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tobiasdrake · 6 months ago

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Okay after that ask about Ranma at a Tenkaichi Budokai, I have been haunted throughout my entire day of work by this concept. So this occupied my mind instead. And now I have a tournament bracket.

Please note that this is not based on, like, Versus Feat Analysis and stuff. Just thinking about what would make for an interesting crossover tournament arc.

Note: I am not a writer so this is all probably pretty janky but these are just the broad strokes ideas I had.

Also please note that it's been like a decade and a half since last time I read Ranma 1/2 so my memory's pretty fuzzy on a lot of things. But like here are some vague notes for what I think would make a fun and interesting Dragon Ball vs Ranma 1/2 tournament arc.

Some narrative considerations to take into account:

We want every match to be a Ranma 1/2 vs. Dragon Ball fight, so that means two characters from both have to win their matches in the quarterfinals. This is a bracketed tournament so in story terms it wouldn't be specifically these four guys against those four, but for the purpose of storycraft that'd be the intent nonetheless.

Goku and Ranma have to be the final, so they're on opposite halves of the bracket. Both of these guys are going to fight their way through 3/4 of the other guy's cast, including each other. That's just how tournament arcs go.

Dragon Ball cast are at an ambiguous placement in ability. Somewhere after 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai but before Raditz landed on Earth. Somewhere in the general ballpark of 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai.

Ryoga is Ranma's biggest rival so it would be sensible for him to make it to the semifinals, but we have two women in this tournament and I don't want them both to get creamed in the first round.

Instead of a Tenkaichi Budokai, this may work better as some other undefined tournament to allow use of weapons. Ryoga, Ukyo, and Shampoo all utilize varying degrees of weapon fighting in their arts, so standard Tenkaichi Budokai rules would be a significant nerf. If the DB cast get to fly, then the Ranma cast should be allowed their weapons.

There should be a sudden inconvenient rainstorm that sweeps in, timed at a moment when all the cursed Ranma characters can be forced to shapeshift but not in a context where it will decide the outcome of the fight. Like. Three of the four Ranma characters here have curses, and I don't want Ryoga or Shampoo to lose because they turned into a pig and cat respectively in the middle of their fight. So it should start pouring during one of Ranma's matches, preferably quarter- or semi-final.

The Kamehameha is generally portrayed as unimpressive compared to other ki techniques in Dragon Ball; It's pretty basic but its versatility allows practitioners to do tremendous things with it. For his part, Ranma's self-taught Moko Takabisha, a variant of the Shishi Hokodan he invented because he can't get as depressed as Ryoga, is powered by his own self-assurance. So I think it should be treated as stronger than the Kamehameha when Ranma's cocky but weaker if a fight's turning against him.

So, brackets and some vague outline notes.

QUARTERFINALS

Round 1: Ryoga Hibiki vs. Son Goku

If Ryoga's only going to get one fight then it should be a good one. An opening quarterfinal match worth of a semifinal or final round, to set the stage for the fights to come and establish Goku as the Guy To Beat for Ranma's cast.

Fighting Goku would give Ryoga a great opportunity to pull out all the stops and unload everything in his arsenal. Bandana missiles, using his heavy umbrella like a sword, his Breaking Point technique, and of course, his signature Shishi Hokodan.

Ryoga's Shishi Hokodan is shown to be tremendously powerful, potentially rivaling Tenshinhan's Kikoho. The qualifiers would be a great place to show off its full might and set up tension for this match. Ryoga blows away a formidable Dragon Ball character, maybe Jackie Chun, by blasting them with a full-power Shishi Hokodan.

But I think his reason for losing the match would be because he can't bring out its full power. It's fueled by depression ki; The more Ryoga allows himself to be absorbed in depression, the more powerful it becomes.

But Goku historically is fucking fun to fight. He has always had a knack for not just enjoying his matches with others but being enjoyable to face off against. Most of his rivals were redeemed specifically by how much they enjoy fighting him. Even the ultimate evil Frieza has made suboptimal decisions out of a fascination with matching fists against Goku.

