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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

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Any Other Name: Chapter 2

“Cordelia!” Her mother called up the stairs in a fake, chipper voice that held undercurrents of irritation Cordelia knew had nothing to do with her and everything to do with their company. “Our guests are here. Why don’t you come down and help me set the table for dinner?”

If she took to yelling up the stairs at her rather than walking the staircase or sending her father to come and retrieve her, she must be considerably uncomfortable.

“I’m coming!” said Cordelia so no one could come after her and find her kneeling on the floor over a removed floorboard with a secret letter in her hands.

Quickly, she folded the paper, stuck it back under the floorboard, and pushed the wood plank back into its place before pushing herself to her feet and brushed the dust off of her hands. She grabbed her black cardigan from off the bed and threw it on as she twisted the knob and opened the door and nearly walked right into Augustus Pounceby.

A small shriek escaped her as she fell back against the door frame, cursing in Persian, and clutched her chest.

Augustus smirked. The last time she’d seen him he had an impossibly round face, buck teeth, and a lisp that made it difficult to understand him. They’d been twelve years old at the time, but she didn’t think people could change so much in five years. He’d lost the roundness of his youth, grew several inches, and his teeth were a normal size. His dirty blond hair was cut short at the sides, long on the top, and perfectly coifed with products. He wore a black button-up t-shirt with the buttons done up to his neck, over dark denim jeans, and a pair of black and white trainers.

His smirk turned lascivious as his eyes roved over the length of her body, lingering on the bits her dress left exposed. She fought against the urge to close her cardigan around her.

“Pounceby,” said Cordelia by way of greeting. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude and a bit creepy to lurk outside of someone’s bedroom door?”

“I was sent to fetch you,” he said, glancing over her shoulder into Lucie’s bedroom. “Your mother said that you’d give me a tour. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the infamous London Institute.”

Cordelia unceremoniously closed the bedroom door behind her with a bit more force than necessary. Unfortunately, the movement made her step closer to Augustus. “No one’s ever invited you in before?”

“It wasn’t a matter of being invited,” said Augustus, not moving an inch to provide some space between them. “I wouldn’t have stepped one foot inside of this place with those demon-blooded Herondale’s living here. You can still smell their taint all over this place.”

Cordelia shoved her shoulder into his chest as she moved around him, fighting against the urge to also knee him in the solar plexus while simultaneously breaking his nose with her elbow. Her father probably wouldn’t appreciate her getting Pounceby’s blood all over the floor and he’d most likely make her clean it up, so she decided against bloodshed for tonight and keep things— cordial.

“Allow me to give you a tour then,” said Cordelia pointing to the walls as she walked towards the stairs. "This is the hallway and these are the--" She looked over her shoulder and realized Augustus wasn’t following her.

“What’s down this way?” He asked, nodding towards the other end of the hall.

She hadn’t bothered to wander farther than Lucie’s old bedroom. It felt wrong like she needed an invitation to go farther. There were two more doors at the end. One used to be a study and the other had been James’s bedroom.

She’d only ever been in there once the last time her family came to London for a visit. Lucie had gone on a trip to Paris with her Aunt Cecily, but James stayed home due to some punishment after an incident that happened at the Academy. James never told her and she never asked. Not that she could have, from a young age she was so enamored by James that she often found it difficult to form coherent sentences when she was around him. He was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. With his raven black hair, always unruly and curling at all ends like it’d been worked and shaped by the wind and his eyes, like golden flecks of sunlight framed by thick dark lashes. She remembered how they would crinkle at the edges when he smiled, and he always smiled at her.

They spent that entire week reading, wandering around the Institute, pretending to battle each other with the baguettes Tessa brought home for dinner. It'd started as the worst summer of her existence and ended as one she would never forget.

Warmth spread up her neck and into her cheeks at the memory of it. “There’s nothing down there. Come on, they’ll be wanting to eat soon.”

“The men are talking in the old, stuffy drawing room,” said Augustus as he turned on his heel and walked leisurely down the hall. “Come on, Carstairs. It’s your house now, you can do whatever you want in it.”

“I want to go downstairs and help my mum set the table,” said Cordelia, crossing her arms. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait just a moment,” drawled Pounceby. “Isn’t this goat eye's old bedroom?”

Cordelia glared. "Who?"

"James."

Cordelia bristled at the rude name he'd given James. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“My interest is peaked is all.”

“Some infatuation of yours with James, Pounceby?” smirked Cordelia. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered, but somehow I doubt you’re his type.”

Augustus put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t move. “It’s locked.”

Relief swept through Cordelia. “That’s settled then. Let’s go to dinner.”

“Why is it locked?” Augustus tried the door again. “What’s in there?”

“How am I supposed to know. I did just tell you I haven't been there." Cordelia dragged her feet as she came beside him to try the door herself. It was, in fact, locked. “I’ll tell my father about it at dinner and he can find the key, or something.”

Augustus narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you hiding something in here?”

Cordelia’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“It was no secret you were a Herondale and downworlder sympathizer,” he said with a sneer that once again made Cordelia want to shove his face into the wall. “Is there a reason you don’t want me going in here?”

Cordelia’s empty hands clenched around the fabric of her cardigan to keep from swinging out against her will. “If you want to look stupid for claiming that my father has anything to hide from the Clave by dragging them away from their drinks to come up here and open a door that’s obviously been locked from the inside, only to find that it is as empty as all the rest?” She stepped aside so there was room for him to go around her. “Please, by all means, be my guest. I was really hoping for quality entertainment tonight and to see the look of disappointment on your father’s face will be well worth the wait.”

Augustus held her gaze for just a moment longer before he released his grip on the door and walked past her, whispering the word ‘bitch’ in a volume that was just loud enough for her to hear.

She’d been called worse.

When he was far enough down the hallway, she gave the doorknob another attempt, but just as before it wouldn’t budge.

Curious, she thought and tucked the anomaly away for a later time.

~ ~ ~

“Ah, there she is!” Her father said as Cordelia descended the stairs. Now with the lights all burning in their sconces from the wall, casting shadows from the chandeliers, they gave the Institute back some semblance of the warmth that Cordelia remembered when she would visit. It still felt odd without any Herondale presence; she half expected Will to come bursting through the door in a rage about the city traffic and Tessa to follow behind him with her genuine smile.

But the front door remained closed, much to Cordelia’s dismay, as she slowly sank from the last step.

“Cordelia, you remember Inquisitor Bridgestock?” said her father with a tight smile.

Cordelia looked to the tall man standing before her. He always reminded her of a toad with his round face, bulbous eyes, and thin mouth. He even had a rather large wart at the start of his right eyebrow.

“Well, Elias, what a beauty your daughter has become,” said the Inquisitor, folding his hands in front of himself, not even bothering to shake hers, because why would he? Perhaps he thought her dainty little hands couldn’t withstand his masculine dynamism.

She fought hard not to roll her eyes at her thoughts and plastered a smile across her face. “Oh yes, I remember him well.”

“And our new Consul, Marcus Pounceby?”

Her eyes shifted to the man standing beside the Inquisitor. He did offer her his hand, and when she placed it into his smooth palm, she could not feel a single callous on his fingers or palm. It made her wonder when the last time he trained, or patrolled, or held a weapon for that matter. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. A European custom and she was in Europe, but it still made her feel uneasy, small. At least, he wasn’t trying to kiss both of her cheeks like the French, which she didn’t mind, it just all depended on the person. Lucie and James’s cousin Anna was privy to that custom and with her, Cordelia didn’t mind it in the least.

“My son wouldn’t stop raving about you when he learned about your arrival,” said the Consul. “He spoke of your bravery, your skill, we are very lucky to have you back in England. He graduated from the Academy with top marks and has shown himself to lead a powerful squadron of Shadowhunters. You should speak to him about going out on raids together. He can show you around town.”

Her eyes flashed to Augustus, standing beside his father, looking rather bumptious. When she didn’t say anything for a good long time, her father nudged her with his elbow. “That would be delightful.”

She’d only used the word delightful possibly twice in her life. It tasted like poison coming out of her mouth, but it did its job. They both looked pleased with her which made it all the more difficult not to vomit on their shiny oxfords.

Only her father, who was attuned to her sarcasm and indifference after being the victim of it for sixteen years, noted the tone of her voice.

“Where is your son?” inquired the Consul.

“He stayed in Tehran to oversee the Institute until the new family moves in,” said her father. “He’ll be joining us just as soon as their settled.”

“Excellent,” said the Inquisitor. “Another student of the academy that succeeded with top marks. We could use him on the streets while this issue with the Downworlders is in effect and in meetings regarding demon and downworlder business. He had some dealing of his own with the Herondale boy, did he not?”

Cordelia looked to her father for an answer. She knew Alastair and James went to the academy at the same time and didn’t necessarily get along. Then some incident happened that resulted in James’ expulsion, but she didn’t know what that had to do with Alastair. He never told her even though she asked him nearly a hundred times.

Elias shifted a step so he stood closer to Cordelia. “Alastair only spoke of how troubled James was.” His eyes flashed to Cordelia. A warning and a plead not to say a word.

“Yes, well, with the filth that runs in that family’s blood it is no wonder he was capable of causing such a disturbance. He shouldn’t have been accepted into the academy in the first place,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock.

Cordelia bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Elias?” asked Bridgestock.

Elias breathed through his nose and straightened his shoulders. “Of course. Now that we’ve all been reacquainted, why don’t we move this discussion into the dining room. Sona has been slaving away in the kitchen for the better part of our move-in day to make this dinner special. Cordelia, please go help your mother.”

Cordelia gave them a half-hearted curtsy and dipped out of the entryway towards the hall that led to the kitchen. Upon noticing her angelic energy, the lights in the sconces along the walls flickered on with several distinct clinks and filled the space with a subtle glow. Cordelia put her hand on the swinging door that led into the kitchen where her mother, with a large ladle in hand, poured some kind of broth over the sliced pork chops lined neatly on a silver platter.

“I can’t do it,” said Cordelia as soon as the door swung shut again. “They are absolutely incorrigible. They called the Herondale’s filthy.”

Sona set the bowl of broth down on the crowded counter and started to pull the leaves off from a sprig of thyme. “You already knew they felt this way, Cordelia. This should not come as a surprise.”

“Yes, but to hear them say it out loud makes my skin crawl.” She picked up the serving fork and stabbed it into a pork chop. “I can’t even say anything to defend them. I just have to nod my head at all of their slurs. I might as well be stabbing my friends in the back.”

Sona wiped her hands on the cloth hanging over her shoulder as she turned to Cordelia. “Your friends know you, they know your truth, and they would want for you to protect yourself. If the situation was reversed and it was our family that had been banished, what would you want from James and Lucie?” After a moment, when Cordelia didn’t answer, Sona continued, “I knew Tessa well. She was a good friend. I know that if the situation was reversed, I would want Tessa to protect her family.”

“She was a good friend?” Cordelia emphasized the second word without looking at her mother. “Maybe I would want James and Lucie to protect themselves and not be banished like me, but I know I wouldn’t want them to stop seeing me as their friend.”

Sona opened her mouth and sighed. “Cordelia—“

“Let’s just feed the monsters so they can leave.” Cordelia picked up the platter of steaming pork chops and started towards the swinging door, leaving her mother to look as dejected as Cordelia felt.

Once in the dining room, still decorated in Tessa’s elegant taste with gold and white herons flying across the wallpaper with holly in their beaks, Cordelia set the platter of pork onto the center of the mighty oak table. The chandelier hung low with sphere-shaped crystals that cast rainbows across the walls when the light from the large arched window at the west side of the room hit them. The table was set for only six people tonight with Elias at the head closest to the window.

Cordelia had no choice but to sit beside Augustus, as all the other spots had been taken.

Sona followed in after her, free now of her emerald green apron and kitchen towels, carrying a plate of scorched rice and another plate of fresh-herb Kuku-- Cordelia’s favorite. A twinge of guilt went through her as she noticed the plates of comfort food her mother had prepared for no one else, but Cordelia.

“Sorry about the wait, gentlemen,” said Sona as she placed the food on the table. “I hope you’re all hungry and wish to expand your palettes. These are all dishes from Tehran. We thought you might like to experience something from our home.”

Augustus looked at the green pie-shaped dish placed directly in front of him as if it might come to life and attack him.

“It’s called Kuku,” said Cordelia, serving herself a large piece before anyone else. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s green,” said Augustus and looked to his father for help.

Consul Pounceby just laughed. “You didn’t have to go out of your way for us. We would have been happy with fish and chips or a nice shepherds pie.” He forked a piece of pork onto his plate with a small helping of scorched rice.

"What kind of pie?" asked Cordelia with a mouth full of Kuku.

“I thought it might be nice to have something from home for our first night here,” said Sona.

“It’s looks wonderful, darling,” said Elias.

The conversation took a small reprieve as everyone ate their meals. Metal forks clinked against plates and ice rattled around in glassware in the silence. Marcus Pounceby chewed with his mouth open and took a particular fondness to the Kuku, though his son took one bite and then refused to acknowledge it again. Inquisitor Bridgestock proceeded to take a drink of his wine after each bite to clear his throat. Cordelia felt a brief sense of satisfaction at the light sheen of sweat that coated his brow after having a piece of pork.

“We’re not used to such flavors here in England,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock, dabbing his face with his napkin. “It’s quite exotic.”

“I may have gone a bit heavy handed on the peppers,” said Sona as she soaked a piece of her pork in the sauce. “Can I get anyone some water or milk, perhaps?”

Cordelia forced herself not to laugh.

“Milk?” inquired Marcus. “Does that help?”

“It does,” said Sona.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bridgestock patted his distended stomach. “I’m quite finished as is. If I drink a glass of milk you’ll have to roll me out the door or call my wife and have her come drive me home.”

“How is Mary Beth?” asked Sona. “It’s a shame she couldn’t come tonight. I did look forward to seeing her again.”

Another easy lie from her mother. The last time Mary Beth and Sona met, Sona couldn’t stop talking about what a deplorable know-it-all with questionable moral Mary Beth was and how the Bridgestock’s may have not been the best family to adopt the young Ariadne girl. To go from such strong feelings towards the Bridgestock's to inquiring about her as if her absence was missed surprised Cordelia. Her mother’s ability to be so languid never ceased to amaze her.

“She’s well. She simply didn’t want to be present for a bunch of Clave talk.” Bridgestock wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Not when she had a previously schedules game of bridge with some of the other wives. You should go sometime, Sona.”

Her mother’s tight smile was all Cordelia needed to know. She’d been invited to a few bridge games and attended one thinking that at least Tessa would be there and she’d have someone to talk to, but when she got home Sona looked exhausted and explained that all the women at the bridge club did was gossip, smoke, and drink expensive wine. There was not one game of bridge to be played. She then went into a rather hilarious impression of the Inquisitor's wife, with her pinched face and animated hands that may have been slightly exaggerated, but had even Alastair snickering.

“Perhaps when things are a bit more settled,” said Sona and took a long drink from her water glass.

“That reminds me,” said Marcus as he placed his napkin on the table, “we’ve interrupted your move in day. We apologize. We’ll get out of your way just as soon as we finish some business with Elias. Should we retire to the study, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” said Bridgestock as he rose from the table. “There is much to discuss regarding this Downworlder business. We’ll need to brief you on some of the changes we’re making regarding the laws and how we are expecting those on patrol to be our inforcers. We’d appreciate your opinion on a few of these matter before we hold the official Clave meeting in two weeks.”

“Uh, yes,” said Elias as he stood from the table too. “Cordelia, would you mind helping your mother with the dishes and then come and join us—“

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said the Inquisitor. “Our talk will just bore her. We can explain everything to her at the official meeting with the rest of the Clave.”

Elias’s grip flexed on his dining room chair. “My daughter will be one of those patrolling the streets of your city. I would like for her to be prepared and understand what is expected of her.”

“Kill demons and any downworlders that dares to step out of line,” whispered Augustus under his breath. “Not much else left to understand.”

Demons can take the shape of many things, she thought. Even privileged, annoying boys.

She might be able to plead her case against the Clave if she were to accidentally stab him.

“It will all be explained at the meeting,” continued Bridgestock. “Until then, Cordelia will not be allowed to patrol alone and will instead train with Augustus.”

Cordelia couldn’t stop the pinched look that took over her face. Her mother nudged her underneath the table before anyone could see her.

The men filed out of the dining room, leaving their half-cleared plates of food for Cordelia and Sona to clean up. They piled the dishes and separated the silverware in silence before carting everything back into the kitchen.

Sona turned on the faucet over the deep bucket sink and held her hand under it waiting for the water to warm while Cordelia continued to bring plates in and set them on the small island.

She glanced at the old grandfather clock that stood in the hallway each time she passed it. Only two more hours and she could find Lucie. Finally, there would be someone she could speak freely about all of this to and not constantly be shut down; told to smile, and bear it.

The large hand steadily clicked on, but not fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

A/N:

This chapter does include some artistic license. To make it relative to the times, I changed it from James having to stay home from a Paris trip due to being expelled from school rather than being sick with the Scarlet Fever.

I also made up Augustus's appearance. It is not canon. It's just how he looks in my head.

Also I have no clue what Inquisitor Bridgestock's wife's name is so I'm calling her Mary Beth.

Comments and hearts are ALWAYS appreciated!

Next update comes out in two weeks: May 28

#the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #cassandra clare #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #lucie herondale #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs

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superman86to99 · 4 years ago

Photo

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says: “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

I should start off my section with a big caveat: I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them. My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time. Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it. It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual. I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both. But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film). It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent. Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background. This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way. Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era. Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me. Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children. So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character. Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails. The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead. Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either. It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman. Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story. Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

#superman #dan jurgens #josef rubinstein #toyman #cat grant #adam morgan #dan turpin #whit #gangbusteen #super luthor fighter ii turbo championship edition

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mvrtaiswriting · 4 years ago

Note

I have only read one of your stories now, but I am already in love with your writing style! That's why I would like to make a request. Could I get a (fem)reader x Polnareff story where the reader gets jealous of others(girls) trying to get close to the Frenchman. Not knowing that Polnareff is actually in love with (her) the reader. Feel free to change the topic a bit. Write it however you want to. Let your creativity take the wheel!

Je t’aime. - Jean-Pierre Polnareff.

Hello! Sorry if it took a while. I had so much fun writing it, I even made myself blush. Thank you for requesting it, I hope this will meet your expectations. x It is an AU, I thought it would have been too easy to go back to the stardust crusaders! Also, my boy Polnareff deserves some love. Enjoy!

Also.. i would suggest to listen to "Finally // beautiful stranger" by Halsey while you read it🥺

F reader x Polnareff

Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Stardust Crusaders

SFW

Word count: 2918

Hi! Are you a new reader? Check my masterlist for more content!

Student exchange has been so intense. You knew it would have been a wonderful experience and were expecting nothing less; but you never thought France could be so fun. You arrived there five months ago and since then, you had made a lot of friends. Perfecting your knowledge in French has been easy since you started going out with a group of guys you shared your classes with. You were slowly losing your strong accent, morphing it into a purely French one and people would never believe you when you said you came from a foreign country.

Polnareff has been really helpful throughout this process. He would always correct you when you pronounced something wrong – but never made it a burden: he would always try to be as nice as possible, making you feel comfortable enough to laugh at your mistakes. Sometimes, he would also say something in your first language purposefully wrong, just to make fun of himself and show you that you didn’t have to take anything to heart – and you had to admit it, he was so good at it. He never failed to put a smile on your face. He taught you some slangs to make it easier for you to make friends and join conversations; he even dedicated an entire afternoon to the teaching of curse words – going into deep about their meaning and the best-fitting contexts to use them.

You and Polnareff spent a lot of time together since you first met. You sat next to him the first day you arrived at school. The teacher introduced you to your new class and encouraged you to take a seat. Jean-Pierre Polnareff quickly moved his stuff away and smiled at you, indirectly inviting you to his table. As you walked down the class’ corridor, everybody was staring at you; they were whispering about how you looked, the way you walked, the way dressed – and that made you uncomfortable enough to blush. Polnareff was looking at you, too. As you walked towards him, he never broke eye contact with you and once you sat next to him, he greeted you with one of the brightest smile you’d ever seen as he presented himself to you. Once you introduced yourselves to each other, you both focused on the lesson of the day. You didn’t pay attention to the guy sitting next to you, you were too busy examining the new environment you were in. You started to look around your classroom; tables were arranged in three vertical rows, each of them composed by four tables. You were sat in the middle row, last table – this allowed you to have a great sight of the whole classroom. Big windows allowed sunlight to enter, enlightening the room perfectly. You kept silence as the lesson went on, taking notes on your book and trying not to occupy too much space of the desk you were sharing.

You knew for sure your desk mate had check you out since you stepped in the room – not in an unpleasant way, you could tell he was just being curious about you and he wanted you to notice it. He kept looking at you for the entire lesson, to be exact. His bright, blue eyes were locked on you and you could feel his eyes tracing every movement you made. You then decided to have a better look at the French boy sitting next to you. As you turned around to face him, he almost jumped of his seat, and, trying his best to hide the fact that he had been looking at you for quite a while, he started to sketch some random drawings on his notebook. A little laugh escaped your lips, making Polnareff smile. You could notice a hint of blushing on his pale cheeks and founded it adorable; you also confirmed your first impression. He had a wonderful smile which somehow enlighten his whole face.

His face lineaments were delicate: he had a small nose, the tip of it going upwards – stereotypically French. His jaw was well defined, and his eyes were of a magnificent light blue; their colour almost resembled ice, but they were beautiful and had a certain warmth to them.

As the bell rang, Polnareff turned towards you and, for the first time since the start of the lesson, you two were now mutually looking at each other. ‘’Got anything to do?’’ he said, scratching the back of his head with one hand. You could see he was trying his best to not come off as shy. ‘’No, nothing in particular..’’ you were just about to finish your sentence when he interrupted you, standing up quickly from the chair and putting his school bag on one of his shoulders. ‘’Then come with me, I promise I’ll be a good tourist guide.’’ He stretched one of his hands to you, offering his help make you stand up. This time, he looked way more confident than seconds before. You smiled, and grabbing his hand you got up from your seat and followed him in the corridors. He showed you the way around your new school, and along the way stopped numerous times to greet other students. You were walking arm in arm with him, and you could feel how muscular and strong his arms were. Finally, you reached the canteen. He introduced you to the food they were serving, giving you his modest opinion about it. He was so funny and adorable, you couldn’t help but smile. He proceeded to carry your tray to a table where you two sat down to have lunch. While you were enjoying your lunch, you found out you had so many interests in common. You listened to the same type of music and watched the same tv shows. By the end of the lunch break, the two of you had discovered so much about each other and seemed to be completely at ease. Later that day, you exchanged phone numbers and kept talking for hours after school. You were so curious about him, his persona was magnetic and he had fully captured your attention.

As time passed, the two of you started to spend a lot of time with each other. He introduced you to his group of friends and you ended up hanging out almost every day – and you didn’t complain. The more time you spent with him, the more your feelings towards him grew strong.

You didn’t know how or when it exactly started, the only thing you knew was how fast your heart beat every time he was next to you, how easily he could make you laugh. He would also take care of you in ways no one ever did: he knew France wasn’t your home country, and even when you figured out how to find your way home, he never let you walk alone. He would always make sure to walk with you and ensure you arrived safe at home. He would offer you his jacket whenever it was cold, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to keep you close to him. Everything with him felt magical – from the drunken, loud nights spent with the rest of his friends to the simple afternoons that the two of you spent together in a park, studying in silence.

However, you weren’t quite sure if his behaviour meant something, or if he was just being nice. He pretty much was a Casanova, always acting as a proper gentleman around girls. He knew so many catch phrases and never missed a chance to catch a lady’s attention, using nauseating names such as ‘Mon Chéri’ or ‘Mon Ange’ when talking to them. A lot of girls gravitated around him and he never tried to send them away; he enjoyed every attention he got, and a lot of girls were simply pending from his lips. You thought about talking to him about it, but you decided to remain silent. You wanted to avoid any type of romantic confession to him, you didn’t want to ruin your beautiful friendship.

And you did. You tried your best to remain silent every time a girl complimented him or every time he simply offered a random girl a drink. You even tried to do the same; if he wasn’t interested, why couldn’t you just move on? You went on a date with a couple of guys – only to find out that you didn’t want anyone else by your side. No one else’s arms felt right around your body, no one else’s attentions could make you feel like Polnareff’s did. No one could compare to him and every fibre of your body knew what you wanted.

You kept your feelings for Polnareff a secret, locking them as you’d lock a the most precious treasure of all. You just couldn’t afford to lose him, and you were happy to have him by your side, even if simply as a friend.

You were getting ready for your usual Saturday night, when you heard Polnareff’s car’s honk outside your house. He would always pick you up. You took a deep breath, before taking one last glance at the mirror and heading out, reaching Polnareff’s car. You saw him with one arm hanging out of the car’s window, his strong hands holding a burning cigarette in his fingers. You were mesmerised by this sight – he always looked as if he was in some kind of movie. You opened the car’s door and sat next to him. He looked at you almost as if he was hypnotised by your figure; the way your hair perfectly framed your face, the way your dress fell perfectly on every curve of your body just made him stare at you for a bit, while a sweet smile slowly formed on his face.

‘’Tu es trés belle ce soir’’

he said in his soothing french accent while caressing your cheek. You smiled timidly, before shaking your head. ‘’We’re late! The party must have started already.’’ You answered, avoiding the compliment the grey-haired boy just made. He nodded clicking his tongue, he would always be a little annoyed every time you denied one of his compliments – which weren’t rare, at all. Jean loved to make sure you knew you were beautiful in his eyes and he would point that out every time he had a chance to.

Once you arrived at the party, you greeted your usual group of friends, which welcomed you with two cups of god-knows-what. You could smell the alcohol in the red cup, but you weren’t quite sure of what drink your friends handed you. Polnareff cheered with you, saying a sweet ‘Cin Cin!’, before gulping down his drink. You were having fun; you and your friends kept on drinking (maybe a bit too much), laughing at stupid jokes and dancing around whenever ’your song’ came on. It was a perfect night. At least it was, until you saw a red haired girl just jumping on Polnareff, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him so close to her. Their noses were touching, and Polnareff had his hands on her waist, and although you couldn’t perfectly see what was going on, seeing your Jean-Pierre entangled in a pair of arms that wasn’t yours made you feel as if something broke inside of you.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your veins – you were used to tame your own feelings and avoid any display of jealousy, but this time you just couldn’t help it. Tears streamed down your face before you could even notice, and you quickly got up, escaping the crowded room you were in to reach the garden, hoping to catch some breath and calm yourself down. You helplessly sat down on the stairs of the house which led to the garden, passing your hands through your hair trying to put yourself back together again. This wasn’t like you. You knew he was like this, you should have expected it.

The sound of the loud music coming from the house and all those complicated little emotions made you zone out for a bit; you were simply staring at the void. All the beautiful memories you two shared just flashed in front of your eyes and you damned yourself for every single time you misinterpreted his action, confusing kindness for love.

This moment was interrupted by the feeling of someone touching your shoulder. You shook your head trying to bring yourself back to reality, wiping down the tears from your cheeks with your left hand. You sniffed a bit and forced yourself to smile. Once you looked up, you saw Polnareff looking at you, visibly worried. He sat down next to you, never taking his eyes away from you. He gently moved a strand of your hair behind your ear; his hands were so big yet so delicate every time they touched your skin.

‘’How did you find me?’’ you said as you lowered your glance. ‘I always keep an eye on you.’ He replied firmly.

You snorted, a very sarcastic smirk appeared on your face. ‘’You do? Thought you were busy.’’

You didn’t even think about the words you were saying: they were simply rolling out of your mouth, easing the heavy weight on your chest. Polnareff was looking at you confused, he just seemed so riddled – as if he didn’t have a clue about what you were talking about.

‘’Don’t give me that look, we both know what I’m talking about! And I’m not telling you that it is wrong or that you should stop, this is your life and you have every right to live it up the way you prefer,’’ you sniffed again, while the words you were saying burned in your throat like flames. ‘’but it’s just too much for me. Seeing you every night trying to get every girl around you while I’m here. I’m here!’’ You raised your tone, desperately pointing at yourself. You pulled the sleeves of your jacket and covered both of your hands with them, as if covering your hands could cover the vulnerable side of yourself that was showing in that moment. ‘’I’m just tired. We’ve shared so much and we can’t stand staying far from each other for more than two hours yet somehow this has a different meaning to you than it has to me. Because every night you try to get other girls’ company while I just try to be enough.’’

You were shaking. You never thought you’d say all those things to Polnareff – and you’d never imagine saying them this way. You felt as if you just made a bomb explode but you just couldn’t keep it for yourself no more. You were staring at the grass in front of you, not able to look at him. You weren’t even sure you if wanted to hear what he had to say.

‘’(Y/N).’’ he said, moving his body closer to yours. ‘’How could you ever think such things?’’ he continued.

He stretched his arm and grabbed one of your hands, entangling his fingers with yours.

‘‘I feel exactly the same way – just didn’t have the courage to admit it. I didn’t know if it was okay to do so, you will have to leave and go back home in some months and I had no clue what you’d think about a possible relationship. About us.’’ He paused. ‘’I’m an idiot. I should have made it clearer to you before instead of running away and making you think you weren’t enough.’’ You lifted your head up and looked at him, your eyes were red and puffy for all the tears you’ve cried. He looked at you and, for a second, it seemed as if he just melted. His eyes were full of regret, sorrow and worry.

‘‘What about that girl then?’’ you asked cautiously.

‘’I don’t know what you saw, (Y/N). I shook her off the second she was came too close to my face. I guess it’s hard to believe, you can go and ask our friends if you want.’’ he said firmly.

He gently placed his hands around your small face, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

‘’There’s only a mouth that I would kill to kiss.’’

He said, a smart smirk slowly formed on his face. The sight of that soft smile just made your heart beat so fast, it felt as if it was about to just come out of your chest. For a second, you wondered whether he could hear it. You did not hesitate; you slowly lifted yourself up, just enough to reach his mouth and place a long, sweet kiss on his lips. He smiled through the kiss, pulling you closer to his chest and making you sit on his lap. You jokingly punched his chest, resting your forehead on his.

‘‘Sorry if I made a scene.’’ You said, your cheeks coloured in red as the first day you met.

‘‘Nothing to be sorry for.’’ He replied quickly, moving your hair out your face. ‘’I’m jealous too. Just better at hiding it.’’ he said laughing, leaving a sweet kiss on your nose.

‘‘Shut up!’’ you screamed back almost immediately, only causing him to laugh more.

His contagious laugh made it impossible for you to not smile, looking at him with dreamy eyes full of love.

‘’Can I call you Mon Amour, from now on?’’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

Before you could reply however, he continued. ‘I will anyways. Afterall, je t’aime.’

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alexiessan · 5 years ago

Text

Never alone - Chapter Five - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Thank you everyone for your feedbacks!

It makes me really happy to see that you like this story and motivates me to write.

Which is why you get two chapters this week!

