#unless he's leaving a very funny and charming voicemail

[cementcornfield]

A Series 💚

[chipper9906]

Third Times The Charm

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 15 (Episode 03: The Rupture, Episode 09: The Trap

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,508

Status: One Shot - Complete

Chapter Preview: 

“Well… not… not that part,” Dean stutters out, taken aback by the fiery, spitting rage that Cas so rarely displays towards him. “If you’d just let me-,”

“No,” Castiel interrupts him, slowly rising back up with his duffel in hand. “You think you’re trying, Dean. You really do. But when it comes down to it, you’re not entirely ready to apologize to me. Not yet.” Dean couldn’t even get a word out as Cas reached into his trench-coat pocket before firmly planting something into his hand �� something familiarly rectangular and thin in shape. “And even if you are… I’m certainly not ready to forgive.”

* * *

Three times Dean Winchesters attempts to "apologize" to Castiel. Except... This is Dean Winchester. Apologies aren't exactly his strong point.

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He knew he’d messed it all up the second the words left his mouth. And yet, in that moment of overboiling, long over-due anger spilling out, he simply didn’t have enough reasoning left to realize it.

So, he said it.

“Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?”

Cas had looked at him like he had physically hit him. He might as well have. But through the seething rage he felt, he just didn’t care that he had hurt Cas. A part of him felt good about it. Vindicated. Because if he was hurting, then Cas should, too.

And maybe that’s why… that’s why he can’t take it back. It’s why he can’t just apologize, tell Cas that he didn’t mean it, that it was a moment where he wasn’t thinking right. And that right there was the problem. He had meant it. He had been thinking back to all those times, all those fuck ups that have happened in their lives, and there was no doubt that Cas was involved in a lot of them. Maybe it had been something clung to the back of his mind, building, and building until he was pushed over the edge.

But it didn’t matter. He had said it, and he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t remove the pain he had inflicted on Cas.

And he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

But that was beside the point. They didn’t have time for this. They didn’t have time for petty silent treatments, and the boatload of therapy they probably needed. Mom was dead, Jack was dead, Rowena was dead, they had just barely averted yet another goddamn Apocalypse whilst simultaneously being thrown into another; this one with God himself out on a personal vendetta against them, and the entire friggen Universe, and goddammit, they didn’t have the time for Cas to go off sulking on his own!

So now that’s why he was sat here on the edge of the map table, phone in hand, staring glumly down at Cas’s name as it glowed back at him from the screen, thumb hovering just over his name. He didn’t have much faith that the call would even go through, considering the past twenty or so times he’s tried so far were sent straight to Cas’s voicemail. And not in a way that suggested his phone was off, or even that he was letting it ring out and not answering it. Dean knew that the few brief rings he heard before being cut off by Cas’s voicemail could only mean that the bastard saw Dean was calling and was rejecting the damn call.

Which is why, as he waited to be greeted by the same annoying voicemail message he’s listened to way too many times now, he’s caught by surprise when he’s instead greeted by the click of the call connecting, and the loud silence of Cas on the other end, not speaking.

“Cas? You there?”

Nothing but silence greets him. For a moment, the annoying part of him that still cares starts envisioning the worst scenarios. What if it wasn’t Cas? What if someone or something had killed him, and the killer wanted to know who the hell was stubborn enough to call someone twelve times in the span of around four minutes.

But no, it’s Cas that answers on the other end of the line with a very curt and unfriendly sounding, “What?”

Dean just about holds his tongue – pretty much has to bite down on it to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t – and takes a deep, not at all calming breath. “Any reason you’ve been ignoring both mine and Sammy’s calls?”

“I think the answer to that question is fairly obvious,” Cas’s answer is scathing, dripping with levels of sarcasm that Dean didn’t think angels could even reach.

“Alright, fine. But couldn’t you at least answer Sammy’s calls? Or even just his messages?”

“No.”

Another deep breath, Winchester.

“And why’s that?” Dean gets out through gritted teeth, hearing his phone crack and groan in protest under his vice-like grip.

“Because I don’t want to.”

Turns out, that’s all he needed to be pushed over the edge again.

“Yeah? Well, Cas, funnily enough, you don’t always get what you want. Woulda’ thought you of all people would have learned that by now, with as much time you spend with us. And you know what? Now isn’t one of those times where you get what you want. Hell, what neither of us want. But we both know that the crap going down right now is bigger than what you, or me, or Sammy, or anyone wants. So how about we both put aside our hissy fits for the time being, get over our own damn egos, and you get your feathery ass back here and help us figure out how the hell we’re supposed to kill God?”

His voice has raised perhaps a little bit too much near the end there, so much that he felt like it was ringing in his ears for a while after he had stopped talking; perhaps even enough to drown out whatever it was that Cas decided to respond with. Except, Cas didn’t respond. Not for a while, anyway. Nothing but silence – in the form of crackling white noise – emitted from Dean’s speaker, stretching on long enough that he had to take his phone away from his ear and check the screen to see if the phone was still connected.

And then Cas laughed.

He’s pretty sure he can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard Cas laugh, and this one… was not a good one. There was some amusement in it, but mostly it just sounded tired. And… a little bit bordering on insane.

“Something funny?” Dean damn near growled down the phone.

Cas’s laughter faded away at that. “No. No, I suppose there isn’t.”

A single beep emitted from the speaker. Gone was the white noise. Gone was Cas’s voice.

Cas had hung up on him.

Dean takes another deep breath, one just as unsuccessful as the last few. He holds the phone limply in his closed fist, staring blankly out into the bunker before bringing his fist down hard on the table, barely resisting the urge to launch his “too expensive to keep breaking through rage or hunts” across the room.

“You stubborn son of a bitch,” Dean grits out, balancing his phone in his lap as he massages his now sore hand. “Just gotta make this complicated, don’t you…”

The idea pops into his head right then and there, jumping down from the table and settling into an actual seat. He pulls his laptop towards him, flipping open the top and getting to work. “Fine, Cas. You don’t wanna come back home? Then I’ll come to you…”

* * *

 There were a lot of things Dean thought Cas might be doing in some small town out in the middle of nowhere.

Well, not a lot of things. Actually… Dean had no idea. The last time Cas went off on his own – admittedly, not of his fault – he had gone and tried to be a proper citizen of America with his own degrading, low-paying, soul-sucking retail job. He supposed that was a possibility, but, he doubted it. Most of the time, Cas is… well, with him, Dean supposed. Helping him and Sam with whatever big ugly had decided to rear its head for the year. Cas didn’t really get much free time, didn’t have much time for hobbies (neither did he unless you counted drinking and porn watching, but whatever), so of all the things he expected for Cas to be doing…

Fishing certainly wasn’t one of them.

Cas had managed to find himself a nice little dock to fish off as well. A cozy, hidden spot within the reeds, far out enough from civilization that Dean actually had to hike out here to find him. Admittedly, he was a little pissed to have to leave Baby behind and hike for four friggen hours in the heat whilst swiping away blood-sucking mosquitos, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

There was a single fishing rod cast out into the water, its little neon orange bobber oddly still despite drifting amidst the gentle waves created by the evening’s wind as it blew across the surface of the water. Strangely, there was an honest to God boom-box sat next to Cas, which would have undoubtedly scared away any fish in the area if it was playing music. Which… it wasn’t. Even from the other end of the dock, Dean could see the tape holder was open and empty.

Dean stands there long enough to see the little bobber start bobbing in the water, flicking left and right as fish nibble on its bait. It’s not long after that the lure disappears completely, sinking below the surface of the water and into its murky depths as a fish takes the bait. But… Cas doesn’t react. In fact, he hadn’t even been looking at the lure. He must have been holding something in his hands - what exactly that is, Dean can’t see from here – as he can tell from Cas’s hunched posture that this mysterious object must be whatever had won Cas’s attention over his bait being taken.

