#still not Entirely happy with how i've structured/positioned it but it's been sitting on my computer for weeks so i may as well post it

[fluentisonus]

chiens-loups

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 09 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 2.6 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

×

Make Me Fly

It has been an interesting week. Bjorn hasn't been around lately, since he and Ragnar are starting to gather people for the next raid. Winter will be over soon enough, and apparently, they start getting ready a long time before sailing. You're trying not to think too much about it, since you know Ivar is going.

But that's an issue for when the winter is over, and it isn't yet, and won't be for quite a while. On Ivar's bed, already dressed for the day, you're kneeled behind him, braiding his hair. You've been sleeping here now, and of course, the news got out, even though you don't really know how. Hvitserk was the first to know, so he told Aslaug and Ubbe. Ragnar found out quickly after, meaning it got to Bjorn's ears as well. Then, you started noticing people staring, and some rumors, according to Helga. You were under Aslaug's protection, but the rumor that you're with Ivar makes people scared of you. You don't mind though, but you still haven't spoken with Ivar about it. You want things to just happen instead of pushing it because of what people are saying.

“There you go.” You say when the braids are done. “I'm getting really good at this.”

Ivar runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the braids softly. His hair is long now, and he agreed on not cutting it short again. “You're getting great at this.” He says, grabbing your hand and pulling you down again, so you have both your arms around his neck. “I want to show you something today.”

“What?” You ask hands on his chest.

“I'm gonna show you how I ride on the battlefield.” His voice gets a little darker, and you know he's not joking. “I know you've been asking yourself that.”

“I know you can fight.” Getting up from the bed, you move to stand before him. “I just don't know how, but I don't doubt it.”

“We still have some weeks, but I'll be sailing to England again.” Ivar takes his clutch and gets up to his feet. “No need to hide it, I know you're worried.”

“Worried isn't the right word... Maybe anxious.” You start making your way to the door, and Ivar unlocks and pulls it open for you. “I know some people don't come back and I've never been through anything like that. I don't how those who stay deal with the waiting.” You set a comfortable pace, walking side by side with him.

“You'll get used to it. That's the way things have always been here.”

“I know.” When you cross the main hall, you wave at Hvitserk and Ubbe, muttering a ‘hello’ to Bjorn, since you've been trying to ease the ever-growing tension between the two brothers.

Ivar guides you through the city and then through the forest to a wooden structure built among the trees. There are some men around, and the doors are open. You're way too curious about it, but you manage to wait until you reach the building. There are several horses inside, some war equipment and ballistic devices you don't recognize, many shields and swords.

“Storage?” You ask.

“Yes. But that's the only thing that really matters.” He gestures at the very end of the barn, and that's when you see it.

“What's that?” Walking faster, you make your way towards it, ignoring everyone around. You've never seen anything like it. They keep a certain distance from it, you noticed. You wonder how many times they had Ivar yelling at them to stay away from his things.

“It's a war chariot.” He answers as you walk around it, stepping up and inside. “With it, I can march into battle. Lead troops in combat.”

In the center, there's a structure for Ivar to sit, so you walk around it, standing on the edge. You can't help but imagine how it must feel to be in such a position, in the middle of war. “I wish I could see you in action. It must feel like flying.” You expected him to say something, but several seconds go by and you're still in silence, broken only by the low chattering of the men working here. Looking over your shoulder, you spot Ivar still on the ground, looking up at you. “What?” You giggle, turning around.

“Get my chariot ready.” He commands, raising his voice. “Now.”

“You're kidding, right?” You ask, unable to hold back the smile.

Ivar doesn't answer, he just pulls himself to the chariot, taking his place. Everything is done quickly, and once the horse is attached to the chariot, the doors on the back of the barn are pushed open. Ivar is seated on the bench made for him, and you stand on the front, hands tightly holding on the edge.

“Are you ready?” Ivar inquires, and you give him a look over your shoulder, biting your lip.

You've never seen this look on his face. You have seen him smiling many times, but this is different. Ivar looks truly happy, comfortable, secure. Wild, even. And you absolutely love this look on him. “Make me fly.” You mutter, and the moment he moves his arms to whip the horse, you turn around.

Soon enough you find you picked the right word to describe it. Flying. Ivar keeps the horse's pace so fast that it takes your breath away. It's nothing like riding. It's something entirely new. The chariot rocks a little through the woods, but when it reaches a road, the speed only increases, and you're laughing like a little kid. It's just amazing to ride this into battle, and you can only imagine what his enemies feel when they see Ivar on this thing, flying to meet them. They must be terrified. Ivar's reputation is the worst, or the best, depending on the point of view, and men must tremble like leaves at the sight of him.

“You alright there?” He yells above the wind, and you glance at him.

“Never been better!” Assuring him, you focus on the road again, seeing how close you are to Kattegat. “Turn around! Or else we'll enter the town.”

“And what's the problem with that?”

Laughing again, you decide you don't care if he doesn't care. And into the town you go, making people jump out of the way. Nobody dares to say anything though, just making sure to warn those ahead to watch out. The space gets a little narrow, and Ivar starts to struggle a little until he gives up, knocking some stores down and getting some angry yells. You're not really thinking right now, looking down at the people as you pass by, too fast. You can hear his laughter too, filling your ears.

“Ivar!” A different voice reaches you, and as soon as you spot Ragnar riding on your left, Ivar pulls the horse, making it reduce its pace until you stop completely.

“Father. Hi.” He mutters, in that tone that means he did something bad but doesn't care one bit.

“Will you take this thing back? Look at all the mess you two made.” He complains, gesturing at the market place. You give it a quick look, noticing way too many broken things. “Move it around and take the chariot back,” Ragnar says before riding away.

With a dramatic eye roll, Ivar does what he's told, and this time, since he's riding slower, you have your back at the landscape, staring at him instead. “Weren't you seeing where you were going?”

“Of course not.” He snaps back, shrugging his shoulders. “I was too busy looking at you.”

Blushing, you look down, and a rock on the road makes the chariot shake, making you jerk forward, bumping on the support on which Ivar can rest his chest. “Ouch.”

“Come here.” He says, moving back a little. “Good thing you're wearing pants. Sit here.” Raising an eyebrow, you do as he says, bringing one leg over the structure and straddling it. The moment you sit down on it, you feel Ivar's chest pressing against your back. “Better?”

“A little.” You mumble, feeling as his arms surround you, so you place your hands on top of his, holding the halters. “That's nice.” You whisper, the cold air suddenly not bothering you anymore.

“It is.” Ivar let go of the halters, letting it to your control. “I never allowed anyone to do that. And I don't think I ever will.” He whispers in your ear, and you feel a shiver rolling down your spine.

“Really?”

“Really.” He repeats, hands on your hips. “Ever since I started raiding with my father and brothers, I never truly had anyone to come back to.” You feel yourself relax onto him, for a brief moment forgetting you're the one controlling the chariot. “So I need to know if that changed.”