Getting to know each other turned out to be pretty easy. Not only did the soulmate magic made them be at ease for each other, but Marinette made it a game out of it. The first game was a classic twenty questions, where they each got twenty questions to ask each other.

Robin was grateful that his soulmate didn’t ask for any too personal questions. She asked him if he had siblings but didn’t ask how many nor for their name. She asked for his favorite color, his favorite meal, his favorite kind of music. She asked for his pass time and favorite TV shows.

For each question they asked, the other would also answer. And thus, he told her how much he loved animals, that he had a dog, a cat, and a cow, and he was a vegetarian ever since he adopted said cow. He told her that he loved to read and to draw, and promised to show her one of his drawings after she nicely asked.

Then, she turned the game into two truths and a lie. And this one made him smile as he had done some crazy things as Robin which made it hard for her to figure out which one was the lie.

Then again, he was also surprised by some of the things she had done.

There was more to Marinette than it first appeared.

They stayed on the roof until five in the morning, only stopping because the blue-eyed girl was starting to fall asleep mid-sentence. So he took her in his arms and took her back to the window of her hotel room where they promised in a whisper to meet at the same time that night.

After four hours of talking, Robin was satisfied as he felt like he knew Marinette better than some people he had known for longer.

That’s probably what happens when you actually put effort into knowing someone, he mused as he got home.

Right as he got out of his uniform and prepared himself to go to bed to catch at least an hour of sleep, he remembered that he had to do a little bit of research about his soulmate.

Not to stalk her or to know everything about her by checking her background. But the feeling that he had seen her before didn’t disappear at all that night, and he wouldn’t be at peace until he knew why.

So he went to the Batcave, empty at this hour of the night, or rather, this early in the morning. As he sat at the computer and typed Marinette’s full name, he discovered that there was already a file on her.

This meant that his family had made some research about her prior to their meeting.

Upon opening the file, he cursed himself for not connecting the dots.

Back when Hawkmoth started to terrorize the city of Paris and Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared to fight against him, Batman had Red Robin investigating the matter.

He wanted to know who was behind the masks of the heroes and the villain, especially since the duo of heroes seemed to be made of children.

While magic was involved in the matter, it didn’t mix well with technology, so Tim had tried to run a facial recognition for the heroes, hoping the magic wouldn’t work on technology.

Unfortunately, Hawkmoth was the kind of guy to act from the shadows and there wasn’t any picture of him anywhere on the internet.

It took a good week, as Paris had millions of people, but they eventually got a result.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug and Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir.

Both were only thirteen when they first began their job as superheroes, and no adult was ever seen by their side.

It was also obvious that none of them had any training and were only trusting their instincts. Odds were that they were literally thrown into the superhero business without their consent and, most likely, without any proper explanation.

Damian remembered that he had rarely seen his father and his brothers so mad about something that didn’t have anything to do with the Joker. Batman had then called the Justice League of Europe himself, demanding to know why children were playing superheroes when it was their job, but was then asked nicely to mind his own business back in America and that Paris was not under Batman’s jurisdiction.

There was nothing they could do to help the two heroes, but they had been keeping tabs on the situation in Paris.

That explained why Marinette was not as awkward as she should have been with the “my soulmate has a secret identity” issue. She knew better than to ask personal questions since she herself had a secret identity to protect.

Damian sighed, massaging his temples. He didn’t want to keep too many secrets from Marinette. While he knew there were some things he wouldn’t talk about for some time — his childhood — and he wouldn’t reveal his identity before long, he still didn’t feel like keeping the fact that he knew her identity would be a good way to start any kind of relationship with her.

He would have to tell her when he’ll see her tonight.

Looking at the time on the computer, the youngest Wayne sighed.

So much for catching some sleep.

And he still had to have a conversation with his father.

Despite having only an hour of sleep that night, Marinette managed to wake up at six sharp, even before Alya.

Never before has she been in such a good mood after waking up so early and with only an hour of sleep.

It was a good thing that she got up before her friend too, as she had to figure out how to put contacts on.

“So, I get it that it went well last night?”

Marinette looked up from the little box of contacts, from which she was reading the instructions. She smiled at Tikki, who was looking at her with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, it went well. Sorry I didn’t take you with me.”

Tikki shrugged.

“It was probably better that way. He’s not a civilian, one small error from me and he would have you figured out.”

“We talked for hours. I was at peace with him, it felt like I knew him already and after we talked, it feels like I’ve known him way longer.”

The tiny god smiled.

“That’s part of the soulmate magic. You’ll always feel at ease with each other and the most time you spend together right after your meeting, the more you’ll feel like it. Do you know if your bond is a platonic or a romantic one?”

The designer winced as she poked her eye trying to put the contact on.

“That’s harder than it seems.” She tried once more before answering, “Well, I think Robin is very attractive.”

Which was exactly what told you if your bond is romantic or not. The bond didn’t make you instantly love your soulmate, no, those feelings would develop at your own pace, but instant attraction was the key to know whether a bond is platonic or not.

You’re attracted to your soulmate? The bond is romantic.

You’re not attracted to your soulmate? The bond is platonic.

It’s as simple as that.

“It’s a romantic one, then! I’m so happy for you Marinette!”

“Thank you, Tikki.” the designer smiled.

They were silent then, Tikki enjoying a cookie and the black-haired girl still trying to put the contact on.

It took approximately ten tries before she finally put it on, and just as Alya was knocking on the bathroom’s door.

“Are you almost done?”

The baker’s daughter opened the door with the brightest smile she couldn’t manage.

“It’s all yours!”

The journalist giggled.

“Well, aren’t you happy?”

“I’m always happy, Alya! Come on, now. Go take a shower and change, I can’t wait for today’s visit!”

When Damian came home from school that day, he went straight to bed to take a good nap before dinner. He had done his homework during the day so he could have the evening entirely free. If he wanted to announce to his family that he met his soulmate during dinner, it would be after he was well-rested.

No way was he dealing with that when he was half asleep.

It’s Titus who woke him up twenty minutes before dinner, barking behind his door, probably wanting to be let out outside.

He took the dog outside, playing with him and petting him for a while before Alfred came to tell him that dinner was ready.

After washing his hands, he joined his father and his brothers at the table, wondering how he should bring up the topic of meeting his soulmate.

Turned out, he didn’t have to worry as Dick brought it up himself.

“So, Damian, don’t you have something to share with the family?”

It was enough to silence them all.

Jason raised a brow.

“Something’s wrong, demon spawn?”

The green-eyed boy sighed, putting his fork down.

“Nothing’s wrong, Todd. It’s just…” he turned to look at his father. “I met my soulmate last night. As Robin.”

It was silent once again until Jason let out a low whistle.

“Damn, that’s news. Wonder how she is.”

“She’s such a cutie!” exclaimed Dick.

Bruce cleared his voice.

“I see. It’s a little problematic that you met her under your alias, but… Congratulations, Damian.”

“So that’s why you came back at five in the morning.” mused Tim.

“Come on, tell us about her little D.”

The youngest sighed. They would meet her eventually, so it was better to give them the information they were seeking.

“She’s a French student here on a trip for your Career Program, father.”

“She’s from the winning class that will be interning next week, then?”

Damian nodded.

“I’ve run a background check on each of them. Ladybug and Chat Noir are among them.”

Tim frowned. “Will Paris be alright with them away?”

“They must have a plan to keep Paris safe, they wouldn’t leave just like that.”

Damian took a deep breath.

“About that… My soulmate’s name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Dick’s, Tim’s and Bruce’s eyes visibly widened and Jason let out a snort.

“Figured your soulmate would be a hero.”

“At least, that means she’s understanding about your identity, right?” asked Dick.

The young heir nodded.

“I see. Will you tell her that you know about her identity?” asked his father.

“I will. If I want us to start on the right foot, it’s the best thing to do. She understands that I have to keep my identity a secret, but it’s another thing to know hers and to keep it a secret.”

Bruce nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“You’ve grown, Damian.”

Damian could feel his ears go red from his father’s praise.

“I know that you can’t keep your identity a secret from her forever but… I trust you to wait until you completely trust her before you do tell her, and telling us beforehand, as once she knows about you, it won’t be hard for her to figure out ours.”

“Of course, father.”

Dinner then went as usual, until they all stood up after finishing and his father came to him, giving him an unexpected and somewhat awkward hug.

“I’m happy for you.”

As he saw his brothers smile at him from behind his father, Damian thought that, maybe, from now on, he could talk a little more to his family.

One step at a time, though.

They agreed with his father that he wouldn’t be patrolling for the next two weeks so he could get to spend time with the tiny French girl for the duration of her trip.

It was the first time that Damian didn’t protest about sitting out of patrol.

Marinette was in Gotham for only two weeks, and he wanted to get to know her as much as possible during those two weeks.

So when he took her to the roof at one sharp after giving her his cape to hide her from sight, he told her that they could meet earlier if she wanted.

They agreed to meet at eleven from now on, as her roommate tended to fall asleep around ten, luckily for them.

Before they got in another conversation to learn more about each other, he had to bring up a delicate issue.

“I need to tell you something.”

Marinette smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but compare this smile to the sun.

“What is it?”

He winced before taking a deep breath.

“Back when Hawkmoth appeared in Paris, we couldn’t believe that the superheroes were just two children so we investigate a bit to help. The JLE rejected our offer though… Anyway, we did some facial recognition for Ladybug and Chat Noir and… Well, to put it simply, I know that you’re Ladybug, and I thought it would be better to tell you I knew than to keep this piece of information from you.”

The fashion designer stared at him, completely silent. He stayed silent too, giving her all the time she needed to process what he just told her.

“I see.”

He could see her having trouble breathing, on the verge of a panic attack.

He hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t need to worry, except for us, no one knows and we won’t tell anyone.”

Marinette took a few breaths before looking at him.

“Sorry. It’s the first time someone figured out my identity and I’m trying not to freak out. I’ve always been told how important it is that no one knows about me being Ladybug that I can’t help but panic.”

“Understandable. But, no one knows about you being Ladybug?”

The teenage girl shook her head no.

It made Robin mad. That girl had so many great responsibilities on her shoulder, and no adult to guide her or to vent to when it became too much.

“What kind of person just drop a miraculous to a child anyway?” he asked not too kindly.

Marinette flinched.

“The guardian… He just chose people that were the most compatible with the miraculous… And children are less likely to use the miraculous for evil so…”

“It doesn’t excuse anything. You were just a child without any guidance. You shouldn’t have the responsibility of Paris’ safety on your shoulders.”

The girl shrugged.

“There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“I could always introduce this guardian to my sword.”

“He’s not here anymore.”

As he was about to answer to that, mad that she was now completely alone except for her partner in all this business, she raised a hand.

“But let’s not talk about it. You know about me. That’s one secret I don’t have to keep and honestly, it’s like a weight off my shoulders, even if it’s not ideal that you know.”

She stopped to take a deep breath, now completely calm. She raised her head, looking at him in the eyes and giving him a shy smile.

“I won’t ask for your identity, don’t worry. We’ll cross that bridge when you’re ready, okay?”

He nodded, grateful that she didn’t ask for his identity in exchange for hers.

“Now, I remember you told me that you loved dogs. I have some very cute pictures to show you!”

Her smile was so bright and contagious that he couldn’t but smile a little too, as he got closer to her to watch her phone over her shoulder.

Tag list:

@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @mikantsume @dast218

#maribat #ml x dc #miraculous x dc #daminette #maridami #damian x marinette

206 notes · View notes

itsuki-minamy · 4 years ago

Text

“K - SIX IDOLS”

CHAPTER 1: “SPRINT DREAM” (Complete)

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen."

"Good Morning!"

A pure voice echoes through the Kendo hall of "Promotion Scepter 4".

Many remains of that remain, in the office that was created with the remodeling of the old Army facilities. The Kendo hall is one of them, and the idols belonging to "Scepter 4" sometimes take lessons there and other times hold their swords in their hands.

And at the beginning of the week, there was always an instruction from the president, the "Idol Blue King", Reisi Munakata.

Munakata makes a soft voice in front of the idols lined up in a "rest" position.

"By the way, this week is the biggest event of the year for my production, "Sprint". The "Dream Live Tour" will take place. I hope to have the encouragement of each member so that no preparation or lesson is neglected."

"Yes!"

The responses of the idols are not disturbed. More than an entertainment bureau, the closer rigor to the police or the military was due to the nature of representative Reisi Munakata, and it was also a feature of "Promotion Scepter 4".

The group's glasses glowed brightly, staring at an idol.

"But recently, I have received some concerns, Andy Domyoji-kun. Go ahead."

"Yes!"

Domyoji, who was called by name, screamed to death. From his normally cheerful face, blood is drawn in the blink of an eye.

Domyoji took a heavy step and stepped out in front of the superior.

There is no anger in Munakata's expression. A slight smile floats on the sleek face like a statue. That doesn't mean that Domyoji and the other idols were relieved that they didn't understand the superior.

It was a man named Reisi Munakata, who sentenced to death with a smile.

"Domyoji-kun. The other day, there was a report that you were 5 minutes and 27 seconds late for the entire "Gyumetai" lesson. Is this true?"

"Actually, that's…"

"What is an idol in "Promotion Scepter 4"?"

"Ah, idols aim to be the ideal humans who should become the norm for people..."

"Do you have your own excuse for being late, knowing that?"

"No, I'm sorry..."

Domyoji is drooling. It was like a prosecution and a defendant, but in this case it was a military trial rather than an ordinary court. The sentence is already decided from the beginning, and this exchange is only a ritual.

Munakata acts like he's convinced of something,

"Ok. Let's ask Domyoji-kun to do one of the highlights of the "Sprint Dream Live Tour", "Extreme solo part, Idol from above 6500~”."

"What?"

With a strange voice, Domyoji's expression was frozen in despair. Munakata smiles and touches his shoulder intimately.

"As you know, "Extreme Solo Part" is one of the most popular projects on "Countdown Dissolution, Shoumutai". This time it's a solo part while skydiving from an altitude of 2,000 meters, so his brave figure will be a great copy on the big screen."

"President, please! That's! Just forgive me!"

"What do you say? This is your chance to get more fans. And if you're at the mercy of your life, you won't be late for lessons."

Munakata treats Domyoji, who clings to his eyes, with a smiling smile. The idols are silently staring at the horrible sight.

"Kindness is called haste. Let's start the special training today. Akiyama-kun, Benzai-kun, please take him to the office to complete the procedure."

"Yes!"

The same members of the "Shoumutai", Himori Akiyama and Yujiro Benzai, grabbed Domyoji crying from both sides. Domyoji screams while ruffling his hair.

"Not! I don't like the "Extreme solo part"! Akiyama, Benzai, I am a posterity, so don't miss out!"

"Hold on, Domyoji."

"Oh. Get angry and train. Hopefully you won't die."

Domyoji was dragged out of the Kendo room.

When the door closed, Munakata saw the idols lined up. All the idols looked at Munakata with a better attitude than before.

Munakata says, looking at him with satisfaction.

"Don't be late either. As members of society and as idols who should be a human norm, please respect that."

"Yes!"

The voice of the idols who responded contained a desperate sound.

++++++++++

"Sorry, President! I can't make it on time!"

The driver's scream also contains a desperate sound.

As he listened to him in the backseat, Munakata gracefully reassembled his legs, put his hand to his jaw, and muttered, "Hmm."

"Sprint Dream Live Tour", first day, 4:52 pm.

Munakata's transport vehicle got caught in heavy traffic filling the road and got stuck at all.

Until the day before, Munakata was planning a large-scale live concert in London as part of the overseas expansion of "Promotion Scepter 4". The big picture and charisma of Reisi Munakata, the "Idol King", managed to shake up the stubborn management of the French entertainment world. A few hours ago he won a partnership and a contract in the EU and returned triumphantly to Narita airport.

From the transport vehicle, Munakata continued to instruct the "Sprint Dream Live Tour". Back home. Although he has a difficult schedule of immediate events, he does not have fatigue or mistakes. There was a figure like: the perfect idol king.

It was in the time after Sakura's exchange that the news of the accident and jamming arrived.

Fortunately, no one died, but traffic was completely paralyzed. A line of cars continues towards the horizon, and it takes 30 minutes to finally reach 100 meters. Literally, he was forced into a state of immobility.

If nothing is done, the big event that is approaching a few hours later, will expose the mistake that the "Idol King" will be late.

In such a critical situation, however, there was no impatience in Reisi Munakata's expression.

"Ok."

Munakata says cheerfully to the driver reflected in the rearview mirror.

"I understand the situation. Please, I'll get off at the next intersection."

"But it will take 30 minutes to get there and, according to traffic information, the situation is similar on the lower road."

"It doesn't matter. In the meantime, let's get ready."

Munakata took his PDA out of his pocket and made a call. Munakata's trusted deputy director responded with two calls. It's Awashima Seri.

"Where is he now, President?"

"Currently, we are targeting a four-way interchange. It will take about 30 minutes to get there. I am planning to get out of here."

"That is…"

Awashima groaned. Even if he can get off the four road interchange, it will take more than an hour from there to the location, regardless of the mode of transportation. Since the show started at 6:30 pm, arrival on time is desperate.

After a few seconds of silence, Awashima's voice regained its composure.

"I would like to review the song list. The current program is to start with the president's number at the same time the performance begins, but we will correct this to start from "Shoumutai" and put the president's turn as far back as possible."

"Rejected."

Munakata categorically blocked her.

“Changing the song list will cut the rhythm of the fans. As idols, we shouldn't give fans any kind of anxiety."

"However! If this continues…!"

"I will be on time."

"......"

Awashima lost the words.

He was not surprised by Munakata's recklessness. She knows more than anyone what kind of person Munakata is and what kind of idol he is. He's never the type to talk about the impossible and break the plan.

If Reisi Munakata says that he can do it, he certainly can do it even if all other humans can't.

The next time Awashima opened her mouth, there was a determined intention.

"So, President. Please give us instructions."

A satisfied smile reached Munakata's mouth.

And 30 minutes later.

As soon as all contacts were completed, the transport vehicle passed the toll booth.

The lower street was still full of cars. Since Munakata hated traffic, he analyzed the situation. Progress is not much different from high speed.

However, that is no longer relevant to Munakata.

Because this is the end of the transport vehicle.

When he got out of the vehicle, the driver's seat window was opened. The driver looks from there and says...

"President, I wish you good luck."

Munakata smiled calmly at the young driver.

"Yes. Please drive carefully and come back."

That said, the next moment, Munakata was on the run.

With a forward leaning sprint style, Munakata is steadily increasing in speed. He reached a row of cars that couldn't move like a tombstone, and finally couldn't see his back.

Even after that, the conductor continued to pour his longing eyes beyond the horizon where Munakata disappeared. Holding on his chest the driver's cap that he took off as a sign of respect.

++++++++++

That day, Kazumasa Hatanaka (19) was driving his favorite Hara Chari.

He is in an unprecedented mood because he was able to finish his work early. The construction company he works for has been working hard these days, but yesterday they calmed down and was able to pay him. Hatanaka, who worked especially hard, was allowed to return home as the president had a special plan that day.

Akemi Hatanaka (18), a heavy wife, waits at home. Just thinking about it will loosen the origin of Hatanaka. When he wondered if he could serve his beloved wife and a child he had yet to see, his tired body mysteriously strengthened.

(Oh, that's right. Should I contact her to get back to Akemi soon?)

Suddenly, Hatanaka took out his mobile phone while driving the Hara Chari. He tries to send a message to his wife using one hand to handle and one hand to write.

Was when…

"You…"

"Oh?"

Hatanaka was about to fall due to the noise surrounding his ears. The body, which was about to slalom, was held by an outstretched hand and returned to its original trajectory.

While running to Hatanaka's side, the bespectacled man yells in a soft voice.

"It is a violation of the Road Traffic Law to use a mobile phone while driving."

"Uh, oh, sorry."

“In addition, it has already exceeded the legal speed of motorized bicycles. Wear your helmet correctly. It is meant to protect your life."

"Ah, hey, uh, yeah, sorry."

Hatanaka, who was once feared for being a "Chitaka mad dog", simply admitted his guilt not because he understood the accuracy of the words of the man with the glasses. This is because he was upset and scared by Hara Chari's run and the appearance of a man running side by side on only his own feet.

The man with the glasses smiled at Hatanaka's stunned face.

"Okay. If you follow the law and try to drive safely, you won't make driving mistakes like you do now."

(No, no, I'm going to be mad now because you called me. Do you want them to tell you that driving safely is something like running at that speed?)

The word never left Hatanaka's mouth at last. The man with the glasses raised his hand slightly and said, "Excuse me, bye." and then sped up and disappeared from Hatanaka's sight.

Hatanaka was stunned as he slowed the Hara Chari to 30 km / h.

(Is that so? I wonder if the god of the road advised me...)

There is a yellow light ahead. It stopped at the stop line correctly where it would normally cut, and the director took control.

(From now on, I will drive safely.)

++++++++++

That day, Nami Sakai (6) looked at the giant tree with tears in her eyes.

A blue balloon is stuck in a tree branch. It was in the hands of Nami just a few minutes ago, and in the hands of her beloved grandmother ten minutes ago.

Nami felt like a treasure when she received the blue balloon from her grandmother's wrinkled hand. She would take it home, about 10 minutes on foot, and she rushed to show it to her mother, but she accidentally fell off.

The balloon, which was detached from Nami's hand, floated in the sky and was blown away by the wind. She got trapped in a giant tree.

The giant tree has a height of about 10 meters. The blue balloon got caught near the top. Even if she asked the adults who passed by to take it, they just laughed and shook their heads.

Can't she get it again?

Every time she thought about it, she was filled with regret, sadness and guilt, and it turned into tears and appeared in Nami's eyes.

When the tears were about to break, Nami suddenly noticed something approaching from a distant road.

(Eh?)

In her childhood thoughts, Nami makes such a judgment.

In fact, in the distance it was like a colored wind. If she thinks it were there, it is way ahead. Nami stared at the blue breeze, which flowed without shaking her side, for a while, forgetting her sadness.

Suddenly…

With that wind, the eyes met.

The moment she thought that, he was already in front of her. When he stopped, the wind was not the wind, but a grown man with glasses. The skin is white like a woman and the facial features are beautifully groomed.

For some embarrassed reason, Nami looked down at her toes. The voice of a kind man spills over her.

"Do you have any problem?"

Nami looks at the man.

When she looked into the eyes behind the glasses, she felt like she was being sucked into the deep sky.

Nami opens her mouth to be fascinated.

"I cannot do it."

The man looks at the balloon at the point. Nami looked away and turned down. She was sure this person couldn't do it, and like everyone else, he would laugh and say "Give up", she felt such disappointment in her small chest.

But the man said in a nonsensical tone.

"Please wait a bit."

The man was already kicking the ground when she turned her face away.

He clings to the trunk of the huge tree and climbs up when he's ready. He deftly found the dents and bumps that could be called a steps, and in the blink of an eye he reached the top and took the blue balloon in his hand.

Nami was looking at the man who came down the same way, her mouth hanging open.

"Here it is."

Although he offered her the balloon, she was unable to receive it for a time. Then, finally picking it up, she asked with all her courage.

"Oni-chan... what?"

If you translate those boring words into something that makes more sense, it would mean something like "That move was out of the ordinary, who are you?"

The man accurately grasped the meaning of the question, smiled a little,

"I am an idol."

He responded like this.

Nami didn't really understand what an "idol" was. She blinks and look at the man. With a smile on his face, the man reached into his pocket and handed Nami a card.

"If you grow a little, come see us live."

The words "Promotion Scepter 4, President Reisi Munakata" were written there.

Of course, Nami can't read the card. She doesn’t even know about the existence of a business card. However, she thought the blue-tinted card was beautiful. Blue was Nami's favorite color.

Nami finally remembered what she should say to the man who gave her something nice and got back what she wanted back.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome. Well, I'm going."

The man bowed, turned blue again, and ran down the road.

Nami won't forget him forever.

++++++++++

An hour after the start of "Sprint Dream Live", the heat in the Tsubakimon Dome was visibly increasing. At the same time as the entrance began, a group of fans flowed into the audience seats like a flood, and they began to furnish the place with posters, posters and items with each of the recommended men drawn. At the same time, fans are excited about the upcoming festival and are looking at the stage with shining eyes.

To meet that expectation, a scene similar to a battlefield was unfolding in the backyard of the stage.

"The president has arrived at Shikaido Station! We will move on to Sequence B!"

"The target has been set at point B! We will wait until the president picks it up!"

In the temporary monitor room with the sign "Headquarters for the execution of the president's return plan", a part of the backyard, reports were constantly being raised.

The purpose of this headquarters is to fully support the return of Munakata. The staff involved are elite to make the "return plan" successful, from organizing and contacting various locations, managing the schedule, passing on traffic information and understanding Munakata's current position.

In one of the compounds in the panel, his current position is always displayed by the Munakata PDA tracking system. Awashima asks the staff while looking at them with a tight gaze.

"What is the progress of the plan?"

"It is 2 minutes and 15 seconds late, but it is within expectations. Currently, the Sequence C execution unit is moving. We will get to Point C on time."

"So…"

Awashima occupies a small area and looks at the monitor.

The plan is going well. At this rate, he can be in time for the opening ceremony, even if it's at the last minute. Unless something unexpected happens.

"Deputy Director Awashima."

Awashima looks around in a loose voice, rolling her shoulders.

Fushimi Saruhiko was as if he was leaning against the monitor room door.

He is the star idol of "Promotion Scepter 4", which is the center of the popular "Shoumutai" unit. Many fans were fascinated by the lonely atmosphere, and about 30% of the customers who packed the dome today are looking for him.

Awashima opens her mouth as she calmly looks at Fushimi.

"Fushimi. You should be in the final stages of doing a "Dream Corps."

"If the president is late, there won't be any 'Shoumutai', right?"

Awashima's beautiful eyebrows drew a dangerous angle.

“The plan is on the right track. You do not have to worry about that."

Fushimi laughs. It was an annoying laugh.

"Isn't there a countermeasure in case we run out of the star? Do you really think he can pull it off?"

"What do you mean?"

Fushimi casually pulled his hand out of his pocket and tossed what he was holding to Awashima. Awashima takes it deftly.

It is a recording medium in the form of a micro card.

"If you don't, I will. I made a new list of songs. If the president is late, I will."

Awashima's expression becomes more and more pronounced in a throwing tone. She squeezes the recording medium and she says quietly.

"Do you think I will receive this?"

"If you don't need it, you can throw it away. I can't bear to expose ourselves to that person's mistakes."

Awashima quickly waved her arm and threw the recording medium back.

"President…"

Fushimi deftly accepts that which came back like a bullet. Awashima, looking at the stagnant eyes behind the glasses as if shooting.

"I will not make any mistakes."

"Sorry."

Fushimi shrugged slightly and went back to his place. Looking back at Awashima over his neck.

"Well, tell me if you need it."

With that alone, Fushimi left the monitor room.

Awashima stared at the monitor room door for a while, staring into his eyes. It's like doing it is a protest against Fushimi.

It's not that she doesn’t understand what Fushimi is saying.

Believing is different from believing blindly. Fushimi's view that he assumes the worst and take countermeasures is entirely correct.

However, Awashima did not receive that song list. She refused to even see it and turned around.

She felt that receiving it would be a distrust of Munakata, who had confirmed that he would be on time.

"The president has reached point C! Collection complete!"

"We have started to move! The plan is going well!"

Awashima muttered unknowingly, listening to the reports that came in one after another.

"President, be careful."

Those words were like a prayer.

++++++++++

That day, Yuri Yamazaki (26) was vaguely in front of Shikaido station.

She works in a product store managed directly by "Promotion Scepter 4". It was supposed to be closed today due to the shift, but she got an urgent call from her boss about 5 minutes ago. She had no particular plan, and she was quick to get to this point because she was drawn to a pretty good vacation assignment.

Anyway, Yuri thinks.

It was a strange call. Being with the bicycle in front of the station instead of the store.

Apparently, they told her to lend the bike to someone, but they did not tell him who to lend it to and only told her the time of the meeting. It would be profitable to get a vacation allowance on this alone, but Yuri checks her cell phone while deeply thinking that she would complain if she was forced to do something else.

Seeing the displayed time, she sighed.

The "Sprint Dream Live Tour" will begin soon. Like most idol shop clerks, she is a fan of “Promotion Scepter 4.” She decided to work at an idol shop because she loved idols.

However, just because she is an employee doesn't mean there are benefits. Controls in that area are tight, and the clerk who secretly secured her own live ticket was sometimes ill. She must take the ticket herself, and if the lottery is lost, the schedule may disappear from the vacation she got, just like the current situation.

Two minutes have passed since the specified time.

"I wonder... if he's late, can I contact him?"

She doesn’t know, the murmur leaks out. After 5 minutes, she will contact the store manager. Thinking of that, she suddenly looked up.

And she doubts her eyes.

Someone was running from the street in front of the station, at tremendous speed. He easily overtook the next bike and came closer. Yuri instinctively tried to back away.

However, when she saw the man's face, she doubted her sanity.

"Ah, President?"

What she unwittingly said was the nickname of Reisi Munakata, the representative of "Promotion Scepter 4" and "Idol King". Naturally, it spread from the case where the idols under his command called him "President."

Faced with the stiff lily, Munakata strode over to a halt. He exhales a little and smiles at Yuri.

"Excuse me, are you a store clerk?"

"Eh, yes!"

Her voice shook. Feel the blood of her entire body concentrate on her face. The reason is that Yuri Yamazaki's favorite idol is Reisi Munakata.

Half in panic, she yells out the questions that come to mind.

"But why are you here?! What happened to the 'Sprint Dream Live Tour'?"

"I'm having a little problem and I've taken a different route than normal. Don't worry, I'll be in time for the opening."

She felt as if the blood that had risen through her head was coming down this time.

In other words, it is an emergency. Yuri was a fan and she knew how confusing it would be to be late for the opening ceremony. Perplexity, pain, disappointment. Just imagining being there, the pain felt like its own.

Yuri rushes up and says.

"Is there anything I can do?!"

“Lend me the bicycle. It's enough."

Yuri blushed again. If she thinks about it again, it was probably all part of the plan coming here. It is not a feat for the Munakata representative to give instructions to the directly administered office.

"Please..."

"Thank you."

Munakata straddled the bike without showing any pretense of noticing Yuri's tension. Somehow, it was an unattainable sight. The King of Idols, who can only be seen on TV or on stage, sits astride her bike.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going."

"Oh, yeah!"

Yuri instinctively stopped Munakata who was trying to get out.

Munakata looks at Yuri with his foot on the pedal. She held her breath with a mysterious look.

("Please sign.")

She had to desperately suppress that desire that came to her mind. Hasn’t she just found out it's an emergency? There is no second chance. And yet, unable to say such a silly request, that embarrassment forced Yuri's awkward smile and false words.

"Please do your best. I support you!"

Munakata, however, was looking at Yuri's face with calm eyes that looked through all her smile and strength. Munakata laughed lightly at Yuri, who suddenly became flustered and reached into her pocket.