Even if you don't like to fight, it's hard to be unhappy when you're trading fists with Son Goku. He is the embodiment of pure martial arts enjoyment. Despite himself, Ryoga would simply be enjoying himself too much to unleash a full-power Shishi Hokodan, and be undone by how fun this fight is.

Unable to access his ultimate technique, Ryoga opts to remove Goku's options. Using his Breaking Point technique, Ryoga destroys a corner of the ring under Goku's feet, but when the dust settles, Goku managed to make it away from the corner and avoid ringout. Implied but not directly shown that he used Bukujutsu. Ryoga keeps it up, destroying chunk after chunk of the stage until there's only a little bit left. Goku baits him with a Zanzoken/Afterimage into destroying that as well, appearing behind Ryoga and striking hard enough to send Ryoga out of the ring and into the dirt.

Round 2: Ukyo Kuonji vs Krillin

Okay gonna be real with you at first I was gonna put Shampoo as the other Ranma character who makes it to semifinals but then I was thinking about Ukyo's abilities and realized I wanted her to fight Goku so, so bad you have no idea.

Krillin's built around sucker punches and unpredictable techniques. For her part, Ukyo's culinary fighting style is fucking weird and difficult to read. From tempura bombs to flour smokescreens to adhesive batter and yakisoba binding ropes, Ukyo's got her grill and her giant melee spatula (plus smaller throwing spatulas), and she's here to cook up a victory.

Krillin mistakes Ukyo for a boy? As a flip-flop reference to when he thought Upa was a girl by way of Ukyo's canonical androgyny and non-binary presentation? Is this something? IDK.

For the first exchange of the match, Ukyo brings out her grill and cooks up some tasty okonomiyaki, then gives some to Krillin as a gesture of good will. It's a bomb, comically exploding in his face; Ukyo draws first blood before Krillin even realizes the fight has started, and they begin trading blows from there.

Krillin has Ukyo on the ropes for the first portion of the fight. He surprises her with his quick movements and distracting ki blasts, every move and exchange meant to pull attention away from where his next punch is going to come from. Physically, he's tough; Ukyo clonks him on the head with her spatula full strength in an early attempt at a KO, but he's just too strong. But he starts losing steam as the battle progresses.

He only realizes what's happening too late, as the adhesive batter that the okonomiyaki bomb covered him in sets in. The heat from his own ki attacks makes the batter harden more quickly, slowing his movements over time.

Once Krillin realizes he's mired in glue, Ukyo detonates tempura bombs around the ring for her victory plan. Then she lassos Krillin with her yakisoba and ejects him from the arena before he has a chance to break free from the batter.

Round 3: Ranma vs Yamcha

I had to. It's tradition for Yamcha to go down in the first round against one of the major plot characters, typically the main rival to Goku. One of Yamcha's two main jobs in these tournaments is to act as a yardstick to establish how tough the other guy's going to be.

But he still usually gets to put up a good fight. The 22nd match with Ten had him debut his Kamehameha, while his 23rd gave him some solid moments too. Yamcha's going to lose this match but he should get to apply some pressure to Ranma while he's at it.

This might be a good place for the rainstorm. IDK. Would need to seriously consider how Yamcha would react to Ranma sexshifting mid-battle and whether that would make the fight more or less entertaining.

One image I have in my head for this match is Yamcha using his Rogafufuken/Wolf Fang Fist, only for Ranma to match his moves. The technique is based on a relentless assault, an overwhelming flurry of attacks. But Ranma's Chestnuts on an Open Fire training - cultivating striking speed by grabbing chestnuts out of a firepit without getting burned - taught him incredible manual dexterity, allowing him to parry each and every strike of the Rogafufuken.

Yamcha needs to break out the Sokidan/Spirit Ball in this fight, surprising and pressuring Ranma with his ability to remotely control his ki bullet. Ranma eventually stops dodging and uses a small Moko Takabisha to deflect, but this distraction opens him up to Yamcha rushing in with Rogafufuken. Yamcha admits that he borrowed this idea from his bro Krillin.