“You know, you’re actually supposed to catch the fish when fishing. I get that it’s supposed to be relaxing, but… you could at least try to catch something when it’s on the end of your hook.”

Cas doesn’t jump or startle at his voice, much to Dean’s secret displeasure. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas somehow sensed his presence. Maybe he could smell his scent or something. Hear his heartbeat. Feel his soul. Something like that.

What he does do is sigh. Loudly. Loud enough for Dean to hear from all the way over here, which kinda hurts if he’s being honest. That being said, he does put away whatever he was holding into his coat’s pocket and picks up the rod at Dean’s words and hooks the fish, reeling it in like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I thought I’d give it a try. Perhaps make some sense of my thoughts,” Cas says without looking back at him, keeping his gaze fixated on the water ahead. “Try and see why so many are invested in this past time. I suppose maybe it’d be different if I was human, but… I just don’t get quite the same satisfaction.” It seems that, in a blink of an eye, Cas has the fish reeled in and dangling in the air in front of him. He gets the hook out of its mouth just as quick, looking down to the decent-sized carp he held in his hands. “What is it about fishing that makes it so worthwhile to humans? Is it the struggle of trying to reel it in? The sense of satisfaction you get out of pulling this creature from its habitat? Some feeling of power, a superiority, that you’ve outsmarted and outmuscled a lesser being than yourself?”

“Uh… I’m not much one for philosophical debates, Cas,” Dean looks to Cas wide-eyed, taking a few cautious steps onto the dock and towards him. “I just find it relaxing, I suppose. Bobby used to take me and Sammy out a few times when dad was off on hunts. We wouldn’t talk about dad, or where he’d be taking us once he got back - - if he got back. It was nice to just sit out in the sun, Bobby and Sam next to me and… get to feel some sense of peace that I haven’t felt since I was four.”

Castiel only hums at that, gently lowering the fish back down into the water and letting it swim away. “How did you find me?”

Dean steps even closer. “Sammy put a tracker on your phone a long time ago, bud. Can never be too careful.”

“Sam did?” Cas said, sounding genuinely surprised. The first bit of emotion Dean had heard slip into his voice.

“Yeah. I actually argued with him over it, believe it or not,” Dean shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, keeping a small amount of space between him and Cas. “Guess it turned out useful…”

Cas was still refusing to look at him, which was all kinds of frustrating. “When did…”

“Not long after you came back from… y’know… the Empty,” Dean gets out. “But, uh… he brought it up after you knocked us out with your mojo and ran off with Kelly against our wishes.”

Cas tenses up at that, carelessly tossing his fishing rod to the floor next to him and finally, finally, standing up from the edge of the dock and turning to face Dean. “And if I’d have gone with your wishes, there would have been every chance that Jack would have ended up dead – perhaps before he was even born!”

“Yeah? Well, he ended up dead anyway, didn’t he?” Dean says it like the words don’t hurt him as much as it does Cas. He says it like he doesn’t see the way Cas’s face fall, the little frustration he held shifts into what can only be described as both shock and grief. And then, to make it worse – and because he just can’t his mouth shout – he makes it a hundred times worse. “Maybe we’d be better off if we had stopped him from being born. At least then mom would still be alive.”

There wasn’t any grief left on Cas’s face. No sadness, no anger. It was nothing but disgust that he held for Dean and his words, and Dean knew he deserved such a look from Cas, but it wasn’t exactly like the rational part of his brain that knows this is in control right now.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asks him, sounding too small and tired for a mighty angel of the Lord. “Did you track me all this way, come all the way out here to… what? To hurt me more?”

“No!” Dean yells, which totally defeats the point of what he’s trying to go with here. “No, that’s not why…” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. “I… I came to bring you home.”

Castiel raises a single eyebrow up at him. “To… bring me home?”

“Yeah. You know, back to the bunker. Look Cas, I’m not stupid enough to pretend that I… that we don’t still need you.”

“That’s surprising to hear,” Castiel bites back. “Considering you think I’m the ‘thing’ that goes wrong in every mess we’ve been through.”

“That’s not-,” Dean tries, but Cas has already turned his back to him; hurriedly picking his fishing rod back up and began disassembling it. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying to do what?” Castiel grumbles under his breath, pulling apart the rod pieces a little harsher than he intended.

“What the hell do you think?!” Dean throws his hands in the air, letting his irritation boil over. “I’m trying to make things right, I guess. Trying to… to apologize.”

Castiel actually pauses in trying to stuff the rod back into its duffel, his head snapping up to look at Dean. “Apologize…? In what part of you admitting your wish for Jack to have been terminated before birth should I take as an apology?”

“Well… not… not that part,” Dean stutters out, taken aback by the fiery, spitting rage that Cas so rarely displays towards him. “If you’d just let me-,”

“No,” Castiel interrupts him, slowly rising back up with his duffel in hand. “You think you’re trying, Dean. You really do. But when it comes down to it, you’re not entirely ready to apologize to me. Not yet.” Dean couldn’t even get a word out as Cas reached into his trench-coat pocket before firmly planting something into his hand – something familiarly rectangular and thin in shape. “And even if you are… I’m certainly not ready to forgive.”

There was nothing Dean could do. Nothing but stand there in astonishment as Cas simply walked right by him, leaving him there standing at the end of the dock staring down at the object Cas has pressed into his hand. And honestly, this in itself was more painful than anything Cas could have ever said in return.

In his hand was a clearly well used, well-loved mixtape, his own writing staring back at him in crudely drawn sharpie on the faded white label:

‘Deans top 13 Zepp TRA XX’

“Thought I told you you’re supposed to keep gifts,” Dean just about manages to get out, braving a look up at Cas’s retreating form.

Castiel’s steps halt for just a moment. Just long enough to say one more thing before continuing on his way. “You did. But, it is to my knowledge that you only keep a gift so long as it is wanted, is it not?”

Never mind. He was wrong.

That hurt a lot more.

* * *

He was a dick.

He knew that. He got that now. But now, it seemed, was too late.

He can’t say he wasn’t angry, because he was. What he can say was that he held onto that anger for too long. That he didn’t stop for a moment to look at things the way Cas probably did. Instead, he only saw things the way his anger wanted to, to keep him steeped in that burning rage, letting himself lash out at Cas because it was easy. Because he’d put the blame on Cas so many times before, so why not do it again?

And now, Cas might be…

No. No, he refuses to believe it. Cas is fine. He’s made it out of a few bad scraps before, he’s sure Cas will find a way to take out those dick-head leviathans and… and Eve… the mother of all monsters… right?

“CAS!” His yell echoes between the trees that surround him, seemingly amplified by the low fog that swirls around him. An endlessly hopeful part of him expects to see that trench-coat-wearing idiot stumbling towards him in the distance, maybe a little bloodied and battle-worn but otherwise whole. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the odd stillness of Purgatory when creatures aren’t busy ripping each other apart.

How long had it been now? It had felt like he has been out here, wandering aimlessly for any sign of Cas for hours. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and that awful squeeze of fear clenches around his heart at the timer ticking down, making it hard to breathe.

29 minutes. That was all he had. 29 minutes to find Cas in the whole of Purgatory and get them back to the portal in time. It took him damn near an entire year to find Cas the last time. 29 minutes just wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t… He couldn’t tell Cas what’s been tearing him up inside, can’t tell him what Cas shouldn’t have to hear from him to know, and now he never will and-

“No, no no…” The words spill out of his mouth without his permission, sounding as close to a whimper of pain that actual words possibly could.

