception. Finding none, she breathed out and said, “Fine. But be quick. We’ve got to deal with this curse as soon as possible, before something terrible happens.”

Something worse than Sam professing his undying love for her.

You nodded in agreement. “You know how I knew Crowley before I knew you?”

“Yes,” Rowena said. You’d known her son for years before she showed up and practically stole your heart. One look from her, and you were done. It was meant to be.

“I always had the hots for him,” you admitted, a tad apologetic.

Rowena cringed. She’d seen the way you’d looked at Fergus; it was the same way you were looking at her ever since you’d first laid eyes on her. Not something she liked to think about often.

“He was a dick, but he was charming. His accent was hot,” you continued.

“The point?” Rowena demanded, truly, genuinely not interested in reasons you’d found her son attractive. That familiar, disgusted knot twisted in her stomach, making her feel lightheaded. All she’d heard from the boys had taken its toll on her; your admissions weren’t making the situation any better.

“Well, um, you see, back then, I kinda had this thought,” you said, a bit shy. “It was more of a fantasy, really. Of you and me and… him. Together.” A blush crept up to your cheeks. “A threesome. It was really hot.”

Rowena’s jaw all but dropped to the floor.

“Do you think it was wrong?” you asked her. “I know he was your son, but he wasn’t in his real body, so you technically weren’t blood related at the time. I felt guilty for fantasizing about it, and thinking of it like that made me feel a bit better.”

It was very, very, very, very wrong.

More wrong than any and every other wrong in the world.

You should have felt guilty.

Forever.

And ever.

You should have wallowed in guilt.

And, most important of all, you should have kept it to yourself.

Why hadn’t you kept it to yourself?

Why share it with her now? Why tell her when you knew — you bloody knew — it would do nothing but gross her out? Why do that to her?

Were you cursed as well?

But that was impossible — you weren’t anywhere near the witch. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jack had gone to confront her on their own. You were at the Bunker the entire time. There was no way she could have cursed you.

Unless…

Oh, dear.

Of course! Of bloody course!

She should have known. She should have figured it out right away. It was blatantly obvious, now that she thought about it.

It wasn’t the Winchesters, their angels, and you that were cursed.

It was Rowena.

She wanted to smack herself for her stupidity.

How did she not notice? It was right there, all but smacking her in the face. Upon their return, the boys were laughing amongst each other. Having fun. Joking around. They would’ve have been in such spirits had they been forced to tell one another their deepest thoughts and desires. They would have taken notice of it. They would have approached her and asked her for help.

She was a bloody idiot!

“Oh, god!” you said in a whiny voice after a few moments of uncomfortable, suffocating silence. “You hate me! You think I’m gross, don’t you? You think I’m terrible. I’m a terrible girlfriend!”

As disgusted as she was, Rowena couldn’t hold back a pang of pain that ripped through her heart like a cold, iron dagger. She brought her hands to your cheeks, cupped them with utmost tenderness, and said in that soft tone of voice she always used to calm you down, “No, darling. You are not terrible.”

“I am,” you said, tears spilling down your cheeks. Your hands fell over hers, warm, slick with sweat. “I imagined those things. And enjoyed them.”

Rowena’s stomach twisted. She swallowed, keeping the unease at bay. “It’s not your fault, dearest. It’s the curse.”

You frowned, confused. “Sam and Dean’s curse?”

“Actually, I think I am the one who is cursed.”

“But you were home.”

“She tried to curse me earlier, remember?”

You gave a small nod.

“She must have done something to activate the curse before she died,” she elaborated.

“Shouldn’t the curse be gone with her?” you asked.

“In most cases, yes,” Rowena said, “but this lass was powerful. She had to have done something…” She let the sentence trail off, lost in thought. How had she done it? A spell?

“Think she threw a hex bag or something at the boys?” you asked.

She looked at you as if you’d just proclaimed her the proud owner of a million-dollar villa, complete with servants and a personal masseur. “I think that is exactly what she did! My smart girl!”

Your cheeks flushed at the praise. “Is this curse dangerous? Are you gonna be okay?” you asked, looking her over in concern.

“Aye,” Rowena said. “It’s more… unpleasant than dangerous.”

“People telling you gross things?”

“People telling me their secrets,” she corrected. Not that there was much difference between the two.

Your face fell. “I’m really sorry.”

“I told you, it’s not your fault,” she told you. “We never have to discuss it again.” She hoped you never would. She wanted to forget about everything she’d heard tonight as much as her mind allowed. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “I love you.”

She didn’t need a curse to know this was the absolute truth. Still, a part of her warmed up at hearing it now, amidst all the chaos. Your feelings for her were genuine. Always had been, and always would be. Her heart swelled with warmth at the confirmation.

“And I love you,” Rowena told you, just as genuinely. A bit of discomfort and irritation couldn’t make it go away. “I must go find the hex bag now. You stay here. Best to avoid other possible… confessions.”

“Okay,” you said. “Guess now is not a good time to tell you I’ve been jealous of Sam for a while now?”

“It really isn’t,” she confirmed, and you sighed. “That we will discuss later.”

In all honesty, she’d kind of suspected it. There was more than mere protectiveness to your complaints and eye-rolls every time the younger Winchester would call her for help, or invite her over for dinner, or stand closer than three feet away from her.

Finding out Sam was into her wouldn’t make matters any better.