This is where we see Ranma's chestnut training allowing him to match Ryoga's strikes, and he starts backing off from the assault. Letting Yamcha push him back while pulling Yamcha into the spiral motion. Then, right at the crucial wolf-bite moment that ends the Rogafufuken, Ranma lands his punch instead and blows Yamcha away with the ensuing tornado. An ironic end to a technique that, in Japanese, is called "Fist of the Wolf Fang Hurricane".

Thus setting the stage for how formidable Ranma truly is, and giving Goku a chance to start doing the analysis for what he'll need to beat in the finals.

Round 4: Tenshinhan vs Shampoo

This is going to be such a weird match. Tenshinhan's got all the bizarre techniques: Taiyoken/Solar Flare, Shiyoken/Four Witches, Shishin no Ken/Multiform, enhanced three-eyed perception, etc.

For her part, Shampoo is highly proficient in a variety of weapon styles. Since weapons have been permitted here, she's got an endless supply of blades and staves and polearms to bring to fore. However, her most dangerous arts are what she's capable of when she gets up close, as she has an encyclopedic knowledge of bizarre pressure points that can do anything from memory erasure to instant KO to puppeting someone's body.

I don't remember if it works like this. But I have this image in my head of Shampoo sitting on the shoulders of a Tenshinhan copy and Ratatouilling him against the other Tenshinhans. And I would be very happy if that is a thing that is possible to happen in this fight.

In any case, Shampoo's weapon arts and pressure point techniques give Ten some trouble. She has potential instant-wins if she can get her hands on him, which he's able to learn about after using Shishin no Ken to tease out her abilities at the start. But after reforming back into one, he counters her with Shiyoken, using the extra dexterity of four-armed fighting to parry and counter her weapons while keeping her at arm's length and getting hits in of his own.

While also baiting her into mistakes by using Zanzoken/Afterimages. This is a pretty straightforward fight, and Ten's weird abilities let him clinch the victory.

SEMIFINALS

Round 1: Son Goku vs Ukyo Kuonji

For the first exchange of the match, Ukyo brings out her grill and cooks up some tasty okonomiyaki, then gives some to Goku as a gesture of good will. He ravenously devours it in seconds. The bomb explodes in his stomach and he comically opens his mouth to belch out the smoke from the blast.

This sets the stage for what the fight is going to be like. It's Ukyo's culinary martial arts vs Son Goku's bottomless stomach. He eats her tempura smoke bombs. He eats her yakisoba ropes. He eats her adhesive batter. He eats and he eats and he eats everything she has to throw at him.

He just. He won't stop fucking eating her moves. Finally, she goes to her grill and, in seconds, comically cooks up the largest okonomiyaki ever made in history and slams it down on the arena stage, crushing Goku beneath it. It spreads out so far it even reaches the audience stands.

As Ukyo watches Goku inhale her giant okonomiyaki, she concedes defeat and forfeits the match. Goku shakes her hand and thanks her for the most delicious fight of his life.

Round 2: Ranma vs Tenshinhan

Ranma's chestnut training allows him to parry attacks from Ten's Shiyoken, not unlike how Goku's Hasshuken once did. Still, I want Ten to really pressure Ranma for the first half of the fight in hand-to-hand, much harder than Yamcha did. Ten is stronger, faster, and better trained than Ranma, is the vibe.

First appearance of a killer move is when it works; Second is when it's thwarted. With that in mind, this is a good place for Ranma to pull the Hiryu Shoten Ha again, only for Ten to catch himself in midair with Bukujutsu and continue the fight; Forcing Ranma to grapple with the complexity of fighting an opponent who can freely levitate. With attention drawn to Goku on the sideline, studying Ranma's technique.

This leaves Ranma in the unenviable position of having to fight a Tenshinhan who is able to levitate in the air out of reach and fire Dodonpas. Ranma returns fire with his Moko Takabisha, but Ten easily floats sideways to evade the shot.

But then Ranma brings it back, landing a surprise hit on Ten's back. He's had time to think about Yamcha's Sokidan and how he can incorporate its remote-control movement into his Moko Takabisha. Once this reveal is made, Ranma raises the stakes with his Double Moko Takabisha, controlling each with separate hands - while filling one with hot ki and the other with cold ki.