"What should I write?"

"Eh?"

"I have a pen, but I don't really have colored paper. It's not in good taste with a notepad."

Yuri blinked many times. The feeling of regret, even the time she was wandering and wondering why him could see through her desires made her stiff.

Yuri handed him the PDA she was holding in her outstretched hand to Munakata. With her voice asking "Is it okay here?", she was fascinated by the magically moving pen. She picked up the PDA again, looking at the Munakata signature written there, and it was like a soliloquy.

"Why...?"

"I am an idol."

Munakata's response, as well as their relationship, was open and frozen.

"Idols live up to the expectations of their fans. My job is to capture your expectations."

"......"

"Good luck then. Thank you for your continued support."

With a courteous greeting, Munakata pedaled off the road in no time.

Yuri holds her PDA to her chest while watching him back. She murmured in an emotional voice, promising to turn it into a relic, and she was about to buy a new one.

"President, I will follow you for the rest of my life!"

++++++++++

That day, Yojiro Sato (51) was driving his own high-speed boat and racing in Tokyo Bay.

His main business was fisherman, but he also works as a fishing boat captain as a side job. In any case, the main job is to chase the school of fish, current high-speed boats are used for that purpose.

But today's work was different than usual.

The client was a fishing cooperative and the content of the request was mysterious: "Anyway, I want you to go to Chiba city using a high speed boat." He goes through it several times, but it seems the reason he couldn't get the point was because the fishing cooperative was asked to go further.

Sato accepted it simply because the reward was great. Otherwise, it would not accept suspicious requests.

However, when he passed by the Tokyo Bay Aqualine, he began to regret it.

He doesn't think it's a dangerous story.

It goes without saying that Tokyo is one of the largest cities in the world and Tokyo Bay is a large adjacent port. Many are trying to carry out illegal transactions by sea. Unfortunately, he has heard stories of people involved in such problems at the level of rumors.

He's been through the fishing cooperative, so he doesn't think it's something to worry about.

Even so, a bit of anxiety washed over Sato's mind.

At that moment the radio sounded. When he reached out his hand and responded by reflex, he heard an unfamiliar voice on the back of the radio.

"Hello. Is this Mr. Yojiro Sato?"

It was a feminine and intelligent voice. Sato responds while confused.

"Oh, yeah. That's right."

"Nice to meet you, my name is Seri Awashima. I was the one who made the request."

"Oh, I see."

The confusion disappeared, but Sato pressed his face into place. Listen to Awashima's words, eager to decline the request in the event of an emergency.

"First of all, I apologize for reporting uncertain content to you in the application. I was in a hurry, so I thought about explaining after taking the first step."

"Okay, but what kind of job is this after all? It doesn't appear to be a fishing request."

"Yes. I want you to pick up a certain person."

When suspicion and vigilance increase, he raises his eyebrow. Sato asked in a low voice.

"Who is that? He is not a criminal, right?"

"What, criminal?"

From the other side of the meeting, he could feel the sign that Awashima was completely disappointed. The voice that echoed next seemed to lack a bit of calm, unlike before.

"Incorrect! The president is not involved in such things!"

"Oh, yeah."

At the angry response, Awashima coughed a little.

"No, sorry. It may be inevitable that it looks like this. I would like you to pick up Reisi Munakata, the representative idol of "Promotion Scepter 4"."

While driving, Sato is confused.

"Why do idols want to get on our ship?"

“As I said before, it is an urgent matter. He didn't seem to be in time for a regular water taxi, so I contacted you."

"Hmm... Well, it's okay."

Sato is not familiar with idols. He is simply not interested. From time to time he sees them on television, but to him they all have similar faces and clothes, so he cannot tell them apart.

That sect image is probably one of those idols. No wonder that is used instead of a taxi, but, work is work.

"So where should I pick him up?"

"Please wait a moment. I'll link the information on the president's location to that PDA."

"Eh?"

A second after the stupid voice leaked out, a spot of light lit up on the GPS map attached to the ship. Sato opens his mouth and looks at it moving at high speed on the map.

“Did you get the location? The point that lights up in blue is the current position of the president."

"Yes, I got it."

"Good. Get closer to the point of light. It also shows the next meeting points."

The GPS map reacts again and projects an orange spot of light. It shows a jetty near the beach park, that made Sato panic even more.

"Wait a minute! How did you do that? This is my PDA, right? Why can you operate it on that side?"

"There is no time to lose! I took emergency measures! Rest assured that we have formal permission to use the system!"

"What is that system?"

To Sato's confusion, Awashima doesn't reply. "More than that!" When he started yelling, the blue point of light on the map continued to flash.

“He is approaching the meeting point. Thanks for your cooperation. Awashima, over and out."

And the radio was unilaterally cut off, leaving only Sato who was confused.

The ship curves and begins to move parallel to the shore. Sato alternately compared the map and the coast. If this location is correct, Munakata will soon be in sight.

"Ah."

With that said, he opened his mouth. Someone was there. That's probably definitely Munakata.

From a distance, he can only tell that he is a man. It would have been indistinguishable on its own, but the appearance of a human who could ride a bicycle at a speed comparable to that of a high-speed boat fits this unusual situation perfectly.

"What should I do?"

Sato is a man of the sea. He is confident that he can handle most things that happen at sea. However, he had never imagined such a situation. Sato looked towards the beach while maintaining his speed.

At that moment, Munakata pointed forward.

Sato looks ahead so he can catch it. A jetty leading off the shore blocked the ship's path as it gently curved.

Reflecting a sailor, Sato curves the speedboat along the jetty.

Munakata's bike has picked up speed.

"Hey, it can't be!"

Unknowingly, Sato was screaming. Because he understood the man's thoughts. Because he understood the meaning of "meeting point" that Awashima said on the radio.

The bicycle races down the jetty at a speed that exceeds that of high-speed boats. Sato made the boat's engine run at full speed. It was not because he understood their speculations, but because he thought that, as a man of the sea, he would not be able to stand upright if he was driving a boat and losing to a bicycle.

The bicycle and the speed boat run next to each other for a very short distance.

For the first time, Sato saw Munakata's face.

Munakata was smiling with a clean face in front of him. It was not the expression of a human reaching such high speed on a bicycle. He was horrified. Perhaps this is a monster that seemed to drag him to the bottom of the sea. Even such an imagination took over his head.

Munakata's bicycle leaned over. At the end of the jetty, Sato's high-speed boat drew closer and Munakata jumped with the bicycle with only the spring from his body.

Sato opened his eyes and looked at the figure of Munakata leaping against the sun.

After a short break, Munakata's bicycle landed on the back of the high-speed boat, made a sharp turn, and came to a stop.

"Fu..."

With a sigh, Munakata wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

"......"

Sato was just looking at Munakata, who was behaving like a human, with his mouth open.

When he got out and parked at the bicycle rack, Munakata looked at Sato and said with a smile.

"Nice to meet you. Sato Yojiro-san. My name is Reisi Munakata. Thank you for your transportation to the planned location."

Swallowing hard, Sato asks suspiciously.

"You are a human?"

After opening his eyes somewhat surprisingly, he replied with a bitter smile.

"I'm just an idol."

++++++++++

At the Suzugaya sorting yard, Domyoji Andy (19) turned his pale face down and swallowed nausea.

He, who is scheduled to appear on "Sprint Dream Live Tour", is at that location because the Suzugaya courtyard is a helicopter landing site owned by "Scepter 4."

The event titled "Extreme Solo Part, Idol from Above 6500~", is Domyoji's assigned role this time. The event of strumming a guitar solo while skydiving from 2000 meters above the sky is sure to be a great thrill if it succeeds, but it can only be said that it is insane.

For today, Domyoji was repeating a special training every day. In total, it would have fallen enough to reach the surface from the stratosphere. Domyoji said that if he ran for Guinness, he would not pass, and gave a tired smile.

At that moment the door to the waiting room was opened and the staff entered.

"Domyoji-san, please prepare for take-off!"

"Eh?"

His eyes are round. Domyoji looks at the watch as it is. There is still some time left before the live begins. The turn of "Shoumutai", including Domyoji, was supposed to be in the second half of the opening ceremony.

"Is it still early? Was there an accident?"

Anyway, when he got up and left the room with the staff, Domyoji was so quiet. He doesn’t know what kind of problems are waiting in the live presentation. Not only staff but also idols need to take this into account and respond flexibly.

"There is no change to Domyoji-san's appearance time! We are going to pick up the president from now on!"

Domyoji opened his mouth. The staff didn't look back and pushed the door in front of them while walking quickly.

At the landing site, the helicopter was already preparing for takeoff. The high-speed rotating main rotor disperses a roar like a gunshot. Defeating the sound, Domyoji yelled at the back of the staff.

"What happened to the president? That person is surely the interpreter for the opening ceremony!"

“Currently, the president is crossing Tokyo Bay! We'll pick him up at sea and head straight to the Tsubakimon Dome!"

Domyoji is confused. He is crossing Tokyo Bay? He has no idea what the hell is going on. What he knows is that he is about to fly high again.

After sitting on the seat and fixing his body with a harness, Domyoji finally noticed.

"Hey! Don't I need it if I pick up the president?!"

"It's the president's judgment that it's a waste of time to go back every time! After leaving the president in the dome, Domyoji-san will wait in the sky until the time of the "Extreme solo part, Idol from above 6500~”!"

That was brilliant. Wait a minute, he try to tell if he would be flying all the time, but then his body was fixed. Jumping out the rear hatch, the staff gave Domyoji a big thumb up.

"Thank you good luck!"

The hatch closes as he continues. The sound of the rotor increases the pitch. Domyoji's stunned face disappeared into the darkness of the plane.

++++++++++

"The President has arrived at meeting point E! The pickup helicopter that was already waiting has started to approach!"

"Let go of the rope, the helicopter must be very careful!"

"Got it! Let go of the rope! Try to drive safely!"

Brilliant laughter erupted in the monitor room as the pilot made a joke. Private language during the operation should be strictly prohibited, but Awashima felt a slight smile on her lips. This would indicate their high morale. She doesn’t have to worry.

"President, I secured a rope! Start climbing."

"Domyoji, can't you point the CCD camera at the president?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll try."

Domyoji hastily responded to Awashima's voice. After a while, a rough image appears on one of the monitors.

Munakata was about to board the helicopter. Standing in the open hatch, he turns and pays him homage. A high speed boat floating ahead, probably Yojiro Sato, a man who appeared to be the captain took off his hat and waved it.

The expression of the image has been softened.

"President. Thank you for being safe."

On the CCD camera, he sees Munakata smiling.

“Thank you for your hard work, Awashima-kun. Did you worry?"

Awashima shakes her head slowly.

"I wasn't worried."

It was a lie. During these 30 minutes, Awashima has looked at the clock no less than 50 times. It's not because she doesn’t trust Munakata. It is probably due to the weakness of Awashima's heart.

Munakata's deep eyes can even see Awashima's inner heart. Still, she looked directly at her boss and reported on the situation.

"We are on time. If you move at full speed from the current location of the president, it will be enough to reach the inauguration. The president's suit has been brought to the room of the occupant of the helicopter."

"Okay. Let's finish all the preparations on the fly. Has the final landing point I submitted changed?"

"No, there are no changes. The helipad is already in control."

At that moment, one of the monitors lit up red and emitted a warning sound.

"What?"

"I will confirm it!"

Staff operate the console quickly. Awashima holds her breath and stares at the movement.

Finally, the staff raised a strained voice.

“There was a fire at the Tsubakimon Dome Hotel! Looks like an evacuation notice has been issued at the hotel!"

"No!"

“No recommendations have been issued for this place! Deputy Chief, what do we do?"

Impatience melts in her hand. Various thoughts come to mind instantly. How big is the fire? How to accept evacuees? Should the concert be canceled, even if no recommendations have been made? The enthusiasm of the people involved and the fans for this live show is extraordinary. But if something happens to the fans, it is irreparable.

An intelligent voice broke those thoughts.

"Awashima-kun. Confirm the evacuation of the hotel guests."

Raise her face. Beyond the CCD camera, Munakata's rough expression was as calm as if he were sitting at his usual office desk.

Awashima looks at the staff. The personnel turned to the front and quickly returned to operating the console.

Finally, he told the staff in a shocked voice.

"We share the confirmation of the status of the place, but the evacuation of the three guests has not been completed! It seems that we are reconfirming the people who have been in the air and have been evacuated!"

"Three people. That means they are…"

The CCD camera points in the other direction. Seeing that, Awashima took a breath.

Near the window on the smokeless floor. A man and a woman are crouched in a narrow space. The woman appeared to be holding a child.

"The number of people matches. Apparently, the evacuation was delayed."

Awashima looks at the image from the CCD camera. Imagine a tragic future for a family left behind at the scene of the fire and blood gushes from their faces.

And Munakata said of course.

"I am heading to the rescue."

Awashima knew that Munakata would say so. Knowing that, she still screams...

"President! Don't do it!"

Domyoji's camera captures Munakata's face. Munakata wasn't looking there. He murmured, looking serious at the scene of the fire, perhaps putting together another thought.

"Awashima-kun. About us?"

"Ah..."

The answer to that was fixed. Awashima squeezed her hand so tightly that her nails dug into her palm.

"We are... idols...!"

"What kind of person is an idol in "Promotion Scepter 4"?"

"Our goal is to be the ideal human who should be a role model for people."

Munakata looked at Awashima with a teacher's gaze, watching over the poor students who gave the correct answer.

"So that's it."

"Huh!"

Munakata goes to the scene of the fire. Although he is an idol, he is only a human. There is no guarantee that he will be able to return safely, so the worst consequences may await him in the future.

And, while looking at the worst, taking steps to prevent it from happening is also a condition of being an ideal human.

Awashima said that decisively when she took a little breath, exhaled and was ready to do it.

“We will contact the various parties involved in the handling of this incident and request assistance in rescue activities. I pray for your safety, President."

Behind the camera, Munakata nodded slightly.

Fushimi Saruhiko clicked his tongue as he leaned his back against the wall.

If Munakata's decision was stupid, Awashima, who followed him, could only be seen as a fool. He are an ideal person and he are trying to ruin his job by getting caught up in an additional idea. Fushimi's frank opinion is that, it is the role of rescuers to help the victims, and that is why they have to get rid of that work.

But he will never reveal it. At least not yet.

It only deals with possible situations.

Makes a call from his PDA. The other party came out with a ringing sound. Before they say something to him there, speak up.

“Akiyama, I got a job. Call the members of the 'Shoumutai'."

While saying that, Fushimi turned away from the wall and quickly headed to the end of the hall.

++++++++++

That day, Maki Arakawa (29) was visiting the Tsubakimon Dome hotel with her husband Takashi Arakawa (32) and their son Daichi Arakawa (0).

That day was Maki and Takashi's third wedding anniversary. The Dome Hotel was the place where Takashi proposed to Maki, and it was customary for the couple to visit this place on their anniversary every year.

With a new family member who is less than a year old, Maki and Takashi huddled together and wanted a night view from the living room. Takashi leans into the champagne and Maki leans into the non-alcoholic sparkling wine, looking at each other with a smile. In Maki's arms, Daichi, who had just fallen asleep, was giving a silent sigh.

A little compliment to a family that usually leads a modest life. Still, Maki was happy enough until the explosion happened.

The moment the explosion caught her, Maki was thrown to the ground with her husband.

When she woke up, her head was covered in black smoke.

"Daichi?"

The first thing that came to mind was the safety of her son. Looking down into her arms with a pale feeling, Daichi was still asleep. It was just a moment of relief, and he was soon filled with smoke-colored anxiety.

"What the hell?"

There was no way to answer that question. Her husband has wandered off a bit. He appears passed out, bleeding from his head. When she saw him, she was terrified that his heart would stop, but at least he seemed to be breathing.

Maki crawls closer to her husband, feeling pain glowing throughout her body. There seems to be a fire somewhere between the black smoke that comes in and the heat that burns the skin. That fact irritated Maki and made her reach out her hand.

"Get up."

The husband does not respond. Maki raised her face slightly and looked around her.

There is no one but them.

Is it after everyone has evacuated? Have they been left behind? Even if she gets lost, she does not know where to go and cannot leave her husband. It was decided that she cannot take him or her son on her own.

Fear and anxiety clench Maki's throat.

She takes the PDA out of her pocket and touches the emergency number. However, Maki herself wasn't sure how much it meant. The fear that surrounds her is getting stronger. Even if the rescue team is dispatched from now on, will they arrive in time?

"Yes, what happened?"

Communication has been opened. Maki squeezes the words out of her throat that moisten her body.

“Please help, please help. Please, please."

Unless this child is saved.

The moment he muttered a sentence-like word in a weak voice, a roar deafened Maki's ear.

A helicopter appeared outside the living room, behind a glass window.

A high-speed rotating rotor disperses a bombardment sound and the strong wind moves in the opposite direction. The helicopter tilted slightly and a sliding door pointed into the living room. Maki saw with wide eyes that a man with glasses was standing in the place that had already been opened.

It was not a rescue team. She knew it at a glance. After all, clothes are different. She had never heard of a rescue team dressed in such white, flowing clothing. It has beautiful bright colors and is like the clothes that idols wear.

The man with the glasses laughs smartly when he sees Maki. Then jump out the sliding door with a run.

"......"

Maki loses her words and watches over the elaborate suicide scene. From the PDA that fell to the ground, a Fire Service official said, "What happened? Please respond!" She heard a scream, but couldn't react. That was not the case.

The man crossed his arms, jumped high and rough, through the window, rolled across the living room floor, and landed brilliantly.

He balanced on his right foot, left knee, and right palm, and lifts his face to look at Maki.

Then he said with a smile.

"Hello."

"Ah, hello."

Barely responding, the man approached slowly, keeping low.

Behind him, there was a figure that jumped in the same way. He rolls on a glass covered floor, jumps and screams.

"Gak! The glass stabs me!"

“Domyoji-kun, continue with the preparations immediately. Be careful not to inhale smoke."

"Yes! President Munakata!"

When the man named Munakata approached Maki, he lifted his body, turned it forward, and began to wrap something.

"Oh, that...?"

“We will get away from this. Please hold your son firmly."

The soft voice in her ear soothed Maki's fear. She hugged her son tightly and, through her armpits, Munakata fixed a harness on Maki's body.

Munakata looks back and calls out to Domyoji, who is also wrapping the husband in a harness.

"Are you ready?"

"Well, somehow!"

Domyoji nods wrapping her weakly passed out husband around his body with a harness. When Munakata turned around, he turned his smart eyes towards Maki.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to safety immediately."

Somehow, however, she had an unpleasant sensation.

Maki looks out the window with her harness wrapped up. She sees the back of a helicopter that was going very far away. Maki asks, swallowing hard.

"Isn't that the one you ride?"

"Unfortunately, the emergency exit leading to the helipad is blocked by fire. Landing is difficult and jumping from here to the helicopter would not be possible with you in tow."

The question of what to do then did not need to be asked.

Munakata walks over to the broken window while tying Maki and Daichi to himself. The trampled piece of glass rings. A strong wind from the high sky blew and caressed Maki's cheeks forcefully.

The Tsubakimon Dome can be seen below. She wonders if he was doing some kind of live performance, and she could see the crowded seats even from such a high place.

Munakata looks at her calmly and has a soft voice.

"And we have less than five minutes to get started. This is the only way to get there on time."

She is not sure what you are talking about, but she understands what "this method" means. Maki looks towards Munakata with tears in her eyes.

"I'll ask you just in case, you've done it before, right?"

Munakata responds with a smile on his face.

"I read the manual."

Maki tried to resist, but her hands were empty and only scratched the air. Maki, who was shaking, saw that she could no longer understand the language, Munakata placed the sole of the shoe on the window frame.

Smooth to the end, Munakata says the last sentence.

"Ok, let's go."

"Hm..."

She can't say wait a minute.

Munakata was a man who executed words. A second after he said that, he had already jumped from a height of 100 meters above the ground with Maki and Daichi.

++++++++++

Basically the longer it takes to fall, the faster it will fall.

Its formula, commonly known as gravitational acceleration, is 9.8 m / s, and a rough calculation consumes a height of about 100 meters in less than 5 seconds. Knowing that, it's probably a bit more serious. She would have resisted.

Fortunately, the fear fainted her and it did not interfere with Munakata's work.

At the time of take-off, Munakata quickly opened the parachute. Munakata experienced a free fall for a time until the acceleration died due to air resistance.

At the sound of the wind, Munakata heard laughter.

Suddenly the baby was laughing in his arms. He wondered if he was enjoying the fall, and while hearing a laughing little voice, Munakata was laughing too.

"It's fun? It may be common for you."

The parent's "up and down" game and the current situation may not change much for this child. With that in mind, Munakata precisely operates the parachute.

Air resistance travels through the harness and squeezes Munakata's body. Munakata looked at the Tsubakimon Dome below, while reducing the burden on mother and child as much as possible. Already in his direction, the dome has been opened to reveal the stage.

"President, please respond. Let us know the current situation!"

Awashima's voice echoes from the device close to the ear. Munakata responds to that.

"This is Munakata. We are currently gliding about 70 meters from the earth's surface. We will proceed to land on stage."

In the center of the stage is a circle of bureaucracy, the end of today's sprint. There are 2 minutes and 47 seconds until the start. The image of landing, taking off the parachute, and entering the performance has already been created in Munakata's mind.

"No problem. Everything is fine. Awashima-kun, let's meet up on stage sleeve!"

At the image of Munakata, a sudden gust of wind disappeared.

"Yes!"

Before thinking of anything, Munakata had to devote all his energy to controlling his posture. The parachute, which was about to rotate like a cone, was operated with one hand like a hot kneading jumper, and in the worst case it prevented a free fall due to the disappearance of air resistance.

"President? What did you do?"

Awashima screamed at the anomaly.

"Well, it's not a big deal. I was exposed to the wind from the building and my posture was altered for a moment. The check was completed, but there is a problem."

"What kind of problem is it?"

“The current gust of wind has blown me off the field a lot. If nothing is done, we will land in the audience seats."

Awashima took a deep breath.

Due to the gust of wind, the chances of landing on stage were nil. A similar gust of wind might bring the whole picture back to the landing course, but it's like waiting for a miracle. It was the role of the believer, not the role of the idol, to hold onto heaven with prayer.

Munakata ponders as he spins in the air.

He cannot get off in the audience seats. No action can be taken that could compromise the safety of the public. Not only Munakata himself, but even the metal parachute hardware cannot be dropped on the heads of fans.

So there is only one way left.

"We will take a landing course outside of the dome. We won't be in time for the performance, but we can't help it."

Awashima squeezed out a rough voice.

"Come here."

Until now, Munakata has been racing to get to the performance on time and not disappoint the expectations of the fans. It is not unfortunate that the effort turns into a bubble.

However…

Munakata stroked the baby's hair, giggling happily at his mother's breast, with his fingertips.

"Don't be sorry. We are idols. Those who seek the best. But if that doesn't come true, we can choose the next best option."

"President..."

Awashima's voice has a bitter resignation.

But she was also an idol. Awashima starts working after dispelling it in an instant.

"I get it. Immediately, personnel will be sent to the outside of the cupola, and the president, the mother and the child will be immediately collected. Even if the delay is unavoidable, it should be as short as possible."

"Yes. Thank you."

A sudden voice interrupted Munakata who was about to approve the decision.

"It's not like that."

Munakata slightly opened his eyes.

He can't be wrong, it was the voice of Fushimi Saruhiko, the center of "Shoumutai".

"What are you doing?"

"Please be quiet, Assistant Principal. President, there is no need to change course. 2 minutes to start. If so, it is time to do so."

"What?"

"Akiyama, do it."

With Fushimi's command as the trigger, a sight of pure white spread under his eyes.

It was a huge cloth that completely covered the audience seats at the Tsubakimon Dome. The pure white fabric that glows under the light has a blue dyed stamp in the center. That's the emblem of “Promotion Scepter 4”, the flag of the idol that they should be proud of.

"Now you don't have to worry about landing in the audience. Please come down quickly. The stage is set!"

Watch the scene and listen to the words.

A powerful smile appeared on Munakata's mouth.

"I get it."

Then she slowly descends towards the emblem of his proud "Promotion Scepter 4".

++++++++++

"Huh... someone..."

In a park located outside the Tsubakimon Dome, Domyoji Andy was trapped in a tree and called for help with a weak voice.

The rescued person, tied in front, fainted slightly. After all, he never woke up during the drop or after the landing. He doesn't think there is any difference in life, but he wants to be rescued as soon as possible and taken to the hospital. It's about time Domyoji's shoulders scream from their weight.

"Oh, Domyoji-san! You were in a place like this!"

At that moment, a light illuminated Domyoji's face with a voice of salvation.

They were the staff of "Scepter 4." It looks like he was holding a ladder and looking around the dome. Domyoji mutters through tears when he sees them preparing for rescue.

"Hail me..."

Domyoji, who was saved several tens of seconds later, asked the staff with a deep sigh.

“No, what happened to the president? Did he do it on time?"

"Yes! It seems that with Fushimi-san's ingenuity, he was able to make it in time for the performance! It seems that he is performing well as of now!"

The staff deftly pulled out the PDA which projected a live image.

6:23 pm. The stage lights go out and the noise from the audience seats quickly subsides. For example, fans' expectations, enthusiasm and excitement increase.

The silence of passion, as if you could see it.

A suddenly glowing spotlight pierced the darkness.

In the center of the stage was a man crouched with one knee raised. He is dressed in a beautifully decorated suit and holds a microphone in his slim hands. There is not a single mistake or a single wrinkle in his clothes. The ideal idol is that person, the Idol King who was there.

Those in the audience, behind the television who are watching him, probably don't know how he got to that stage. Munakata must say that it is also the idol's responsibility not to report it.

As soon as the song started, Munakata looked up. A confident smile. An act that can be said to be solemn. Take a fixed turn and start singing.

Domyoji laughed impressively as he watched the fans' enthusiasm explode.

"I'm glad. He is on time."

"Yeah, I'm glad."

The staff laughs too. Only they know how many difficulties Munakata had to go through to be in that place. These difficulties have finally been overcome and the goal has come true.

"Well then, I'm ready too."

Domyoji says that, shaking his head. He also has a major role in the "Extreme solo part, Idol from Above 6500~". For that, he has to go back to heaven.

The staff stopped Domyoji's back.

"Domyoji-san, it's very difficult to tell... but Domyoji-san's part is gone."

"Eh?"

The staff scratched their heads at Domyoji, where their eyes became a point.

“It seems that it is impossible to take off on time because the helicopter has run out of fuel on the previous flight. Therefore, we will reproduce the PV of the album released next week as a replacement for the emergency. That was decided."

Domyoji froze and said...

"What is that? Has all my special training so far been for naught?"

Look at the facial expressions of the staff, quietly but surely.

"What is that? Aaaaaaaaaah!"

Domyoji's scream echoed around the outer edge of the dome.

#K #k project #K stories #k six idols #reisi munakata #SCEPTER 4 #k fan clan

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Dare Me To Call You (Nicky/Heidi) - Viktor

fic summary: In the middle of the craziness that is playing truth or dare at sleepovers, Heidi is dared to call her crush.

A/N: hi! this is my first time around here, so I figured starting off with a rarepair was a pretty nice idea. I want to thank @bleedingxend for beta-ing this and dealing with me brainstorming. I hope you enjoy, and you can find me at @theviktorr if you’re interested too! <3

Heidi didn’t know how she ended up in this position. Her phone was in her hands, open in the ‘contacts’ section, and she could notice how much she was shaking.

It started with Nicky’s stupid truth or dare games, a tradition during their sleepovers. Everything started out nicely, with Dahlia googling potential questions or dares, Rock challenging Jan to eat glue and Nicky getting into everyone’s sexual lives for no reason except pure curiosity. It was a regular game on a regular sleepover, and Heidi didn’t have a problem with it.

Until all questions towards her became about Nicky.

And Heidi didn’t have a problem with the French girl, not at all. And that was the problem. Saying she liked her was an understatement. She loved her. She loved her stupidly seductive accent and her soft blue hair and eyes; She would die whenever Nicky hugged her or held her hand during scary movies. Nicky was adorable. Terribly hot too, but also adorable. And she was kind, too. A little cocky most of the time, making fun of Heidi’s fashion sense and makeup skills sometimes (and the quality of her supplies, too), but she was always there to help her and give her advice, even help her picking clothes and even giving her some nice supplies as presents for her birthdays. They were really close, actually, and no one was surprised at that, they were just perfect for one another.

But it was weird that everything she was asked was related to the French girl in some way or another. She only told Jackie about it, and her Persian friend didn’t look like the type to share other people’s secrets. She encouraged her to make a move, yes, but that was about it. She’d talk about this with her when they were alone, as she didn’t want to get Jackie in an embarrassing situation in front of the girls, but she was really hoping it wasn’t her, because she didn’t want to get mad at someone so kind.

She brushed off most of the questions and dares that were related to Nicky, or that went meant to set her up with her. She’d scream “Look over there!” whenever someone asked ‘who’s your crush’ or saying she wasn’t comfortable when someone asked her to give someone in the room a lap dance or anything slightly sexual, Heidi had skipped at least half of the questions and challenges given to her. Of course, she accepted some, having fun answering Crystal’s existential questions or regretting getting dares from Rock as she forced herself to lick her shoe.

But it was Brita’s turn now. And that was dangerous.

She immediately turned at Heidi, with that stupid big smile all over her face.

“Truth or dare, Heids?”

“I’m no coward, so dare!” The redhead smiled joyously, resting her head on top of both of her hands. She already licked Rock’s shoe, what could be worse than that?

Brita didn’t think twice. The question came out of her big mouth almost automatically, and she hardly had time to come up with an unused excuse to avoid the dare.

“I dare you to call your crush.”

“But—”

“—Oh no, you’ve already skipped too many questions. You’re doing this.”

Shit.

It was true that, out of all the dares, she skipped most of them, but she was terrorized by Rock and that should’ve been counted as three dares on a row.

She stuttered and tried to form a sentence, wanting to avoid the challenged at all costs. But nothing came off her mouth. She sighed, taking her phone from the pockets of her hoodie, and hesitantly scrolling through her contacts. She looked at it from the list for a couple of minutes. It wasn’t anything cute or cheesy at all, it just said “baguette” with a small heart emoji right next to it. She picked that name to annoy Nicky during one of their many conversations, but she never bothered to change it. She tapped on the contact, displaying the options to call and message, and the small phone-shaped button was screaming at her, it was telling her that this was the moment she’d been waiting for.

A phone in the room started vibrating as soon as Heidi pressed the green button. That sound that played as the other line was picking up was almost deafening to Heidi. She was clenching her teeth and her eyes were closed shut, and it felt like an eternity until she heard the french girl right next to her ear.

She picked up. Damn it.

“Why was my phone ringing, Heidi? Did you make a mistake?”

Heidi turned around to see her, catching her sitting on the armrest of her couch.