This is important, so you pull the halters, making the horse stop. Once you're motionless, you move to the side and turn your head a little, just enough to look into his eyes. “What exactly are you asking, Ivar?”

He brings a hand to caress your cheek, cold fingertips running through your skin, painfully slow, leaving a trail of fire. “I'm asking if you will be waiting for my return.”

“I–”

“Prince Ivar.” Someone calls, and you're cut short.

“What?” He hisses, as you stand up and move out of the made chair.

“Your father asked us to take your chariot back. He needs to speak with you.”

“Why didn't he said it himself?” Despite being annoyed, Ivar steps out of the chariot, and you do the same. It doesn't go unnoticed that the men don't ride it. They simply pull the horse. It's like an unspoken rule, that doesn't need to be reassured. People just know.

Then, you're left alone in the woods, the sound of the chariot being taken away slowly fading. “Guess we should go now.” You say, but before you give the first step back to Kattegat, Ivar grabs your arm, forcing you to stop and turn to look at him.

“First answer me.” There's insecurity in his voice, fear even. You wonder if this side of Ivar will ever heal. Maybe it won't, but, as long as you're around, you'll do everything you can to make him see that he's not less of a man because of his disability. You know he's still scared that you'll pick Bjorn over him, the reason for the insane jealously going on between the two brothers, but the truth is you already made your choice. And you're not changing your mind.

“Of course I'll wait for you.” You say, not a hint of doubt on your voice. “I'll be on the decks, watching the boats arriving, searching for you among the people.” When Ivar smiles, you do the same, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheek. But when you feel his flesh, you're quick to notice you met his lips instead.

At the same time you freeze, you feel your entire body heating up. But then, you're fast to move, a hand coming to cup cheek as the other grabs the hard material of his vest, holding him close. You don't pull away, how could you? Not when you just realized you've been wanting to do this for so long. Smiling a little, you let him deepen the kiss, his free hand on your waist, pressing your body against his even more. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you feel completely inebriated by the warmth of his lips, his taste, everything.

But you still need to breathe, so you're forced to pull away, still standing close to him. You feel your cheeks burning, a smile on your lips that you just can't hold back. “That was something.” You mutter, clearing your throat.

“If I come back from this raid, tell me you'll be mine,” Ivar whispers, and you look up to meet those bright blue eyes once again. “I promise I won't ever take or love another woman.”

There's only one possible answer for this, but the truth is that somehow, you have been his since the beginning, you just didn't know. “You'll be mine, and I'll be yours.” Tiptoeing again, you place a quick kiss on his lips.

“And so it'll be.”

• • •

You both agreed on not letting the word out until after the raids. So, as the days and weeks pass by, you watch as people get ready, and you enjoy the many feasts Ragnar throws, but also the meals you share with the family alone. Hvitserk is the only one who knows about you and Ivar since he got you kissing by Ivar's bedroom door. But he won't tell anyone, or else, you swore to use him as a target to practice with the ax. But you trust him, you know he'll keep the secret as long as you want him to.

Bjorn is struggling. In the beginning, when he found out you were sleeping in Ivar's bedroom, he had this constant angry stare. Now, you're not sure what his plans are, but you know he hasn't given up yet. Ubbe told you that Bjorn still doesn't believe you made up your mind, because to him, it's insane that any woman would prefer Ivar over him. You don't care though. What he thinks doesn't matter. But you do catch him staring, and you're tired of trying not to let Ivar notice. It's almost always useless.

Tonight, it's a goodbye feast. They're sailing first thing tomorrow, many to their deaths, so today, everyone celebrates. You're dressed in a brand new dress, with the necklace Ivar gave you, as well as rings and earrings that we're also gifts from him. You're happy tonight, despite the anxiety building up in your chest.

“So. Do you want anything from your homeland?” Ivar asks, his mouth close to your ear to make himself heard above all the noise.

“I want you.” You answer, stealing a chicken wing from his plate and taking a bite. Ivar looks at you with an annoyed stare, eyes rolling at your audacity.

“You already have me.” He simply answers.

“Are you guys serious?” Hvitserk complains, dropping to the bench beside you. “If I ever fall in love and start acting like this, I give you both permission to punch me in the face.”

“You know I'll never forget this, right?.” You tell him, an arm around his shoulders. “I have a good memory, my friend.”

“You'll regret saying that,” Ivar warns him, and you giggle.

The night was long, but it ended too soon. You were awakened before the sun, so you could help Ivar with the last preparations. You did you're best not to look worried, but right now, walking next to him to the boat, you have to clench your hands into fists so nobody will see them shaking.

“That's it.” He says, turning to look at you. “Don't worry too much. I'll come back.”

“I know, Ivar the Boneless.” Some people pass by, so you look down at your feet. “Just be careful, alright?”

“I will.”

“Alright.” You know you've been keeping this a secret until he's back, but right now, it doesn't matter. Standing on your toes, you kiss him, slow and passionately, not minding the many eyes on both of you. It just doesn't matter. Pulling away, you smile, hoping this won't be the last kiss.

“So much for keeping a secret.” He says, smirking.

“Shut up.” You mutter, resting your head on his chest. “Just remember I'll be waiting.”

“I will,” Ivar says in a low voice, and with one more kiss, you let him get in the boat, making your way back to the decks, standing next to Aslaug.

The Queen has a look on her face, and you know she saw the kiss.

“Won't you say anything?” You mutter, feeling your cheeks burning.

“No.” She smiles, glancing at you. “I just think it'll be a long summer. For both of you.”

And, of course, Queen Aslaug was right.

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @msrawog @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

[malachi-walker]

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

[ephemerlskies]

the beauty of after | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x f reader

[other members - taehyung]

⇢ genre: drabble, fluff, widower!jimin, angst (barely), artist!taehyung, the FLUFFIEST piece i've written so far, jimin is an old man

⇢ word count: 3.5k

⇢ warnings: themes of grief/loss, major character death (oc), mentions of death

⇢ summary: on your seventieth wedding anniversary, jimin celebrates in solitude by describing your face to an artist. it surfaces more fondness than grief to reminisce in the memory of his late partner.

♪ playlist: serendipity - bts • i'll never love again - lady gaga • lover - taylor swift • love of my life - queen • my everything - ariana grande ♪

[important] a/n: i am so so sorry to everyone for constantly reposting this, but my tags haven't been working. hopefully this is the last time i have to repost this!! also HAPPY PRIDE!

“Thanks for doing this for me.” The young artist had already begun mixing paints on his palette, eyeing the canvas before him to scale the size of his portrait.

Jimin was gentle with the way his eyes traveled along Taehyung’s face which was free from the age wrinkles that Jimin had grown used to seeing. He nodded as to say your welcome, a jaded but genuine smile reaching his lips to the ends of his face.

It was difficult to gauge which one was more nervous from how Taehyung had nearly knocked over his easel various times within the stretch of setting up his supplies and the lack of stillness that fraught Jimin’s hands which were trying, and failing, to fold politely in his lap.