He didn’t want to do it like this. Hell, he didn’t even know if Cas even had enough grace left to hear him. But he had to try. It worked last time, didn’t it? Every damn night…

“Cas? Cas I hope you can hear me… that wherever you are, it’s not too late,” It was harder than he expected, saying this out loud. Almost like he was accepting that he was never going to speak to Cas again. Never get to say these words face to face. “I should’ve stopped you. You’re my best friend, but I just let you go. ‘Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.”

The incessant burning in his eyes gets too much, the heavy weight in his nose forcing a shaky sniffle out of him. He reaches out a hand to the tree next to him, barely enough time to process the scratchy roughness of the bark before his wobbly knees are giving out, forcing him down to a crouch, leaning his weight against the tree.

“I… Ohh…” He nearly says it, but the words get caught in the back of his throat. ‘Not yet’ a voice seems to whisper in his head. It was at least better than the voice that would always whisper ‘Never’ whenever he let himself think those words. “I don’t know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that – I-it’s always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can’t – I can’t stop it. No matter how-,” His voice catches once more. He was well past the point of holding the tears back. “-How bad I want to, I just can’t stop it.”

This was it. He couldn’t hold back now. Not when this might be his last chance. Even if… Even if Cas was no longer alive to hear this message. “And – And I – I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. And – God, Cas. I love you. You hear me? I love you. And I – I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry it took me till now, till it might be too damn late to say it. Cas, I’m – I’m so sorry. I hope you can hear me… Please, hear me…”

He can almost hear the ‘whomp’ of wings he hasn’t heard in years. Could almost envision the sight of Cas stood behind him, head tilted to the side, looking to him in genuine angel curiosity as he answers Dean’s prayers. But when he looks around, the forests of Purgatory look just as empty through his tear-filled vision as they did moments before. “Okay…” Dean forces himself up, wiping a hand down his face to wipe away any evidence of what had just happened. Reset himself back to Dean Winchester. Hunter. Son of John Winchester.

Get the job done. Get back home.

His mind seems to switch off after that. He’s sure he looked every part the stereotypical zombies in the movies and tv shows and comics as he shuffles forward in the direction of the portal, face blank and devoid of life, shotgun heavy in hand and only the barest of survival instincts keeping an eye out for any movement within the trees.

He wasn’t far now. Just up ahead was his way out of here. He would step through, and be home. Without the flower. And… and without Cas. Mom. Jack. Rowena. Now Cas? What was the point? Would the world expect him to keep fighting if he lost Sammy too? And… God, what if Cas wasn’t dead? What if he walks through that portal, letting it close behind him, and leaves Cas here to be trapped for eternity?

Maybe he still had time. Maybe he could-

No. He didn’t. The timer on his phone displaying the numbers ’00:02:56’ proved as much. There wasn’t time. Cas was-

“Dean?”

Both hands are wrapped around his shotgun and pointing it towards the direction of the voice before his mind has fully caught up. His finger slides away from the trigger as his mouth falls open, lowering the end of the shotgun down at the sight of Cas, glorious Cas, looking a little worse for wear sat at the base of a tree. He looked every bit as dirty, bloodied, and miserable as anyone would after nearly twenty-four hours in Purgatory, but it didn’t matter, as it was the best sight Dean had ever seen.

Cas looks equally as shocked to see him, grimacing to himself as he pushes himself up to stand. “You made it?”

Dean can’t help but laugh. Not really the time for laughing, but it was mostly the delirium and pure, sweet relief bursting out of him. “I made it?”

Cas stumbles towards him, a bit of a limp in his gait, and Dean quickly makes up the short distance between them, throwing his arms around Cas and pulling the angel towards him. Cas feels real and solid pressed against his chest, and Dean thumps his hands against Cas’s back almost to prove to himself that the whole of Cas is here and intact. He almost wasn’t. He almost lost one of the only people left in this world he can say that he loves.

Which... which he’s said now.

“You okay?” Dean asks as soon as he feels Cas begin to push away from him, letting his eyes scan across Cas’s form to check for any obvious wounds or spilling of grace.

“I’m fine,” Castiel insists, probably a lie if Dean knows him. But, other than the sluggishly bleeding scrape on Cas’s head, he does look fine.

“What happened?”

“They were after me, not you,” Castiel gets out through panting, pained-sounding breaths. Yeah, sure. Fine. “I figured it would be safest to give myself up.”

And there it is again. Just another goddamn slap to the face. Even after everything that’s happened, after all the awful crap he’s said to Cas, the way he’s treated him… Cas was so willing to just put himself in the firing line for him.

‘These are not just monsters, Dean. They’re Leviathan. I have a price on my head, and I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you.’

“They take you to Eve?”

“Yeah. We were en route. I waited until I… saw this,” Cas reached into his trench-coat pocket, pulling out a sad-looking excuse for a flower that looked about as beat up as the person holding it. “It… got a little smushed.”

Dean could almost cry. Again. Here Cas was, somehow having escaped from a bunch of freak leviathans before being handed over to what would likely be horrendous torture and a death sentence from the mother of all monsters, manages to find the stupid fucking flower they came all the way out here for, get all the way back to the portal where he sits and waits for him… and he looks embarrassed that the flower got a little ‘smushed?’

That’s beside the fact that he probably crushed it by hugging Cas.

“Once I had the blossom, I fought; caught them off guard,” Cas continued. “They fought back. I managed to get away.”

Dean smiles. For what feels like the first time in quite a while, he smiles. “You did it. You did it, Cas.”

And then, by some miracle by God – wait no, not him, by something or someone… Cas gives him a tentative smile back. “Well, they’re still after me. We should hurry,” Cas gestures with a small shake of his head towards the portal, already starting to move away.

“Okay, Cas I need to say something-,”

“You don’t have to say it,” Castiel interrupts, that tentative smile back on his face. “I heard your prayer.”

But that wasn’t enough. Sure, it was of some comfort knowing that the prayer had at least reached Cas, but… but something didn’t sit right with him about that. Besides the fact that what he said is something that really should be said face to face (and maybe sending a message like that over the prayer is the equivalent of sending it over text message or… or voicemail?), Cas’s reaction was just… not what he was expecting. Not that Cas was ever entirely predictable in his reactions, and perhaps basing what Cas’s reaction would be on what his reaction would be if Cas ever confessed to him like that wasn’t the best of ideas, but… still, it was odd. Dean was expecting at least something, some sort of reaction to his words other than an acknowledgment that it had been heard.

Cas was right, though. They really needed to hurry; what with a bunch of leviathans after them and probably around 30 seconds left before the portal closes behind them.

They race towards the portal, his hand on Cas’s back helping to push him forward as he struggles with that new limp of his. Dean can hear his pulse racing in his ears as they step closer and closer to the portal, watching its light flicker and shimmer as it struggles to stay open. He wouldn’t be surprised if God had somehow caught wind of their plans, and was waiting until the very last second when they were about to step through, to close the portal a few seconds earlier and laugh in their faces as the portal disappears from sight.

But that’s not what happens. They step through the portal, one after the other, neither being left behind. There’s a split second of nothing but blinding white as the portal flares, losing sight of Cas for just a moment, and then he’s there again; stood just in front of him in the bunker, the tension and stress of Purgatory already draining away from his hunched posture.

The portal gives one last pathetic flicker, and then it’s closing down on itself. The bunker is left in silence, the crackle of the portal’s energy gone, and they’re both left standing facing each other in this awkward, “what happens now” kind of stillness.