Ranma harasses Ten in the air with his twin Moko Takabishas while Ten takes shots at Ranma with the Dodonpa. Unbeknownst to Ten, Ranma uses the two shots to form another spiral in the air, concluding by crashing them into each other and creating a new Hiryu Shoten Ha - This one snatching up Ten and drilling downward, driving him into the grass outside the ring.

FINALS

Final Round: Son Goku vs Ranma Saotome

Having devoured Yamcha and Tenshinhan, Ranma brings everything to this match. They fight up-close in quick and brutal melee exchanges where both give as good as they get, and they fight at range with ki blasts and Moko Takabishas.

There's a lot of I Know You Know I Know to this match. It's as much a chess game as a fight, with Ranma and Goku matching and devouring each other's skills. Goku takes Ranma by surprise with a Zanzoken, but Ranma figures it out pretty quickly and gets in a Zanzoken exchange with Ranma, flickering attacks in and out at each other. (Goku wins that exchange because of his superior sensing of an opponent's presence).

Ranma hits Goku hard enough to knock him up in the air, but Goku catches himself with Bukujutsu. Ranma attempts his spiraling remote-Moko Takabishas against Goku, but Goku's been watching his fights and is ready for this. He avoids the shots while following their motion and quietly building a pair of Kamehamehas, one in each hand. When Ranma's ready to collide his shots, Goku flies up between them and fires outward in both directions, dissipating the two Moko Takabishas with his twin Kamehamehas.

After landing back in the ring, Goku and Ranma go at it again, with Goku taking the upper hand and overpowering Ranma enough to hurl him from the ring. At which point Ranma catches himself in midair, revealing he's worked out the principles of Bukujutsu himself after going over that fight with Ten in his head. Neither opponent will be easily rung out. Ranma and Goku then take to the sky, pummeling each other.

The fight rages until both combatants are exhausted, left standing in the ring and unable to muster the ki for Bukujutsu - though not completely drained. This is Ranma's moment. All their blasts and heated fighting has filled the arena with lingering residual ki. Hot ki.

Meanwhile, with the last of his strength, Goku takes his stance and begins to intone. "Kaaaa meeee"

Similar to the Hiryu Korin Dan, Ranma uses a small spiral of cold ki to draw in all of the residual ki floating in the arena around them. He's two steps ahead of Goku, spinning all this floating energy up into what amounts to an energy grenade. The hot ki of Goku's Kamehameha will be drawn in with the rest of it, and the impact force will detonate it into a Hiryu Shoten Ha, firing back on Goku and blowing him out of the ring.

"Haaaa meeee"

Ranma hurls his grenade at the same time Goku fires his Kamehameha. And then Goku begins to curve his beam, twirling it in a large circle and getting steadily smaller and smaller. Rather than being drawn into the cold ki of Ranma's bomb, Goku's Kamehameha is drawing in all of the hot ki from it as it approaches.

Because Goku's been watching Ranma. And he's figured out how to adjust his ki's temperature from seeing Ranma do it so many times. Goku's Cold Kamehameha collides with Ranma's bomb, reversing its intended effect and detonating the Hiryu Shoten Ha back at Ranma. The blast hurls Ranma into the back wall, ending the match.

Goku ends the match on a friendly note, helping Ranma to his feet and showering him with praise for what a great martial artist he is and how cool it was to fight him. This fight really came down to the wire!

CHAMPION

The Winner: Genma Saotome

However, when it comes time for Goku to take his prize, it turns out Genma already plundered both the prize winnings and the trophy. Racing out the door, he physically picks a confused Ranma up and books it over the hills.

The Saotomes did not win the championship trophy. Nonetheless, they proudly have it in their possession.

#dragon ball #ranma 1/2 #son goku #tenshinhan #yamcha #krillin #ranma saotome #shampoo #ukyo kuonji #ryoga hibiki

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keicordelle · 2 years ago

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The Daily Inconveniences of an Au Ra: Dressing

"It seems your clothing did not survive the battle. Pray permit me to loan you something to wear for the moment."