Her pale face was now red, a shade she’d never seen before on her. It looked cute, if she had to be honest about it. Her blue eyes met Heidi’s almost immediately, and she felt like her heart stopped beating for a moment. Some of the girls looked surprised, as if they never heard about anything like this, but some other were giving both of them smiles, the encouraging ones, the ones that tell you “congrats! you did it!” as soon as you look at them.

Nicky left her place after a few moments of silence. She left her phone on top of Gigi’s lap, and quickly walked towards the redhead, kneeling by her side and kissing her cheek. Heidi’s world crumbled on top of her. This wasn’t possible. She probably drank too much of Crystal’s improvised cocktails and fell asleep. The cutest girl in the world wasn’t just kissing her. On the cheek. After an unplanned confession.

Nicky’s hands traveled all the way to Heidi’s chin, shivers going down the latter’s spine as both of their faces were slowly brought together. When shyly breaking eye contact, she noticed how Jackie was, as usual, covering Gigi’s eyes as she was ‘too young to see this’, and even if she normally would have laughed, she gave her entire attention to the French girl once again, and how she was leaning closer and closer, almost kissing her. And she did. It was short, but felt timeless to Heidi. She was sure she had stains of red lipstick on her lips now, but it didn’t matter now.

But nothing could matter now, as she embraced Nicky the way she had wanted to ever since they met. The fact that she felt her hug her back, tightly, holding her close to her body and even kissing the top of her head. Heidi felt loved, more loved that she’d ever felt in her life.

And it could’ve been an adorable, rom-com esque moment, if it wasn’t because of Jaida, the person in the room with a degree on breaking the mood in every romantic situation.

“Chile, I know you both like each other but there’s people here, go get a fuckin’ room!”

Nicky broke the hug but decided to sit right by Heidi’s side, laughing and apologising for that. She grabbed Heidi by her waist, pulling her closer, and didn’t think twice about whispering at her ear when the other girls resumed the game.

“Voudrais-tu sortir avec moi?”

“Nicks, ya know I love your accent but I don’t speak croissant.”

“I’m asking you out.”

Heidi giggled, pretending that she knew it all along, and just enjoyed the feeling of Nicky finally hugging her and loving her the way she wanted her to. She really loved her, and now that she could finally be certain that her feelings would be reciprocated, she felt like all her daydreams about living in a cottage with her and eating French bread all the time, even if Nicky insisted that there was more to French cuisine than croissants and baguettes, were about to come true.

#rpdr fanfiction #heidi n closet #nicky doll #heidi x nicky #lesbian au #fluff #viktor #concrit welcome #s12 #rare pair

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uncultureddirt · 5 years ago

Text

Waiting (3/3) - Mark Lee fic

~REQUESTED~

“I have to do something about this.”

PART ONE ||| PART TWO

He thumbed through the book recklessly, quickly passing over the dog-eared pages and sighing helplessly. Mark told himself that he didn’t know why he felt so frantic to get this project done. It was Friday night; he knew he had the entire weekend. He really wasn’t worried about finishing it. No, his mind was whirling for another reason. Subconsciously, he was denying how he felt and attempted to avoid confronting his emotions again. He tried to direct his energy into something productive to distract himself, which ended up being his English project.

But as he held the book in his hands and stared at the words before him, his distraction began to fail. He was reading the words, but not understanding them. All the letters and blobs of ink seemed to collide, come together at the edges, bounce off each other, and nothing registered in his head.

And then his plan collapsed altogether, because his mind replayed the concluding moments of class that day anyways.

After a long class of writer’s block something finally came to him; an idea had finally danced across his brain. He began writing frantically as the fear of this thought escaping him had presented itself and there wasn’t much time left before the dismissal bell would ring. But mid-sentence he was stopped, the thought was gone. He forgot it altogether. It wasn’t because he had a poor memory; he was just easily distracted, and something more important had taken hold of his attention.

Mark felt your eyes on the side of his face. He felt your stare. He noticed you stopped writing and out of the corner of his eye became aware of your gaze shifting to him. He fought with himself to ignore it, and act like he didn’t notice. But, truthfully, he enjoyed being the center of your thoughts for a while; he wanted to prolong that experience. The downfall of that wonderful feeling was that he couldn’t focus. He imagined you looking at him, thought about what you were thinking, and played over hypothetical situations in his head where he would turn to you and apologize, telling you what he was truly thinking. His mind was swimming far from the once relevant sentences on his page; he had drifted too far from the land and was lost completely at sea. Lost completely in the thought of you. It was funny; he appeared not to care, or not to notice, when the reality was entirely different.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, back to his room with Romeo and Juliet held tightly in his grasp.

You walked into Darten’s class on Monday morning silently and wondered if Mark finished his section of the presentation.

You were a bit of a control freak when it came to group projects, always making sure everything is beyond perfect, but this time you did not have the slightest clue what Mark prepared. Maybe he didn’t prepare anything at all.

You saw him walk in and sit down, fumbling through a stack of index cards. You saw his mouth moving as he flipped through them. You could tell he was nervous.

‘I guess he did prepare something.’

You sat back and watched as the presentation before you commenced. You couldn’t recall what Luke and Jamie had talked about. For all you knew, the whole thing could have been in French. You spent the time somewhere else. Your mind drifted to laying on the back of your car. You swore you could feel the breeze dragging over your skin, and as you stared up you were met with a clear sky, the sun bathing what felt like the whole universe. You turned to your left to see his face, Mark’s face, and he was smiling. He was happy. He placed a hand on your cheek and looked to your mouth. You felt your stomach swirl. A light feeling had consumed you and held you hostage. You wanted to stay there. Remain in your hazy daydream. You wanted it to be real. But as Mark began to bring his face to yours, you were brought back to the classroom.

The sound of clapping filled your ears. You looked around, seeing your classmates begin to applaud as Luke and Jamie took their seats. You were confused for a moment, then utterly disappointed. You looked across at Mark, hunched over his cards.

That’s all it ever was. A daydream.

“Y/n, Mark.” Mr. Darten called out.

You looked across the room and met eyes with Mark.

Smiling softly, you nodded. ‘Maybe that would chill him out.’

You and Mark made your way to the front of the room. You stood in front of Mr. Darten’s computer and began typing, searching through his shared documents to find your presentation.

‘Sorry if this is basic Darten’

‘Found it,’ you said internally. You had named the document, and you thought it was a national treasure, ‘Wow I’m funny.’

“Y/n stop laughing at yourself and start presenting please,” Mr. Darten said, teasing you from the back of the room. He had his feet on the desk in front of him and his signature mug held tightly in his hand.

You moved next to the board, opposite of Mark. He looked flushed as he bent the index cards in his hand, trying to outlet his nerves. You noticed.

You were first to talk, so you began, “Hello guys, today we will be talking about probably the most recognized Shakespeare work, Romeo and Juliet. Our goal was not to bore you with the plot, nor revisit ideas you’ve heard every time the names Romeo and Juliet exited your mouth,” you made eye contact with Darten and raised your eyebrows as if to say, ‘told you so’.

You tapped the title slide to bring you the actual presentation. You weren’t the best public speaker, but you felt good this time. Confidence had washed over you and you spoke neatly, with clear inflection and perfect articulation. You began delivering your findings passionately, walking through thematic elements and symbols in a way you hoped was different and appealing to listeners.

You reached your last slide and stumbled on your words slightly as you remembered the boy standing next to you. He would be speaking in a few short seconds. Your content was running out, and it was time for you to pass over the stage. You clicked the next slide; it turned into a photo of a girl sitting in front of a window. There were no words, just the picture. You turned your head slightly. You had no idea what he prepared.

He glanced at the white cards in his hands, and then he tucked them into his pocket. “I chose to look at characters, and uh, how their external actions, remarks, even physical appearances correlated to what they were, uh, feeling on the inside.”

He began speaking about the photo on the screen and did so for the next seven pictures. He analyzed each photo gently, touching upon the subject’s face and aligning it with their internal thoughts and emotions. Each picture was to represent a character in the story, and it all matched elegantly. The words flowing from his mouth were colorful and potent; they filled the room in a way you’ve never experienced. Who was this boy? Since when was he so knowledgeable? Since when did he understand feelings so well?

He tapped the screen once more and two photos came up, side by side. It was a boy laying in a field, his face touched by the sun. He seemed calm and relaxed. Peace was flowing within him. Next to the first image was the same photo, but it was dark. The sky was cloudless, but absent of stars. The boy lay beneath the blank sky, and he no longer looked tranquil. Without sound or expression, a coldness was conveyed through the picture; a sadness stained the screen.

You looked at Mark as he spoke. You no longer felt like you were a part of this project, you were an observer, a member in the crowd.

“Romeo’s a very interesting character to me. Upon my initial reading I um, I was confused why he was so dramatic. He seemed fragile and conflicted. In Shakespeare’s time, men were never traditionally portrayed as weak, let alone their cause of weakness being inflicted by a woman. It was very different, and I couldn’t understand why he was so, uh, soft I guess?” Everyone laughed quietly at Mark’s word choice, and you did too. He started again, “Romeo was experiencing love and heartbreak, two things that can’t really be seen, but can be strongly felt. The only way to properly express this was to completely defy the norm and break the toxic male archetype. By showing a male acting this way, Shakespeare properly depicts the power love has on an individual.”

You weren’t sure if you were dreaming. You couldn’t tell if your brain had drifted helplessly back into your hazy daydream. Mark, who couldn’t say ‘hi’ to you now, was standing before a group of people and describing the depths of love? You shifted your weight, moving back and forth as you listened to him speak. His words were entering your ear softly, and then a string of words, so familiar to you, exited his lips.

“I mean love does make you act all strange.”

Your eyes widened and you stared at the floor in front of you. It all was coming back, the day at Sunbelt’s. Your conversation in the parking lot, the way he laughed nervously when he talked, and how the wind pushed his messy hair back. Every detail about that day came back with those words.

“Your thoughts can switch very easily. You can move from a place that feels warm and inviting, to one that feels familiar, but changed and cold, like these photos. The boy isn’t changing his location, it’s simply the time of day; the passing of time can transform a place and transform feelings. A confident boy like Romeo, faced with love and heartbreak, acts strange. He fumbles his words, he spends his days thinking of her, he can’t seem to focus because she, uh, Juliet, is uh all he sees,” he paused for a moment and you looked over, noticing his face grow red. Slowly you realized it wasn’t the book he was talking about. After recollecting his thoughts, he concluded the presentation and smiled softly.

“I mean love does make you act all strange.”

His words replayed themselves once again.

You looked back at Darten who nodded approvingly. You knew you guys killed it, but you had no clue how. Your dialogue was limited for weeks, but you guessed that Mark’s mind wasn’t as absent as it appeared. He must have been thinking about it a lot, and it showed. You were happy for him. You wanted to tell him, but you didn’t know how.

‘Holy shit, Mark. What in the hell just happened?’ you thought to yourself as you went to sit down. You sat at your desk antsy to talk to him, to ask him questions, to say sorry for being so short with him. You wanted to say so much, but you didn’t know where to start.

“Hey!” you shouted at Mark. You were walking to your car after class and you noticed him quite a bit ahead of you. You didn’t mean to yell, it just escaped you, impulsively.

He turned around, confused at first, but once seeing you he looked slightly surprised.

“Hey!” he called back.

You furrowed your brows as he stood frozen, “I don’t like yelling, can you come here?” Your voice grew louder as a car passed by you, concealing your words.

“What?” he shouted back.

“Mark come here!” you yelled.

He mouthed an ‘oh’ before lightly jogging towards you.

Once you two stood face to face, it became too real. All the words you had inside vanished. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you stared at his face, your ears swirling with the words from his presentation. You didn’t know why, but you were slightly out of breath, “Um, where did all that come from? Like all that you said?”

He pulled the index cards he was flipping through before and handed them to you.

You felt frustrated, “No like where in your head did all that come-?”

He interrupted, “Go to the one that says ‘last’.”

You flipped through the cards, confused as to whether he really understood what you were asking. Your eyes gazed over his messy, boyish handwriting until you saw the card he was talking about. Every card preceding it was packed with markings and covered in highlighter, but this one was almost empty. Your eyes scanned over the words slowly.

‘Talk about your feelings.’

You looked up at him. His face was serious, maybe even partially embarrassed. Mark kept his eyes fixed on the gravel. His heart was racing, you just had no idea. You opened your mouth to say something, but his voice beat your words.

“It’s what I wanted to say to you. I guess it was harder to say to your face than to the class,” he stopped and looked at you, "because uh, they think I’m talking about something fictional written on a page by some old guy, something I don’t feel for them. It’s hard when you’re looking at me. I guess I was waiting for the right time, and then the right time became an excuse because I was scared. I started to forget what I was even waiting for.”

You felt your heart burning a hole through your chest. He was only confusing to you because he was confused with himself. He was wrapped up in a feeling he didn’t know how to feel, nor how to express.

You felt words exiting your mouth; you weren’t sure who was controlling them, your brain suddenly worked separately from your body. “Your presentation was perfect. I secretly hoped it wasn’t about the book,” he laughed and looked down, “and it’s all okay. I like you Mark, even when we didn’t talk. I still liked you.”

He bit the inside of his mouth to stop from smiling, “I like you too.”

The air was still after he said it, but not in an awkward way. You both were basking in the words that still sat in the air. Words that you both waited for so long to hear. There existed some sort of comfort within all the silence, within the faded sounds of cars leaving the parking lot, within the cloudy voices of kids walking out of the school, within the small space between you and Mark.

The End.

#kpop #mark lee #nct dream #NCT 127 #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #kpop fanfic #HEY GUYS so here it is all completed and suchhhhhh hehehe #i had this done for so long but I felt it wasn't complete or ready - so I revisited it this week and had it edited and Im super excited #about it #I really hope you all enjoy it and are staying happy during this time #dont forget to reach out to me if you need it #love you all VERY much

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sparklestheunicorn · 5 years ago

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Verlac

I actually tried to stick to canon for this one. I didn’t enjoy writing it as much as I thought I would, but there was no point where I just sorta gave up like the other two. Also, minimal editing.

It follows, wait for it, Sebastian Verlac the original in the moments before his death. If you don’t like the dialogue, blame cassie, she came up with it in the extra part of cols.

Word count: 2566

Sebastian Verlac was going places!

He was young and he lived in Paris. He may not have been in love, but if he had any say in it that was going to change.

And he wasn’t just metaphorically going places, oh no, his aunt had chosen him to go to Idris to represent the Paris Institute when it came to Valentine Morgenstern. Which was as good as her saying he would be running it when his time came. And Sebastian knew it would be one of the most open Institutes in the world, because that is what he would make it. He would be given the honour of running one, and so he would make it one of the best.

It would be open for Downworlders and Shadowhunters from everywhere, because what else was an Institute for? The fact that some even went so far as to refuse help to those who needed it baffled him. He didn’t think they knew what it felt like to be helpless – to be fair, neither did he, but he knew enough to know he never wanted to feel like that. It was basic human decency, and it still baffled him that not everyone had it.

But the future could wait until the present had been dealt with, because Valentine Morgenstern was back and had made waves in New York City. Literally. Then his daughter (he has a daughter) had brought down the ship he was living on. Sebastian made a mental note to get to know this Clarissa Morgenstern – although, apparently, she did not go by Morgenstern or even Fairchild, but Fray. He had to admit ‘Fray’ was a better last name for hiding among mundanes than the other two options.

He should know, Sebastian thought, he had spent enough time surrounded by mundanes in the past weeks to be able to recognise all the faces on the magazine covers littered throughout his city. It had been weeks, and he had not come across one other Shadowhunter – it made him worry that he was late for the meetings in Idris. But, no, his aunt had told him it was one week away, and he was going to Idris in two days. He was not late – he doubted his aunt would forgive for such a thing.

When he got to Idris, he would be staying with his cousins, the Penhallows, who had not seen him since he was a child. Sebastian could only hope they’d recognise him, not that he’d mind either way, he would die to be in the company of just one Shadowhunter. Mundanes weren’t bad, per se, but he couldn’t hold a conversation with any of them without saying something he shouldn’t. And even the Downworlders were avoiding him thanks to the runes he decorated himself with every morning. Not that he could blame them – he wouldn’t trust a Shadowhunter either when the world was like this.

Despite not being able to hold a conversation with them, Sebastian noticed the stares he garnered from the mundanes as he walked down the streets. And though he appreciated it enough to go unglamoured, all the looks did was make him feel lonely. There was a line between alone and lonely, and Sebastian had crossed it weeks ago. Occasionally, he would walk by a pretty boy or girl and think ‘maybe’, but by then he was likely already hunting a demon.

With nothing to do, Sebastian had decided to do what Shadowhunters were created to do – lurk around the Shadow World, listening for any sign of demons. And there were plenty once he learned where and how to look, particularly in a bar beneath a bar that pulsed with music and bodies. Under any other circumstances, it would have been his type of place. Getting drunk on the beat, kisses from strangers, and the alcohol. It took more self-control than he wanted to admit to keep to himself and stand at the bar, watching for the Eluthied demon that had been lurking.

And it was only when he knew he would kill a demon that night, only when he knew he would not give up until it was dead, that he glamoured himself. Sweat clung to his body, made the gear he was wearing more stuffy than bearable. He pushed his equally soaked hair out of his face, leaning against the bar, the liquid in his glass swirling with every move he made. It was an effort to look casual, because while the mundanes wouldn’t be able to see him, the demon would, and it was best it didn’t know what was on it until it was already dead.

He knew how to fight, every Shadowhunter did, but it was just easier when demons didn’t know he was there. They tended to reveal themselves quicker when they didn’t know. Sebastian took a sip of his drink, eyes scanning the room again. It was filled with bodies, and he would be lucky if he noticed the Eluthied before it killed someone else. He put the drink onto the counter behind him, not planning to pick it up again.

There was a body cutting through the mass, people pausing their writhing as whoever it was passed or pushed through, Sebastian couldn’t tell. But he certainly saw them the moment they were free of the writhing masses. It was a boy, no older than him, with pale hair that gleamed in the light and dark eyes that swallowed everything whole – he had the faint sense the boy was swallowing him whole, but Sebastian done nothing but rest his elbows on the bar behind him. As the boy sauntered closer, Sebastian could see more of his face, and the unearthly beauty it possessed.

He walked like he knew what he wanted, and held himself like he knew how to get it. Sebastian didn’t know how to feel as the boy slid up next to him and looked at him, not through him the way mundanes had been doing the whole night.

“Bonjour,” the boy said, his accent betraying that he didn’t normally speak French.

Sebastian tried to ignore everything else he heard in that one word, knowing he was likely imagining things. He said, as calmly as he could, “Hello.”

He was surprised he had been seen, yes. Despite Downworlders knowing about this place, they usually left it to the mundanes – the only interaction Sebastian had been planning on having was with the demon. And it may have been the unearthly beauty, but Sebastian didn’t exactly trust him, not at that moment anyway. He had found that beautiful people tended to rarely be as beautiful on the inside.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” The boy smiled.

Sebastian could barely form words thanks to that smile that lit up the boys entire face – he wanted to know what he tasted like. He tightened his grip on the edge of the bar and tried to talk through the rush of blood in his cheeks, his head. “I don’t … ”

The boys smile only grew as he turned over his right hand to show the voyance rune Marked there. Sebastian visibly relaxed, a smile growing on his face, all the worry that he had been holding in his shoulders that it was a Downworlder about to exact revenge dissipating. Of course the boy was a Shadowhunter – no one else held themselves with that much confidence.

“Are you on your way to Idris, too?” the boy asked.

Sebastian may have been too happy to be speaking to another Shadowhunter again, but if this one had found him all the way out here, then it was likely he also hadn’t had company for weeks. “I am. Representing the Paris Institute. I’m Sebastian Verlac, by the way.”

“Ah, a Verlac. A fine old family.” The boy grasped the hand he had proffered with equal fervour. “Mark Blackthorn. The Los Angeles Institute, originally, but I’ve been studying in Rome. I thought I’d come overland to Alicante. See the sights.”

The moment Mark let go of his hand, Sebastian felt it – it was like losing something vital, like a lung. “Rome, huh? I’ve heard it’s magnificent this time of year. I can’t believe you decided to make the trek from there to Alicante, it must be far, but I’m not complaining. Haven’t seen another Shadowhunter in ages. Funny to run into you here. My lucky day.”

Mark’s smile had dulled to a toothless grin, but Sebastian wasn’t worried, especially not after his next sentence. “Must be. Though not entirely by chance, of course. The reports of an Eluthied demon lurking about this place, I’m sure you’ve heard them as well?”

Sebastian picked up his drink again, hiding his grimace with a smile. He hoped no one had slipped anything into it. He drained it before setting the glass back onto the bar, this time without any reason to pick it back up. “After we kill the thing, we should have a celebratory drink.”

And maybe a bit more. He thought it, but didn’t say it, because while the Paris Institute may not be adversed to that sort of thing, the Clave certainly was. And Sebastian had the feeling Mark would eat up whatever the Clave told him. After Mark had nodded, Sebastian started talking again.

He didn’t even know what he was talking about, mentioning random things about the world, he was sure he even mentioned the weather at one point. Sebastian cringed inwardly, still unable to shut up. He always talked too much when he was nervous, damn him and his inexperience. But Mark wasn’t paying attention, thank the Angel, instead, his eyes were roving over the crowd, looking for the demon they were both here for. Because he was here for a demon, not to try to kiss pretty boys who had also not seen another Shadowhunter in too long.

Somehow, unwilling to remember or think about, Sebastian had changed the topic to talking about Mark’s family. The Blackthorns, he knew, were a huge family. Seven children, two of which birthed by a faerie. He couldn’t remember which ones exactly, but he had a feeling they were the two older ones, not that he could remember who they were, either. He had enough problems remembering his own family.

“I forget, you’ll have to excuse me,” he said, cursing himself for turning the direction back to him if only to feel the weight of those eyes again, and to hear his intoxicating voice. “How many are there in your family?”

Mark didn’t so much as turn his head. “Oh, we’re a big one. Seven in total. I have three brothers and three sisters.”

Sebastian hid his sigh. The question hadn’t been a total loss, but he still wanted to feel Mark’s eyes on him, and only him, never mind the people watching or the demon waiting somewhere in the shadows. It was then that he too started watching the crowd for a demon who would tear their throats out if it so desired.

Mercifully, he had stopped himself from talking any more, letting the music pound into their ears instead as they looked for a demon. Sebastian’s eyes had been on the crowd for all of two minutes before he found himself looking at Mark’s face again. There was something there that made him unable to turn away. It may have been the way his eyes pierced through the crowd, as though he could see every motivation, hope, and dream of everyone in here. Or it may have been the way his mouth was curved in a worried frown that seemed more demonic than human.

And it was only because he was watching that Sebastian noticed when Mark’s eyes started flicking around faster than their surroundings warranted, not seeing the room anymore, but lost in his thoughts. His face lost its humanity with each passing second.

Sebastian shouted over the pounding of the music, “You have the oddest look on your face.”

He watched Mark blink, his gaze sliding over the crowd to land on him again, humanity once again flashing in those dark eyes that could have mirrored his own. And then, almost in slow motion, Mark leaned closer to him. It was the closest he had been to another human being in weeks.

Mark whispered into his ear, “Behind you. Demon. Four o’clock.”

Sebastian managed to get over the way Mark’s lips felt as they brushed his ear, or the way his hair had felt behind it to turn to see the demon, currently in the shape of a girl with dark hair, as it quickly stepped away from the boy it had been talking to and started to slip through the crowd. He and Mark didn’t hesitate before following it out of a side door labelled ‘sortie de secours’, which led to an alley the demon was already running down.

In a heartbeat, Mark had jumped, rebounded off the opposite brick wall, sailed over the demon’s head while twisting and pulling out a runed blade. Sebastian was still in shock as Mark split it open, grinning at him over its shoulder. He had never seen anyone move like that.

A wet scream echoed through the alley as the demon folded in on itself, going back to whatever hell dimension it had come from. The only evidence that anything had just happened was the drops of black blood on the stones, Sebastian’s colourless face, Mark’s exhilarated grin, and the blade he hadn’t put away, still dripping ichor.

“By the Angel,” he whispered, still in shock at how Mark had moved through the air like it was nothing, like he had done it many, many times. He had moved with inhuman speed and grace – Sebastian supposed it was how Jace Morgenstern moved, too. He had never met the guy, but had heard that he was the best Shadowhunter of his generation – that was another person Sebastian would have to meet in Idris.

Sebastian wondered if Mark always moved like that, and he was suddenly no longer thinking about killing demons. He shook himself out of it, noticing how Mark was watching him. “You were amazing! I’ve never seen anyone move that fast! Alors, you have got to teach me that move. By the Angel. I’ve never seen anything like what you just did.”

Mark started walking closer to him, blade still out. “I’d love to help you. But unfortunately, I’ve got to get going soon. My father needs me, you see. He has plans. And he simply can’t do without me.”

Sebastian couldn’t hide his disappointment, he had hoped Mark would at least accompany him to Idris, even if anything more would be frowned upon. “Oh come, you can’t go now. Hunting with you was so much fun, mon pote. We have to do this again some time.”

It was the least he could hope for, he realised, as he was once again close enough to Mark to see the darkness living in his eyes, the small, wry smile curling his lips up, the tilt of his head as he observed him. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Sebastian had the feeling that the person who was staring into his eyes was not Mark Blackthorn of the Los Angeles Institute, studying in Rome, going to Alicante for sight-seeing, moments before his blood coated the stones.

#tsc fic #tscfic #tsc #wow sorry for the tmi flashbacks but I had to #and would you look at that #no incest nothing of the sort #good for me honestly #the Verlac family #writing Sebastian the first few times made me feel dirty #writing #mine

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years ago

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The Cave Mistake

Jensen x Reader (platonic); Dean x Reader; Sam Winchester, Castiel, Anael

A/N: This is for @idreamofplaid‘s Bunker Challenge and for @spndeanbingo. This idea came from the above-mentioned angel, Robin, and I just sort of ran with it. As she originally put it, think a Reversed French Mistake. This is my first time at anything like this, so please, take it with a grain of salt (or you know, buckets of salt). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Reader goes to look for Dean when he stands her up for their date, only to find someone that looked familiar in his place.

Bunker Room: Dean’s Cave

SPN Dean Bingo Square filled: Supernatural

Warnings: Language, bit of angst, bit of floof

WC: 6K

“Dean?! Dean, I know you’re here you son of a bitch!” you screamed, angry and hurt that he stood you up. It wasn’t like him, and even though you had a bit of a disagreement the day before, you didn’t think it was enough for him to blow you off.

Three hours you waited for him at that damn bar. Earlier that day, he promised you a night off of hunting and a good time. Something you both needed, together. As far as you knew, there was no hunt, Dean always calls you to tell you when they were leaving for a job; always.

The bunker was quiet. No Dean. No Sam. Not that that was unusual, but it was creepy quiet. The entire place was ensconced in the red glow of the emergency lights, and there was the slightest hint of something witchy in the air.

Withdrawing your gun from the inside pocket of your leather jacket, you held it out in front of you as you carefully checked each room, only to find them all empty. As you made your way back around to the library, a sound from far down the hall caught your attention. It sounded like it was coming from…

“Dean’s cave. Dammit. I swear… If you are passed out drunk in there--” you muttered as you angrily stalked down the long corridor. “I will whoop your ass, Winchester…”

Once you were outside the door, it was quiet again; so much so that you almost turned and left, but then you heard it again. It sounded like a moan…

Closing your eyes and praying that you weren’t about to catch Dean shitfaced on the floor, you slowly opened the door to Dean’s man cave, and found it empty of the eldest Winchester. In fact, there was no one in there at all, at least that you could see.

Slowly you walked around the room, gun up, finger near the trigger. It wasn’t a big space; easily checked with a quick glance around—or so you thought. Just as you were about to lower your gun and leave, you heard the moan again. Over in the small space between the foosball table and the wall, you saw them… A pair of shoes were sticking out from the legs that disappeared into the shadows.

You set the sight of the gun on the body laying there, ready to shoot it if it charged. You got closer, and gingerly nudged the legs to see if they would move. The owner of the body groaned, deep and raspy, and started to move. That’s when you noticed that whoever it was, they were wearing weird looking shoes and khaki shorts.

Keeping your target on the calf of the intruder, you waited until they were almost sitting up. When their head breached the top of the foosball table, and you thought you saw a familiar face, you lowered your gun. You cocked your head to the side and stared in a curious fashion and he continued to stand up.

“Dean?” you asked, staring at the man who was the identical twin to your boyfriend, but somehow looked nothing like him. “What… Who? Who the Hell are you?!”

“What?” he rasped and brought his hand to the side of his head. The man grabbed onto the side of the foosball table and used it to support himself to stand up. At his full height, his back was still facing you and being unable to see his face in the ambient light of the room, you lifted your gun again.

“Who are you?”

He finally turned around, just as the lights came back on. The stranger wore Dean’s face alright, right down to the green eyes and freckles across his nose.

“What?” he asked again. “Where the fuck am I?”

You clicked the hammer back and put your finger closer to the trigger.

“I am not gonna ask you again, asshole. Who are you and why do you have my boyfriend’s face?”

“Your… my face?” he shook his head, but the confusion didn’t falter. “Just give me a minute… where…” he looked around and realization dawned on his face. “I’m on set. Why am I on set…” he paused again. “HOW am I on set. I’m not even IN Vancouver right now…” his voice trailed off over the last few words as he stepped out from behind the foosball table. That was when he finally noticed the gun that was currently keeping him in its crosshairs.

“Jesus lady! What the fuck!” he yelled and went to grab it from your hand.

In one swift movement, you stepped out of the way, got behind him, grabbed one of his arms twisted it up to his back and pressed the gun to the back of his head.

“Oww! What the Hell is your problem?!”

“My problem?! Buddy, YOU’RE the one with the problem. I will ask you ONE more time… then, I’ll put a bullet in you. WHO are you and HOW did you get into the bunker?”

“Jensen… my name is Jensen, okay? And I work here. This is the set to a show! My show! But I don’t… I don’t know how I got here. I was in Nashville playing golf. We were about to head to the hotel to change for a panel and then, everything went black.”

His voice was strong, not wavering in the least, but you could still tell he was scared. It could have been due to the gun you kept pressed to his neck, but you certainly weren’t going to take any chances.

“Panel?” you asked, confused by the whole situation. Why did this guy look just like Dean? Well… the clothes were definitely off, and this Jensen guy had a nearly full beard, otherwise, he was Dean’s doppelganger.

Slowly, you lowered the gun and began to ease the tension on the arm you had up around his back. He shook you free and stepped away exasperated.

“Seriously, what the fuck is going on?!” He seemed panicked and bordering on manic. Before you could tell him to stop, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He was muttering to himself as he opened his contacts and scrolled til he found who he was looking for. But when he hit call, you could hear the tone beeping through his receiver and the operator come on to tell him it wasn’t a valid call.

“Come on,” he groaned and tried again. Then another contact, and another, until he reached the conclusion that there was no one to call. Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily, brought the phone to his forehead and rested it there.