“This is for an art project? For school?” Jimin asked, deciding that half-empty questions fit better in the air than the awkward silence funded by the lack of proper acquaintance. Not to say he wasn’t indeed curious about this whole ordeal.

“Yeah. My professor wanted us to have someone describe their significant other to us and we have to draw them based on the description! I hope I do your partner justice.” Jimin’s heart grew warmer when the enthusiasm from Taehyung’s voice made his intentions clear. He was an aspiring artist simply using his craft to procure something emotional and raw.

Jimin was the fortunate soul Taehyung had stumbled upon during his walk home. A single, elderly man sitting on a park bench, an appropriate setting for someone Jimin’s age, had aroused some curiosity in the younger man to strike up a conversation.

The slightly hung head, the pair of kind eyes trailing the various passersby, and the astounding hint of melancholy had colored Jimin in an entirely different light than anyone Taehyung had ever met.

Whatever his story was, Taehyung made it a goal to depict it with every bit of honesty and emotion he could engender from his paintbrush.

“I think it would be hard to make anything of ___ look bad." Jimin assured, feeling his shoulders fall away from his ears and his hands finally rest atop his lap.

“___? Is that her name?” Taehyung repeated it internally a few more times in an attempt to imagine what you looked like before Jimin started on his description.

He looked over to the older man, picturing an older woman sitting beside him on that park bench. His mind meandered to what kinds of things you two would talk about, or if you two were the type to construct a haven in sweet silence. Maybe Jimin would say something that would make you laugh and you would join in on the repartee with ease.

What made you laugh? How many times have you been on a plane? Did you like the color yellow? What was your favorite genre of music? What made you cry?

The questions began to bundle like a colorful bouquet of diverse flowers, waiting to be delivered into the hands of a loved one.

“Yes. Beautiful right?” Jimin’s smile faded a bit, the only evidence of it expressed through a slight curve sitting at the ends of his mouth and the crow’s feet incising his skin much more prominently than the rest of his wrinkles.

“Very beautiful.” Taehyung decided to arm himself with one of his finer brushes. He could already feel the unwavering desire to capture the most intricate of details partly for a good grade in this class but partly for the sake of keeping true to his word.

He wanted to do you and Jimin justice. To make this nothing but ornately accurate.

“How would you describe her facial structure?” The artist positioned his arm with his brush in hand, ready to dispatch the ink amassing at the tip of the synthetic hairs to the white, empty canvas.

“Soft. Perfect to fit into my hands.” Jimin stared down to the mentioned body parts, reminiscing the countless times he would scoop your face between his palms for no reason at all other than to revere your beauty. “Round cheeks. Smooth and warm skin.”

Taehyung couldn’t resist how the pang in his heart reflexively surfaced a fond smile in reaction to Jimin’s endearing description. He peeked away from the canvas before making any initial marks and gathered the loving gaze Jimin had been directing towards his matured hands cupped around the empty space that should have been your face. Then, he knew exactly which set of emotions he should embed into this portrait.

“What about her eyes, what do they look like?” Taehyung asked to acquire another image of how he should paint you, while already outlining the basic curves of a head that would quote unquote fit perfectly in Jimin's hands.

“They were kind. They always had this sparkle in it. A real sparkle, like she trapped the moonlight in her eyes.” Suddenly, Jimin's lungs were not merely occupied with air, but with an oxygenated memorial of your eyes which made his inhalations feel weighted. “They were bright and always looked at me with trust and care. Even when they had tears in them, you could have mistaken those for diamonds.”

The image was stark in his own eyes, and if he closed them then he could have been transported back seventy years to when your wedding vows were announced to the world. How your eyes looked at him and glimmered an overwhelming beauty that nearly evaporated the over-rehearsed words from his memory. Before you could roll those moonlit pupils at his fall to silence, he hastily declared the oaths that bound his heart to yours forever as if he couldn’t stand a second longer keeping those promises in.

“Were?” Taehyung articulated thoughtfully as he could with clear indication to question the past tense manner of Jimin’s narrative.

“Yeah. She has passed.” It was still difficult to feel those words ordered as such verbalized by his tongue. They tasted bitter and stale, as if they had been waiting somewhere inside to be recognized.

He wasn't aware of how his hand was now placed against his chest until he felt the heavy throbs of his tired organ. Through this, it might be that he was searching for your heartbeat that he could once identify through the his own.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Sir.” Taehyung’s hand almost fell away from the canvas, until reality restored his maneuvers and continued the lining of your face.

His focus was oscillating from the mostly white canvas, save for the thin strokes of black, to the man uncoated from his reserve through the smile that deepened the indentations of his face.

“Jimin. Call me Jimin.” He said, breaking whatever ice that froze the two of them in discomfort. That nervousness had melted away with the minutes until they both felt warm and comfortable.

“Okay, Jimin, could you describe anything else about her? It doesn’t have to be physical. This is more about emotion.” Taehyung’s brush had been hard at work, dutifully printing every hint of love that Jimin relayed and materializing it onto the portrait.

“Her smile was warm. The biggest one you would ever see. I swear, everyone she met noticed it. It was genuine. It was the smile of someone who never had mal intent and always ready to share her happiness to all those around her. Seeing it every day, it reminded me that, with her, I was always home.”

From the day he met you, eye contact was a difficult task to compass since your smile had always demanded his full attention. Each time you flashed your grin, he felt as if it was purposeful, the extension of your joy onto him. The way you made him feel every bit of bliss you felt because you were the type to believe everyone, especially Jimin, deserved to feel happy.

And each time he was endowed witness to your smile, it articulated his goal in life quite clearly: molding his actions into a kindle for your smile and doing everything in his humble power to cherish those angelic beams of joy.

“Whenever she would smile, your day would get a little bit better. And I was lucky enough to spend most of my life with her, so my days always got better. She always smiled. Like she knew how much it meant to me.”

“Sounds like ___ was very happy.” Taehyung said during the interval of giving shape to your lips. What remained on the canvas was the widest smile Taehyung could craft, knowing it was not nearly as big as the one Jimin described.

“She was. She was sad too, and angry. You did not want to see her angry, let me tell you.” A chuckle had fallen from his mouth as he postured the memory of your scowl to the forefront of his recollection. How you would equip this number when Jimin would do something particularly dumb, or when your kids were being scolded for reasons that didn’t seem as important now.

There was nothing that compared to how you could emote with your entire face in a poise that suggested your feelings willed your every movement. How you would scrunch your nose and your eyebrows would reach the middle of the space between them; the frown of your lips would pull your entire face lower. He would take your anger seriously at the time, but in retrospect, he would give anything to see that disgruntled expression again.

And he would simply smile, and perhaps snap a photo for a keepsake.