Even ignoring the fact that it sounded like a line from a bad romance novel, Keshet grimaced at the prospect of borrowing clothing from Aymeric, but as his prospects were that or nudity, he just nodded and let the other man dig out a simple blue sweater and woolen trousers.

"At least blue is your color too," he joked as he passed them over. "Would you like some privacy?"

Keshet shrugged. "There's not much more left to see." As soon as he'd spoken the words, he wished he could take them back, staring balefully down at the fabric in his hands: pieces that had been designed for an elezen, not an au ra. While it was true that he cared little and less for how much of his flesh was on display, he sensed his pride was about to take a rather big hit.

He shucked his tattered clothes, weighing the borrowed articles in his hands as he tried to decide which was less likely to embarrass him. He opted for the pants, if only because he could go without a top if needed, and nodded along half-heartedly with whatever Aymeric was saying as he shoved one leg into the hole. His thighs were more muscular than the fabric was designed to accommodate, and the hem of them sat high enough that he looked ready to set to work in the rice fields of Yanxia, but he got them up his legs without too much trouble.

That was where his good fortune ended. He held his tail in one hand, contemplating the merits of trying to stuff it down one pant leg, but that would be incredibly uncomfortable, and the spines were liable to tear a hole in the clothing that way. Plus, he'd really like to be able to sit at some point tonight. Perhaps Aymeric wouldn't mind if he bored a hole into the back of the pants to feed his tail through. That would be an unfit way to repay the man's kindness, though, even for someone as known to be ornery as him. And in any case, he'd have to make the hole so wide to get the spines through that he might as well just cut out the entire backside. Which left him with only one option, really. Sighing in resignation, he dug a tattered strip of cloth from his old clothes to feed through the belt loops and simply cinch the pants tight below the base of his tail. It left far more of his rear exposed than was proper, but hopefully the sweater would cover it.

Aymeric's speech had paused, his lips pressed tightly together as he watched Keshet's conundrum. Keshet scowled at him and then down at the sweater he held, then ducked into the stupid thing before he could think better of it. Sure enough, the points of his horns caught on the weave no matter how carefully he manipulated it, and when he finally managed to find the neck hole, the fabric got tangled on his horns. He let out a stream of curses, each one more inventive than the last, and Aymeric at last lost his composure, clutching at his sides as he laughed himself hoarse.

It took another two minutes of careful manoeuvring before the sweater was seated properly across his torso, the corners of Aymeric's eyes wet from mirthful tears. Keshet glared, though it held little heat. "If you breathe one word of this--"

Aymeric held up a hand, gasping for air as he vowed, "On my honor as a knight, none shall know of your struggle."

"Good. I'd never hear the end of it from Alisaie." A heartbeat later, his lips twisted in a grimace, and he plucked at the fabric stretched tight over his chest.

"Is something the matter?" asked Aymeric.

Keshet sighed, positively despondent. "I just realized I'll have to get it back off... You may not be getting this shirt back."

Aymeric bit his lip, shoulders shaking as he responded, "That's quite alright. You do what you need with it."

Read the rest of the series on Ao3!

FIRST | PREV | NEXT

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #wol #aymeric de borel #au ra #my writing #daily inconveniences #drabble #keshet dotharl #~K

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solomonish · 4 years ago

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The Brothers and What You Are to Them

Do you ever wonder what it is about you that keeps your demon by your side? Not necessarily the traits you have that attracted them to you (and still do), or what they think makes you you, but the reason you’ve become so irreplaceable and imperative in their life that they don’t think they could live without you.

Nowdateables: here!

To Lucifer, you feel like stability.

Lucifer isn’t an insecure man, nor does he need someone to lean on. He doesn’t find himself overwhelmed by what the world throws at him. He is capable, and he can shoulder the responsibilities expected of him and then some, no matter what they should turn out to be.

...at least, that’s what he thinks, and that’s what he says.