A part of her wanted to keep it to herself, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to tell you. You had a right to know. And besides, especially now that she knew you were jealous, she wanted to assure you that there would never, ever be anything between her and the hunter. She loved him as a friend, but that was it. She would tell him that, and she would tell you, as well. It was only fair.

The two of you were the most important people in her life. She owed it to you both to be honest, for once in her long, long life.

Rowena hurried down the hall, ignoring Castiel peeking out his room once again and saying something so loudly she had to will her own thoughts to get louder to mute him out of her brain. Sam was still working on dinner; she deducted that after catching a whiff of the meal he was preparing, now spreading all throughout the Bunker. Her stomach grumbled once again in response to the aroma. She was hungry. She was tired. She was done with everything. All she wanted to do was eat, take a long, hot shower to wash away all the filth she’d heard today (it felt like it still clung to her skin like sticky glue), plop down on the bed, and never wake up again. Or maybe wake up in about twelve hours. She hadn’t yet made a concrete decision on that.

How was she supposed to find the hex bag? Where was she supposed to look?

Think, Rowena! Think, she told herself. She was a smart girl. She could figure this out.

When the boys returned from their little mission, did they carry any bags?

No, she remembered. There were no bags. None of their own, and they hadn’t taken any from the witch.

They hadn’t taken anything from the witch. No grimoires, no strange artifacts that looked as if they might be cursed. Nothing that could hide a hex bag.

Then…

What if the hex bag was on them?

It was a possibility. Those boys always wore their big jackets and flannel, a minefield of large, spacious pockets. Walking fashion disasters, they were. Full of spaces for hex bags to be tucked into.

How could she gain access to them? She couldn’t frisk them as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She wasn’t sure if she could tell them; for all she knew, the bearer of the hex bag might be influenced to act protective, even violent, of it, and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation. Flirting wouldn’t be of much help, either. Not even Sam, apparently hopelessly in love with her, would fall for it. He knew how much she loved you. They all knew it; knew that she would never do anything to endanger your relationship, that she would never hurt you.

She would have to improvise.

She would do so with the brothers. A much lower risk than an angel and a nephilim, in case things turned sour.

Which brother, though?

Rowena didn’t particularly care about Dean’s confusing sexuality, and she definitely didn’t want to face Sam anytime soon, inevitable as it was.

But then, Sam was her favorite Winchester. Her friend. And Dean had started spilling his secrets first, seemingly out of nowhere. Sam hadn’t done that, which made her like him a lot more than his brother at the moment.

Wait a minute…

Dean was first.

He had opened his big, Neanderthal mouth first.

He had started this chain of events.

It was him. He had the hex bag.

It had to be him!

Grinning triumphantly at her conclusion, Rowena headed for the library. Much to her relief, the Winchester she was seeking was still there. There was an old hardcover book in his hands that looked strangely like an encyclopedia on human sexuality (not that Rowena cared. As soon as she saw the picture of what looked like two naked bodies on the cover, she averted her eyes. Dean was not her choice of nudity-viewing partner, not even if said nudity was scientific).

As soon as she walked in, he shut the book closed and shoved it back on the shelf. Swift as a startled rabbit, he turned to face her with a smile that wouldn’t have fooled even the dumbest of the dumb. And you had the audacity to tell her she was a horrible liar.

“Give me your jacket,” Rowena said, straight to the point.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I need it. I’m cold,” she lied.

He scowled, suspicious. “I’m sure you got your own jacket.”

“Yours is thicker.”

“I think you’re lying to me.”

“Give me the bloody jacket, Dean!” she demanded.

“Not until you tell me what the hell’s going on.”

She was going to have to do it the hard way, then. “Give me the jacket, or I will tell everyone about Dr. Sexy.”

He gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

“Would I?” She gave him a stare, pointed, sharp as a knife, letting him know she was serious. She needed that jacket, and she would do whatever was necessary to acquire it.

Dean stared back for a few moments, pondering on it. Then, with a mutter of, “Bitch,” he started to remove his jacket.

“Been called worse, dear,” Rowena said sweetly.

“I warned Sam about you,” he said. “Told him you shouldn’t be trusted, but he wouldn’t listen. He thinks he can save you.”

“Och, I don’t need saving,” she told him.

“That’s what I said, but my brother — he’s persistent.” Dean scoffed. “He once called you his friend. I think he’s delusional.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I do think you can be redeemed, but redemption doesn’t make someone a good person. And it definitely doesn’t make them trustworthy.”

Rowena would have been offended if she hadn’t had suspicions of her own about Dean’s true feelings about her. His little confession only confirmed them.

Oh, well. What could she do? She couldn’t please everyone.

Besides, Dean was nothing to her. She owed him nothing. No friendship, no trust, no loyalty. All of that was for his brother. She cared about him, but she cared about Sam more.

Dean’s dislike of her was his problem.

“The sentiment is mutual,” Rowena said, taking the jacket from him. She rummaged through the pockets, until finally, in the left one, she felt something soft underneath her fingertips. Wrapping her fingers around it, she pulled it out with a triumphant, “Aha!”

Clutched in her hand was a small, brown hex bag.

Dean’s eyes widened. “What the hell is that?”

“That is the cause of all this… unpleasantness.,” Rowena told him.

Then she threw the hex bag on the ground and, with a single word of Latin, lit it on fire.

And just like that, the curse of truth was no more, its only remnants a small pile of ashes on the floor and the fog of awkwardness as the realization of what they’d done — what they’d said straight to Rowena’s face — dawned on each individual with the intensity of a moving train.

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