“I hope she was happy most of all. That’s all that matters, Taehyung. Make the ones you love happy. I hope I did that well enough.” Jimin began to question if he made you happy. One day, when he joined your parted soul, he would find that out for himself.

He knew beyond doubt that you had accomplished sparking joy into people's lives simply by being you.

“I will. That’s good advice, Jimin.” Taehyung made himself present in his wonders about you, despite how he was absent from your life.

From the way Jimin described you, he fully understood that Jimin wasn't speaking from the functions of a brain. The portion of his mind that conducted speech could have been rejected entirely. These words, the thoughtful description, the sentiment flowing from his voice were sourced straight from the heart.

One that felt incomplete without its other half.

“Do you miss her?” He had to inject a bit of courage in this question in the hopes it wouldn’t be overstepping any boundaries. Though, Jimin was ever so gentle with the way he moved through life and met Taehyung's requests with kindness so far.

“Very much.” A stout crack fissured through Jimin’s voice and prompted him to swallow down the sob ruminating in his throat. “I miss her more than anything in the world. More than the flowers miss the spring and wait for winter to pass so they may bloom again. These days, I’m just waiting for spring.”

Jimin had intertwined his hands together, pretending it could fill the hollow space of his palms just as well as your hands would. He knew though, this was an emptiness that would always remain unfulfilled the minute your heart stopped beating with his.

“It will come. Soon enough. She’s waiting for you too, I’m sure.” And your flower will bloom. Taehyung created the contours of your eyes and paid a sizable amount of attention to depicting that highly emphasized sparkle.

What would a painting of you be without those acclaimed glints of moonlight floating in your irises? It wouldn’t be a painting of you at all.

“Do you have a special someone in your life right now?” Jimin took over the role of the questioner and placed Taehyung in the position of the questionee. It was enough for now to repair his composure.

“Not at the moment, no.” The majority of his focus was fixed on the painting but spared just enough to answer Jimin’s inquiry.

“Well, whenever you find them, I hope you appreciate the small things. I never knew how much the small things mattered until ___ was gone. Like how she notoriously had every barista put extra cinnamon on her coffee drinks. When I would forget to add it, she would pretend to be mad at me. She'd roll her eyes and tell me I’m ‘losing it’ or she would say something dramatic like ‘what has this world come to, Park Jimin?’” His pause filtered the room with a peaceful property.

Jimin utilized the silence to ponder the moments he once hadn’t given as much as a second thought to. The same moments that would entrap him in a catatonic gaze on rainy days or during cold, lonely nights.

“She would still drink the whole thing, though. She was kind in that way. Never really letting those things go unappreciated.” His eyes fell to the floor, though he was not seeing the weathered carpet spread across the substructure. He saw none other than your eyes.

The moonlight he had the privilege of viewing up close and personal, and uncrowned the orbiting rock in the sky of its esteemed title.

“Now every time I see cinnamon, I think of her. Of her peculiar love of it and even though she loved cinnamon so much, she’d love the effort I put in even more. She always loved me generously.” There had been friction within Jimin’s throat that made it warm and swollen ever since he started talking about you. His words dislodged through labored projections, but his voice overtly strewn hints of sorrowful longing in each statement.

“She sounds very loving. I can’t imagine how lucky it was that you met her.” Though his eyes were trained on pressing the delicate illustrations of your face onto the canvas, his ears were employed in listening intently to Jimin.

He had no idea who you were, however, he was sure he too would have fallen in love. Of course, anyone would have done so through the perception of someone who had devoted his entire heart and life to loving you.

“How long were you two together?” He asked to obtain an addition to his bouquet of knowledge about you.

“We were married for seventy years but we dated for three years before that.” Jimin’s eyes were not alone anymore.

They loaded quite a collection of tears, barely keeping at the bay of his eyes, and the vision of your face when he proposed that the two of you should seal your love through something as trivial as a diamond ring.

It was irrational, not only the fact that pricey luxuries such as rings were well beyond his budget. Jimin knew that embellishing a silver band on your finger would not be enough to earn a lasting relationship or settle your commitment to him. A piece of jewelry could not entail the immense love harbored in his chest. The proposal wasn’t the end of a happy story, rather the beginning of a lifetime to learn and unlearn the elements of loving you.

Even the bumps in the road, knocking him or you away from each other, were never enough to conclusively sever the connection. Dedication and work knotted your heartstrings together. The biggest bump, your death, was the final blow that nearly disentangled them.

Nearly. But when Jimin said ‘until death do us part’ he never realized that vow held some false hope. Of course, he wouldn’t let you go, or rather he couldn’t let you go, even after you passed away. It wasn’t that easy when his heart synchronized with yours the moment he fell in love with you and he already decided to become someone who was worthy of loving you.

Now he was that man. Someone who matched the degree of kindness you always provided him. The man who would disregard any prior engagements if you called and needed him, rest assured you would do the same for him. The man who proudly held your hand, knowing the world envied him. The same man that was cultivated through growing beside someone that cared for every part of him, down to her last breath.

In that way, death was never a contender to part him from you.

“Wow.” Taehyung was not sure of how else to elaborate how genuinely impressed he was. “What's the secret? How did you manage to stay together for seventy years? I mean, people these days get divorces like it’s a quit button you can press when you get tired of playing the game.”

Jimin, despite the teary glaze over his eyes, pulled a laugh from his throat. Without warning, he fell into the trench of all the long-forgotten fights bred from pettiness or misunderstanding. Many of them were over financial or familial issues. And with the lens of a seventy-year perspective, Jimin traded shallow grudges for an important realization that certain things remain standing after the dust settles.

“We would fight. A lot, actually. Even in those perfect relationships, people always fight. But I remember now, if it were a fight over money or anything else that was expendable, there wasn’t a question in my mind of which to choose. Between the world and ___, I always choose her. I always choose love. It’s more important than anything because when you truly love someone, you want to understand them. You want to work through problems instead of leaving them to pile up and collect dust.”

Jimin’s eyes now settled on Taehyung, who had already been staring at Jimin, then continued with all the sincerity he could deploy.

“Taehyung, always choose them. Choose love. I know I did and I have no regrets. I know if I chose to stay angry at her, I would be wrestling to forgive myself.”

Taehyung’s face muscles felt tired, his smile’s permanence hadn’t allowed for them to rest.

“Anger, annoyance, frustration, jealousy? Those all fade away. In a week or a month, you’ll stop being angry at some point, but you will never stop being in love. So choose love. It’s a permanent fixture in your heart.”

Taehyung set his brush down, and the picture resting on the easel was completed and then some. He didn’t mind. Taehyung truly enjoyed the sentiments Jimin kindly shared with him, as it would have been far duller to paint in silence.

Not to mention, he discovered a love story that went untold by movies and fairytales. It was a true love story. Something so real, Taehyung fell in love just by capturing Jimin’s tale and translating it into visual art.

Because this image of you was what Jimin saw when he pictured you. The picture of you shrouded in abundance by the highest grade of love.