The whole thing would have been funny if it wasn’t sorta sad. “Look, buddy, I don’t know who you are, but you look just like my boyfriend, Dean--”

“Winchester,” he said finishing your sentence. “Yeah, I know him… I AM him.”

“What? No, you’re not. Dean wouldn’t wear clothes like that, especially not khakis and a Polo shirt… and are those kleets? He certainly never grew a beard,” you challenged.

“Yeah, I know, they’d never let me,” he muttered. “And these?” he pointed to his feet. “Golf shoes… I was somewhere on the back nine last I remember. Besides the point, I play Dean Winchester, on a show, called Supernatural. My name… its Jensen Ross Ackles. I was born on March 1, 1978. Dean was born--”

“January 24th, I know. I have celebrated his birthday with him every year for the last few years.”

“Years? What? No… no! The longest Dean ever had someone was Lisa, and he was only with her a year.”

You watched in horror as this stranger with your boyfriend’s face recanted Dean’s history to you; every minute detail, every little scrap of his life… this guy knew all about it. Well, except for you. Apparently, you were the wild card.

“And when did Dean get another girlfriend?!” he finally finished, raising his hands in the air then slapping down against the outer part of his thigh. “Fuck me I need a drink.”

Jensen continued to pace, and as he whipped out his cell phone again.

“Are you willing it to give you a different outcome?” you asked, not without sarcasm.

“I--no. I just… here, I’ll show you.” He navigated to the internet and typed his name into the search bar. Nothing. No results. “That can’t be.” He tried again, and nothing.

“Look, whoever you are, you are not in Vancouver. You are in Lebanon, Kansas. This is Men of Letters bunker, currently inhabited by The Winchesters. This is--”

“No!” he exclaimed with a note of fear. “This is a television show set, in Vancouver, Canada, and you’re a PA who Misha probably set up to prank me,” he said, his nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, but as the thought left his lips, he seemed to relax.

“Misha? Who the fuck is Misha?”

Jensen sighed and looked at you with an air of annoyance. “You probably know him as Castiel.”

You nodded slowly, and finally decided it was safe enough to stow your gun back in its rightful place. “I do know Cas, but… he’s not been to Earth in a few years now. He returned to Heaven after…”

“After, what?” Jensen asked in mocking fashion.

“You know what? Fuck you. I don’t have to explain myself. YOU are the stranger here. Not me.”

“Yeah, okay lady. Tell Misha I said he got a great actress, okay? He wins. Prank war, over.”

“Ok, I’ve had enough. Come on, pretty boy, let’s go,” you said and motioned towards the door.

“Go where?”

“Out into the bunker. Show me where the ‘set’ is supposed to be, hm? Or the cameras… where are they?”

“Fine. I will,” he replied, an arrogant smirk on his face.

His resemblance to Dean was scary, they were identical in their mannerisms and tone of voice. But this guy was different, it only took a few minutes to see that. He was lighter and much less… haunted.

Jensen went to leave the room, put his hand on the door and paused. You couldn’t see his face, but the way his shoulders slumped you assumed he came to some kind of reckoning. He picked his head up and turned to face you.

“Problem?” you asked, hands firmly planted on your hips.

“Slight one. I just realized that if this were the set, that wouldn’t be there,” he said and motioned towards the wall behind the mini bar. But yet…”

“There’s a wall.”

“Precisely.”

“So, quite a conundrum we find ourselves in here… what was it again?”

“Jensen,” he grumbled, casting his gaze up to the ceiling.

“Now what? Think maybe the truth might finally work for ya?”

“Lady, I am telling you--”

“Call me lady again, and I certainly will not respond like one,” you warned, reaching for the gun in your jacket pocket.

Jensen put his hands up in relent and walked around the room towards the mini-bar. When he went behind it and found the small fridge full of cold beer, he pulled one out and popped the top. Chugging half the beer, he turned and looked at the wall curiously. You watched as he pounded on it at the seems, and tried to both push and pull on it.

“What the HELL are you doing?” you asked, unable to stay quiet.

“It’s a fake wall, right? I mean, this isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“I’ll tell you what, let’s go take that walk after all, hm? Maybe if you see that the bunker is solid and that there’s no camera crew, you can stop acting like a lunatic and help me figure out what the fuck is going on.”

Jensen considered it for a moment and agreed. “I honestly don’t have anything else so, why not.”

“Well, as you keep saying, you have played this part for years. So, get in his head and think. What happened?”

He paused a moment and you could tell he was trying, but he was coming up blank.

“Fine. let’s just take a look through the bunker. Maybe if you walk around, you’ll get an idea of how you got here.”

You lead him through the various rooms, and in each one he looked around as if he was lost in some kind of fog, mumbling to himself as he went. He went down each corridor, through the kitchen, all the bedrooms, war room, library, even the firing range, and storage. Eventually, you lead him up through the main door and up to the garage.

It was in the garage, that your concern over Dean’s whereabouts grew. He wouldn’t go anywhere without his car, and the Impala was currently parked in its usual spot.

Jensen heard you inhale sharply, and looked you over. “You alright?”

“Fine,” you replied curtly.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Yeah, well, you may have his face but you don’t look like Dean. So, where the fuck is he and why are you here?

That's where the wheels started to come off for Dean’s look-a-like. He started to laugh, almost manically and then rub his hands over his face. A thought had occurred to you, a sick one, but one you had to follow regardless.

“I’m just gonna put this out there if this is some elaborate prank--”

“But!! That’s just what I said!!” Jensen exclaimed, his face twisted into a mix of exasperation and panic.

“You said Misha was pranking you. I am saying if you ARE Dean, and this is a way to fuck with me....”

Jensen exhaled and shook his head for a beat before it snapped up and held your gaze.

“Dean has one tattoo, right? The anti-possession tattoo on his chest…”

You shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

Jensen pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a bare spot where the ink should have been. “See, nothing. Also…” he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal an elaborate tattoo of a bird. “He doesn’t have this.”

You stepped closer to inspect it, and when you reached out to touch his skin, he flinched. “I just want to be sure it’s real.”

“Oh, it’s real. I got it for my daughter. I am telling you, my name is Jensen. I am not from here… this is… this…” he started laughing again and just turned to wander down the path back to the bunker, but kept turning around to see if you were following him.

By the time you were back in the safety of the bunker, Jensen went right to the cave and to the beer he left sitting on the mini bar top.

“You were saying?” you said, falling into one of the recliners.

“I just… Wait. We did this…” Jensen mumbled and paced the room, eventually coming to sit in the recliner beside yours. “This was an episode, this was… fuck… season five. No, six. Shit!” He growled in frustration and continued mumbling to himself. “Do something as long as this and it all blurs together.”

“What?”

He looked at you and shook his head. “Nothing. It's just that, on our show, we had an episode like this. It was angels. Angels threw Dean and Sam into another reality. Where they were us. It was so dumb, but also pretty meta,” he snorted a laugh but when you didn’t return his humor, his face fell. “Whatever. My point is, is if this is REALLY happening, its gotta be angels.”

“Angels. Angels are gone, man. I guess your show didn’t cover that?”

“Well, sort of. They’re almost all gone,” he replied.

“I’m calling Sam. He’s gotta be able to help. Or at least know where Dean is.”

“Yes! Call Jar--Sam. Good call,” he smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows along his legs and nervously rubbed his hands together.

You pulled the cell from your pocket and found Sam on speed dial. His phone didn’t ring, just beeped like the old house phones used to when they were busy.

“Damn. I’ll try Dean, again.”

Same problem.

“Shit.”

“No luck?” he asked.

“Clearly,” you replied and held up the darkened screen of the phone. “I wonder…” you went back to your contacts and dialed Rowena.

No answer.

“Fuck!”

Frustrated, you got up from the recliner and went back to the mini bar grabbing two bottles. As you walked back to the chair, you handed one to Jensen even though he didn’t ask.

“I’m not Dean, remember. I certainly can’t drink like he does.”

“Yeah, well, suck it up buttercup. Down the hatch. You’re gonna need it.”

Jensen laughed. “I gotta ask you… shit… I don’t even know your name.”

You eyed him suspiciously. There had been some weird shit that went down around Sam and Dean over the years, but this was a new kind of cuckoo.

“Y/N,” you said and went back to trying to figure out what to do next.

“It's very odd to meet you, Y/N. Mind I ask you something?”

“Why not.”

“How did you meet Dean?”

“Oh, I’m not on your show?” you couldn’t help reply with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Jensen simply shook his head in response. “Too bad.”

“So? How did you and Dean end up together?”

“What do you care?”

“Because I AM him. I am. I have played that character for damn near fifteen years, and now that it's all coming to an end…” he trailed off, his expression growing distant and sad.

“Jensen?”

“Uh? Sorry. I drifted. I’m just curious. Regardless of whatever the hell this all is, Dean is clearly living a life that I’m not apart of and I want to know how he met a girl like you.”

“A girl like me?” you didn’t know if you should be offended or not.

“Spunky. Fierce. Not gonna lie… a little scary.”

You shrugged demurely and smiled. “Aw, ain’t you a charmer.”

“Let’s not forget sarcastic.”

“It’s the language of my people.”

“Yes, Dean’s too. So, tell me. How?”

“We met on a job. I was the job. He was the hunter. Simple as that.”

“What kind of job?”

“Jesus, Jensen. Does it matter?”

“It does to me, okay?”

“It was a haunting, and they showed up out of nowhere. I had no idea what it was but I was scared, and it was coming after me every night. They guys showed up, claiming to be paranormal researchers, and asked if they could check the place out. I said yes because I wanted whatever it was to get out.”

“Did they do it?”

You nodded quietly. You didn’t want to talk about the case. It was personal and hard to discuss with anyone that wasn’t Dean; even a man who wore the same face.

“Dean stuck around afterward. Made sure I was ok. Then, I don’t know one thing led to another, and now here we are a few years later and…” you shrugged.

“You’re still together.”

“Yup.”

Jensen’s expression changed and despite the craziness of the situation. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked almost peaceful.

“Holy shit!” he said and jumped up out of the chair. “I remember!” He placed the beer down on the floor next to the recliner and went over to where he woke up by the foosball table. There, on the wall was what he had thought of. “Look, see!”

You got up and walked around to see what he was pointing at. On the bottom of the wall was a small sigil, painted in a dark red substance you were pretty sure was blood.

Jensen touched it, then wrinkled his nose and quickly wiped his hand on his far-too-clean khakis. “Oh God, I hope that's just painted on… in paint.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed him out of the way to get a better look. It had been a long time since you had seen anything Enochian, but it was a symbol you knew well. “Fucking angels,” you groaned as you studied it closely. “Dammit.”

“See, I told you!” Jensen smiled, proud of himself, but still trying to get the red mark off his fingers.

“Good for you, you get a gold star,” you replied half-assed, ignoring the glaring look Jensen gave you.

Wracking your brain you moved away from the sigil and began to pace the cave, running your fingers along the bars of the foosball table. Chewing your bottom lip, you tried to figure out what to do next. Angels had left Earth years before, right after Chuck had come back and saved humanity from a very ugly ending. Calling on them now may prove difficult, but it was the only choice you had.

Sitting in the recliner again, you closed your eyes and let your fingers intertwine with each other, clasping them together tightly. “Dear Castiel, I know its been a long time, but, if there is any way you can hear me if you can hear any part of this prayer… I need your help. Dean and Sam, they’re gone. I need--”

“I know,” you heard from the doorway right after a rush of wind lifted your hair from your face. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know where they are and I am working on getting them back.”

“Castiel,” you breathed as you slowly stood up. “You’re here.”

“I am. I’m sorry I’ve been, MIA, as Dean would say. Heaven is once again falling into chaos--” he stopped as he noticed Jensen standing near the table. “Who…” Castiel paused and in a flash was standing behind Jensen, making him jump. Cas inconspicuously sniffed the air around Jensen’s head, frowning before flying back to where he had been. “Despite looking very much like him, this is not Dean.”

“No, Cas. It’s not. That’s what I am saying. Dean was gone and in his place…” you motioned towards Jensen, “This.”

“Hey,” Jensen whined.

“So, you said you know. What do you know? Where are they? What happened?”

“It's another angel, she’s…” Castiel trailed off and gestured vaguely. “She’s causing trouble. She wants me to help her, claims she has a vision of how God wanted humanity to be. Claims he left her with it the last time he walked the Earth.”

“After Jack?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

“Oh, yeah, the Jack story. Huh,” Jensen smiled. “That was a crazy one man, I liked how--” he stopped talking when he realized both you and Castiel were staring at him strangely. “Just saying it was a cool way to wrap... up… that... I’m just gonna finish my beer now.”

“Good idea,” you said to him and turned back to Castiel. “Alright, so which angel?”

“Anael.”

“Oh! I remember her!” Jensen butted in again. “On the show, my wife played Anael. Pretty cool, right?”

“What is he talking about? What show?” Cas muttered, leaning in close so maybe Jensen wouldn’t hear.

“Long story for another day. Can you get to her? Find out why she did this?”

“She wants me to help invoke her vision of the new heaven. I told her no. She claims I owe her one and told me she would torture my ‘favorite humans’ if I refused her,” Cas sighed and dropped his arms to his side after using dramatic air quotes.

“Meaning Dean and Sam.”

“Yes.”

“Well, she followed through. So, go find the angel bitch now, get my boys back, Cas.”

“I’ll do my best, Y/N.” With that, he was gone.

“Wow,” Jensen whispered loudly. “To see it really happen. Amazing.”

“Yeah, its Aces.”

You went back to where you left your beer and finished the bottle in one long pull. Making your way back to the mini bar, you grabbed another.

“So,” Jensen said, trying to hard to be casual, and strolled over to where you were standing. “Can I ask you something else?”

“What?”

“It's personal.”

You looked at him, exasperated and tired. “What, Jensen?”

“Do you, uh… I mean, are you in love with Dean?”

The question made you snort a laugh and sigh. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“Why?”

“Because it's personal.”

“Yeah, but see, in my world, Dean is mine. He’s me, in some form. And in my world, the show is ending. I have to say goodbye to him soon. This whole thing, which I'm still not convinced isn’t some kind of bad fever dream, or I don’t know… feels more like a bad acid trip, but either way, it's happening. It happened right before we finished up the show. For good.”

“Oh,” you said, and suddenly worried what may happen after that. “If you end the show… what happens here? Do we keep going?”

“God I hope so,” he sighed. For the first time since the entire debacle started, you felt an odd connection with him. Maybe it was that the expression he wore, it looked the most like Dean's, even with the beard and country club look. “When we film that last episode, just knowing that Dean Winchester is still out there, somewhere, living his best life with his brother, his car and his best girl at his side…” Jensen trailed off and shrugged. “That would make it just a little bit easier to close that chapter of my life and move on.”

His words hung in the air and seemed to suck the breath from your lips. The weight of all that was going on finally hit you hard enough to have to hold onto the bar for support. Jensen wanted to know if you loved Dean. It wasn’t something you and he had ever said, but you always felt it from him.

“It's okay,” he continued. “You don’t have to answer.”

“Yes,” you replied suddenly and before you could stop yourself. “I do love him. I think I have from the minute I met him.”

Jensen’s face softened, and he tried to hide his grin, but you saw it anyway.

“And you guys… you’re happy?” he asked.

“I mean, yeah? He drives me crazy constantly, drinks too much, drives too fast, is reckless on hunts, always uses all the hot water and is very bossy. But, yeah. I’m happy. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Before Jensen could speak, the sound of fluttering wings filled your ears. You turned around quickly, ready to pounce in case it wasn’t Castiel. That’s when you saw her, her upper arm held firmly in Castiel’s grip.

“Anael, I presume,” you said, trying to keep yourself calm.

She didn’t reply but just stared daggers into you.

“Yes, Y/N. This is Anael,” Castiel answered for her.

You casually turned back to Jensen and saw the look on his face. He was both scared and captivated, unable to take his eyes off the angel in front of him.

“That’s your wife?” you whispered.

“Well, that’s what she looks like,” he said and swallowed thickly. “But that ain’t her.”

His eyes grew wide as Anael tried to bring herself up at full power, but Cast was able to reel her back in before she could blind both you and Jensen.

“Enough, Anael!”

“Fine,” she sighed. “What do you want?”

“I want my boys back!” you yelled, but she wasn't scared, she just laughed.

“Ok. As soon as Castiel agrees to help me. It's pretty simple.” She was cocky, just like you remembered the angels being. It made you want to find the closest angel blade and use it to wipe the smirk off of her face.

“Fine. He’ll help you. Now go get them and put this one back where he belongs,” you motioned towards Jensen who stepped behind the safety of the mini bar and continued to watch it all play out.

“Y/N,” Castiel commanded. “I will not help her. What she wants to do--”

“I don’t CARE!” your voice roared through the cave, bouncing off the concrete walls and piercing through the angel’s ears. Turning your sight onto Anael, you walked closer to her, and without asking or warning, you slipped your hand into Castiel’s coat and retrieved the angel blade that you knew lived there. Before he could grab it back, you had it at her throat, pressing it taut against her host’s skin.

“Go ahead, then see how easy it is for you to get your precious boys home. Then you’ll just be stuck with that one over there. The one who only pretends to be Dean Winchester.”

“You know what, red? Here’s what you’re gonna do. Knock off the bullshit, go retrieve Sam and Dean wherever the hell you stashed them. Then, return Jensen back to his rightful place. Only then, will you get what you want.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” she said, still very calm and collected. “Simple trade. I get Castiel’s word he backs me in Heaven, and you get the Winchesters back. He ”

“And, me?” Jensen asked, raising his hand halfway up. “What happens to me.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Anael said and winked at him. “I’ll be sure you get home safely. Just as soon as Castiel gives me what I want.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Anael,” Castiel replied stoically.

“Don't you? Remember when that little Nephilim problem was out of control? I helped you find a way to talk to God. And God returned, didn’t he? He came in time to stop that Nephilim from destroying the world. Sure, it got us put in a Heavenly time out for the last couple of years. But, I helped you. Now, it's your turn.”

“If I remember, I gave you jewelry--”

“Listen here, you bitch…” you growled, pushing the blade down on her harder ignoring their pointless banter. “I don’t give a shit about what Castiel owes you. You will go and retrieve Sam and Dean or I will make sure you suffer.”

“Do you really think calling me names is the way to get what you want?” she laughed despite the gash of light that was starting to form on her throat.

“Look me in the eye and see if I give a shit. Now. Bring them back, or I slit your throat. Then, I’ll make it my mission to hunt down every angel in heaven, even if that means booking myself a one-way ticket up there just to torture all of you feathered dickheads. Or, you could just return them, send Jensen home and I will see what I can do about getting Castiel to assist your mission.”

You immediately gave Castiel a warning look to just stay quiet. The tension in the room was thick with animosity, as you and Anael held each other’s gaze; one waiting for the other to break. It took more than a minute, but Anael must have weight her options, and you saw her expression falter.

“Fine. Release me, Castiel. You can take the blade away, honey. I’ll go retrieve your boys. This was fun for a while but honestly, it's just sort of pathetic now.”

You reluctantly took the blade from her throat and stepped back. You gave Castiel a slight nod and he let go of Anael’s arm. She smoothed out her clothes and primped her hair before looking from face to face.

“Give me a moment, I’ll be back with the boys. You,” she said and pointed at Jensen, “Let’s go.”

Before you could say another word, Anael and Jensen were both gone. A second went by, the bunker lights flickered off and on rapidly, finally sending the emergency lights back on. The red glow in the cave gave it an ominous atmosphere causing a moment of panic to settle in. It lasted only a minute, and the lights corrected themselves just as there were two loud thumps that came from the hallway.

You and Castiel just looked at each other, then turned your heads in unison towards the door to the cave. You could hear movement coming from the other side. Unsure of what it could be, you handed Castiel back his blade and withdrew your gun from your jacket one more time. The handle started to turn, both you and the angel ready to fight if need be.

As soon as it pushed open all the way, light from the hallway trickled in and you could see Dean and Sam’s silhouettes against it. Overcome with relief, you laid your weapon down on the foosball table and jumped into Dean's arms.

“Holy Hell… baby, it's good to see you,” he breathed, burying his face into your neck. His arms were hooked around your waist and he had no plans of letting go.

“Sam, Dean… are you alright?” Castiel asked, and began to look Sam over.

“We’re fine, Cas. It's good to see you,” Sam huffed, and grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, giving him a familiar squeeze. “Been a while, huh?”

“I’m sorry it was under these circumstances. Anael--”

“There’s time for that later, Cas,” you said and looked back up at Dean. “Where were you?”

“I don’t even know… it was… weird. I mean, even for us, weird.”

“Weird how?”

Sam rubbed his arm and looked like he’d just been through it. “It was awful. We were in this place… another damn TV Show. We thought it was the trickster at first.”

“Was it Supernatural?” you asked, and they both looked at you curiously.

“No, not this time… How did you…?”

“Another long story,” you said with a sigh of relief.

“It was this place called Stars Hollow. Apparently, I was Dean,” Sam snorted, “and this one… they kept calling him Jess…”

“We had to smile at people constantly. One day there I feel I’ve been bad touched all over,” Dean groaned. “Seriously, I need a shower.” He looked up at Castiel really seeing him for the first time. “Cas… it's good to see you.”

Dean embraced his old friend quickly, then immediately returned to you and pulled you into him again, holding you tight like you were his anchor holding him bound to where he belonged.

“Good to see all of you. I guess, all things considered, maybe I should start coming around more often. With Anael in the wind…” he shrugged.

“You shouldn’t have left,” Dean said quietly. “You’re family, Cas,” Dean said and squeezed you tighter against him. “You’re our family. Right guys?”

You and Sam both agreed and the angel blushed. “Thank you. After everything ended… I just needed time.”

“Understandable. But now, you’re back. So stick around a while, alright? I owe my girl here a night out, and then we can get into all those long stories you two seem to have.”

“That can wait, Dean.”

He gazed down at you, his eyes soften and his smile warm. “It can’t. I didn’t know if I’d see you again, and that killed me. Right now answers sound great, but being alone with you sounds better.”

You knew when to argue and when not too. Now was not the time. “Ok.”

Dean kissed the top of your head and turned to his brother. “Sammy, you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah man, you and Y/N go out, unwind. We’ll all compare notes tomorrow. That shower sounds like a good idea.”

Giving both Sam and Cas a hug, you and Dean walked out of the cave and down the corridor of the bunker. You couldn’t help but stare at him, and then remember Jensen. They really were physically identical, and yet it amazed you at how different they were.

Dean felt your eyes on him and scowled. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said then proceeded to slowly look him up and down. “Have you ever thought about playing golf? I’d be you look really freaking cute in those shorts.”

“What? No! You hit your head or something?”

“No, concussion-free. Just got to thinking…”

“Well stop it. Unless you’re thinking about how you can make that up to me later. Golf… she says.” Dean shook his head and grabbed your hand, pulling you close and ushering you down the hall and out of the bunker for your long-awaited night out.

Tags: @kazosa // @sorenmarie87 // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @letsby // @wings-of-a-raven // @negans-wife // @mrsbarnes-rogers // @teller258316 // @spnhollis // @sweet-things-4-life // @hobby27 // @sweetlythoughtfulbird // @theoriginalvicki // @dreamchester67 // @xxwarhawk // @babykalika2001 // @superwhovianfangirl81 // @toobusynerdfighting // @missihart23 // @crowleysreigningqueenofhell // @idreamofplaid // @thewinchesterchronicles // @wayward-gypsy // @closetspngirl // @fatestemptress // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @witch-of-letters // @cole-winchester // @rainflowermoon // @adoptdontshoppets // @waywardvalkyrie // @fandomoniumflurry // @gnrfanfic // @blackcherrywhiskey // @jessieray98 // @lyoly // @a–1–1–3 // @31shadesofbrown // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare // @pilaxia // @screechingartisancashbailiff // @kgbrenner // @holylulusworld // @deansenwackles // @jamielea81 // @coffeebooksandfandom // @logical-princey // @gemini0410 // @salt-n-burn-em-all // @collette04 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @akshi8278 // @katehuntington

#plaidsbunkerchallenge #spndeanbingo #spn fan fiction #jensen x reader #dean x reader #dean's cave #spn fanfics

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purplesurveys · 5 years ago

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640

Your name, please? Robyn. Are you heartbroken right now? No, my heart’s doing okay. If so, how long have you been heartbroken? Do you like the area you live in? I like that it’s a lot quieter than the metro, but we get everything we could also get in the city nonetheless. Right now it’s just a little unsettling since the Taal Volcano erupted and we have ashfall land all over our house, but otherwise where we live is pretty decent and uneventful for the most part. Do you ever get complimented on your eyes? What color are they? It’s not my strongest feature so no, not really. They’re dark brown/almost black.

What facial feature do you like the best on a person? Everyone has their different strong suits, so. Do you like to be called baby? Only by my parents and my girlfriend, because otherwise that would be creepy. What is your favorite flower? I like roses, sunflowers, and peonies. Idk, my answers to this question changes every time so it’s safe to say they’re only my favorites today. When did you last use the restroom? Five minutes ago. I went before starting this. How long is your hair? Pretty long. I haven’t had it cut since late in 2018; if I throw my head slightly back it already reaches my hips. I plan to keep it long until my graduation shoot, so I won’t be going to the salon for at least another month. Do you have braces? I used to. Do you have any freckles? Nope. What is your favorite Internet meme? There was a local meme going around last week and it involved people making hilarious puns out of celebrity names and pairing them with Photoshopped pictures of the celebrities to match the pun – for example, a local celeb named Rico Blanco was styled as Rico Blanket and a photo of him was shopped so that he’s in bed wrapped in a blanket :(((( OK IT DOESN’T SOUND FUNNY RN but all the entries were hilarioussssss I swear. Unfortunately everyone hopped on the meme train and it died in like a week. How many windows does your room have? Two big windows but each have four tiny window panes in them that can be opened. Do you have a rug in your room? What color is it? No. My dog likes peeing on rugs so we don’t like having them laying around. What is the weirdest animal you've ever held? I don’t think any animal is weird... but the coolest ones I’ve ever held are a snake, an eagle, a sea turtle, and a crocodile. The first three I got to meet in Bali, and the crocodile was from Palawan. Do you get extremely hyper when under the influence of sugar? No. I never really believed in that either. What about caffeine? I get pretty talkative, yes. I also talk like I have built-in exclamation points lol. Have you ever tried any drugs? If so, did you regret it? No, I haven’t. Do you have any pregnant friends? None of my friends are, but I can never be sure anymore when it comes to people I know. I always say no to this question, then sooner or later someone I know gives birth kfdgkdjfhd like a classmate from high school just had her third kid and no one even had any idea she was pregnant again. Guess I’ll just keep answering this question with a shrug. Have you seen anyone lately that you knew but didn't remember from where? Yeah, this was me for a few seconds when I arrived in my history class for our first day last Friday and I saw several people that I knew I know, but I had to recollect my thoughts. I eventually remembered who they were, but for a few seconds I was stumped. When was the last time you toilet papered or egged someones house? I’ve never done this, because you don’t do this in the Philippines. Do you usually dress up for Halloween? Some years I would. When ordering food, what do you usually get as a drink? I always get ala carte because I only drink water (I get full quicker if I have any other drink), and service water is always there. Put your favorite color and favorite animal. EX: Silver walrus Pink dog. When drawing something, do you try to be super precise or do you not care? I don’t care for drawing and am aware of just how bad I am at it, so I barely make any effort when I have to. When was the last time you snapped at someone? Sunday morning. My mom was playing a mobile game where the character will only be able to move if you scream, so she was screaming her ass off at 7 AM and I was worried it would wake the neighbors up. Does it bug you when people clap with their palms? HAHAHAHAHA like Nicole Kidman? Oh man. I’ve never actually seen someone clap the way she did in real life, so I don’t know if it would bug me. I know it’d send me laughing, though. Have you hugged anyone today? Just my dog. Classes have been suspended because of the Taal erupting, so I’m not seeing anyone else today. How many languages do you know how to say 'happy birthday' in? Filipino, English, Spanish, French, and Korean, so make that five. What language would you like to learn that you don't already know? Korean, just because I watch so many Korean shows as it is lmao. Are you able to take this language at your school? Yes, but it’s not required in my curriculum so I’ve never taken a Korean language elective. Have you ever been into a bar? Yes, I’ve always preferred bars to clubs so I’ve gone to a lot of them. What ethnicity are you? Broadly, Austronesian. But specifically, I’m Filipino, and even more specifically, Tagalog. How much makeup do you wear? None. I usually wear makeup only for special events, or if I absolutely had to, like for my graduation shoot. If you could fly, what kind of wings would you have? I’d like pink sparkly ones please hahahaha. Write some lyrics from the song stuck in your head right now. Nothing’s playing in my head at the moment. Do you like that song? Would you describe yourself as 'fiesty'? You mean feisty? I can bring out that side of me if I have to, but I’m not naturally it. How corny is High School Musical in your opinion? Pretty fucking corny. But I love the series and it’ll always be an important part of my childhood, so I’m never going to hate it. Have you actually read Twilight? Yes. I don’t know how I started getting into it though; I just remember it became insanely popular in the fourth grade and all of a sudden I wanted the Twilight boxed set for Christmas. What about Harry Potter? Yes, I read most of the books. My sister got into HP when she was aroundddd 10-11ish and my parents also got her a boxed set, so I borrowed each book after she finished them. Out of the two, which is better? Twilight.