“Um… I suppose I should-,” Cas begins, taking the flower out from his pocket and motioning towards the bunker hallway.

“Cas, wait,” Dean pleads, taking an unsure step towards Cas, who freezes in place with flower still in hand. “I… I really need to talk to you, man.”

Castiel’s forehead creases in confusion, hesitantly reaching back into his pocket to put the flower back. “I already told you, Dean. I heard your prayer-,”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean cuts him off with a wave of his hand. His tongue darts out to wet his upper lip, a nervous gesture he could never quite hide. “I just… I feel like you should hear it directly from me, if that makes sense?”

“Not really.”

Dean huffs. “Look Cas, it’s… I meant it, okay? Even if I was panicking over the thought of you being stuck in purgatory again and… it wasn’t just a “I might as well say it because you might be dead” kind of thing, okay?”

“I know,” Castiel says, still looking just as confused as he did moments ago. “I know you’re sorry, Dean. It’s okay. I believe you.”

And then Cas turns to walk away again, and Dean can’t help but get the feeling that Cas isn’t quite getting what he’s trying to say here. So, he darts out a hand and grasps Cas’s arm, bringing the angel to a standstill. Cas looks down at Dean’s hand around his arm in genuine surprise, almost as if Dean had done something incredible offensive, and then brings his gaze up to meet Dean’s desperate one. “Dean? Are you okay?”

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughs, though it sounds about as humorless as he was feeling right now. “No, Cas. I’m not. But… are you… did you hear my entire prayer?”

Castiel frowns at him again, blue eyes scanning across the sudden, unexpected timidness look on Dean’s face. “Yes. I heard all of it.”

Dean returns the inquisitive gaze, searching for any kind of reaction, a give of some sort that Cas was thinking back to those words he had prayed to him. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the usual patient look that Castiel always held. “Listen man, I’m always one for avoiding big girly talks as much as the next guy, but… are you really not going to say anything about it?”

“About what?”

Damn it. He’s really gonna make him say it again, huh?

“You know… the bit about how I uh… the thing I said, after I said I was sorry?”

“Oh!” Castiel says, his tone bright in realization. “When you said you love me?”

And wow, what a way for Cas to say it. Like it was just… a matter of fact. Like he was simply stating what the fucking weather was like.

Dean must be staring at Cas with a damn right bewildered face right now, as the look of concern Castiel had worn for pretty much this entire conversation began to increase tenfold. “What is it?”

“Seriously?” Dean splutters out, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re telling me I had to discover this mind-altering revelation for myself, keep it pushed down, come to terms with it and finally get the balls to admit it to you, and your reaction is absolutely nothing?”

“But… I already knew you loved me?”

It’s enough to bring Dean’s mind to a standstill. Had he… he had somehow told Cas he loved him and didn’t remember it? Oh God, that damn memory spell… had he somehow called Cas and told him something before his memory completely went kaput? No, no, it couldn’t have been that… the counter spell regained all his memories of that shitty night, he’s pretty sure… Could Cas sense it, somehow? What if it was in his soul? Some kind of change to his soul that Cas picked up on?

“You… you knew?”

“Yes… You’ve reiterated to me many times that I’m like a brother to you, and, given your connection to Sam, I assumed that meant that kind of love extended to me as well? I don’t mean to offend you Dean, the fact that you put me in the same regard as Sam is an honor of itself-,”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Cas. Oh, Cas, Cas, Cas. He had listened to what he had said, but he hadn’t really heard him. Strangely, it kind of hurt to think that, upon hearing his confession, Cas had just sort of automatically assumed that he had meant he loved him like a brother. Perhaps it hurt because, he wasn’t sure if Cas assumed that because of the way he’s always treated him, or because Cas could just never see Dean in any other way.

“Not what I meant, Cas,” Dean says quietly, though the words sounded loud in the quiet of the room. “Oh, Cas. You damn fool… I didn’t mean as a brother.”

Cas almost looks scared, and it’s about the equivalent of a rusty knife being twisted in his gut. Cas looked scared to be hopeful. Like he was scared to think of what his words meant. Dean reaches out a hand once more, gently grabbing hold of the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat. Cas doesn’t flinch or move his arm away, so Dean lets his hand slowly slip down, lets his fingers settle in the gap between Cas’s. Cas’s breath hitches at the feeling of warm skin against his hand, his eyes darting to their entwined hands then back up to Dean. His mouth parts, a question on his lips, which Dean answers with his own.

It’s… not what he was expecting. There’s no moment of inner panic, no feeling of wrongness that has him ripping away from Cas and furiously wiping at his lips. But it’s no “fireworks” moment, either. Cas’s lips are, confusingly, chapped and dry from the cold winds of Purgatory, and yet have a tender softness to them that has him leaning closer for more. He doesn’t taste like… well, that one Dean wasn’t sure about. He had kinda been expecting some kind of… of… soapy cleanliness taste of pure, heavenly Grace. But no, Cas tastes like dirt and sweat with a little metallic twang from what was likely a busted-up lip. It’s nothing like any girl he’s ever kissed has tasted like, and strangest of all, he doesn’t give him a damn. He’s not panicking about kissing Cas because “It’s Cas!”, he’s sinking into it, melting into the touch of Cas’s hand on his back, because It’s Cas.

But the moment can’t last forever. Cas goes tense under his hands, a sudden fear taking hold, and then he’s holding Dean at arm’s length. His eyes are wide and fixated on Dean’s face, chest rising and falling in tandem with his harsh breaths, despite the fact Dean’s fairly sure Cas doesn’t even have to breathe.

“Did you mean it?” Castiel asks, his fingers tightening their grip around Dean’s shoulders. “You… you love me like…?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says with a blissed-out smile. “Not like a brother. I don’t just love you. I’m in love with you. And listen, I know I kinda sprung this up on you at a bad time, and… I know I’ve acted like a real jerk to you lately, so you have every right to just pretend like this never happened and-,”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean Winchester,” Castiel cut him off, but there’s no malice to his voice as he does it. In fact, the small pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth widens to a gummy smile that Dean knows means this is a really happy Cas, and considering how rare he sees that from Cas, it brings him a sense of satisfaction that he’s the reason Cas is smiling like that.

“Sorry, Cas. Being an idiot is just who I am. Especially considering I was apparently stupid enough to go and fall in love.”

And then it’s Cas’s turn to make Dean freeze up in disbelief and stare at Cas wide-eyed, because he chuckles warmly at Dean’s statement and tells him, “I suppose that makes me stupid too, then.”

“Oh…” Is all Dean can squeak out, probably the un-manliest he’s ever sounded, but considering the beaming smile Cas sends his way, he guesses Cas didn’t seem to mind. “You, uh… you don’t have to say it if you don’t-,”

“I love you,” Castiel confessed, soft and sweet, yet it punches into Dean hard. “But I thought you already knew that.”

“Maybe you should stop assuming things, Cas.”

“And maybe you should stop waiting until you think I’m dead to say how you feel.”

“Touché,” Dean settles, grabbing hold of Cas’s hand once more and tugging him towards the door. “Oh, and-,” He stops mid-stride, Cas nearly colliding into him. Dean forces down a grin at Cas’s curious head tilt as he searches in his jacket pocket, pulling out the mixtape he’s kept there ever since Cas gave it back to him and planting it perhaps a little too harshly against Cas’s chest. “Don’t you ever try and give this back to me again.”

Cas places his free hand atop Dean’s on his chest, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Cas grabs hold of the mixtape before it can drop to the ground as Dean removes his hand, fingers curled protectively around the tape as he looks down at it with a fond smile.