But he does find himself asking you to run errands for him when he needs them done correctly. He does find himself entrusting you to keep the roof of the house connected to the rest of it if he has to go away. You are the one who knows how he likes his coffee and when it should be brought to him to power him through the rest of his work without cutting into his scant sleep time. You keep things under control when everybody seems hellbent on making sure things don’t go the way Lucifer plans, and then you’re there to kiss his forehead despite his empty protests and remind him to take care of himself, too.

Lucifer doesn’t feel like the ground is shaking beneath him, ready to topple down at the slightest breath. But if he did, he knew you’d be there to keep him from plummeting down.

To Mammon, you feel like acceptance.

Mammon is called a lot of things in his life, especially by those who are supposed to hold him dear. He’s never smart enough, never behaved enough, never trustworthy enough, never good enough. And, when he gives up and decides not to make himself sick over expectations he’ll never be able to reach, he only gets worse. To everybody else, he’s scum, and sometimes he can’t help but feel it.

You should be saying those things to him, too, with the way he can’t help but hoard your time and your affections and yes, even your things sometimes.

But you don’t. You pet his head and hold him close and give him affection. You do it even when he makes it difficult on you and tries to tell you that he doesn’t want it. He does. He needs it, even. For the first time, he feels like somebody, he feels like he reaches the expectations set up for him and that he actually has a shot to be what somebody wants.

And when you tell him that you don’t have any expectations for him, none except for him to just be himself, he believes you. And it feels so, so nice.

To Leviathan, you feel like peace.

You would think that a life spent nearly entirely in a room playing video games would be easy and peaceful enough. Saying so aloud is a surefire way to get Leviathan to snap.

Envy never allows him to know peace. His video games, manga and anime are a distraction along with a passion. At least he can fend off some of the negative energy with the knowledge that he is the biggest megafan of any number of franchises and titles. Still, despite that, despite the calming water he modeled his room after, he still feels the jealousy tearing at his inside like unstoppable tumultuous seas.

But you stop that. You are the greatest thing, and even if he isn’t sure why you’d ever consider him worthy, he can find that peace in being the one that you’d rather spend your time with and give your affections to. He makes it hard, and he knows he does - but you persist, and you cast that life raft out to him and finally, he feels like maybe he won’t drown anymore.

When he does allow himself to sit and just be the person that, for some reason, you love, his waters still and he knows what it is to really be loved.

To Satan, you feel like understanding.

Satan has had to build a wall around himself brick by brick to hide the ugliness that nobody would dare approach, that he never even asked for and never would have.

He is the king of masks. For any situation, he has about twenty that he can switch between flawlessly, keeping you on your toes and creating a labyrinth so involved nobody will ever figure it out. Well, everybody except for you.

You managed to find your way to his core, sometimes when he wanted you too and always when he didn’t. Sometimes, you figured out the riddles he laid out for you like breadcrumbs, your smile lighting up and lightening his heart so spectacularly he felt like a new person. Other times, you snuck in with a wrecking ball and made your own way to his center, leaving the walls he set up in ruins. Most of them, he isn’t sure he wants to rebuild - not if they keep you out. At the end of the day, even if it’s cheesy, even if it’s unexpected (and that bruises his ego to admit), he finds that you understand who he is so intimately, you may know him better than he knows himself.

Maybe, with your constant meddling, you invented the person he’s become, or at least helped in his formation - but, if you like him that way, that might not be such an insufferable fate.

To Asmodeus, you feel like sweetness.

The life led by someone with eyes on him all the time is ferocious.

Even for somebody who can charm anybody with a simple glance, Asmo has an equal talent for scorning those he leaves behind. For every person gushing at his Devilgram and tracking his whereabouts for an autograph or a photo, there’s someone cursing his name and spewing the worst kinds of insult that will never directly reach his ear. In his life, you take the pleasure with the pain, and you don’t complain about either or you’ll lose the only good you’ve got.

But nothing about you is so vile. You don’t chase after him just to prove that you’ve met him (even if, at first, he was a little miffed at the prospect), and you’d never say something so soul-shatteringly hateful it’d make even a demon lord cringe. You give him the kindness that doesn’t come with expectations or desire for something in return, the kind that might even come unconditionally. You make him feel like he doesn’t have to prove anything, like he’d still be the most wonderful, beautiful creature in all the realms to you even if (gasp!) everybody else turned their backs on him. There’s a sort of innocent kindness in the way you smile at him that gives him a sugar high, and he isn’t always sure of what to do with it.