Name a member of the Beatles! Ringo Starr. Who was the name of your first crush? My first real crush was Andi. How long ago was that? Eleven years ago. Do you still know that person? She migrated to New Zealand nine years ago, so we got disconnected for a long time and that’s when we got cut off. We’re Facebook friends now, but it’s never been the same. Happy for her, though. Can you handle your emotions very well? Usually I can, but when I’m at my breaking point then I’m at my breaking point. How often do you read books? Once every five years :(( JK uhhhhh I read loads, just not from books, and particularly not anything fictional. Are you the jealous type? I can be when there’s reason to, yep. Are you the type of person who gets jealous of people's pasts? No. And usually people regret their past, so I don’t feel jealous about that. Have you ever gotten an ear infection from riding an airplane? No. My ears were incredibly uncomfortable during my first plane ride though, and it didn’t help that I was already panicking long before the flight started. Anyway, my ears never fully ~popped and I was like 80% deaf for the entire plane ride. When was the last time you witnessed someone throw up? The last time someone threw up, it was me lol. But if we’re gonna be strict about the question, it wassssss last April I think. When was the last time YOU threw up? Sometime around May last year. Do you know anyone who faints at the sight of blood? ME. I’m anyone who faints at the sight of blood. Maybe not literally faint but I do feel super nauseous and weak and dizzy and I’d sometimes gag too. Hmm. I wonder how those girls have their period. Yeah well it’s not a very fun 3-4 days for me, my dude. Don't you just love the Cottonelle puppy? I don’t know what that is. Can you do any 'magic' tricks? No. Do you know how to play Checkers? I used to as a kid, because we used to have lots of board games. But since it was the game we barely ever played, I eventually forgot the rules. What clubs are you in at school? I’m in one of the two journalism organizations, and I also joined the graduation committee this year so that I get to contribute something for our batch :) What do you fear most in this world? Either falling from a very high place or drowning. And injections. What do your siblings fear most in this world? I know my sister is afraid of big crowds, chaotic situations, and small spaces. I don’t know what my brother fears, nor do I really care. What was the last sentence you heard anyone say? I’m listening to a mukbang ASMR right now and the last thing the girl said was her basically describing what she’s about to eat. Is Taylor more of a boy's name or a girl's name? I know we’re not supposed to care about this anymore, but if I really had to think about this question I see it as a boy’s name. But I also see that it works on girls just as nicely, so. What about Dylan? Boy’s name. But it sounds so badass on girls, and I prefer it as a girl’s name. What colors are the eyes of your family members? Dark brown/black. Filipinos all look the same, dude. Are you related to anyone with red hair? No. Do you know anyone with super super green eyes? Other than celebrities, no. What color was your hair when you were little? It has always been black. What color is it now? ^ Were you a chubby baby? I was a pretty chubby young kid especially from the ages of 3-5, but I was an okay-sized baby/toddler. I’d be surprised if I was chubby considering my mom and dad are both slim. What is your favorite mythical creature? Not a fan of those. Do you know anyone with a mullet? No, I don’t think so. Put down a random word here. Watermelon. What is your favorite fruit? Avocado. Now what is your favorite flavor of lollipop? Chocolate. If you combine your 2 above answers and make a perfume would it smell good? Probably not. They’re so different. Do you always feel like you have to be the best? Yes. That’s why I always take it hard when I end up not being that. Are you looking forward to summer? Yes, because I’ll get to rest. No, because it will be my last summer until I die. Are you wearing socks right now or are you barefoot? I’m barefoot. Socks always feels like they’re there, and I don’t like that feeling. What's on your favorite necklace? I’m not regularly wearing any necklace these days. How many hours of sleep did you get last night? Around seven, which is okay for me. Which is better: gingerbread or butterscotch? Caramel or peanut butter? Nutella or chocolate? Do you own an iPad? We own a family iPad, but no one’s used it in a while. I was the one who used it last as a means to work and communicate, back when I broke my phone and didn’t have a new laptop yet in my first year of college. I honestly hope that iPad never dies on us, since there’s a load of great memories there. Do you watch Glee? No and as someone who hates song covers, I think I’m better off not watching it skksjfdhgfg. How hard is it for you to get out of bed in the morning? When that day would require me to do something I dread, like attend a class I hate, it will be a lot harder for me to get up. But generally I’m pretty okay, as long as I set my alarm 30 minutes to an hour before I actually have to get up so that I have enough time to properly wake up. How many books are in the current room you're in? I’m in the dining room so there are zero books around. Have you ever witnessed an aircraft break the sound barrier? No. I also never really knew what that means, but I know I’ve never seen that. Do you keep a sketchpad in your room? I don’t draw, so I never needed one. Is there anything you do right before you go to sleep? Put water on my dog’s bowl – he likes drinking before we doze off. What color is your favorite purse? I only use one and it’s pink. How much money is currently in your wallet? ₱2,000. Do you get an allowance? Yes. How many songs are on your iPod? Don’t use an iPod these days. Do you usually have sweet dreams or nightmares? My dreams are either weird or nightmares. I never get any sweet ones. How has the weather been lately? It’s a little gloomy and cloudy. I don’t know if it’s an effect of the volcano eruption nearby, or if the weather is just like this. When was the last earthquake you felt? It was either August or September.

#survey #surveys

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imm-blog1 · 5 years ago

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Language of the birds..In mythology, medieval literature, occultism, mystical, perfect divine language, green language, Adamic language, Enochian, angelic language or a mythical or magical language used by birds to communicate with the initiated.

YOUNG CHILDREN HAVE an uncanny ability to pick up new languages. Not only do they soak up vocabulary, they also construct new sentences of their own. This ability to use grammar is the essence of language. It’s not enough to know the meanings of words, you also have to understand the structures and rules by which words are put together.

The predominant view has been that humans are unique in this ability. But any time that we utter the words ‘uniquely human’, scientists seem to take it as a challenge to disprove this notion. And language is no exception. If you’re looking for the species that most closely matches our linguistic prowess, surprisingly, you won’t find it in the apes, the primates, or even in the mammals. You have to travel to a far more distant relative, all the way to a family of birds known as the songbirds.

The vocal life of a songbird is similar to ours in many ways. They learn songs by imitating their elders. Like human speech, these songs are passed down from one generation to the next. Songbirds are also best equipped to learn songs in their youth, and they have to practice to develop their ability. They can improvise and string together riffs into new songs, and over generations these modified songs can turn into new dialects. And like us, they come hard-wired with ‘speech-centers’ in their brain that are dedicated to language processing.

But languages are not just learned, they can also be invented. A striking example comes from the deaf community of Nicaragua in the 1970s. Back then, deaf people in Nicaragua were isolated both physically and through language. By the 1980s, the government set up schools for the deaf to teach them Spanish and how to lip-read. This turned out to be an unsuccessful endeavor. The teachers were growing increasingly frustrated as they were not getting through to the students.

However, things were quite different from the point of view of the students. For the first time, they were in contact with many other deaf people, and they started to exchange gestures that they had invented in isolation. At first the teachers thought this gesticulation was a kind of mime, but the reality was far more interesting. By getting together and pooling their ideas, these children had actually invented a new type of sign language, complete with its own grammatical structure. Here was proof that a new language could be born out of cultural isolation, a testament to our innate abilities to understand grammar. And in a few generations, users of this language were employing newer, more nuanced grammatical structures.And this re-invention of language has been mirrored in the songbirds. An experiment from 2009 by Fehér and colleagues took newly hatched songbirds of the zebra finch species and raised them in sound proof chambers. They did this during their critical period of language development. Much like the Nicaraguan children, these birds were raised in a world without song. What happened next is quite surprising.

Just like the children, this culturally isolated generation of birds began to develop their own songs. These songs were less musical than your typical songbird song – they had irregular rhythms, they would stutter their notes, and the notes would sound more noisy. But the researchers were curious where this would lead. They listened to the songs of the next few generations of pupils, the offspring of these children of silence. What they found was quite amazing. In just two generations, the songs started to change in unexpected ways – they were becoming more musical. In fact, they started to converge upon the song of the wild songbirds, even though none of these birds had ever heard the wild songs.

I find this a rather poetic thought – these songbirds are somehow carrying within them the songs of their ancestors. This study suggests, but does not prove, that songbirds must have an innate understanding of the structures of their language. In other words, they seem to have a built-in intuition about grammar. Over time, they may be using these intuitions to develop their phrasing and tone. n mythology, medieval literature and occultism, the language of the birds is postulated as a mystical, perfect divine language, green language, Adamic language, Enochian, angelic language or a mythical or magical language used by birds to communicate with the initiated.The “language of birds” has many names; some call it the “Language of the Gods”, others the “Green language”. Michael Sells has referred to this “sacred language” as the “language of unsaying”, whereby the core of what needs to be said, is actually not said, though everyone understands what is being said. The “language of birds” is therefore the mystical language, by default an unpopular subject amongst scholars, specifically because of the apparent lack of “clarity”: a clear and distinct sense. The sense is inferred. And whereas this may be possible to map in extant languages, when it comes to extinct languages, or even extant languages the way they were spoken in the past, grasping this “undefined core sense” is not an easy task.

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The link with green – as in the Green Language – as the colour of alchemy is never far away, specifically as alchemy is equally “obscure” in its words. Alchemy is not so much obscure in what it tried to do; even when it is clear that the process described is chemical in nature, the substances themselves are difficult if not impossible to identify. Birds are also present in alchemy, specifically the phoenix that rises from its own ashes. But a peacock, the pelican, the white swan and the black crow all feature in alchemy. Birds in general represented the element air, but at the same time, their flight was identical to the ascension to heaven. The phoenix also incorporated the element fire, thus portraying the union of two elements and its transformative – regenerative – outcome. What is “bird language”? On first inspection, it would be the language that the birds use to communicate amongst themselves. It is a language the birds understand, but we humans do not. Largely, it is a system of human communication, which has been around for a very long time, but which is ill-understood. Then again: the ability not to be understood unless by those who were initiated into the language was actually its purpose. Fulcanelli stated that the alchemists had to resort to this means in order to obscure from one that which was to be disclosed to the other. To many, the language of birds is therefore nothing more or less than a series of secret codes and phrases, which pass by in daily conversation, except for those with ears that “hear”. The most famous example of this today are certain key words, learned amongst Masons. Each group and grade of Masons has their own specific keywords, which are largely unrecognisable when spoken in daily conversation. Some of these expressions have nevertheless become part of normal parlance. One Masonic expression is “to give someone the third degree”, referring to the strenuous initiation a third degree mason had to undergo. This, together with a series of handshakes and other signals, identify a person and his role – whereby a non-Mason sitting in on the conversation may be totally unaware of what is going on.

English is largely void of a “green nature”, whereas French seems to be full of it. The words “L’hasard” – coincidence – and “Lazare” – Lazarus – are pronounced identically. But in certain conversations, people will play with these two words, and ask whether it is “L’hasard” or “Lazare”, whereby it is interpreted that “Lazare” is no coincidence at all. Anyone not “in” on the conversation will be completely bewildered and will not understand.

In the final outcome, it is nevertheless clear that Masonic and the “green language” as present in French is more a system of codes than a specific “language”. If anything, they seem to be only remains of what was once perhaps a vast system of knowledge. Some have described the “language of birds” as “the tongue of Secret Wisdom. Its vocabulary is myth. Its grammar is symbolism.” They argue that the development of the written language and the language of birds go hand in hand. According to the Fables of Caius Juliius Hyginus, the god Mercury (the Greek Hermes) invented the alphabet by watching cranes, because “cranes make letters as they fly”. The Egyptian god of writing is Thoth, and his animal is actually a bird: the ibis. For the Egyptians, hieroglyphics therefore was the language of birds – and one often recurring hieroglyph is a bird itself.

Hieroglyphics is a symbolic system of writing. Some have argued that hieroglyphs were indeed the “sacred – secret – language” of the Gods, specifically because they were symbols – and the Egyptians only used them within a religious setting. Though they were an alphabet, it is felt that at some point, the symbol itself had a meaning, which is now lost. What Champollion was able to decode, was only the basest of its nature – and no-one has since been able to fathom its deepest meaning. The origin of the “bird language” may go back to primitive societies. When shamans enter a trance, they attempt to speak the language of nature; they are said to speak “the language of birds”. Historians of religion have documented this phenomenon around the entire world and depictions of shamans with wings or as a bird are common.

One biblical example is King Solomon. Solomon was told that he would “be able to understand the language of the birds and beasts… Then Solomon woke up from his dream. He wondered if God had really spoken to him or whether it had been a spirit beguiling him in his dreams. Then he heard the birds squawking and twittering to each other in his garden below. He heard one suddenly cry out, ‘Silly birds — stop all this noise! Don’t you know that the God has just given Solomon the ability to understand what we say and to make us do as he wishes!’” In these societies, bird language is usually learnt by eating snake or some other magical animal. These animals can reveal the secrets of the future because they are thought to be receptacles for the souls of the dead or epiphanies of the gods. The birds are psychopomps, as birds were believed to undertake the ecstatic journey to the sky and beyond; they made the voyage to the Otherworld. Equally, serpents were said to be able to understand the language of birds.

In Christian tradition, some saints are said to have communicated with the animals, whereas the exploits of St Patrick in Ireland, which involves both flight and snakes, clearly have the saint following in the footstep of the “Celtic shamans”. Still, Robert Temple has argued that this “language of birds” was in essence a large con, practiced by the oracles of the ancient world. He argues that the “language of birds” was in fact a form of communication: birds were used as messenger services, as they would be throughout history, until the advent of modern means of communication. The ancient Greek world would use them to dispatch information across the nation, whereby the oracles were the first to receive this information. Therefore, Temple claims, what they prophesized was not so much “Otherworldly”, but merely information from elsewhere in this world, dispatched by “express pigeon”, to give the oracles the semblance of psychic ability. Most authors, including Andrew Collins, in From the Ashes of Angels: The Forbidden Legacy of a Fallen Race, argue that the origins of the association of the bird and the shaman should be sought within the anthropological realm. He and others have shown that shamans often dressed up as a bird, or used the feathers of a bird to resemble a bird. From a man dressed with feathers to an angel is a small step. Furthermore, the link between the shaman and the bird occurs specifically because in a trance, the shaman is said to be able to fly – like angels. But the connection goes beyond this. In the tenth Homiliarum in Ezcechielem, Gregory the Great compared the music of the angels, heard in the heavenly spheres, to birds’ singing. This was then encapsulated in the “Gregorian chants” that became famous throughout the Christian world – and which continue to lure people to churches.

Still, the angels were said not to speak; like birds, they articulated sounds in the air. At the same time, the sound that was produced was not their mode of communication; angels – like shamans – were believed to be psychic – they only required thoughts to communicate; there was no need for a “language” and the “music of the spheres” was merely the outcome; in short, music had to be dissociated from its lyrics, for in origin, music was either felt to be instrumental, or “Gregorian”. People who are fluent in several languages – including many autistic people – know that thinking often occurs in symbols. They will see an apple, but need to scan their brain for the word, sometimes in all languages, some only in a few. Learning to speak is exactly that: the process by which we associate words with shapes. “Apple.” “House.” “Car.” Words such as “altruistic” or “disingenuous” only come about at a much later state; not because they are more difficult, but because they themselves require a definition that is based on other words.

So where does this leave the language of birds? Some argue that modern languages are a diminutive form of an original, “non-linguistic language”, which is precisely the origin of the “language of birds”. It echoes the story of the Tower of Babel and the scattering of the tongues. It is therefore an interesting phenomenon to note that English, which is a very basic language when compared to other extinct and extant forms of verbal communication, is making major inroads in uniting the world once again in a common tongue. Some have even joked that we are getting God back on the Tower of Babel.

So where does this leave the language of birds? Was it indeed a communication of symbols – whereby the core needs to be divined, and remains elusive, unless “understood”? Does it underline the old distinction between “hearing” and “understanding”? Was hieroglyphics an attempt to bring down into the material world this “divine language”, whereby symbols were transformed into letters – whereby we are now no longer able to grasp their core meanings? Birds in the Egyptian alphabet include the Egyptian vulture, the owl and the quail chick. As such, each played a part in the divine utterances of the Egyptian gods, and their message to the nation. But it was the Bennu bird’s cry at the creation of the world that marked the beginning of time… for the Egyptians, the primeval scream was that of a bird… Language of the Birds as “the language which teaches the mystery of things and unveils the most hidden truths.” Often called the Green language or language of the gods, this sacred form of communication is believed to reveal the most perfect knowledge and secret wisdom to those initiated into its wonder.

Considering the different names applied to this hidden language may provide hints on how it is learned or re-discovered. The association of the language with the color green gives the impression the language is one which comes with new life or a reconnection. As mentioned, while discussing The Green Cross, the color green has been seen for centuries to signify rebirth. A possible indication a person who understands the mysterious green language may have been spiritually awakened.

Taking into account other clues, one may ponder the attributes of birds for their relation to the mysterious wisdom. Most notably are the bird’s songs. Music is well known to hold great power. If man is quiet enough, the beautiful sounds relax and uplift. A pastor friend, who has worked with terminally ill patients, shares the following comforting effects of song; “in knowing their time has come, prepared to go, but struggling to let go, I ask if they mind if I hum a song to ease them. Humming a tune and holding their hand, the soothing sound soon connects to something deep within and they peacefully pass.”

Although this account is one of sadness, it conveys the strong touching sense of harmonious song. Perhaps the Language of the Birds is a music which speaks straight to the soul. To know a connection to the Divine, here now on Earth, could bring a welcomed peace to the common demands and bustle of this world.

Fulcanelli stated it was through Jesus sending his Spirit to his Apostles that caused the green language to be revealed to them. One may wonder if the song of the Dove, symbol of the Spirit, may be of importance to understanding the secret language; or if there is a link to Psalms 40:1, “He puts a new song in my mouth.”

However, the Language of the Birds transcends systems and has been seen in various ways for thousands of years. During the founding of the city of Rome in 753 BC, Romulus and Remus are said to have settled an argument about which hill to build the first site, by use of Augury. Augury is a form of divination by birds. The flight formation, noises, or kinds of birds (a language of birds) were believed to reveal the will of the gods. Romulus, seeing more birds than Remus, claimed victory, and went on to build around Palatine Hill. From this myth, this language of the birds is recognized to communicate the Will from above.

In Agrippa’s Three Books of Occult Philosophy, there is mention of another parallel form of divination; the divining of the liver, called haruspicy. Most commonly used was that of a sheep liver, but sometimes the liver of poultry was known to be employed. The liver, seen as a life force, was regarded like a mirror of heaven. Different marks noticed on different sections would convey the will of the Gods to the sage.

This practice is identified with an ancient board game called the Royal Game of Ur or Game of Twenty Squares. Dating back to 2600BC, the game held deep spiritual significance. Like many ancient games, they have been discovered buried inside tombs and believed to aid in the afterlife. Played during life, possibly during rituals, they offered assurance of a life after death.

Found etched on a model of a sheep liver at excavations of Kamid el Loz was a board of Twenty Squares. This clay model is believed to have been used to teach and/or record the results of divination by the liver. The combination of game board and clay liver model, used for divination, attests the mutual importance of sacredness to both.

Curiously, on a cuneiform tablet written in 177 BC, rules for playing the game of Twenty Squares were inscribed and included names of five gaming pieces characterized as birds; Storm-bird, Rooster, Swallow, Raven, and Eagle. Although the tablet discloses directions for game playing (as translated by Irving Finkel), these ‘five flying game pieces’, portray birds which could signify the remnants of past divination beliefs. Here, the birds, moving across the board, recorded and revealed the will of the gods by spaces they landed on. The Language of Birds, seen again, to communicate knowledge from above with rolls of the dice.

On a brief side note, another interesting game board of Twenty Squares (of different design) was formed from the image of an entwining snake. Inside the coils were the spaces to land on. Where the head and tail of the snake met (similar to ouroborus), marked the position where the player’s piece was believed to have escaped the ‘board’.

Talking about games may seem to some as a distraction from discovering the meaning of the Language of the Birds. However, games have transcended and spread through all cultures. They are one of the first inventions of civilizations and often incorporate beliefs and visions of the time. Many symbolized and represented deeper meanings to life.

A 1283 AD manuscript, called Alfonso X’s Book of Games begins by saying games were created because “God wanted man to have every manner of happiness.” Games were said to give that delight. In the same manuscript, games are used to demonstrate crucial values of life. Playing the games gave awareness and experience to situations found outside of the game.

Presently, there is a game called Mad Gab which some people may like to see Fulcanelli and Henri Boudet play (if it were possible). Boudet was the author of The True Celtic Language and the Cromlech of Rennes-les-Bains. The game of Mad Gab shares one of the important concepts suggested by these two men; the play of words by sound. Fulcanelli connects it with the Language of the Birds.

An example of this coded language is shared within Gerard de Sede’s book, The Accursed Treasure of Rennes-le-Chateau. Sede writes, “But Boudet pretends, against all the evidence, that “Cayrolo” comes from three English words, namely “key”, “ear”, and “hole”.”

Reverse of the Mad Gab game, the sound of Cayrolo hid three words. In Mad Gab, the words are given, like “Pretty Share Weighs.” These need ‘sounded’ to provide the answer of “British Airways.” Players are encouraged to ‘listen’ in order to discover.

For many, the Maranatha puzzle or researching the mystery of Rennes le Chateau offers a playing field for which the game pieces move. Discovery of the language of the birds may be only one of the spaces or could offer the means to move onto another ‘space.’

To wonder what voice could accomplish Fulcanelli’s description of the Green Language in ability to reveal ‘the most hidden truths’, may lead some to feel it is none other than the first, green, voice; the Will of God. It’s possible that in order to hear it, one must be silent and listen.

Contents 1History 1.1Mythology 1.1.1Norse mythology 1.1.2Greek mythology 1.2Middle Eastern folklore 1.3Folklore 1.4Alchemy 1.5Literature and culture 2See also 3Notes 4Bibliography 5External links History[edit] In Indo-European religion, the behavior of birds has long been used for the purposes of divination by augurs. According to a suggestion by Walter Burkert, these customs may have their roots in the Paleolithic when, during the Ice Age, early humans looked for carrion by observing scavenging birds.[1]

There are also examples of contemporary bird-human communication and symbiosis. In North America, ravens have been known to lead wolves (and native hunters) to prey they otherwise would be unable to consume.[2][3] In Africa, the greater honeyguide is known to guide humans to beehives in the hope that the hive will be incapacitated and opened for them.

Dating to the Renaissance, birdsong was the inspiration for some magical engineered languages, in particular musical languages. Whistled languages based on spoken natural languages are also sometimes referred to as the language of the birds. Some language games are also referred to as the language of birds, such as in Oromo and Amharic of Ethiopia.[4]

Ukrainian language is known as "nightingale speech" amongst its speakers.[citation needed]

Mythology[edit] Norse mythology[edit] In Norse mythology, the power to understand the language of the birds was a sign of great wisdom. The god Odin had two ravens, called Hugin and Munin, who flew around the world and told Odin what happened among mortal men.

The legendary king of Sweden Dag the Wise was so wise that he could understand what birds said. He had a tame house sparrow which flew around and brought back news to him. Once, a farmer in Reidgotaland killed Dag’s sparrow, which brought on a terrible retribution from the Swedes.

In the Rígsþula, Konr was able to understand the speech of birds. When Konr was riding through the forest hunting and snaring birds, a crow spoke to him and suggested he would win more if he stopped hunting mere birds and rode to battle against foemen.

The ability could also be acquired by tasting dragon blood. According to the Poetic Edda and the Völsunga saga, Sigurd accidentally tasted dragon blood while roasting the heart of Fafnir. This gave him the ability to understand the language of birds, and his life was saved as the birds were discussing Regin’s plans to kill Sigurd. Through the same ability Áslaug, Sigurd’s daughter, found out the betrothment of her husband Ragnar Lodbrok, to another woman.

The 11th century Ramsund carving in Sweden depicts how Sigurd learnt the language of birds, in the Poetic Edda and the Völsunga saga The 11th century Ramsund carving in Sweden depicts how Sigurd learnt the language of birds, in the Poetic Edda and the Völsunga saga.

Sigurd is sitting naked in front of the fire preparing the dragon heart, from Fafnir, for his foster-father Regin, who is Fafnir’s brother. The heart is not finished yet, and when Sigurd touches it, he burns himself and sticks his finger into his mouth. As he has tasted dragon blood, he starts to understand the birds’ song. The birds say that Regin will not keep his promise of reconciliation and will try to kill Sigurd, which causes Sigurd to cut off Regin’s head. Regin is dead beside his own head, his smithing tools with which he reforged Sigurd’s sword Gram are scattered around him, and Regin’s horse is laden with the dragon’s treasure. is the previous event when Sigurd killed Fafnir, and shows Ótr from the saga’s beginning. In an eddic poem loosely connected with the Sigurd tradition which is named Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, the reason why a man named Atli once had the ability is not explained. Atli’s lord’s son Helgi would marry what was presumably Sigurd’s aunt, the Valkyrie Sváfa.

Greek mythology[edit] According to Apollonius Rhodius, the figurehead of Jason’s ship, the Argo, was built of oak from the sacred grove at Dodona and could speak the language of birds. Tiresias was also said to have been given the ability to understand the language of the birds by Athena. The language of birds in Greek mythology may be attained by magical means. Democritus, Anaximander, Apollonius of Tyana, Melampus and Aesopus were all said to have understood the birds.

The ‘birds’ are also mentioned in Homer’s Odyssey : "“[…] although I am no prophet really, and I do not know much about the meaning of birds. I tell you he will not long be absent from his dear native land, not if chains of iron hold him fast. He will find a way to get back, for he is never at a loss."[5]

Middle Eastern folklore[edit] In the Quran, Suleiman (Solomon) and David are said to have been taught the language of the birds.[6] Within Sufism, the language of birds is a mystical divine language. The Conference of the Birds is a mystical poem of 4647 verses by the 12th century Persian poet Attar of Nishapur.[7]

In the Jerusalem Talmud,[8] Solomon’s proverbial wisdom was due to his being granted understanding of the language of birds by God.

In Egyptian Arabic, hieroglyphic writing is called "the alphabet of the birds".[citation needed]

Folklore[edit] The concept is also known from many folk tales (including Welsh, Russian, German, Estonian, Greek, Romany), where usually the protagonist is granted the gift of understanding the language of the birds either by some magical transformation, or as a boon by the king of birds. The birds then inform or warn the hero about some danger or hidden treasure. One example is the Russian story The Language of the Birds.[citation needed]

Alchemy[edit] In Kabbalah, Renaissance magic, and alchemy, the language of the birds was considered a secret and perfect language and the key to perfect knowledge, sometimes also called the langue verte, or green language (Jean Julien Fulcanelli, Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa de occulta philosophia, (Emmanuel-Yves Monin, Hieroglyphes Français Et Langue Des Oiseaux),[citation needed]

Literature and culture[edit] Compare also the rather comical and satirical Birds of Aristophanes and Parliament of Fowls by Chaucer.

In medieval France, the language of the birds (la langue des oiseaux) was a secret language of the Troubadours, connected with the Tarot, allegedly based on puns and symbolism drawn from homophony, e. g. an inn called au lion d’or ("the Golden Lion") is allegedly "code" for au lit on dort "in the bed one sleeps".[9]

René Guénon has written an article about the symbolism of the language of the birds.[10]

Chinese writer Pu Songling wrote about "The Bird Language" in his anthology Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio".

Hiéroglyphes Français Et La Langue Des Oiseaux, Editions du Point d’Eau by Emmanuel Yves-Monin is a systematic study on the subject but is only available in French.[citation needed]

The artificial language zaum of Russian Futurism was described as "language of the birds" by Velimir Khlebnikov.[citation needed]

The children’s book author Rafe Martin has written "The Language of Birds" as an adaptation of a Russian folk tale; it was made into a children’s opera by composer John Kennedy.[citation needed]

Melanesian creole Tok Pisin is sometimes called "language of the birds", because the word "pisin" has a double meaning (from English words "pidgin" and "pigeon"). Mian speakers, for example, refer to Tok Pisin as wan weng, literally "bird language".