“I suppose I should have known,” Castiel murmurs quietly, eyes softening with realization as he stares down at the tape. “You already tried to give your love to me. It was just in a language I had yet to truly understand.”

[onlytrueinparadise]

Romance University

A Sanders Sides AU

Chapter 5 Voicemails Can Be Misleading Part 2

<< Previous | | First | | Next >>

Summary: What’s a romcom without an emotional resolution?

Pairing: Romantic Logince and Moxiety

Wordcount: 1110

Tags: TA!Logan, trans!Patton, collegestudent!sides, college tw, remus sanders, deceit sanders, miscommunication, angst, crying, comfort, depression, rain, fluffy

"Are you sure about this Virg?" Patton came into the art room wearing a white cotton tunic and looking very sheepish.

"Yes," Virgil wore his usual outfit only the hoodie was replaced with a smock, he fiddled with the easel until it sat at the right angle, "I need to be inspired by my model and…"

Both men's faces bloomed into shades of red artists hitherto believed impossible for the human face to realistically achieve.

"And you," Virgil took the literature major by the arm and ushered him to the stool, "need to sit here. I'm going to pose you, so relax."

Patton sat transfixed and infatuated as the slender artist gently pushed and pulled at each joint on his body. Each touch sent electricity straight to his spine. Virgil softly manipulated the shoulder into the right position with his right hand and absentmindedly let his left hand hover centimeters from Patton's face. Patton leaned slightly forward and kissed the palm in front of him.

Virgil jumped and his eyes widened. He then turned around and scurried to his easel, trying to hide his tomato face. He sketched in silence for awhile, taking in every curve and edge. Although he knew it was terribly inappropriate to interrogate Patton while he was in such a vulnerable state, he had to know:

"When are you going to tell the others?" It was hard to keep his eyes on the canvas and not searching for Patton's reaction.

The young man sighed and dropped his pose for a second, "I wanted to tell them soon, I trust all of them  and I know nothing would change our friendship, but with Roman's problems… it just doesn't seem the right time."

"Yeah, that's real wack, Ro and Lo seemed so happy just the other day. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe something with Remus's theory? Roman is really torn up. I think he really loves Logan, beyond just a fling –you saw how much he put into their one month! I think the poor kiddo wanted this to be the one, his forever prince."

"Hiya Logan!" A certain Dean of Student Affairs caught a certain TA in the hall.

"Salutations, Dean Picani." Picani noted the lack of usual pep in Logan's voice.

"Something wrong?"

"No, no I'm just uh– have you ever been told something that can't be true because it shatters your whole world, but it makes sense and you can't get it out of your head?"

"Mr. Logic, as a scientist, you should know that results aren't considered truth until they repeat themselves and only when performed by many different scientists. This can be applied to many things, even people!"

Picani is right... I need other sources, more results, to know the truth. Logan waved at the disappearing sweatered back in the distance. I need to call Roman.

Roman had hardly moved from his bed for the past couple of days. When he saw Logan's text he immediately called, and called, and called, and texted, and called. There was a substitute for discussion and Logan would not answer his door. Roman then explained the situation to Patton who he left to explain to the rest of the group. He then locked himself in the dorm and refused to leave. Inhuman screams emitted from behind the door  that could only be caused by the uniquely human experience of suffering from love. Once those passed, the only sign of life that remained was dirty plates piled outside.

Needless to say, when the phone rang Roman did not pick up and let it go to voicemail.

"Roman… it's uh it's me. I understand if you're mad at me for ignoring you but I-was-told-some-things-and I-needed-time-to-think-but-I-realize-now-that-was unfair-I-should've-talked-to-you-and-and-and…" a deep breath echoed from the receiver "long story short I need to talk to you... preferably in person so uh, call me back when you can."

Roman was already flying out the door.

As if to reflect the couple's mood, the weather had taken a turn for the worse lately. On this particular evening, the heavens pulled all the stops. The clouds blocked the sun and rain fell in sheets such that you could not see 5 feet (approximately 2 meters) ahead. It was in this torrent that Roman ran to Logan.

The TA opened the door to an exhausted and completely soaked prince charming. The vision of misery stumbled through the doorway and into his arms. Roman buried his face into Logan's chest, gripping his shirt in his wet fists, "Mmrphmm lemm mrr amphh."

"W– what?"

Tears streaming down his face, Roman looked up, "Never leave me alone again. Please. Yell at me, scream at me, hit me, whatever –just please, don't leave me in silence. You are my universe, I don't know how to- how to function without you."

Logan's eyes welled up. How did I doubt this dork? But still… I need to hear it from him.

They sat on the couch and Logan related Remus's words and all his fears. He couldn't look Roman in the eye.

Roman got up and kneeled in front of Logan, cradling his hands in his own, "I'll say it till your ears fall off, I love you, you are my universe. I can't breathe not knowing if I'll see you again, food fills my stomach but your kisses give me the energy to fly. No one else could make me feel this way. My whole body hums a song written only for you and only you can play it. You are so funny and handsome and intelligent. Soooo intelligent, sometimes I can't understand you. Like I can't understand your love of numerical patterns or your love for the movement of the stars or how you can love this absolute dumbass in front of you. But most of all, I can't understand how you can't see how this absolute dumbass lives for you. I love you, Logan, and I could never love anyone else."

The tears that had been building began to flow. Logan slid off the couch, onto his knees, and hugged his absolute dumbass.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you."

The blubbering mass of men stayed like that for some time, repeating words of affection back and forth. After some time, Roman loosened his grip.

"I guess we have to tell them soon, to avoid further misunderstandings." The thespian grinned.

"I guess so." Logan sealed the deal with a kiss. A passionate one, meant to end all arguments and melt away worries. A kiss very rarely received, unless you are lucky, and Roman was very lucky.

[rechief]

Piper Wrenchley’s “Big Ol’ Honkin’” OC Questionnaire

Courtesy of @danscratch​.

A. Psychology

What of the Meyers-Briggs personality types they most fit into? INFP, ENFT, et cetera…

ESFP! “Playful, enthusiastic, friendly spontaneous, tactful, flexible. Have strong common sense, enjoy helping people in tangible ways,” per Wikipedia.

What alignment are they? Chaotic neutral, lawful evil, et cetera…

Piper is neutral good. She has a strong sense of justice and moral righteousness, but isn’t above bending the rules to help others.

Do they have any emotional or psychological conditions? Are they aware of it? 

Piper has ADHD, but, since the only time she’s ever seen a psychologist was for grief counseling after the death of her father, she’s never been formally diagnosed.

Do they try to treat it?

Not really!

Are they a pessimist or an optimist?

Piper is an eternal optimist.

Are they good at handling change in their life?

For the most part, yes. Plumbing often requires the ability to react to unexpected and unpleasant circumstances, a skill which Piper uses to adjust to other matters in her life.

Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

Piper is the sort of person who’d forget her head in the morning if it wasn’t screwed on; there’s lots of sticky-notes and writing on the backs of her hands involved in her staying functional. As such, she doesn’t mind deferring to others when it comes to matters of memory and perception -- so long as it seems like they’re being honest with her.

Is your OC confident in their reactions to life in general, or do they get embarrassed or easily shamed for it? I.e., if something startles them, do they insist it WAS scary? When they cry, do they feel like they overreacted?

Piper very rarely feels shame -- she spends twelve hours a day caked in grime and filth, after all.

Is your OC a martyr?

Definitely not. Piper is quite willing to suffer in silence -- perhaps overly so.

Does your OC make a lot of excuses? For themselves? Others?

Piper’s father taught her that success is all about self-reliance -- pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps, as the saying goes. She is, therefore, often hesitant to make excuses and prefers to own up to missteps in as honest and forthright a way as possible.