Once, he was a creature made to be loved and adored, and you make him feel like there was never a time where such a privilege was ripped away from him.

To Beelzebub, you feel gentle.

Beelzebub is a big guy, and he’s a well-known athlete. People don’t look at him and think he’s fragile goods.

And he isn’t. He is his family’s defender, and he’s been through battles terrible enough they still hang over those who even know about them like storm clouds. But inside his tough exterior, the uncaring aura he accidentally portrays when all he can think about is keeping himself fed, there’s a person that craves the same affections everybody else does. Beelzebub isn’t just hungry for food - he feel empty, entirely hollow, like a void he’s worried will grow too big to be distracted and swallow everything he cares about whole. Sometimes he feels so empty he could just curl up and die.

But, whatever it is you have, it fills him up so deliciously and he’s hooked. It’s even enough for him to just know that you’re around and taken care of - that staves off the worst of it, and he suddenly doesn’t feel like a beast that will be the downfall of all he loves. You give him patience with his need to eat, you give him gentleness with your touches and your smiles, and your voice doesn’t have that exasperated edge everybody else’s does.

He isn’t a powerhouse or a bottomless pit to you - he’s a person, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.

To Belphegor, you feel like forgiveness.

Belphegor does a lot, he is a lot, and most of it feel wrong.

If he could keep himself awake for longer, he might have enough time to dig himself into a pit of self-loathing in the way Levi does. But he just feels empty, a void broken by occasional bouts of fury, or hatred, or pain of some sort. It’s hardly an existence, so he does the bare minimum, hardly passing the threshold for living because to do so would be more than he could deal with. Hell, the only time he has to think and to do things, he spends trying to inconvenience the person who (supposedly) cares most for him or hurting others - hurting you.

God, how can you look at him like that? Like he’s somebody you can trust, like he’s somebody worth an effort when he himself doesn’t give a damn? It’s weird, it’s stupid, it’s just like you humans to do, and it can never stop. It’s too much for him to deal with, but that’s a good thing. The time he spends wrestling with your forgiveness is time spent being productive, something he’s not exactly been accused of before. And sometimes, that diligence spreads to other thins: his relationship with his brothers, his relationship with humans, his relationship with himself.

You make him want to put the work in because you make him feel like he amounts to something - and you make him feel like his mistakes haven’t completely blotted out his hopes for the future the way he used to think they did.

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silverflame2724 · 3 years ago

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WWX wisely chose not to attend Jin Lings 100 day celebration but still has to listen to Jin Zixun's screaming about some curse from the edge of the corpse barrier. Finally at the end of his patience Wei Wuxian curses Jin Zixun in a manner that no one can mistake as anything other than a curse cast by Wei Wuxian.

It's a truth curse mixed with a babbling curse as well as having a area of effect so everyone within a li of the victim is affected. Almost with a hour of returning to carp tower for reinforcements during the party with everyone in attendance fights break out as inconvenient truths come spilling out.

"I was paid by the Jin to spread false rumours about the Yiling Patriarch!", "I cursed Jin Zixun with the 100 holes curse!", ect.

When the invitation came, Wei Wuxian really wanted to go at first. He never thought he would get the chance to see his Shijie again. And for Lan Zhan himself to sign the letter of invitation made it all the more tempting. But......

But Wei Wuxian knew the Jin. And knew that they wouldn't let this chance go to possibly attack the Burial Mounds or maybe even him on his way to Lanling. Everyone knew Wei Wuxian no longer used his sword and Wei Wuxian would have to travel through Qiongqi Path to get to Lanling. Qiongqi Path was structured in a way that made it perfect for an ambush. And while Qiongqi was sure to have plenty of resentful energy and corpses around, Wei Wuxian couldn't count on the chance that the area would be purged in preparal for his arrival.