“I’m finished, would you like to see?” Taehyung lifted the canvas from its resting spot, turning it slowly since Jimin’s nod was geared with apprehension.

Jimin’s heart nearly bore a hole through his chest, and it would fall out to where you were resting. He was afraid of facing you, or any rendition of your face, since it would be the first time in two months that his eyes beheld anything resembling his late wife.

When the canvas turned, so did the final page of the story. The story Jimin had been purposefully writing with long-winded prose and repetitive words to stall the commencement of it. He wasn’t ready to let go, that is until his eyes beheld the painting which etched fruition of something that felt further from him than you.

Closure.

“It’s beautiful.” Jimin’s tears were disobediently running down his cheeks. “It looks exactly like her. My love. My ___.”

It was not simply a painting garnished under the guise of an academic assignment, but an ode to the grand love Jimin had carried in his heart for seventy years and counting.

“I’ll be sure to send it to you after it’s graded.” Taehyung declared in a decided manner, now fighting back tears of his own, though it was a losing battle since he already felt the empathetic stains wetting his face.

“Thank you.” Jimin whispered soft enough that Taehyung barely caught it, but loud enough that his gratitude glazed the painting with its finishing touch: acceptance.

Now it was time to let go.

“___.” He said once more.

Jimin realized what could emerge even after your physical existence had run dry. That, even though you were no longer alive, there was a ceaseless supply of lessons Jimin still learned from loving you. He learned he could guiltlessly reflect over the years and memories. Resonating the most with him were the ones he spent choosing something more powerful and decisive and resilient above all else. Choosing love.

It colored his world into something vibrant and enchanting. There was still an unquantifiable amount of love pouring from his chest without a hint of diminishing. It was a force that stretched its reign beyond graves and long, lonely years of mourning. This love was alive, and breathing joy into Jimin’s life. It would continue breathing joy into Taehyung’s life as well as the painting, marred with your semblance.

He also realized you can never fully fall out of love. Just as pain never departs, and one simply learns to live with it, to become stronger and versed in the realm of sorrow, one never falls out of love, you simply learn to live without them; you learn to trudge on without the deity that derived something as powerful as love through the biggest smiles, the glistening eyes, the heaps of cinnamon, the unremitting kindness, and the perpetual act of choosing love.

And that the beauty of loving you was no more breathtaking than the beauty of after you.

[gvf-imagines]

Part 1

(Josh/Danny/Jake/Sam x reader)

Warnings: alcohol use, self harm scars

word count:  3252

Thanks to @callmekane for beta reading this fic!

A/N: I’m excited about what this story will bring! This is going to be a very smut filled fan fiction series where the reader has a very sexual and open relationship with all of the boys! I know some people won’t like it I’m sure but all criticism is welcome! Please leave comments and let me know what you think and of course if you have an idea for the story I’m totally open to hearing your thoughts! I hope you enjoy it my friends ❣️

If you’d like to be on the tag-list so you know when I post part 2 just message me or let me know in the comments!

—————————————————————-

You smiled as you ran off stage, the fans were still screaming and kept screaming until the next band took the stage. The air was electric, so many people, all here to enjoy the great communicator that is music. You closed your eyes to take it all in, to just listen and feel. You couldn't believe you were here, playing in front of this many people. This year you shared the stage with another up and coming band by the name of Greta Van Fleet. You hadn't heard of them before recently and they were actually really good. They had so much soul and passion in their music, it was true, raw talent. 

You watched from the side stage as they played their eclectic set. The singer, Josh, really got the crowd going. He had so much energy and was really fun to watch. His voice was incredible, unbelievable even. He had this raspy, elegant twang in his voice, that truly matched perfectly with the music his band was producing. The drummer, Danny (if you remembered correctly), had such a powerful and classic Drumming style. It was full of life and emotion , just like you, he put his all into his performance. He was focused and truly the heart of the music. There was a guitarist and a Bassist, unlike your band which only consisted of you and your best friend. You, the drummer and your friend the singer and guitarist. The bassist, Sam,  had a very cool way about him, his body moved with the music in a way that seemed beyond his control. The guitarist, Jake , was stunning, his hands danced along his guitar so expertly, you could tell he truly enjoyed his time with his instrument. 

When they finished their set, the crowd erupted in a wave of applause and cheers, like bright yellow and orange fireworks booming through the air, you watched with your minds eye, in awe as they exploded and cracked in the sky. The Boys bowed and waved before walking off stage panting and sweating.

“Nice job!, excellent show” you comment smiling. Danny returned the smile with a grateful nod. 

“Aw thank you, I'm sorry I don't think we had a chance to meet before the show, I’m Dan-” he began.

“You're Danny, Sam , Jake , and Josh” you said, pointing to each of them and smiling. They all returned the smile, there was positive energy just radiating from them, you could feel it like a blanket of warmth resting over you. 

“My name is (y/n), it's so nice to meet you guys!” you chime happily. The lead singer, Josh smiles at and you think you catch a small wink as well, making your heart skip a beat. Perhaps you were seeing things. God he's handsome, his sparkling brown eyes, he had more structure in his jawline than you had in your entire life His chestnut hair was gorgeous and curly, his whole look just attracted you to no end. 

Fuck. 

“Hey your performance was super amazing too, your voice is absolutely incredible” Sam complimented, his voice popped all the bubbly thoughts of josh that foamed in your head. Thank goodness. “Yeah! You did an excellent job (y/n). Its one thing to be a good singer when you have three other band members to help you sound good, but you were out there all alone, just your voice and you still blew that crowd away” Danny added. You were blushing for sure now. 

“Yeah your voice is crazy good, we're honored to play alongside you” Jake chimed. 

“Oh wow you guys are gonna make me cry” you chuckle “thank you so much, that means a lot coming from someone with your talent” you reply. Sam waves his hand incredulously as if you were hyping them up and making them out to be better than they really were.. You weren't. They are  awe inspiring musicians.

“Water?” a stagehand offered walking over with a cooler. 

“Oh thank fucking Christ” Josh rendered making a bee line for the cooler. You chuckled, and now that you thought of it your throat was extremely dry from singing as well. Jake nicely offered you the bottle he grabbed with a smile. A true gentleman. 

“Thank you!” you offer as you grab the bottle from him. You practically ripped the cap off and chugged the whole bottle. It was delicious and cold and ran over your tongue and down your throat with a refreshingly cold bite. 

The five of you stand there and re hydrate for a minute before Sam speaks “we should go grab a drink!” he suggests with a slight raise of his perfect eyebrows. The guys look at you in waiting. 

“You wanna join us?” Josh asks, flashing a pearly white smile. You look around at them for a mere second before responding. 

“Sure! Yeah that sounds fun” 

“Right on, I think I saw a bar down the street we can go to” Jake claims as you all head to the doors behind the dressing rooms. 