Does your OC compromise easily? Too easily?

Piper is pretty affable and easy-going, but she also knows how to push for what she deserves.

Does your OC put others’ needs before their own?

Yes. Piper believes strongly in being charitable toward the less-fortunate.

Does your OC have any addictions? If so and problematic, have they admitted it to themselves?

Not really.

Does your OC have any phobias? If so, where did they come from?

Piper has a fear of losing those close to her that stems from discovering her father’s body after he was murdered.

Is your character empathetic?

Sometimes, Piper can be rather oblivious to the emotional states of others, but she can be quite empathetic with a little context.

Is your character observant?

Piper can spot a hairline crack in a pipe from dozens of yards away, and her ability to pick out the best hole-in-the-wall pizza place from among hundreds is legendary.

Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?

Piper is absolutely the sort of person who has to experience a situation before she can learn any of the associated lessons. She’s a very hands-on learner.

What’s one of your OC’s proudest moments of themselves?

“Piper,” said the prosecutor, managing a kind smile for the nervous ten-year-old on the witness’s stand, “you used to spend a lot of time at your dad’s work, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Piper, nodding her head slowly, memories of pretending to work at her dad’s desk, recording a cheerful message on his voicemail, and playing with a set of Fisher Price plastic tools while sitting on his rug flooding her mind and filling her with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish.

“Did your dad ever meet with customers or visitors while you were there?”

Piper nodded again. “Y-Yeah. He had lots’a people who came to see him. Everyone liked him.”

“I’m sure they did.” The prosecutor moved closer; she meant it to be a comforting gesture, but Piper shrank back in her seat just the same. “Piper -- was there ever someone who would come by that seemed to make your dad uncomfortable or scared?”

“Objection,” bellowed the defense attorney from his seat. “Leading the witness!”

“Overruled,” replied Judge Amethyst Adams. “Piper, dear, please answer the question.”

There was a long pause, this time, before Piper responded. “... Yes.”

“Is that person in this courtroom right now?”

For the first time since her father’s murder, Piper made eye contact with Johnny Ghiaccio. She reflected on the strained smile her father would flash him whenever he entered his office; on the hushed conversations they’d have in the corner; on the way that Ghiaccio would pound his hand into his fist as they spoke.

Ghiaccio was staring daggers at her. It was the sort of look that promised pain if she were to cooperate with the district attorney’s office.

She thought, for a moment, about remaining silent.

Then, she scowled right back, raised her hand, and pointed her finger right at him.

“Him,” she spat.

Do they get jealous easily? Do they feel bad if they do?

Piper rarely gets jealous unless it’s a matter involving her perennial crush, Jerome Valentine.

What instantly irritates them or puts them in a bad mood?

Those who commit crimes without regard for the feelings and circumstances of others.

Are they harsh on themselves?

Piper’s father would often say that he knew he didn’t have to punish his daughter for misbehavior, because she’d be harder on herself than he would ever be.

Is your OC intended to be found generally attractive? Unattractive? Average? Is there a reason why?

Piper’s far too short to make it as a model or actress, but she’s still very pretty in a charming, friendly sort of way.

Does your OC place much importance on their appearance? Do they feel confident in it?

Piper devotes about as much time to personal grooming and upkeep as the average woman, but she doesn’t regularly wear makeup and is pretty relaxed about her physical appearance.

What are some of your OC’s biggest personal obstacles? This could be emotional, physical, social… Are they aware of it? Are they trying to overcome it?

Childhood tragedy has made it difficult for Piper to trust others at times, especially those with checkered pasts. She has a tendency to bury herself in her work instead of confronting her problems.

B. Social

Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it?

Piper is a strong believer in mutual respect.

Do they get frustrated when lines at places like pharmacies, check-outs, delis, banks, et cetera, are moving slowly?

Internally, having to wait around like that makes Piper frustrated -- but since she’s part of a profession that often has to deal with demanding or unpleasant customers, she never takes it out on the staff.

Under what situations would they get angry at servers, staff, customer service, et cetera?

Almost never. Piper’s the sort of person who will tip a waiter or driver 20% for everything short of being punched in the face.

Do they tip well? How easily can they be moved to not leave a tip?

Piper tips generously in almost every circumstance.

Do they hold doors open for people?

Yes.

Would your OC let someone ahead of them in line if your OC had a big cart and the person behind them had very few items?

Yes!

How do they respond to babies crying in public?

Piper thinks that all babies -- even snot-nosed, wailing airplane babies -- are absolutely adorable.

Is your OC considered funny? Do they believe they’re funny?

Piper has that Patrick Warburton quality of being very funny, but not intentionally funny a lot of the time.

What kind of humor does your OC like the most? Slapstick, ironic, funny sounds, scare pranks, xD sO rAnDoM…

Piper is a big fan of screwball, slapstick comedy.

Does your OC find any “bad” or “mean” humor funny? Do they wish they didn’t?

Not really. She always changes the channel when the folks on Jackass go from hurting themselves in inventive ways to disturbing the peace and pranking innocent bystanders.

Your OC is running late to meeting someone: Do they let the other person know? Do they lie about why they’re late?

Piper would definitely give the other person a courtesy call; she would also take responsibility on arrival.

Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do?

I doubt she’d even notice.

Do they have a large or small group of friends?

Piper has a large, talkative, mostly Italian/Jewish circle of friends and family. She is, of course, also quite close with her Hope’s Horizon classmates.

Do they have people they (that?) are genuinely honest with about themselves?

Yes. Piper’s friends tend to be quite frank with her.

Does your OC enjoy social events, such as parties, clubs, et cetera..?

Piper has a great time at parties, even if sometimes, she has trouble reading the room and celebrates a bit too boisterously.

Does your OC like to be the center of attention or more in the mix?

Piper’s pretty comfortable in either role.

C. Morality

Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?

Piper doesn’t have a codified set of morals, but she generally behaves in a morally upright manner nonetheless.

Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it?

Yes, Piper would feel bad, but it’s rare that she does.

Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own?

Piper is pretty open-minded, but she draws the line when it comes to spending time with career criminals or (especially) those with gang or mafia affiliations.

Do they consider themselves superior or more important than anyone else? Lesser?

Nah; she’s pretty down-to-earth.

Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational?

Flexible, to a degree; situational, no.

What do they do when they see someone asking for money or food? If they ignore them, why? If they help, how so?

Piper is fairly charitable and generous. If someone were begging for money or food, she’d probably offer to take them to a nearby fast food restaurant and let them order something off the menu.

Do they believe people change over time? If so, is it a natural process or does it take effort?

Piper believes that people can change naturally, or they can change, over time, if they apply themselves.

Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical?

Piper’s morality is more practical.

D. Religion and Life and Death

How religious is your OC? What do they practice, if anything? If they don’t associate with any religion, what do they think of religion in general?

Piper is Jewish -- on her mother’s side -- by lineage, but she doesn’t really practice many traditions of that faith; she would never voluntarily give up bacon, for instance, but she’ll plug in a plastic menorah during the Hanukkah season. Her father was Catholic, and marginally more serious about his religion; while he was alive, she attended midnight mass once a year around Christmastime, and attended, for a time, a private, religious school.

Do they believe in an afterlife?

Yes.

How comfortable are they with the idea of death?

Uncomfortable.

Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be?

Even though Piper has some hang-ups about death, she would not like to be immortal, because she wants to see her father again someday.

Do they believe in ghosts? If not, why? If so, do they think they’re magical/tie into their religion, or are they scientifically plausible?

Piper doesn’t have strong feelings one way or the other about ghosts, but ghost stories still freak her out.