See also[edit] Bird vocalization Confusion of tongues Glossolalia Musical language Notes[edit] ^ Marzluff, John M.; Tony Angell (2007). In the Company of Crows and Ravens. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. pp. 284–287. ISBN 0-300-12255-1. ^ McDougall, Len (2004). The Encyclopedia of Tracks and Scats. Globe Pequot. p. 296. ISBN 1-59228-070-6. ^ Tipton, Diane (2006-07-06). "Raven Myths May Be Real". Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks. Retrieved 2017-10-29. ^ Kebbede Hordofa and Peter Unseth. 1986. "Bird Talk" in Oromo. Quaderni di Studi Etiopici 6-7:74-83 ^ The Odyssey – Chapter 1 – What Went On in the House of Odysseus ^ 27:16 "And Solomon inherited David. He said, "O people, we have been taught the language of birds, and we have been given from all things. Indeed, this is evident bounty." ^ METmuseum.org ^ Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 1909 ^ Letarot.com ^ René Guénon – Symbols of Sacred Science, Chapter 9 – The Language of birds Bibliography[edit]

This article includes a list of references, but its sources remain unclear because it has insufficient inline citations. Please help to improve this article by introducing more precise citations. (February 2016) (Learn how and when to remove this template message) Animal Symbolism in Celtic Mythology, by Lars Noodén (1992) Davidson, H.R. Ellis. Myths and Symbols in Pagan Europe: Early Scandinavian and Celtic Religions. Syracuse University Press: Syracuse, NY, US, 1988. Yves Monin (Emmanuel), Hiéroglyphes Français Et Langue Des Oiseaux, Editions du Point d’Eau. Richard Khaitzine, La Langue des Oiseaux – Quand ésotérisme et littérature se rencontrent, France-spiritualites.com René Guénon, The Language of the Birds, Australia’s Sufi Magazine "The Treasure" 2 (1998). Ormsby-Lennon, Hugh "Rosicrucian Linguistics: Twilight of a Renaissance Tradition," passim. Ed. Ingrid Merkel, Hermeticism and the Renaissance: Intellectual History and the Occult in Early Modern Europe (1988), pp. 311 – 341. (in French) Le verland des oiseaux (The Verlan of the Birds) Collection "Pommes Pirates Papillons", Poèmes de Michel Besnier. Illustrations de Boiry, Editions Møtus

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Posted by bernawy hugues kossi huo on 2019-10-14 07:55:27

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killervibe · 6 years ago

Text

She’s Clueless, Cupid

On Monday, February 11th, Ralph created the Valentine’s Day Lottery. Cute and inconsequential at first glance, as Ralph’s terrible ideas always were, this time the Valentine’s Day Lottery in fact seemed really not so bad. After some convincing. “Secret Valentine’s Day Santa!” Ralph said simply, standing in the middle of the Cortex and trying to change all the blank stares. “It’s team bonding guys. With all this Cicada stuff we need some mushy gushy cheer—And I actually have friends now to do something like this with.” “....Secret Valentine’s Day Santa? That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” Ralph rolled his shoulders back, unscathed by catty remarks. “You think of something better then.” Cisco threw his pen in the air. “Won’t take long.” “—Anyways,” Ralph continued, “Ralphy’s on a budget so why don’t we keep this easy? We all draw a name out of a hat.” He pointed at Sherloque and before he could protest Ralph snatched Sherloque’s black hat off his head with his stretchy hand. “Whoever you get you write them a Valentine’s Day card. Type it up, 12 point font, single spaced, Times New Roman. Make it meaningful but don’t sign your name.” Iris frowned. “Why not?” “Mystery,” Sherloque mused. “J’aime ça.” “Exactly Shirley. At the end of the day we have to figure out who wrote the card.” “Valentine’s Day Lottery!” Cisco exclaimed suddenly, his thrown pen clattering to the ground, forgotten. “That’s it. That’s the name.” Barry shrugged, thinking it over. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Could be fun?” Caitlin smiled, “It would be very sweet to do, Ralph. We could all do with a little positivity. I say why not?” Ralph grinned at Caitlin and gave her a high five. “See? Caitlin Snow, everyone. She’s the best. A literal angel. Thanks girl.” Caitlin smiled at the praise, sharing it with Cisco, who was ready with a wink. She rolled her eyes playfully. “No problem.” Ralph urged them all to tear off pieces of paper to write their names so they could draw right away. Sherloque, Barry, Cisco, Iris, Caitlin and Ralph all participated, stuffing their names in Sherloque’s hat. One by one they were then called up by Ralph to pick the lottery, closing their eyes and looking away as they grabbed one of their friend’s names. The silence was slightly awkward as everyone fumbled around each other, now painfully aware they all had to keep a secret, knowing they’ve never been particularly good at it. Once Caitlin slipped her lottery into her lab coat, the very last crumpled name in the hat, the show was over and they all dispelled to continue working on tracking Cicada’s next move. ♡ Cisco got Iris. He folded the paper into his fist and walked out, heading to his workshop. “Hey man, wait up.” Cisco turned to see Barry jogging after him. “Who’d you get?” Cisco stared at him blankly, but Barry continued, nudging his shoulder with his sharp elbow. “C’mon, man. Who’d you get?” “This isn’t how the game is supposed to work. What if I have you?” “Do you?” Cisco crossed his arms. “What’s the point?” Barry looked a little smug. “Well, I was hoping to pick Iris but I have Caitlin—“ Before Barry could finish that sentence, Cisco snatched the scrap of paper out of Barry’s hand, throwing his own at him. Barry looked down at Iris’s scrawl and smirked. “Glad to do business with you.” “How did you know?” “I didn’t.” Barry sped off, not giving Cisco any time to respond. Barry could be weird like that, especially when it came to Iris. But Cisco didn’t care this time, Barry’s quirkiness working to his benefit. He opened the little paper with Caitlin’s name on it and smiled to himself. He tucked it gently into his pocket and began whistling a popular song on the radio. ♡ On Tuesday, February 12th, Team Flash had a completely, regular, ordinary day. As regular as Team Flash could get, all of them sneezing, wheezing and itching irritated eyes from excess pollen. The flower power meta they defeated had germinated at least three million dandelion seeds into Central City’s atmosphere and Caitlin was still picking fluff out of her hair hours later. Cisco was laughing, watching Ralph’s allergies making his nose stretch five feet as Barry sneezed repetitively, zig zag crashing into furniture from the force of it. Cisco hopped off his desk when Caitlin groaned, exasperated. “Just wash it,” he suggested, flicking more of it off her scalp. “Or not. I have to admit, it’s pretty adorable. Caitlin Snow, flower child.” She looked up at him and scowled. “It is not. It’s ridiculous, is what it is. And I just washed it this morning.” “So that’s why it smells so good,” he mused. He took another sniff. “Or maybe it’s the lily petals you’ve still got stuck there.” “Nooo,” she whined. “I thought I picked those out.” “Let me help.” She passed him her brush and he stood behind her, taking her silky hair and brushing it out smoothly. Caitlin leaned her elbow against her desk as Cisco played hairdresser, relaxing like a petted cat. It was lovely, and her attention faded, drifting up into the clouds in a mindless haze. “You know what you should do?” he asked, blowing more fluff into her face. “That you don’t anymore?” She wrinkled her nose, breaking out of the spell. “What?” “Wear ponytails.” “I wear ponytails,” she argued, amused. He ran his fingers through her hair. “But not enooooooough. It’ll solve your issue. Everyone knows you tie your hair back in a fight.” He sounded very insistent, so she satisfied him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Ralph staggered forward then, miserable, and begged Caitlin for some softer tissues. She asked Ralph to hand her the purse she left in the corner of the Cortex as Cisco kept picking twigs out of her hair. He plopped them into the little garbage bin she had sitting on her lap. “Wait…” she said, after noticing a pattern to his light tugs. She tilted her head up to quirk an upside down eyebrow at him, “Are you braiding it?” “Shhhhhhhhh. It’s soft,” Cisco shushed her, tapping her head back upright so that he wouldn’t be making his braid lopsided. Ralph passed her the bag and she rummaged for the Puffs with extra lotion, finding it in an interior zipper. “There you go,” she smiled, handing it to him. Ralph moaned through his obnoxiously nasal tone. “You’re a godsend.” She wiped at her watery eyes herself, then looked around at her friends all suffering, cringing when Barry sneeze-slammed particularly violently into the wall, glad that she gave him elbow and knee pads to soften any blows. “Cisco,” she asked slowly. “Why aren’t you affected?” “I was wearing my Vibe goggles, remember?” he answered. “....And antihistamines.” They all had antihistamine. That didn’t add up. She narrowed her eyes, even if he couldn’t see it. “...How many?” “Too many,” Cisco mumbled into her hair. That explained his funny giddiness. He was drugged up on Allegra. “Cisco! That’s not safe!” “Not the whole bottle,” he was quick to defend. “Just...Uh, almost half of the spare you keep in your cabinet?” She tried not to panic, wondering if she had the number for poison control. She racked her brain for intoxication symptoms associated with over-the-counter drug abuse. “Do you feel drowsy? Dizzy? Blurry vision?” “Not yet!” he replied rather cheerfully, but she couldn’t help notice the hoarseness to his voice, a symptom of dry throat. And a weird side effect of allergy medicine. Caitlin crossed and uncrossed her legs, shifting the bin on her lap, and made herself roll her eyes. She considered his answer. He did seem to be fine for now and she knew he would never lie to her about something serious if she asked, not after what they went through with the shrapnel in his hands. He probably wasn’t in any immediate danger. “So, hey, what are you doing on Thursday?” Caitlin felt like laughing, confused by the random question. Drugged Cisco was just like Drunk Cisco: Not making any sense. “Um, going to work. Like every day?” “Anything special?” She frowned. Oh, that was right. It was Valentine’s Day. She shook her head, feeling his nails move with it. “You would have already known about it if I did. Aren’t you done, yet?” Cisco laughed, but didn’t stop with the brush. “Oh, yeah. I was done ten minutes ago.” Ralph interjected from his corner. “Caitlin, you’re going to the Lottery Reveal! I’m making it a whole party and everything.” Caitlin dropped the bin back to the floor and folded her hands neatly. “That’s what I’m doing, then.” Her eyes trailed across the room, watching Barry catch his breath in the corner, finally calming down from his bout. “What about you?” she tried to say casually. “Do you have special plans?” “Yes, I do,” Cisco confirmed. Caitlin lost some of her smile, and she swallowed, looking at her nails. “That’s nice. I hope it goes well.” “So do I,” he said roughly, sounding sleepy. He placed his palm at the back of Caitlin’s neck. The room got too hot, and Caitlin was worried that Cisco might actually be overdosing after all, so she got off her chair. The conversation switched over to Cicada. Caitlin was relieved. Ralph and Barry talked strategy as she took Cisco to the Med Bay to check him over, flicking her braided hair over her shoulder as she led the way. ♡ On Thursday, February 14th, Caitlin found her Valentine’s Day lottery card on her desk. She opened it, read it, and sat down heavily in her office chair, nearly moved to tears. She read it again, feeling tingles all the way down to her toes. She curled her fingers into the letter protectively, like if she didn’t cling to it tightly it would grow wings and fly away. When Caitlin picked Sherloque, she decided on giving him a nice simple letter of appreciation with a special touch of writing it in French. She put some effort into it, specifically a lot of time conjugating verbs she forgot had such complicated endings, but it was simply a cute card that took her less than half an hour to finish. This was something else entirely. What she got wasn’t a Valentine's Day card. It was a masterpiece. Cisco walked into her lab, first knocking on her door lightly. He gasped, “A ponytail!” Caitlin’s free hand flew to her head, having forgotten she’d followed his styling advice. “Yeah,” she said distractedly, still feeling flooded with sentiment, staring down at the Times New Roman font, blinking away the blurriness of her emotional tears. “You look happy,” he commented, “You must’ve gotten a nice letter.” Caitlin looked up at him, a wobbly smile spreading across her face. She brushed away a stray tear, wondering why he was stretching. “I did. It was lovely, and, poignant, and, um, very inspiring.” “...Inspiring?” His arms dropped to his sides. Caitlin nodded. “Do you think Iris wrote it to empower me? That’s so sweet. I know we’re supposed to wait until the end of the day, but this letter is so beautiful, I should thank her right away.” She stood up, gathering her purse and throwing out the waste bin from her lab into the bio-sink. Cisco grabbed her wrist. “What makes you say it was Iris?” Caitlin thought about it. “Well, she’s the writer, she’s the one who could compose something as eloquent and powerful as that.” She squeezed his arm as she passed him, rushing off to go find her. She missed the way Cisco’s confused smile froze in place, how he wrapped his arms around himself and frowned very deeply. ♡ Caitlin belatedly realized she should have asked Cisco to breach her to Iris’s newspaper office when she hit traffic south of Killmare street. Parking was tight, but she found a spot right around the corner. She ran up the steps two-by-two and burst into Iris’s still pretty baren brand new office, giving her a giant hug. “Woah, Caitlin.” Iris closed her laptop, and awkwardly patted her back. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” Caitlin repeated, stepping back. “Nothing’s wrong! The Valentine’s Day Lottery! That was the most thoughtful, caring thing anyone has ever said to me in a very long time!” Iris brushed some hair out of her eyes, still caught off guard. “You need to rewind a bit. I’m really confused.” Caitlin swatted Iris’s shoulder, “Oh, come on, Ralph’s game will be over in a few hours anyway. No need to play dumb.” “I’m not playing dumb, Caitlin. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Caitlin’s smile fell off her face, realizing Iris wasn’t lying. “...You didn’t pick me for the lottery?” Iris shook her head. “No.” Caitlin didn’t understand. “But you’re the journalist. I thought...” She trailed off, frowning a little, looking out the wide window. She could see the roof of Star Labs from here. Her hand went to her peacoat jacket and held on tightly to the folder paper. Iris tapped her polished desk with her manicured nails, clearing some cluttered police report copies about the murder of Grace Gibbons’s parents out of the way. “Show me the card.” Caitlin didn’t exactly want to, now that she knew it wasn’t written by Iris. Those words were for her eyes only. And whoever gave them to her. But Iris was the investigative journalist, and she was her closest woman friend. She’d probably be able to help figure out who it belonged to. Caitlin pulled it out of her pocket. She watched as Iris scanned it, lazily at first, but then she scooted her chair in, leaning closer to the paper with focus. “What?” Caitlin asked her, when Iris returned it looking a little flushed. “Honey, this is a love letter. Read it again.” “What? No, it isn’t!” “Caitlin. That was more heartfelt than my own wedding vows.” She stared down at the words on the page, going over it again. Iris was right, and Caitlin began to startlingly realize that she was very mistaken in believing that ‘inspiring’ was the most appropriate adjective to describe what was in her hands. Every sentence Caitlin first interpreted as purely friendly was suddenly not so, each word, each phrase dipped with passion, longing, and a deeply intimate tenderness. It was romantic. Caitlin felt the ground tilt beneath her feet. “But nobody on Team Flash is in love with me!” Caitlin cried, starting to feel a little hysterical. How was this possible? Barry and Iris were happily married, Sherloque only fell in love with the same woman over and over again and— “Ralph!” she exclaimed out loud, then recoiled, horrified. “Oh, god.” Iris blinked. “Um, you think it’s Ralph?” Caitlin saw the last twenty months or so flash before her eyes. All of the creepy flirting about her measurements before he shaped up, his checking up on her, the advice he kept giving her. In fact, he was very blunt about his crush on her Frost. He was the one who found her father’s faked death certificate unprompted. Caitlin covered her hand with her mouth, he even went with her to go visit her mother. “It has to be! He called me an angel on Monday. Oh my gosh. And — And a godsend on Tuesday!” Iris opened her mouth, then closed it. “Um,” she said again. “You don’t like Ralph, do you?” Caitlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Iris!” Iris held her hands up defensively, “Just checking! What are you going to do?” “I don’t know,” Caitlin said as she paced the floor. She checked her watch. Screw the sulphate fusions Barry asked her to do today, her Cicada plans have now been officially thrown out the window. “What do you think I should do?” Iris opened her laptop again, booting the system. “I dooon’t knooow,” Iris drawled. “Well, that’s not helpful!” Iris turned to Caitlin. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I appreciate you coming here and for this chat, I do, but considering I’m not a prodigy genius or have any superspeed, I’m going to need some time to piece together my next article before we congregate back at Star Labs for the Lottery Reveal.” Caitlin looked around the new space, becoming self-aware. What Iris said was true. She just flew into Iris’s work office uninvited, interrupting her while she was busy. She picked her purse back up from the floor. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go back to Star Labs.” “Don’t be, I hope you figure it out soon. I’ll see you later.” Caitlin threw a thanks over her shoulder, and hurried her way out. ♡ She almost bulldozed over Cisco in the hallway on her way in, distracted in her haste, thinking of ways to firmly reject Ralph without hurting his feelings. She tripped into him, and he held her steady as she teetered in her heels. “Oh, there you are. You okay?” She looked into his warm familiar eyes, feeling relief, so glad to have found him. “You have to help me!” Cisco was still holding her as he answered, listening intently. “With what?” “You need to help me turn Ralph down!” “What.” It came out all in one whooshed breath, not even a question. Bland. She veered him to the right so she could explain, pressing the hidden switch that unlocked the Time Vault. “Ralph is in love with me,” she hissed, her ponytail whipping violently behind her as she gripped Cisco’s arm. Cisco bristled. “He better not be.” Caitlin didn’t hear that, too busy trying not to panic. Cisco ran a hand through his hair, getting stressed by Caitlin’s franticness. “Why are you freaking out?” “Because I don’t love Ralph, Cisco!” He fidgeted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Good to know... And why exactly do you think Ralph is in love with you? Did he tell you that?” “Yes!” Cisco grew quiet, “He did?” Something dark washed over his expression, his gaze said something Caitlin couldn’t quite understand. She could hardly comprehend how Ralph fell for her either, but he wasn’t the devil, there was no need for Cisco to amass pitchforks and rouse an angry mob. Though she could see why he might want to. Hunter and Julian ended terribly the moment love confessions started pouring out, but they both had red flags about them they should’ve seen from miles away, and Ralph, the reformed Ralph, hasn’t ever given them any reason to worry. “Well, not exactly,” she admitted. “Not directly. But his language, his words. And once Iris mentioned the love letter I started to think about Sherloque and his doppleganger ex-wives. I pieced it together after that.” Cisco leaned against the silver wall of the Time Vault, waiting for Caitlin to finish rambling. “Take a breath, Caitlin. Start from the beginning.” She did, exhaling deeply. “I went to Iris. She didn’t write it. The Valentine’s Day card. She said it was a love letter.” Cisco let out an “Ahhhh,” understanding her, now. “You think Ralph wrote you a love letter.” “I know, I know, it’s crazy,” she wrigned her hands. “How am I going to tell him I don’t return his feelings nicely?” He snorted, “It doesn’t have to be nice. Just tell him no and get on your way.” “I don’t want to crush him, Cisco! Not on Valentine’s Day. He’s sensitive. This is probably why he came up with this idea in the first place. Think about it. He wanted a way to be able to confess his feelings anonymously. This was the perfect set up to do that. And he was the one holding the hat. Maybe he never put my name in it.” “Hey, hey,” he said, not liking the way she was biting her nails with worry. If she conspired any more she might start linking this to illuminati. “Don’t stress, okay? Talk to Ralph. He’s a big boy, he can take it.” She nodded, looking up at him through her lashes when he tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear, comforted as always by Cisco’s encouragement. He always believed in her. “Yeah?” Cisco pushed himself off the wall and opened the door. “Absolutely.” “Will you come with me?” Cisco made a face. “Oh, Caitlin. I would. But I have to work on the blueprints for the reverse dagger. I think this is something you need to do alone.” He rubbed her shoulder affectionately, his hand lingering there for an extra moment. “Hey, Caitlin,” he said softly. She met his gaze, wondering why he sounded a little forlorn. “Yes?” He gave her a small smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Caitlin bit her lip, watching him breach away before she could say it in return. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Cisco,” she mumbled quietly to herself, alone in the hallway. She straightened up, squaring her shoulders, and ignored the dread settling in her stomach like stones. ♡ Ralph was in the lounge, decorating for the Lottery Reveal. She walked in slowly, leaning her elbow against the counter of the island, watching him stretch his arm up to stick heart balloons to the ceiling. “Who do you think gave you your card?” He spun around, not expecting to see her there. “Hi, Caitlin. That’s a nice sweater. Dressed for the occasion, I see.” She looked down at her red sweater dress. Yes, she thought so too this morning. Ralph had always complimented her style. It used to make Caitlin feel nice. Now it made her nervous. “I dunno,” he continued, answering her question. “I was thinking it was Barry, but now I think it might be Iris. Does she make a lot of grammar mistakes?” “You’re asking me if the one person out of our friend group who has a degree in journalism can spell?” “Well, when you put it like that…” He chuckled. “I guess it must be Barry then.” He stuck the last inflated balloon from the batch and threw an empty plastic bag into the recycling. “Did you know Star Labs has a bunch of Valentine’s Day decor in the storage room? I only had to buy the balloons.” “H.R,” Caitlin reminisced, remembering he was before Ralph’s time. That was the last time they did anything like this, even though that was for his eccentric Friends Day. It was a pretty similar concept. H.R. even made them all cards. She thought H.R. and Ralph would have gotten along. “Huh? Star Labs Human Resources?” “No no. A man we used to work with. That was his name.” “Oh. Okay.” Caitlin swallowed. Was that jealousy? She winced at what was to follow. She really really hated deliberately causing people pain. She stared at her own hands, unable to look him in the face. “Look, Ralph—“ “Do you mind holding this for me?” It was a red streamer. She took it hesitantly, walking to the corner of the room he wanted her to hang it up. He unravelled the rest, going to the opposite end. It said ‘be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine’ on it and Caitlin prayed this wasn’t some sort of subtext. “Ralph,” she found herself saying, pinning the streamer to the wall. “You’ve become a good man, and a great friend. I am very proud of you.” “I—Wow—“ “—And I’m so flattered that you think I’m breathtakingly beautiful, I really am. Your words touched my heart. But I don’t have feelings for you and I never will. I’m sorry.” The streamer fell to the floor between them, slipping out of Ralph’s extended hand. He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. She left the streamer half taped up, walking to him. She took his hand after hesitating, unsure if he could handle her touch. “Ralph, please forgive me. I know how it feels to love someone who doesn’t love you back the way you want.” He looked at their joint hands and pulled his away. “I’m not in love with you, Caitlin.” Caitlin’s lips parted but no sound came out. Ralph waved a hand over her face. “Hellooooo? You need me to say it again? I’m not in love with you. Stop looking like you’re in a tank with King Shark.” Caitlin blinked, coming back to herself. “No! But that’s not possible! You have to be!” Ralph chuckled, tilting his head. “Uh?” She listed all of her points on her fingers, “You think what I wear is pretty, and you give me nicknames, and you came with me to interrogate my mom!” Ralph sat down on the couch, clearly needing some support. “One, I call you pretty because you are. So is Iris. And Cecile. And Nora. It’s just a fact, Caitlin, I don’t cry myself to sleep over it.” He shook his head, “Two, Cisco gives you nicknames first, I just copy him, and three, I’m both a detective and your friend. I do the nice things I can for you because I like you.” Caitlin opened her mouth to argue— “— As a friend. It’s like I said, before I met you guys I had nobody.” He reached for a new bag of balloons and took a deep breath to blow one up. “But you wrote me that wonderful letter!” Ralph gasped, a blast of air attacking his esophagus. He coughed as the balloon noisily flew to the floor. “Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. I swear you were not my Valentine’s Day Lottery.” This was an absolute disaster. Ralph swore to himself, appalled, “Damnit, I broke the rules to my own damn game.” Caitlin was so frustrated she felt like she was about to cry. Her hands went to her hair, extremely close to pulling at it, desperate. “Ralph, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” “Your card was romantic?” She nodded miserably. “I felt so special reading that message. Now I’m starting to wish I never got it.” Ralph grimaced. “Caitlin, you know I will never be as smart as you, but this is simple logic. I’m begging you. Please just think about this.” She sank down on the couch next to him, burying her head in her hands. “Ralph I’m so embarrassed. Can we please please forget that this conversation ever happened?” He checked her side with his shoulder, nearly knocking her over. “Done, sister.” She spared him a glance, still blushing red with mortification. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I guess I’m glad I’m not breaking your heart.” Ralph shrugged, “I mean, if you did, I have my book to get me through it. It works every time.” Caitlin huffed a laugh staring at her hands in her lap. “The Book of Ralph never fails.” “Wait…” Ralph said. Caitlin looked up. “Are you in love with someone?” Caitlin’s throat went dry and she immediately broke eye contact, reaching for the deflated pink balloon left abandoned where it landed. She stretched the latex in her hands, jittery. “No. Why?” Ralph pointed at her triumphantly. “Ha! Frost lies the exact same way!” “No,” Caitlin said again on reflex, then wished she could stuff those words back into her mouth. “Yes, she does. What, are we just going to pretend you didn’t tell me you know how it feels to have unrequited love?” “That’s not what I said,” she insisted, “I said I know how it felt to be vulnerable!” Ralph was looking way too amused for Caitlin’s comfort. “That’s not what you said.” She should’ve kept quiet. She should have ran out of there the moment she realized she grossly screwed up with Ralph and her letter. Caitlin jumped up, snapping her fingers, desperately wanting to change the subject. And then she realized, she didn’t have to. “Unrequited love! That’s it! It’s Sherloque.” Ralph stared at her. And she didn’t like it. Couldn’t stand the fear creeping over her skin at Ralph possibly learning her secret. “...You lost me.” “Sherloque. He’s trying to get over Renee with me.” She made a face. “Oh dear.” Ralph shared her cringe. “Shirley? The hots for you? Really?” Caitlin sighed. Somehow she felt breaking it to Sherloque that she didn’t want to be his cherie wouldn’t be so bad. “Let’s get it over with.” “Me?” Ralph exclaimed, “I can’t go anywhere. I have heart shaped cookies in the oven.” Caitlin groaned, forcing herself to shuffle out of the lounge. “Wish me luck, Ralph.” “Uh, yeah. You sure need it.” ♡ Cisco saw a blur of red knit, and called out to stop Caitlin from twisting an ankle. “Caitlin! Did you, uh, talk to Ralph?” She didn’t stop running, but her voice carried down the corridor as she tossed her head over her shoulder after passing him. “I’m so sorry, Cisco, we’ll talk later, I have to go!” He stood there trying to understand what happened, pretty sure he had whiplash. There was only so much more of this Cisco could handle before he’d explode. ♡ He does, in fact, explode. ♡ “Barry!” Cisco all but marched into the Speed Lab minutes later, where Barry was running laps. Barry came to a screeching halt in front of Cisco. “Yeah?” “I”m done,” he burst out, vibe blasting one of the Star Labs coat racks in the corner where they kept their workout crewnecks. The stand went crashing to the floor. Cisco blasted it again, releasing his pent up frustration, and it went rolling. “She thinks it’s Ralph. She thinks it’s fucking Ralph.” Barry was still panting, hands on his knees. Cisco side-eyed Barry’s dramatics. He was the fastest man alive, Cisco would have to be paid a quarter million dollars to believe that actually tired Barry out. Barry made an incredulous noise. “She thinks you wrote the letter for Ralph?” “No! She doesn’t know that I wrote the letter at all!” Barry stood up straight, aghast. “What?” Cisco sat down on the steps, defeated. “She’s my best friend and she didn’t think for one second it could be me.” “Maybe it wasn’t clear enough.” “I threw up rainbows on that thing. Barry, I poured my heart out. It couldn’t be clearer.” “Well, yes, but it doesn’t have your name on it.” Cisco sulked. Barry carted his hand through his hair, trying to come up with ideas. “Buy her roses!” He exclaimed. “A dozen! Sing her Frank Sinatra? And a parade!” Cisco’s voice was dead flat. “A parade?” Barry zipped away. He returned with a single red rose. He threw it at Cisco. His aim was way off, but Cisco reached forward and caught it between two fingers when he stretched. “It’s the last one in Central City. I just checked.” Cisco studied the flower. It was velvet to the touch, red with a water droplet or two hidden in a crevice. “What if she doesn’t love me, Barry?” Barry was quick to sit next to his best friend, ready to pull up the pep talk he’s had saved for this moment for many years. “Dude, come on. You’re the most important person in her life.” “That doesn’t mean she loves me,” Cisco snapped. “I thought I was ready to deal with it when I wrote the letter, but maybe I was kidding myself. Was probably still high on antihistamine.” His laugh was a little watery, and he glanced at the clock. “I thought we’d be together by now.” Barry stopped and levelled him straight. “Did you mean the things you wrote about her?” “Of course I did.” “And do you still now?” “Barry, yes. Look, this isn’t about Ralph’s game, or Valentine’s Day. It’s bigger than that. It was a long time coming.” “Then that’s what you have to tell her. Straight up. Look her in the eyes and say, ‘Caitlin, I love you.’” Cisco nodded to himself, knowing it was true. But that didn’t make it easy, no matter how something as simple as how much she meant to him should be. He lifted his gaze and shared a secret with his best friend. “You know I’ve never told her that? I think I came up with everything under the sun these past few years except those exact three words.” “How come?” “They get stuck in my throat. I was always afraid that if I said it, even just in a friendly way, she’d see right through me, and know what I really mean. I’ve kept this buried for so long. It’s almost like, these feelings for her I’ve kept private are a part of me and I’ve tricked myself into pretending that’s where they belonged. But then I...I wrote the letter. Once it was all out on paper, I knew it would be impossible to go back to pretending.” Barry patted him on the back. “Cisco, take a chance. You already made it halfway, just take it home. Then you’d have done your part. The rest is up to her.” Cisco nodded, twirling the rose stem. Barry stood up, “Listen, I gotta go pick up Iris’s present before she comes back from the newspaper. Will you be alright?” Cisco closed his eyes, inhaling sharply through his nose, gathering his courage once again. “Yeah. I’m going to go find her.” ♡ Caitlin knocked on Sherloque’s station. He was squinting at a monitor, looking very concerned over some ancient greek symbols. “Ah, Dr. Snow, vas-y, come in.” He turned the computer off, giving her his full attention. She sat on a stool across from him. “How’s your day going, Sherloque?” “Fine, thanks to your kind words.” She blinked, having forgotten that he was her lottery pick. “You knew it was me,” she said, although she wasn’t quite sure why she was surprised. This was Sherloque, after all, he noticed these things in his sleep. “Bien sur,” he responded, “Those verb tenses were near perfect.” She ducked her head, “I tried.” He hummed, tapping his nose, “But you’re not here for that.” “No,” she replied. “Sherloque, did you write this letter?” She unearthed the card from her coat, handing it him. “Because if you did, I think we need to talk.” He took it from her, reading it as he stroked his beard. “Mon dieu,” he muttered. “This has so much passion.” Caitlin blushed. “Have you read it?” He asked rather bluntly. Caitlin huffed, affronted. “Of course I read it! I must have read it at least six times!” “Non,” he argued, “À la voix haut, Doctor Snow. Out loud. It will help you.” He raised an eyebrow challengingly, and their eyes locked, tense. This felt like a test. The crisp paper crinkled under her touch. She swallowed, staring down at it. “My dearest Caitlin,” she began, “It is late at night and I have written this twenty-five times, trying to say what I want to perfectly. It has only now dawned on me that I simply can’t. What I feel for you cannot be properly described with words. You are an enigma, Caitlin Snow. A breathtakingly beautiful, intelligent, lovely enigma.” She looked up, and Sherloque gestured for her to continue. She wasn’t sure she could. “Do you feel it yet?” Sherloque inquired. “Feel what?” “Tes rêves." “My dreams?” she translated, a little lost. This letter wasn’t about her dreams. And she wasn’t sure why, but something about Sherloque’s game wasn’t so nice. Still, she soldiered on. “Your hands are lethal, dangerous and cold and yet your eyes melt the hardest hearts. You breathe fire into my life but give frostbite to those you mistrust. I sit and wonder, how could the world’s kindest person be so bold and strong minded.” Her back was turned away from the door, facing Sherloque, so she didn’t see Cisco pass by in the hallway then stop abruptly at the door. She didn’t notice the rose in his hand, the way his mouth quirked up gently. She didn’t notice Sherloque tilting his hat in Cisco’s direction, satisfied with his successful deduction. She didn’t notice Cisco lean against the wall and close his eyes, listening to her talk. Caitlin wasn’t sure why her hands were shaking, why her voice started to crack, “You have taught my life’s greatest lessons. To love, not hate. To stand up when you want to cry. To fight for what you believe in until your dying breath. That good comes to those who wait. That even the worse winters have days of sun, and that you move on. You keep moving on.” “All I could ever hope for—“ Caitlin stumbled over the phrase, realizing she was no longer the only one reciting the letter. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, goosebumps running along her arms under her sweater dress. Someone was speaking along with her. Not Sherloque, who was sitting in front of her, deathly quiet. Not Iris, blocks away in her newspaper office. Not Ralph nearly burning the cookies upstairs. Not him or her or him, either. It was another voice. One she knew very well. Cisco restarted the line along with her, “All I could ever hope for is a life moving on, too.” Caitlin faltered, her throat constricting, heart pounding. She turned around, trembling, and there he was, pushing himself off the wall, coming forward. Her eyes fell back to the letter, and then there was harmony. “Laughing with you. Smiling with you. Saving the world with you. Saving every world with you.” Her cheeks were wet. She touched her face in shock, her own tears at her fingertips. Cisco approached her slowly, expecting her to back away. But she didn't. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stand still. Cisco took another step and Sherloque took his leave. He knew it off by heart, something inside her screamed, he said every word effortlessly. He said them clearly, strongly, but softly too. She couldn’t speak, but she didn’t have to anymore. Every moment with Cisco she could remember suddenly changed, and the rose-tinted glasses she stubbornly refused to wear opened her eyes, bringing her vision to focus. Every touch on her skin. Like the arms around her shoulder, his hands on her back, the caresses he gave her, his hip checks and how he always leaned to her side. Always sat next to her. Always stood by her. Like the way he always said ‘Us’ and ‘We’. The lingering hands, the deep soulful glances, his winks and grins. His nicknames. His compliments about her hair. His compliments about her everything, actually. How he ran to her the way Barry ran to Iris when fighting metas. How when he vibed with someone he grabbed their shoulder stiffly, but with her, they always clasped hands. How he said her name like it was reverent, sacred, like a prayer. Caitlin. Cait-lin. How after waking up in the Med Bay, her name was always the first on his lips. His sweet devotion and resounding faith in her, not because he saw her as his family, but because she was who he desired. Just like she dreamed and dreamed and dreamed and then pushed away for years now because it would never be. “We are seamless, and honestly do I believe I was made to exist with you. I think about all the memories I cherish, Caitlin, and there’s always you,” Cisco said, the last line coming out in a whisper. It fell silent. When Caitlin looked up, he was right there. Close enough for her to accept the rose, close enough that he could brush away the moisture from under her right eye with his thumb. She pressed the rose stem until her index finger pricked a thorn, but didn’t flinch, her regenerative healing ebbing the cut away. “You wrote it,” she finally said, dumbfounded. He hummed and inched closer, some hair falling in his face as he leaned in so that they were inches apart. “What does it mean?” “What do you think it means?” he murmured. His gaze kept flicking from her eyes down to her mouth and she licked her lips subconsciously. “Say it.” “I just did, Caitlin.” “I need you to say it,” she begged. “Caitlin,” Cisco took a deep shuddery breath. He was expressive, open, his heart on his sleeve. “I’m very much in love with you.” The sentence rang in Caitlin’s ears. A noise escaped from her throat, a quiet whimpered thing. He stepped back, having said his piece. He squeezed both her arms at her side warmly and said, “I’ll see you at the Lottery Reveal, okay?” She blinked and they were no longer a breath apart. This wasn’t a dream or a trick or something Caitlin made up or got wrong. This wasn’t a nightmare or a meta or the speed force or a time remnant or a broken timeline or another earth. These were Cisco’s words both in writing and from his very lips, his revealed heart and soul and body and mind and everything in between. And he loved her. “Wait!” she yelped, unfreezing, realizing he was going away. He turned around and she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Cisco hugged her, and she couldn’t help but breathe him in, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. Caitlin buried her face into his hair where it fell over his shoulder, just breathing, feeling his heart beating against her chest for a very long time. He held her tightly, and she was shaking because she was overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe it. The rose fell to the floor and the letter crumpled slightly, smushing against Cisco’s back in their embrace. Eventually the letter joined the flower on the ground as Caitlin forced herself to pull back. It was ridiculously difficult, like tearing two magnets apart. She drank in the crease in his forehead, his jaw, his eyelashes and the beautiful eyes they framed, his cheekbones and then his lips. Her hands trailed up the sides of his face, grazing his soft skin and she saw the effect she had on him, she saw the way he melts. She tilted her head closer and then he was gasping into her mouth. He cupped the back of her head, right below her ponytail, fingers tangling into the baby hair at the nape of her neck. The kiss broke softly, and then there was nothing but the pounding in their ears. Their eyes met, hers shining, his blown back and wide and Caitlin couldn’t help the exceptional smile that naturally followed. He searched her face for something, for an answer to his very important question, and it was up to her to grant it. So she did. She nodded and it was like something in Cisco shattered, his reserve or his years of self-control and he lurched forward, yanking her to him so hard she bent backwards, stumbling and then somehow he had her against the wall, really having his way. His kisses were wild and desperate and Caitlin tried to keep up, drowning in the new sensation of doing this with Cisco, of being ravished and loving every single second of it. He was talking. Mumbling things into her skin as he pushed her hair back, kissing up the slope of her neck. Things like her name and his secrets. Caitlin let out a small cry, thumping her head back against the wall, thrumming under his touch. He stopped and moved his hand to where she bumped her head, pulling away. “Sorry, sorry,” he rushed, fingers feeling for bruises. “You okay? Does it hurt?” She shook herself off and pushed him, kissed him more, walking them forwards, kissing him deeply, kissing him the way he made her feel, hot and loved and alive. Cisco slowed, but Caitlin kept chasing, addicted, stealing kisses from him until it was impossible because he was starting to laugh. He dug his fingers into Caitlin’s hair, blowing a puff of air against her cheek. She felt weak, lightheaded, like she hadn’t ate all day, but this woozy, dizziness was just about the best thing that has ever happened to her. “What’s so funny?” she asked, giggling as his frame shook. “You thought it was Ralph!” Caitlin bit her lip, heat rising, not knowing what to say. “How could you not think it was me?” He was teasing her, but she could detect the hurt beneath the words. She didn’t answer right away and he immediately subdued. She stepped backwards so that he could see her face, and picked up her precious letter from off the floor. “Because,” she said seriously. “Thinking it was Iris and being wrong was confusing. Believing it was Ralph and getting that wrong was embarrassing. With Sherloque it was a relief. ” She let herself be sensitive, honest with both him and herself for once. Her voice wobbled. “But if it was you, Cisco, who I was convinced about, if it was you and I was wrong. That would have broken me. That would have hurt so much.” She was welling up with tears again. “So I didn’t let myself think it at all.” His face softened. “Because,” she continued, “I thought I accepted some time ago that just being your Caitlin, your best friend, would be enough to get me by, but that’s just not true.” “Caitlin,” he said. “I didn’t know. I wish I did. I should’ve just told you in the beginning when you didn’t get it. I’m sorry.” She shook her head, reaching for him again. “I was silly to think it could be anyone but you.” She let herself be kissed, her eyes fluttering closed, smiling against his lips. “The party's just about to— Woaaaah.” They sprang apart, caught. “Guess you found out who was in love with you after all, huh, Caitlin?” Caitlin blushed, and Cisco pulled her to his chest, glaring. “Go away Ralph,” he all but growled. “We’re going home.” “You can’t go home!” he exclaimed, “It’s the Valentine’s Day Lottery Reveal! You have to show up. Tell him, Caitlin.” They both ganged up on Cisco, giving him matching pleading looks. “The cookies, Cisco,” she pouted. “And you need to guess who wrote yours!” He was unable to resist her, not with the way she snuggled closer, blinking her eyelashes up at him. “Wow okay, you’re playing dirty and I don’t know how I feel about it.” Caitlin twirled a lock of her hair from the ponytail all askew, “You wanna see me play dirty? Come with me to the party and you’ll find out,” she flirted, not knowing where the hell that came from or even meant, but the way his pupils widened gave her a pretty good idea that Cisco liked it. “Fine!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Fine, we’ll go to the Lottery Reveal!” Caitlin and Ralph cheered. ♡ Cisco was feeding Caitlin heart shaped, red dyed cookies at the island in the lounge as Ralph clapped his hands. “I’ll go first, Barry thank you for your card.” Barry laughed, “Nah, dude. Wasn’t me. I know you’re mine though.” “How’d you know it was him?” Iris asked where she was sitting on Barry’s lap, still admiring the necklace he bought her. “It said ‘thank you for saving me from DeVoe.’” He gave Ralph a very pointed look. Ralph scoffed, “That could’ve been anyone here.” “Bien non. But it was you,” Sherloque interjected playing with a balloon. “Are we wrong?” “No,” said Ralph, shaking his strawberry shake. “So then who wrote mine?” “Moi!” Sherloque said, stealing the last cookie from the plate. “Puis la mademoiselle Caitlin wrote mine.” Caitlin smiled around her mouthful, half distracted as Cisco’s fingers brushed the crumbs off her lips. She wasn’t even sure he was paying any attention to what was going on around them at all. “And we all know who wrote Caitlin’s,” Iris said, and they all turned around to stare at them. Caitlin swallowed the last bit of cookie and kissed Cisco’s cheek. “Yes, well. It might’ve taken me all day but at least I got a boyfriend out of it.” “Hell yeah you did,” Cisco responded. He took her hand and tangled their fingers together, kissing it. “Who do you think had you, Cisco?” Ralph prompted him. Cisco didn’t hear him, and Caitlin had to nudge him out of his lovesick stupor. “Huh?” “Your Valentine,” Caitlin reminded him, touching his face. “You,” he gushed. Caitlin’s cheeks burned as Team Flash laughed. “No, sweetheart, I mean who wrote your letter?” Iris, having had enough of this whole game the moment she found out her husband rigged the lottery, rose her voice. “It was me! I wrote his letter! Not that he’ll even remember it. You’re welcome, Cisco.” She stood up and pulled Barry off the chair, dragging him out the room. “Party’s over. I really want to go home with my husband, can we leave now?” ♡ When Cisco vibed Caitlin to his apartment, she was surprised to find the dining table all nicely set up. “Is this for me?” He hummed and turned on the stove to heat the food. “It’s like I said on Tuesday,” he said, pointing his wooden spoon at the chair for her to sit down. He pushed her in and gave her a fancy tablecloth to place over her lap. “I had special plans.” “Oh,” Caitlin replied, feeling a little stupid. She watched him pull out a bottle of wine and light some candles. “What would you have done if this didn’t go well?” Cisco folded his arms over his chest. “Then I would’ve had a very awkward Valentine’s Day date with Ralph.” He came forward and sat across from her at the table. Caitlin couldn’t help giggling at that image, of Ralph stuck in her place, and cursed it ever crossing Cisco’s mind. He watched her as she laughed into her napkin, eyes full of light. She sobered and placed her chin in her hand, elbow next to her cutlery, mirroring Cisco’s look of incandescent happiness. It fell silent, and Cisco’s dinner simmered on the stove. “Lucky Ralph,” she whispered. Cisco’s face glowed amber in the candlelight. It was playful and ardent and hot. “No.” His finger went under her jaw, tilting it up slightly. Caitlin’s breath caught in her throat, holding his burning gaze until the moment she surrendered, eyelashes fanning closed as she was kissed and he murmured, “Lucky me.”