Rain began to expel from the dark clouds above you as you all headed down the road. Cold air kisses your skin causing you to shiver slightly, you only had on black leather pants and a pink floral pattern blouse that you tied up a bit to expose part of your stomach. It was late, must have been almost midnight by now, the air was heavy with moisture and you could smell the rain soaked cement under your feet. 

“Are you cold?” Josh questions as he walks beside you, he startled you a bit. You smiled and looked at your arms, they were dotted with goosebumps. 

“Yeah kinda” you reply sheepishly. Josh instantly takes off the jean jacket he was wearing and handed it to you. Jake and the others were a few feet behind the two of you carrying on a conversation about the show. You reached out and accepted the jacket, Josh's gaze nonchalantly floated down your arm, his face fell when he noticed the deep scars that peppered across your skin near your wrists. You notice him looking at them before he brings his gaze back up to meet yours. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and you quickly put the jacket on. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean to stare” he says softly, looking down at the wet street. You knew by the tone in his voice he wasn't judging you. His look was filled with concern, not judgement.

“It's alright, people stare all the time” you responded 

“It doesn't bother me so much anymore, i'm used to it.” you added. Josh nods, a sad look still lingers on his gentle face. His jacket was warm, his scent filled your nose, it was comfortable and soothing, much like the rain that fell from the sky. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, you could tell he was thinking about something, he had that  thousand yard stare stuck in his eyes. You hadn't known Josh for long but it's not hard to tell when someone is enthralled in thought.

“How long have you been singing?” you ask, trying to pull him from whatever trance he was in. 

“A long time, most of my life really” he answers with a smile. Talking about his music clearly made him happy. He in turn asked you the same question. You laugh before responding. 

“Honestly I've only been singing for a few years….drumming is my real talent and I've been doing that for most of my life, coming up on 18 years” you explain. Josh’s expression shifted from a smile to a look of surprise.

“Wow that’s awesome , are you self taught?” he asks again. You nodded “my dad taught me a few things here and there more when I first started out but, mostly I've taught myself” you said. Josh chuckled with a nod.

“That is really cool” he replied, you could tell by the tone and instance of his voice that he was genuinely impressed. 

“Oo careful on the compliments you've never heard me play before, just because I've been playing for a long time doesn't mean i’m any good” you joke, Josh laughs, shakes his head and nudges your shoulder. 

“Well have to get you behind Danny's kit some time” he implores. Hearing him say that made you happy, it meant he wanted to see you again. 

“You guys did really good tonight, I cant believe I've never heard of you guys before really. It wasn't until my manager told me who I'd be playing with at the festival that I started looking into you guys.” you admit. 

“Thanks you did an excellent job too, i really loved that first song you sang, ‘salt is my sugar’ I really resonated with that one, truly felt it, there's a lot of emotion in your lyrics.

“This is it,” Sam announces opening the front door and holding it for everyone to walk in. the smell of smoke and dark liquor hang heavy in the air. An ACDC song played over the speakers. It wasn't very busy, there was an older man sitting at the bar, a couple younger people playing pool and a few others scattered in booths. It was a total dive bar, a hole in the wall, which was just your style. You all sat at the bar on squeaky worn out bar stools. 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, perching himself up with his arms rested on the bar as a washrag sat, oh so typically, on his shoulder as he awaited your response. Jake looked at Josh with a raised brow giving him that ‘get a load of this guy’ look. 

“I'll have a beer,” Danny ordered. 

“Me as well please” Jake adds.

“Southern comfort and seven up for me please” you order next. 

“Hmm I'll have a long island iced tea” Sam says. You look at him holding back a chuckle Huh didn't take him for a long island iced tea kinda guy but to each their own. The bartender looked to josh. 

“Salty dog please” he requests.

“Put your IDs on the counter” the bartender instructs as he turns around to collect everyone's drinks. The five of you did as you were told and laid out your IDs. 

“So where are you guys headed now that the festival is over?” you asked playing with a stained, old coaster that sat in front of you. 

“We’re going back to Michigan for some well deserved time off” Josh responds. 

“For a little while anyways” he adds with a smile. 

“Hey I live in silver city!” you reply happily , silver city was a small town in Michigan closer to the upper peninsula. 

“Small world” you added. What are the chances the two of you lived within a few hours of each other and never met until the both of you played a festival in Los Angeles. 

You turn your attention to the combination of alcoholic drinks that the bartender set in front of you. Everyone reached for theirs offering quick cheers before taking a drink. The carbonation of the seven up burned against your throat before the alcohol sent the warming sensation through your chest and stomach. 

“Ah yum” you said, wincing from the sharpness of the alcohol. Jake laughed as he watched you.

“Not very convincing,” Sam says smiling. You laugh and take another drink. You watch Josh stir his drink lightly with the small straw it came with, he notices you looking. 

“Ever had a salty dog before?” he asks, hoping you say no. 

You simply shake your head in reply. He slides his drink closer to you. 

“We can share if you want, it's really good?” he offers. You look at the pink drink in front of you. 

“What's in it?” you ask. 

“It's just gin and grapefruit juice with a little salt around the rim,” he says. 

“Oh god that sounds horrible” you laugh.

“It's actually not that bad” Danny pipes up with a shrug.

“He made me try it a few weeks ago,” he adds. 

“Alright I'll take your word for it” you smile at Danny. You look back down at the drink. 

“I promise I didn't spike it” Josh chimes.  You laugh loudly, why would he even say that? 

“That's exactly what someone who spiked my drink would say” 

“But I guess I trust you guys” you add before taking a healthy sip of the beverage. 

“Hmm that's not bad!” conclude, it was much sweeter than you thought it would be, it kind of reminded you of orange juice and vodka. Josh nods with an I told you so sort of look on his face. 

“Here, try mine,” Sam says next, handing you his glass. 

“Alright you try mine too” you reply with a smile. Sam's slender fingers brush against yours as he grabs the drink from you , your eyes look to his and he winks. 

Oh god, I can't be attracted to two of them. Honestly, who were you kidding? You were insanely attracted to all of them, how were they ALL so cute and gorgeous? Not fair to the rest of man-kind. 

“Wow this one is super good!” you remark going in for another drink of the long island iced tea. 

“Yeah can you believe there's like 8 different alcohols in there? No tea at all” he laughs, you laughed with him. His laugh was sweet and light, like orange sparkling shards of glass dancing through the air. The five of you began talking about life and learning a lot about each other, ordering more drinks along the way. You could tell the mix of drinks was beginning to take effect on you, you felt warm and relaxed. You were standing next to Danny now, he towered over you, this man was truly a beast.the smell of his cologne wrapped around you. It was oaky and mossy with a hint of citrus, you couldn't help but feel an electrifying pull of attraction to him.

For fucks sake, you curse yourself.  

A few games of pool (which, it turns out Jake is like a God at pool) later you all found yourselves back at the bar carrying on more conversation, albeit more slurred now. It was much easier to open up to people when alcohol was involved. You rolled the sleeves of josh's jacked up, exposing your arms as the alcohol was making you extremely warm.