E. Education and Intelligence

Would you say that your OC is intelligent? In what ways? Would your OC agree?

Piper is street-smart and excellent at all the kinds of math necessary to run a small business and do plumbing work, but her intellect is otherwise average at best.

Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera)

Piper’s spatial intelligence is definitely her best mental asset. Since she is utterly tone-deaf and has no sense of rhythm whatsoever, her musical intelligence is arguably the worst.

How many languages do they speak?

Piper speaks English fluently. She also knows some Yiddish thanks to her grandmother, enough Italian to listen to a simple conversation or order at a Sicilian restaurant, and enough Spanish to buy choice cuts of meat from her local butcher.

Did they enjoy school if they went to it?

Piper enjoys the social aspects of attending school, but she is a talkative student with the attention span of a small dog and has never had great academic success.

What’s their highest education level? Do they want to continue their education?

I always imagined Piper as the sort of person who’d be done with formal education after high school. As the Ultimate Plumber, she certainly has enough on-the-job training and business acumen to survive in the Real World after that.

Do they enjoy learning? Do they actively seek out sources of self-education?

Piper enjoys learning to build, make, and fix things, but she’s never been especially enthusiastic about book-learning.

Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous?

Piper’s notes, when she takes them, tend to be incredibly disorganized and indecipherable to all but those with similarly-awful handwriting. She is a horrible test-taker but this does not concern her at all.

What’s one of your OC’s biggest regrets?

If Piper could go back in time, she would, of course, try to stop her father’s murder.

F. Domestic Habits, Work, and Hobbies

What sort of home do they live in now, if at all? How did they end up there?

Piper lives in her family’s apartment in Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York.

What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it?

Piper’s ideal home is her family’s apartment in Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York.

Could they ever live in a “tiny home”?

Piper’s current home is fairly cramped -- just the way she likes it.

How clean are they overall with home upkeep?

Piper keeps a surprisingly clean home. Her bathroom, in particular, is always sparkling and thoroughly disinfected.

How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Piper can fix just about anything given the correct tools, even if she doesn’t have the instructions handy. The exception to this would be computers or technology where complex circuitry and electricity is involved.

How much do they work? What do they do? Do they enjoy it?

Piper is a plumber, and there isn’t a thing in the world she’d rather do.

What’s their “dream career” or job situation?

See above.

How often are they home?

Piper tends to work long days, and usually six or seven days a week.

Are they homebodies and enjoy being home?

Piper doesn’t mind being home, but she’d rather be out somewhere doing something fun.

Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are?

Piper enjoys singing and dancing but is bad at both.

What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most?

When she isn’t plumbing, Piper enjoys eating incredibly unhealthy food, watching action movies (Die Hard is a favorite franchise of hers), and swimming in her local indoor pool.

Would they enjoy a theme park?

Yes! Piper is always keen to ride the tallest and most dangerous-looking roller coasters.

G. Family and Growing Up

Is your OC close to their family?

Extremely.

Who makes up your OC’s family, at least the more important members to them?

Piper is/was very close to her mother and father, respectively. She also has two older brothers, Fixer and Spanner, who help her run her late father’s plumbing business.

Does your OC find their family supportive? If not, what would be an example why not?

Piper’s family is extremely supportive.

What kind of childhood did your OC have?

Up until her father’s murder, Piper’s child was pleasant, wholesome, and just about everything a child could want.

Did they go through any typical phases growing up?

Not really; aside from her lackadaisical attitude toward school, she was a very well-behaved child.

Do they have any favorite childhood memories?

Her fondest childhood memories involve sitting on her father’s shoulders as he walked -- or took the bus or train -- from plumbing job to plumbing job, telling his daughter about the history of New York and pointing out famous places or buildings all the while.

Do they have any childhood memories they’d rather forget or be less affected by?

Yes.

H. Romance and Intimacy

What is your OC’s orientation, romantic and/or sexual? Has it ever been a source of stress for them? Have they always been pretty sure of their orientation?

Piper is straight as an arrow, a fact which has never been a source of stress for her.

Is your OC a thoughtful partner, in whatever aspect of that you want to cover?

Piper is the sort of person who is utterly devoted to whosoever catches her eye.

Does your OC believe there’s only one ideal partner (or multiple ideal if not monogamous) for everyone, or that there are many people who could be right?

Piper herself is monogamous, but she has nothing against people who want to take on many partners, or who choose not to take 

Does your OC believe in love in first sight?

Yes.

Does your OC believe in marriage (or their culture’s equivalent)?

Yes!

Has your OC ever cheated on anyone or been cheated on?

No.

What do they look for in partners? (Emotionally, mentally, physically...)

In a partner, Piper looks for someone who is friendly, approachable, handsome, and willing to put up with her long work hours and adorable antics.

What’s your OC’s idea of a perfect date?

A sewer tour, naturally. Visiting the world-famous and historical sewer system of Paris, France -- in operation since the 12th century -- is a life-goal.

What are some things that your OC finds to be an instant turn-off in potential partners?

Connections to organized crime, poor personal hygiene, being a Red Sox fan.

I. Food

What are their favorite kinds of flavors– Sweet, salty, sour, spicy, creamy, et cetera?

Piper is big on umami -- savory -- flavors. She loves bacon and other fatty meats.

Do they have any eating requirements or preferences? Allergies, vegetarian, organic-only, religious restrictions…

Were she a more serious Jew, Piper would of course abstain from bacon and follow other dietary restrictions common to her mother’s religion -- but she isn’t, so she doesn’t.

Are they vegan/vegetarian (if their overall culture/species generally aren’t)? If so, why? Do they think animal products are wrong in all circumstances?

Piper is definitely not vegetarian or vegan, but she does eat halal/kosher meat when she can because she believes that process for slaughtering animals is more humane.

How often do they cook? Do they order out a lot?

Piper is a horrible cook, but perfectly content to eat her own food. I have to imagine that her unfortunate future husband would either do much of the cooking or order out a lot.

Are they a good cook?

Absolutely not.

Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly?

Yes, but she does also enjoy trying new things.

J. Politics, Current Events, Environmental Aspects

Where does your OC stand most politically? What would they align with most?

Piper is extremely liberal, as is her entire family.

How politically aware are they?

About as aware as the average citizen -- so, not very.

How politically active are they?

I imagine her being someone who regularly votes in national and local elections, but she doesn’t do much political activism beyond that.

Is your OC the sort to fall for fake news? If not, do they ignore it or make a point to clarify that it’s wrong?

Boy does she ever fall for fake news. This is something that her friends and future spouse will have to assist her with.

Are they or would they protest for a cause they’re passionate about?

Piper would absolutely protest if she felt motivated enough to do so. She’d make hideous protest signs.

How do they react to people whose political viewpoints are very opposite of theirs?

As long as they aren’t being deliberately offensive or revolting, Piper is pretty capable of getting along with just about anyone, irrespective of their political leanings.

How much interest in environmental health do they have?

Piper appreciates nature, but the environment isn’t a huge focus for her, politically.

In reality-based or applicable worlds, do they believe in global warming? Do they recycle?

Piper believes in global warming and recycles.

L. For the Writer/Owner

How have your characters changed since you created them?

Piper has probably been the most consistent of the characters I’ve created for the Danganronpa/Zero Escape campaigns run by my circle of friends. While others have gone through some pretty serious changes from creation to now, Piper has remained almost exactly the same.

What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any?

Optimism in the face of disaster, death and loss, family.

Did you create the character to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

Piper is not very much like me, except that her closeness with her family mirrors how I feel about mine.

Would you hang out with your OC if you could?

I absolutely would.