#killervibe #Valentine's day #the flash #Cisco ramon #Caitlin snow #tkv fic #fluff #holiday fic

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official-impravidus · 6 years ago

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should i finish this?

This is a French Mistake fic I wrote about The Flash and Supergirl. What do you think? (The spacing is really weird for some reason)

“Breach incoming!” Team Flash cautiously approached the breach room, prepared for any hostile enemy that could enter. Instead, a familiar Kryptonian popped through.

“Kara! Hey!” Barry went to give her a hug but she held her hand up. It was only then he noticed how out of breath she was.

“No… time…” she pulled his arm. “Speedster… breached… come…”

After speeding off to get his suit, the two hopped dimensions.

“We have time. Catch your breath,” Barry instructed the blonde girl. She shook her head.

“We don’t have time. This woman opens breaches at such a fast speed that it catches people as they run away. People of National City have been disappearing, all after coming in contact with her, we don’t truly know the extent of her powers.”

He nodded as listened. “And what about the speedster?”

“She is the speedster.”

His mouth went slightly agape, now understanding the severity of this foe. “Well we just have to be faster.” Kara took one last deep breath and blasted into the sky, Barry following close after.

Unlike speedsters connected to the speed force, this woman didn’t have lightening. In fact, she didn’t have any indicators that she should be moving that fast, making her harder to track and harder to follow. Her transdimensional connection to the multiverse was impossible to track unlike breaches, and before Kara and Barry could even process what was in front of them, they were running full speed into one of her breaches.

“Alright cut! That’s it for today! Great job everyone.” Kara and Barry looked around in confusion and concern. A group of people stood around them with cameras, chairs, and lights, all clapping.

“Uh thank you?” Barry responded to the strangers. The people dispersed into their own conversations, cleaning their equipment and grabbing their things. “Kara?” Barry whispered.

“Yeah, Barry?” She responded, relieved that this was the Barry she knew.

“Where are we?”

The two wandered around the populated area, trying to find any leads.

“We must be in a parallel universe. Just, which one?” Kara whispered.

“Obviously it’s one where we exist. They didn’t seem to not recognize us. Maybe this us was filming a message to National City.” He responded. Before he could continue, a man approached the two.

“Grant, Melissa, there was a change to tomorrow’s script. Jesse cut the DEO scene and added a new apartment scene. The pandering to the Karry shippers will boost the ratings for sure.” The man smiled and handed the two packets of paper. “Get some good rest. Tomorrow the fight scene.” He pat Barry on the shoulder and went his own way.

“Kara, I don’t have my powers.”

She tried to use hers with no prevail. “I don’t have mine either.” She sighed. “This is Music Meister all over again.”

“Wait. He didn’t call us Kara and Barry. He called us Melissa and Grant. That must be our doppelgängers.”

She pointed her finger, perking up at the realization. “So if we can find out more about them, maybe we can find how to get home…” A woman approached the two, making Kara cut off her sentence.

“Make sure you get your costumes back to costumes before you head out.”

“And where should we do that?” He asked the woman. She laughed.

“Oh, right, your trailers. We had to move them during the shoot. They’re just past the food table, on the right.” She pointed.

“Thanks so much. Have a good night.” The two speed walked to the trailer marked “Grant Gustin” and “Melissa Benoist.”

“These must be it,” Kara stated.

Barry nodded. “Do you want to get changed and we can figure this out when we do whatever this us has to do.” He motioned to his suit.

“But I don’t want to leave my Supergirl outfit.”

He sighed. “Neither do I. But if that’s what they would do, we have to too.”

She nodded. “You’re right. Meet me back here when you’re done, okay? I’ll try to get into Melissa’s phone or laptop so we can do some research on who we are now.”

Nodding, Barry entered his trailer, gawking at the amenities for a moment before changing into normal clothes. He didn’t enjoy losing his powers once more, but recently he hadn’t been misusing them for menial daily tasks.

Kara had an easier time changing out of her Supergirl outfit and changing into something that was much more Kara Danvers than Melissa Benoist. She returned her dress to costumes, after getting lost on the way, and came back to her trailer, rummaging through Melissa’s things before finding her phone. She was surprised to see a photo of her and Mon-El as the screensaver.

Barry entered the trailer, turning her attention away from the phone. “Hey, I’m back.”

She opened the phone, pointing at the screensaver to him. “What’s with this?”

Barry took the phone and typed in Melissa Benoist. “Well it seems Mon-El here is actually someone named Chris Wood.”

“Huh. He doesn’t seem much of a Chris.”

Barry continued to type. “That’s not all. He is your fiancé.”

Kara’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. You can’t be serious.”

“That’s what Google says, at least.” Barry pointed to the articles.

“I can’t face Mon-El here! He’s married and from the future and not in my life anymore. I just moved on.” She buried her face in her hands.

“There’s more.”

She looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re pretty famous.” He continued to surprise himself as he scrolled through Wikipedia. “Melissa Benoist has been on Broadway and portrays the character Supergirl on CW.”

“What about you?” She asked.

“Weird,” he muttered seeing the articles with his face but that had nothing to do with the real him. “Apparently he’s known for a musical show called Glee, being Baby John in West Side Story on Broadway, and for playing Barry Allen on The Flash.

“So we aren’t even real here. We are characters on a TV show?”

Barry sighed. “I guess we are.”

“Okay, think Barry. This isn’t a normal breacher because there would be two versions of us, right? Instead we replaced Melissa and Grant with us.”

“So does that mean they are in our universe?” Barry asked.

She shook her head. “When we were in National City people were disappearing.”

“So, maybe we are in a new universe entirely. Maybe we got misplaced in time and space and when we leave, they’ll come back.”

Kara snapped into a finger gun, indicating that he was on the same page as her. “But how do we get out?”

“This obviously isn’t like our mind musical, because we don’t follow any sort of plot. Maybe we have to find our way out. A portal or a breach.”

“But we don’t have our powers,” she interjected.

Dejected, he responded, “you’re right.”

“Maybe if we find Cisco then…”

“He doesn’t exist on this earth. His name is Carlos Valdez and he is very much just human.”

#the flash #supergirl #the flash fanfiction #supergirl fanfiction

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aftgficlibrary · 7 years ago

Text

Soulmates

Apparently it was meant to be (Note: this post was long so it for now only includes completed fics. Will be updated when others are completed)

last updated: 31 January 2019

Coming Home by wesawbears (T | 1,235 | 1/1)

Kevin, Jean, and Jeremy are all born with two soulmate marks instead of one. It takes them a while to find each other.

Falls by nekojita for ApprenticedMagician (M | 7,002 | 1/1)

Nathaniel ends up at Edgar Allan/the Nest after all, and what helps him through everything (Tetsuji's abusive demands, RIKO, being pushed to his limits to be the best) is often the dreams he has of the young French boy whose name is embellished on his wrist - Jean. The boy whom his mother told him to never mention to anyone, especially his father.

So what happens when that boy ends up at Evermore one day?

A soul mate/Neil/Jean fic for apprenticedmagician on Tumblr for ATFG_Exchange's winter gift exchange.

Your Face by lanalua (T | 1,464 | 1/1)

Each of Andrew's drawings of his soulmate is different: different haircut, hair color, eye color... That can't be good.

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart by giucorreias (Not Rated | 483 | 1/1)

it's the small details

I felt your pain when you were gone byElfo98 (G | 3,533 | 1/1)

Another Soulmate AU where Neil and Andrew can feel each other's pain and how the Foxes find out.

Or: my take on the Baltimore incident because I can't seem to get enough of it.

Paint Splatter Freckles and Godly Go Fishby Issylang for quensty (G | 1,115 | 1/1)

"When Jean was younger, much younger, he would sit in his mother’s lap while she traced the sun on his left shoulder blade and sang love songs in soft French. He would stare at the black heart on her wrist, the one that perfectly matched his father’s, and imagine the little girl that shared his sun. When Jeremy was very little his mom and dad would corral him and his older sister into the living room after dinner. With a child in each lap, they would recount the history of soulmates; how Zeus, in fear of their power, had split the people of earth in half, and they were destined to spend the rest of their lives in search for their other half. How, in a moment of kindness, Zeus had marked the pairs, so that they could follow their symbol to their other half." Just a cute, short Jerejean Soul mate au.

Marked by beautifulmagick (G | 1,164 | 1/1)

Neil Josten's soulmate mark is on his shoulder. Andrew can never forget that.

Empty Kiss by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) for ApprenticedMagician (M | 1,987 | 1/1)

Based on a Tumblr prompt for an empty kiss.

met you in the dark (you lit me up) byharrytomlinsonwhoops (M | 3,085 | 1/1)

it starts like this:

the elevator doors are closing, and aaron, after seeing one of the cheerleaders inside, doesn't bother running for it.

she holds the door for him anyway. she's got curly hair, and dark brown skin. her eyes are a bright green that he doesn't expect when she stares down at him. she's half a head taller, but he finds that he doesn't mind looking up to her.

"hello," she says, her eyes lighting up, and aaron thinks: oh. oh no.

a memory unrepressed by orphan_account (T | 7,387 | 1/1)

“So, what, you think I’m real, you’re real? That we’ve somehow… I don’t know, astral projected to this place?”

“I don’t know what I think,” Thea said slowly, a strain on her voice as if she hated to admit it.

“Well, the sun is– Fuck.”

“What?” Thea looked around as well, then froze.

There was no sun. There were no clouds. No shadows. It was indisputably light out, as if it were day, but the light seemed to have no source.

Groaning, Dan buried her face in her hands. “What is this, I don’t like it.”

let me love the pain you're going through by MadHatterNO7 (T | 1,526 | 1/1)

Neil remembers his mother saying, "Soulmates don’t exist. They aren’t real. They are a burden that would get you killed."

Neil supposes he knows why.

His mother's soulmate was never his father.

Watermark by fairietailed (T | 4,689 | 1/1)

He hops into the kitchen on one foot, catching his mother before she carries the bowl of peas she’s holding into the dining room.

“Jeremy?” Her eyebrows pull together in concern at the look on his face. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sticking out his foot. “I think it’s my soul mate?”

In which bruises and scars from your soulmate appear on your skin, and Jeremy's skin is a myriad of colored stains.

What are you scared of? by shipsgalore (T | 1,704 | 1/1)

“I couldn’t -- you weren’t supposed to be real. I didn’t think that I would ever have somebody love me, Jeremy. I’m just broken. I’m broken and you can’t love something that’s broken.” He wants to take his hand out of Jeremy’s, to end this entire discussion, but the burning of his nerve endings is welcoming. He wants to feel this every day of his life.

hard to find by jaylocked (M | 3,199 | 1/1)

Jean has learned to hate the letters on his ribs.

He can remember a time before, back when he still had the sky above him and his future before him, when the letters fueled his insatiable, childish imagination. But then he lost the sky, lost his future, lost his language, and the letters changed.

accept yourself by jaylocked (T | 6,498 | 1/1)

In which Jeremy Knox tries to figure out what soulmates mean in a world of divorced parents, sappy best friends, Exy, and scowling, abused backliners.

My Own by hazelNuts (T | 728 | 1/1)

Andrew doesn't believe in soulmates, so what's the point of having a soulmate mark?

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine by A_Nobelmonster (Not Rated | 839 | 1/1)

Prompt: Andrew and Aaron are platonic soulmates that can feel each others pain.

Pain by ke_xia (M | 810 | /1)

There’d been a point once, when Andrew was a boy, that he’d been told stories of soulmates and had had grand visions of finding his own. Sharing a soul with one person who could feel your pain and whose pain you felt in return- now that felt like true love. And a soulmate had to love you; that was their entire reason for existing. Not like his mom or his dad, whoever they were, nor any number of the foster parents he’d gone through, nor any of the “brothers” and “sisters” he’d had throughout his few years in the system. No, none of them had ever loved him, but there was someone out there, someone who did even though they didn’t even know him yet.

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence /Rape/Non-Con

Exactly by jostenminyard (onceuponahundred) (G | 783 | 1/1)

A soulmate au where all the foxes (minus Nicky). But Neil broke his because its dangerous to love. Andrew broke his because fuck love. Aaron broke his because Andrew made him as part of the promise. Dan broke hers because of the man hating thing. Matt's broke on accident while he was high. Riko forced Kevin to break his. Renee broke hers in the gang. Allison broke hers to piss off her parents and the "I chose this one" thing. Seth broke his because he wasn't gonna let a clock decide his life.

a new kind of grace by starfleetbanana (T | 1,997 | 1/1)

'“You got it wrong, Josten. She keeps me on a leash” She said and left Neil to his own very dramatic and tragic existence.

Allison was fearless and, even though Renee had a soft spot for her foxes, she was deadly and sharp-edged. They fit together like a Swiss knife next to a gun'.

Soulmates AU where they see in black and white until they meet their soulmates and stop seeing colours when they die.

we're here to see the colour grey bystarfleetbanana (E | 2,143 | 1/1)

Neil had grown up sure he was the kind of person who’d never get to see in colour. There were people who spent their entire lives without knowing what colour was like, and he’d already accepted a life on the run wouldn’t give him a chance to even figure out who had made his entire world change.

Soulmates AU where they see in black and white until they meet their soulmates and stop seeing colour when their soulmates die.

when the world turns grey bystarfleetbanana (G | 1,972 | 1/1)

Allison had never seen colour in her life until she'd stepped into the Foxhole Court. But then Seth Gordon died. He’d died and she’d kept dancing in the middle of the dance floor with one of his friends while the colourful lights swirled around them. She’d drunk a blue cocktail and smeared her dark red lipstick on a napkin.

Soulmate AU where they see in black and white until they meet their soulmates and stop when their soulmates die.

with the lights on by starfleetbanana (T | 1,801 | 1/1)

'Medical professionals classify hysterical blindness as “conversion disorder,” a condition that causes you to show psychological stress in a physical manner. While there are many causes of this disorder, most of them point to some type of anxiety or other psychological trauma that triggers this temporary blindness'

'When the haze went away he tried to focus his vision on something more familiar. Everything that surrounded him was a deep shade of black that threatened to swallow him up, and it didn’t take him long to notice he was at Castle Evermore.'

Part of the Soulmates AU where you see in black and white until you meet your soulmate and stop seeing colours when they die.

your crown of thorns holds roses by quensty (T | 4,444 | 1/1)

Three days after he signs his death sentence to Palmetto State, five after Andrew Minyard sends him flying breathless to the ground, Neil's gaze snaps to the locker room mirror and stares, frozen, at the word threat scrawled along his spinal cord in terrifying, heavy bold.

All in all, he isn’t thrilled about the situation this puts him in, but, based off the negative connotation, it isn’t one-sided either. On the bright side, at least this means his soulmate doesn’t harbor any grandeur delusions about him.

Like fields of poppies by A_Nobelmonster (M | 3,340 | 1/1)

Soul mate au . Andrew has always had more dark soul marks than most adults see in their life. He's used to it. Used to a life based on survival . And then he turns fifteen, a red dot appears. the color of a romantic soul mate. Suddenly the thought of living for the person that gave him his mark is the only thing keeping him alive. Just one chance to know the poor fucker meant for him. As usual It's more than he bargains for.

/Rape/Non-Con /Underage /Self-Harm

To die by your side would be such a heavenly way to go by A_Nobelmonster (T | 494 | 1/1)

Short drabble about the beautiful pain of a fictional person made real by his friends love.

/Major Character Death

The Story of My (Loveless) Life byconstellationsofsentences (G | 3,281 | 4/4)

If there's one thing Jean hates more than Riko and the rest of the Ravens, it's his soulmate and their inability to listen to anything but Taylor Swift. Jean thinks his head's going to explode.

starring Jeremy and his basic white girl music.

when the lights go out by flybbfly (T | 1,705 | 1/1)

Neil wakes up gasping in a bed next to Andrew, unsure if in this lifetime they love or hate each other, are meant to murder or save, and Andrew rolls over and presses closer to Neil in his sleep. His armbands, some form of them omnipresent in every lifetime, are poking out from beneath a pillow.

one of many by Saul (T | 2,859 | 1/1)

They first meet in their dreams.

It isn't as miraculous or smooth a transition as the How To Be Fated: A Guide on Soulmates made it out to be.

The mirrors of our skin. by IceBreeze (T | 862 | 1/1)

When night falls, they remind themselves of who they are.

Ask the Messenger by Metis_Ink (T | 32,614 | 5/5)

Jeremy Knox and the soulmate.

Guest starring: Exy, a transfer student, generalized anxiety, older sisters, drunk lesbians, bread, cake, a shed, the beach, the absence of Hennessy, Star Wars, Renee Walker, self-taught smooth talking, gratuitous French, No. 1 Trojans fan Kevin Day, relationship drama, general drama, the power of Friendship, questions, answers, team spirit!, and, of course, romance.

Bleed for you. by IceBreeze (T | 860 | 1/1)

When you meet your soulmate, you get a nosebleed. It makes every meeting messy and leaves little room for subtlety.

in this world, there's no such thing as soulmates by kwritten for growlery (G | 801 | 1/1)

for the prompt: what disasters we live

Now I'm Covered in the Colors by alaynes (T | 9,752 | 6/6)

Nathaniel Wesninski is six years old when his first soulmate mark comes in.

A name was just a name until you said it by maeusetod (Not Rated | 5,106 | 1/1)

Andrew Minyard did not believe in fate, but for a moment it seemed fate did believe in him.

Colours by Q_Jem_Bee (T | 2685 | 1/1)

Colours were splashed across your skin at another being's touch: They were the colour of your soul.Neil's was blue, but no one knew that. No one was going to know.

Careful Hands by fairietailed ( M | 13,797 | 4/4)

“You’ll probably never meet them,” his mother said one day at a diner in Texas. It caught him off guard.

“What?”

“You’ll probably never meet them,” she repeated, nodding in the direction of the lilac bruise splashed across his forearm. “Your soulmate. You’ll most likely never live that long.”

“I know,” he said, and hoped that she believed him.

–

In which bruises and scars from your soulmate appear on your skin, and both Neil and Andrew paint each other like a canvas.

/Violence

Crystal Clear by exactly13percent (superagentwolf) ( T | 3,114 | 1/1)

Your crystal is your heart and soul, manifested. You must keep it safe. Neil and Andrew don’t have typical crystals. For one, they aren’t whole. They’re little pieces, broken by years of wrong. But Kevin’s magic shop brings them together, and they figure maybe broken doesn’t mean destroyed.

Marked by justdk ( T | 2,488 | 1/1)

Neil Josten does not believe in soulmates

Empty Kiss (Filling the Void Remix) by Dancyon ( T | 1,604 | 1/1)

Neil sometimes wonders where it all went wrong. (In the quiet spaces between his breath and Andrew’s, he already knows.)

Soulmate au where Neil should really know better.

/Violence

Life After the Fire (The “Like Fields of Poppies” Remix) by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) for A_Nobelmonster ( T | 2,542 | 1/1)

very first touch leaves a mark, a colour on another’s skin, marks of love or hate, family or anger, friendship or lust. Neil is the boy without colours on his skin, with scars instead of marks. All he wants is to leave his mark, to be real, to be remembered.

/Violence

written in the stars by cloudtalking ( T | 2,095 | 1/1)

this is the boy that turned andrew’s world from night to day. the boy that turned shades of gray to blinding colors, and never seemed to notice nor care.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAX!!!!

paint my skin in painful truths by Dancyon ( Not Rated | 1,115 | 1/1)

a world where every time someone touches you, they leave a tiny tattoo that represents you and them and your future. Neil doesn’t remember a lot of good touches, and he doesn’t have a lot of happy tattoos, but with Andrew by his side he thinks he might like himself a little bit more.

This is mostly fluff with some angst, because this is still me.

Black and White until Tonight by booksareourlove for queenofseventeen ( T | 508 | 1/1)

His mother told him colours weren’t real. His mother told him she had never seen the colours of the sky. His mother told him that they were broken. People like them weren’t meant for something as delicate as colours. As soulmates. Colours weren’t real but he would still like to imagine the colours of the sky.

The world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. For some, seeing colour is not like jumping into water, but rather walking through mist until you realise it’s actually raining and your clothes are soaked.

stay as long as you need. by lolainslackss ( T | 2,995 | 1/1)

The soulmate timer counts down to your soulmate’s death. Apparently, Andrew’s soulmate doesn’t have long to live.

in pieces by archieknight ( G | 6,146 | 1/1)

Was it this difficult for everyone, or were they all just so broken that their pieces couldn’t fit the way destiny wanted anymore?

paint my body gold by cave_canem (T | 12,050 | 1/1)

That winter, Jean comes close to his soulmate for the first time in years. He knows this because his side is burning where the mark is branded in his skin. It’s pain unlike anything he’s ever felt: pulsing with his heartbeat and glowing through the skin; almost soft with something like a forgotten childhood memory.

never an empty room by cloudtalking (T | 6,510 | 1/1)

for @kevinyard: a trans neil kandreil soulmate au

soulmate (noun): a person or persons with whom one shares a soul with.

visit (noun): 1. an act of going or coming to see a person or place socially, as a tourist, or for some other purpose. 2. when a soul is stretched thin and snaps closed, causing one to see and be seen by their soulmate

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

A Home, for the Holidays by zen_fox (M | 3,321 | 1/1)

Three Christmases, in the lives of three soulmates.

good game by unrain (T | 1,996 | 1/1)

I don’t like you, but I can’t deny that your shot was a game winner sprawls around Kevin’s throat.

Neil’s words are a fucking joke in comparison. It’s not quite the death sentence that is a simple hi or a hello—which is a soulmark that’s kind of pathetically tragic to have in this day and age, because it just makes everything a trillion times more difficult and is basically the equivalent of your soulmate kissing you goodbye and saying see you never. But Neil’s words are pretty damn close to being that pathetically tragic. If only his soulmate wasn’t so unimaginative and dull.

Speak easy to me by The_time_it_takes (Not Rated | 3,370 | 1/1)

between hoping and believing by cryptidkidprem (T | 47,332 | 16/16)

Jean convinced himself a long time ago that he doesn't have a soulmate. Or maybe he just wants to believe that. Things would be easier if he was destined to be alone. It will at least hurt less when he inevitably winds up that way anyway.

And then there's Jeremy, who's been dreaming of meeting his match for years. For some reason, Jeremy seems determined to convince Jean that sometimes he might actually be able to have the things he hopes for, and that soulmate or no, Jean Moreau has people who will stick with him.

You're a flashlight in a dark room by trubenblack (Not Rated | 1,712 | 1/1)

The foxes in a world where everyone has their soulmates name written on them in their soulmates handwriting and the stories of how each of them dealt with them.

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