“What happened to you?” the bartender asks loudly. You and the guys all look at him with hints of confusion. 

“I got the worst concoction of my parents DNA possible” you joke , the boys laugh. Jake nudges your shoulder. 

“Shut up you're gorgeous” he says softly. You give him a quick smile. 

“No. Your arm. What happened to your arm.” the bartender says again, nodding to your scars. You hated when people asked that question, like they didn't know why you had those scars on your wrists. Very few things leave scars like that on skin. You looked around at the guys, josh looked pissed and the others looked saddened as this was the first time they had seen your scars, and they knew damn well what it was from, they weren’t as stupid as this bartender. The air of the bar had shifted, the mood went from fun loving to hostile very quickly. Fuck this guy.

“I got in a fight with a weed wacker” you retort sarcastically. The man rolls his eyes.

“What happened? Did your little boyfriend break up with you? Flunk a class? Your puppy ran away?” he was mocking you. You said nothing in return.

“You're just another one of those emotionally confused little girls, no reason to hate her life.” he continues. For some reason he was trying to upset you , and you had no idea why, you'd been nothing but pleasant to the man since the moment you entered the bar.

“First of all i'm not a girl, I'm a woman. Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning man? You're mad because you got all D’s in high school and now you're stuck serving losers like us in this shit hole, pretentious, sorry excuse of a bar? Go fuck yourself. I don’t hate my life.” you answer , anger pooling in your throat. 

“Hey man. Lay off.” Danny says with a look of warning. 

“Of course you don't hate your life” the man says ignoring Danny completely. 

“You just do it for attention, think if you slice yourself up maybe someone will feel bad for you huh? I've seen your kind before girl.” he speaks again. OK now this idiot was pissing you off. You never did it for attention, attention was the last thing you wanted, especially when it came to your scars, you wished you could erase them.

“Look, I've got three things to say to you,” you reply with an irritated sigh. You stood up from your stool and stepped closer to the man. 

“One” you say, holding up your pointer finger giving the illusion that you were going to list reasons of argument to him. Instead you ball your hand into a fist and punch the guy right in his fucking jaw with all your drunken might. To your surprise (and no doubt everyone else's) the bartender fell to the floor, you knocked him out.. Everyone was wide eyed and silent 

“Lets get outta here” Josh says, breaking the glistening silence in the bar, noticing everyone looking at the five of you. Jake grabbed a bottle of Jack before all of you ran out of the door. None of you could suppress your laughs as you took off down the street. Out of breath you all keeled over in a field of grass a few feet from the tour buses in a fit of laughter. You sat down on the wet grass and looked up at the clouds. Danny sat on your left and Sammy was on your right, Josh and Jake sat in front of you and you all formed a small little circle. 

“That felt good” you say softly, referring to punching that shit head of a bartender. Sam laughed.

“Yeah that was awesome, I can't believe you knocked him out” Jake chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. The air went silent again as you all sat with your own thoughts. Your face slowly lost emotion as thoughts of what the man said swirled around your mind. You tried not to let what people said to you about your scars get to you too much but it was hard sometimes. Danny noticed your expression and you felt his hand draw soft circles on your back.

“That guy was an idiot. He was just being an asshole” Josh said softly, you nodded, knowing he was right. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe you were just really that sad but a tear fell down your face and your voice cracked as you spoke. 

“I just feel so alone sometimes” you wiped the tears away as quickly as they fell. You could feel all of them watching you with sympathetic eyes.

“Everyone's got their vice (y/n)” Danny said quietly, his hand still grazing your back. 

Josh rolls his shirt sleeve up and reveals dozens of little horizontal scars covering his shoulder. He grabs your hand and you look up at him to meet his gaze. He stroked your hand with his thumb and gave you a comforting, gentle look. 

“You're not alone”

[incarnateirony]

(1.) I like your new format! and (b) I've been thinking about the idea of the end being Cas reordering heaven and Dean being able to choose to be with him there and thinking about why that upset me so much. I think my first reaction was not so much to your outline thoughts, and their hermetic/alchemy base (which i don't pretend to grasp fully), but more to doraspn's read - i hate the idea that someone who has battled a life of trauma, depression and low self-worth can only find peace in death 1/

/part2/ I know it's before Dabberens era, but Dean has twice refused the "peace" option (4.23 when Cas offers it, and s11 when Amara does), plus his character is deeply tied in to the earthy and sensory - food, sex, touch etc. And the show seems (to me) to be saying Cas is moving towards staying - on earth with Dean, maybe as human... Also those Matrix Reloaded videos left me tied in knots! Not sure what I'm asking here, but perhaps for some more of your thoughts. Enjoying this thinky stuff 

Hi Nonnie! Lots to reply to here.

1. Re: format; Thanks! I’m still fishing around for some material to make a few more sliders congealing around P3, 4, 5, and SPN’s Shadow; and one around The Matrix, SPN and P5, but for the most part it’s done and I fixed most of the troublesome parts of the first time I converted to a layout like this (eg it hiding text/captions/etc on galleries and forcing them into single image columns)

2. I can recognize your upset with @doraspn​‘s phrasing. Personally, from my many conversations with them, I don’t think they intended it the way it came across, but I’m not them, nor will I speak for them. I’m more the kind that tries to presume good faith in readings but I can understand why the phrasing/presentation was hurtful. 

3. Eg, the rest.

You mentioned confusion both at the alchemical pathwork and at the Matrix stuff, so let me try a few different angles here. It’s gonna be a bit of a ride. I understand if you can’t soak it all due to personal processing, but see what you can grok from these collective videos I’ve made over the past few years. And yes, the songs are even chosen intentfully. If you have trouble following both in audio, feel free to google the song names for lyrics. After linking them, I’ll discuss a bit.

Parabol & Parabola by Tool (made midseason S14)

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46 & 2 by Tool (made post 14.20 following Lateralus Project theme P&P was built in midseason)

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These videos tackle two highly related topics in Supernatural.

Let it be said: obviously this isn’t an endorsement to run out and die because Fuck All, but let’s just say within the suprastructure of the show that we’re watching;

Andrew Dabb made a comment everybody has been panicking about, that the “death toll will be massive.” I, on the other hand, have a huge mood of “and?” and I think that baffles people how I can mutually suspect a fairly happy or positive ending (if bittersweet in parts) while shrugging that off.

So my simple question, partnered to ideas like Parabol & Parabola, is... should we really fear Death in Supernatural? If we were talking about proverbial death tolls, if Life Is A Highway, and Death and Life are two faces of the same coin, were Death Toll a form of taxation on the highway of life and death, Sam, Dean and their immediate confidants personal crossing past that line, over and back again (consider, if you will, the concept alongside Parabol & Parabola closer to the concept of reincarnation), they’re probably singlehandedly fixing the potholes and keeping the reaper structure online, pfff.