How did you come up with your OC?

In @thores‘s Perfect Crime system, it’s standard to create three characters for a campaign. I had created two already and needed one more, and I was really stumped on who it ought to be. Finally, one day at about five o’clock in the morning (as I recall), I just came up with her at random -- the general idea first, with her tragic backstory coming later.

[dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg]

Kalijah Mini Drabble

A/N: Thank you so much to @klatholine for being my beta on this.x

Bottle Service

Admittedly, falling in love had really put a kink in her plans.

Elijah had come along, with his insufferably good looks and his expensive suit and ruined everything.

When they had first met, she had a career as a model. She’d started in her teens, taking up the profession in hopes of getting out of the one horse town she lived in and away from her controlling father. Being a model definitely had its perks. The travel for one, combined with the fact that models got a lot of free things, like clothes, and expensive meals at fancy restaurants (although she was rarely allowed to eat anything) and of course the pay was excellent. But Katherine Pierce was no fool. She knew her good looks would only carry her so far. Models had expiration dates. Unless you became a household name like Heidi Klum or Naomi Campbell, it was unlikely for your career to last past your thirties. Which is why she tucked away her earnings from each job into a nice little savings account and focused on her other career.

Rich men.

A lot of women didn’t realise it but obtaining a sugar daddy was a delicate and precise science. You didn’t want anyone too young. Young guys were unreliable and jerked you around, plus the money they had usually just trust fund money and therefore not really their own. That was no good. Men in their thirties were usually married - or were lying about not being married - and that was no good either. Older men were gross, smelt bad and usually had icky things like age spots and irritable bowel syndrome. You’d spend more time playing nurse than anything else; and not in a kinky way. That was okay for some, but Katherine was certainly not prepared to be giving sponge baths to any OAPs anytime soon.

Men in their late forties to early fifties were perfect. They were more than often divorced or never married. They were young enough to still be attractive but old enough to be experienced. Some men wanted companionship; others wanted something pretty on their arm to take to a work dinner; others wanted something more.

It hardly mattered to Katherine.

She knew some people might look down on her for how she chose to live. But if the men she dated were willing to shell out large amounts of dollars and euros on luxurious gifts, expensive hotels, shoes, drinks, automobiles and skiing lessons; all for little old her.

Well, then who was she to stop them?

She never kept a gentleman friend longer than a month, two months tops. But she was still on good terms with some of her favourites. One guy, Katherine had met in the south of France while she was on a modelling job and he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. Even though they’d only had a brief fling; she’d never blessed her eyes on him again after she left. Somehow, somewhere along the line, she’d talked him into paying her rent for the month. And then the next month. And then every month after that without fail. When Katherine considered it, at the rate she was going she could be retired before she was forty.

Then he came along.

Went Elijah happened, Katherine had been staying in a nice hotel across the city. New York was still abuzz post fashion week. The hotel had a lounge area that served drinks where she had been minding her own business when she caught him staring at her from the corner of her eye. After a brief assessment, she concluded he was about 35-37. That was usually a no-go zone.

But that was the dating rule.

There were no special guidelines for picking one night stands; except, try to stay away from the creeps and axe murderer types. Looking up from under her lashes she gave him her best flirtatious look. Shy, with a hint of ‘come and get me’. After a moment Mr Suit and Tie came gliding over to where she was seated at the bar, flashing her a charming smile and putting his perfect white teeth on display.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked.

Katherine’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily and she resisted the urge to moan. Good looks and British accent.

Jackpot.

“Not at all,” she replied.

He’d occupied the stool next to her and offered to buy her a drink. She’d gotten his name, and he was a defence attorney but that was about it. Katherine was far too busy admiring his perfect jawline to focus on what he was saying. Then he’d surprised her and asked her to talk about herself. This was a shock because, in her experience, this was something men didn’t do very often. Most of them usually preferred the sound of their own voice; so Katherine was used to just smiling and nodding and laughing on cue when it sounded as if they’d said something they considered to be funny.

But Elijah had completely thrown her off.

Katherine refused to reveal too much about herself at first, for caution’s sake and to maintain an air of mystery. But by the time they’d ordered a second round of drinks she found herself laughing, chatting freely, and having a good time. For the first time in what had felt like forever. However, there was only so much talking she was prepared to do. The conversation came to an abrupt end when Katherine ran her hand up the inside seam of his trousers and asked if he would like to take her to bed. Elijah threw a 100 dollar bill on the counter before Katherine could grab her purse.

It turns out Mr Mikaelson was full of surprises that evening. In the past men had either been too rough and callous with her or treated her like she was made of glass. She had wrongly assumed Elijah to be one of the overly-gentle types. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. When inside his hotel room Katherine’s mouth immediately found his and they kissed each other hungrily, the adrenaline and alcohol pumping through their systems. Katherine’s hand instinctively reached down to his zipper but she felt Elijah’s strong pair of hands stop her. He spun her around and pushed her by her front against the wall both her arms pinned up beside her head.

She whined at the lack of control but Elijah ignored her and proceeded to run his hands between her legs feeling at the damp scrap of lace between her thighs. Katherine mewled and bucked against his hand but Elijah refused to relent.

“All this for me Miss Pierce?” he murmured against her neck.

Trailing kisses down the back of it, he proceeded to slowly pull her undergarment down her long legs. Kneeling down and placing kisses against the soft skin on her thighs.

“Elijah…” she’d gasped, feeling something warm against her folds.

He’d given her an incredible orgasm; the first of many that evening. In the morning Katherine was out of there before the light crept through the windows of Elijah’s hotel room. The night had been fun, but she didn’t do repeats. That’s how guys ended up getting attached.

A week later she had almost forgotten about Mr Sexy McDreamy suit. That is until she came home one day and found a voicemail from him on her answering machine, asking her to dinner. Katherine panicked at first. She was sure she hadn’t left him her number. Why would she? Yes, he had been handsome, and kind and charming. But a one-night stand was just that.

A one night stand.

She ignored the voice message for a while until her curiosity got the better of her and she called him back. Apparently, Elijah had talked one of the hotel staff into giving him Katherine’s number.

She couldn’t decide whether that was creepy or romantic. But what she did know was that they’d had a great night of fun, no strings attached sex. So she couldn’t understand why he’d want to ruin that by getting to know each other. If her memory served correctly, Katherine had made up some bullshit excuse about being out of the country that weekend and hoped that would be enough to deter him.

It wasn’t.

Elijah was persistent. The next week she received another message asking if she was free. This time she flat out ignored it and pretended that she hadn’t seen the message but fate (that bitch) decided that she should be invited to a gallery opening the next weekend and the owner of said gallery just so happened to be Elijah’s brother. Un-freaking-believable. Of course, they ran straight into each other. Him being far more amused by the coincidence than she was.

At first, he didn’t comment on her consistent rebuffing, Elijah simply asked how she was and made idle small talk. That is until the conversation changed direction.

“My apologies if my advances were unwanted Miss Pierce,” he murmured, leaning in to speak quietly against her ear; saying her name like silk, in a way that made a shiver go up her spine.

“Unwanted.. isn’t the exact word I’d use,” she explained. “I’m just not exactly looking to date right now,”

“Are you in a relationship?” he asked

“Well no but-,”

“Forgive me Katherine but in the brief period before we made our ascent to the bedroom; we had an enjoyable time did we not?”

“Yes we did-,” she admitted.

“Then, at the sake of risking my pride once more; would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tomorrow evening?”

It may have been the expensive champagne flowing through her system, of the fact that Elijah fitted particularly well into the suit he was wearing that evening; whatever it was, it made her do it. She accepted.

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