I mean, I use that phrasing loosely. But nothing and in no way has Death been presented as a true end; if anything, it is a point of new beginning. Okay, so humans go to heaven or hell or get stuck on earth and go crazy. And? The Winchesters and co power through that and find a new direction and a new purpose. Neither Death nor God can destrsoy or create souls -- only humans can destroy human souls, be it sacrificing their own for power or torturing each other in hell until the One True Thing, the light that makes them good (and like Jack, without it, is the Absence of Good) goes out, leaving only absence of that kind of spark, and similarity to Amara in her absence of god’s light. 

Death, and God, and all these other things can find ways to box up souls, put them in suitcases or jars or trap them, or in the case of heaven, like MichaelDean’s headspace, give them contentment in heaven that pacifies them into not pursuing more, but in the end, where do they come from and to where do they go? Think to the 46 & 2 video and watch it a few times if you have to.

The concept of Shadow, Animus, Anima, Self and Godhood are basically the primitive self, the masculine ego (if we were, for example, to take their angelic daddy issue counterparts), then the feminine self in all things too (be that the need to fill Pamela into Dean’s bar, or the bartender in Sam’s dream, who coincidentally has the same actress as Dumah reflecting the Empty at Castiel, even -- though Cas has been known to take vessels of either sorts and has been argued to even have motherly or feminine aspects and DOES walk the goddess path in the show)

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The Magician and the Self are the master of all of these, to make gold of oneself and the parts in our life, the important things that should not be let go, regardless of what Chuck tells us. But “life” is relative here, in a world where we can reincarnate, time and again. In Sam and Dean’s case, it’s because they’re exceptional people in exceptional circumstances but the question then is, why can the rest of man not be given the same, and how do we right this system?

Which then of course comes down to my Matrix implications: The Architect and Chuck, how are they different? If angels are programs designed to keep his operating system functional; if humans are the power cells, human souls each like innumerable reactors; if he who has the most souls are become god;

if Castiel at one point tried to replicate this, but had no sorting system to keep them distracted or occupied and they ... well, they rebelled. But Chuck has ample systems. He has heaven, where people are distracted. He has hell, where humans tear each other apart. And he has... earth. Yes, earth. Where we are in fact convinced to desperately cling to the human bodies as part of the sandbox he designed, for fear of what waits for us. Again, as per the Shadow video, “I’m the cage,” what separates the defined human experience as it stands from that?

Reordering the suprastructure of the universe may very well give us the opportunity to make a new world, a better one, free of hunger, or want.

If, for example -- just one of the angles this could go; let’s say Cas unbirthed heaven like Rowena did hell. Neither of them truly perish. Their physical bodies die and will not return to earth, but these realms can directly interact. They endure, and can build entire new system structures. What if whoever unbirths heaven in the end makes it so EVERYONE can have the choice to reincarnate and gain new experiences? Or equally so the choice to go and make their own perfect worlds with anyone and everyone they choose, where man is his own agent and own god that defines the extent of his experience? 

After all. Burgers can go cold in heaven. Physics are had there. It’s all cognitive, but by Chuck, so is earth. The only problem is that none of the people there are real, and in the end... people, families, that’s real. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?

So back to the Matrix: the architect like Chuck had built many worlds, and humans fell into it, becoming the driving power cores. Their revolt is the one thing the Architect would do anything to prevent or minimize, even if in a way, the Architect himself created the One. Angels are programs. Fallen angels are rogue programs. But even agent smith managed to convert “out” into humanity.

I’ve been all for human Cas endgame and, in a way, I still am. In fact, the very idea, the proposal of him taking over heaven prevents nothing of him living in eternity with the Winchesters. Be they having Jack take over the macrocosm of the universe and still dancing through earth as we know it, or eventually sunning their butts between incarnations or building their own realms with all they may want and have. Do they choose to incorporate the carnal edge of experience? Maybe! They know those things after all, so what prevents them of creating it any differently than Jack’s burger going friggin’ cold off of complex manifestations of memory?

What is life? What is the meaning of life? Is it sitting here with a thumping heart, locking ourselves up in rooms for fear of losing it, or is it the people, the families, the experiences we gather as a whole? And in the structure of Supernatural, if Sam and Dean were to die in physical body, does that mean they’re dead? Hell, does it even mean they’ve given up? Or do they actually have dreams and objectives to make better worlds and realities, to bring back every person they’ve lost?

What keeps, say, Dean from going to heaven and opening up a bar for travelers deciding if they wanna reincarnate and enjoy earth again and get new earthly experiences -- or if they’ve found their meaning, their purpose, their people, and they want to, by choice and not assigned fate, take those souls with them into their own worlds where they can make new and better ones? Break the cages, give power and freedom. 

It’s a complex line of thought and takes some brain breaking because, as humans, naturally we fear Death. But the perspective of the heavily reincarnate Winchesters and the universe of the show we’re watching -- hell, Sam and Dean CAN’T even really just kill themselves to give up. Remember Lucifer was like meh, I’d just bring you back. So that ain’t it either. It’s not necessarily about giving up or being suicidal, should we come to this -- but about freedom, and choice, and sovereignty of man, and chosen love and family.

If the Shadow were the dreamer in the nothingspace that neverwas, the primitive man, who woke up and went “WTF?” one day and by mistake shat out primitive principles, like the demiurge YHVH/Chuck who happened to create the world by concept of Light and Grace, somewhere, it’s “Why do I exist?” Not to be too pedantic but remember when Mewtwo woke up in a test tube and just kept asking that over and over again. Hell, DO I exist. What is the meaning of this allnothing? and to make it by that question, and to try to find meaning in it, and to gain a million individual experiences, and become a million people, all developing their own personalities and egos and identities and lives and memories, but all to ask, and search, and find -- and still to come back to itself, each other, and by those experiences we become whole.

Eileen’s ghost didn’t hear. We can say it was just for politically correct reasons. Or we can consider that the soul that entered into that body never knew what it meant to have those senses in the matrix, and it was irrelevant in the end. It did not define who she was, and did not need to, because she had her own definition and her own life and her own self.  But like everyone else, she gravitates to those she has a connection to. Sometimes with prodding from Chuck. In other cases, against his best efforts, some connections make themselves.

I’ve reached the point of ranting, but maybe this has explained what I’m talking about in these things?

To me, “suicide” in its form as given by the show isn’t just deciding not to need earth as it stands anymore. It’s giving up. It’s surrendering to the cages. It’s Dean wanting to be rocketed off into the depths of space or thrown into the ocean (or, just as bad, throwing Cas into it in his place). It’s giving in to the boxes, to not want to maintain freedom to pursue and explore. So, if Dean should, for example, choose to go to heaven in the end, if this system has been rebuilt-- I really don’t consider that suicidal or death. I consider that a real step into life, and the self.

** Obvious disclaimer let’s not endorse this as a real world line of thinking unless you too like Sam and Dean Winchester can reincarnate after half an episode thanks