So though it tore at him, Wei Wuxian rejected the invitation, choosing instead to strengthen the wards in fear of retaliation from his refusal. And just as he expected, the Jins came knocking. Though, not for the reason he had initially thought.

“Wei Wuxian!!!! Remove this curse you have put on me!!!!” Some random Jin yelled, banging futilely against the wards.

Wei Wuxian ignored him. He wasn’t about to go see what the ruckus was about. What if he was just yelling about it only to lead Wei Wuxian into a trap? He doubted many Jin had the smarts to think about that, but still. He’d rather err on the side of caution.

It had been a few hours and this guy still hadn’t given up. Wei Wuxian was starting to get annoyed but still dreaded over having to deal with this annoyance. Can a man just get a few days without someone cursing him to death? He had inventions to invent!

“So you finally show your face, you servant!!!” The Jin spat, heaving and red-faced. The cultivators behind him looked ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Wei Wuxian was not impressed.

“Undo this curse right now, Wei Wuxian!!! Otherwise, I’ll tell my uncle to have the clans siege you!!!!”

“Your....uncle?” Wei Wuxian asked curiously. “Who are you again?”

“You know who I am!”

“I really don’t.” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “Look, I don’t know who fed you the lie that I cursed you, but I really have better things to do than curse someone I don’t even know.”

The Jin began yelling again and Wei Wuxian sighed, rubbing his temples to ward off a headache. He was really getting annoyed. And then--

“Ha, if your parents could see you know, they’d be so disappointed in you.”

Wei Wuxian twitched.

“It’s a good thing they died, huh? So they don’t have to see what a tainted mess their bastard of a son became!”

Normally, Wei Wuxian would brush off any insult. However, to target his parents? That was crossing a fucking line.

“Since you want to be so badly cursed by me, so be it!” He put Chenqing to his lips and began playing. A wave of resentful energy gathered and blasted the Jin and his companions away.

The curse was a little thing Wei Wuxian had come up with when he was bored. Wen Qing had given him the idea, indirectly. She had been tired with him disguising his injuries from many of his failed experiments and decided to curse him with a truth curse, causing him to be unable to hide his injuries from her. (Of course, after it wore off, he stopped hiding things from her, knowing she had something like that at her disposal.) In an effort to undo it, Wei Wuxian had studied it and though he hadn’t been able to figure out how to undo it before it wore off, he had been able to figure out how to improve it.

This new and improved curse had the same function. However, instead of being forced to tell the truth, the victim would blurt out any secrets they had kept hidden. On top of that, it would spread to others quickly. Wei Wuxian hoped that a few minutes of embarrassing secrets being spilled would be enough to deter them.

And sure enough, it did.

The Jin and his rather disgruntled group of subordinates left. Now that Wei Wuxian looked at them though, he noticed some Lan disciples in their midst. His heart had clenched with betrayal and hurt, remembering that it was Lan Zhan who had signed the invitation.

He shook his head. It mattered not.

...........................

What Wei Wuxian didn’t know, though, was that the effects of the curse had not worn off. So when Jin Zixun returned to the celebration to get reinforcements, it quickly spread to all of the guests.

At least three sect leaders immediately blurted out, “I was paid by the Jin to spread false rumors about the Yiling Patriarch!”

“Me too! The Jin promised me women and crops in exchange for telling everyone at the recent Discussion conference that the Yiling Patriarch had sent his corpses to my land! They were just wandering fierce corpses, but who wouldn’t believe that Wei Wuxian would send his corpses to any random person?”

“I was told to spread the rumors about the Yiling Patriarch raping virgins!”

And then......

“I cursed Jin Zixun with the hundred holes curse!” Su Minshan, sect leader of the newly emerged Su sect, said.

Jin Zixun turned to him quickly and took out his sword, rushing to him. “Undo it right now!!!”

“I don’t want to! You always bullied me, why should I?” Su Minshan yelled, easily beating back Jin Zixun. However, he couldn’t defend himself against all of Jin Zixun’s subordinates and was quickly taken into custody.

The party quickly descended into chaos as everyone everywhere began spilling their deepest, darkest secrets.

Jin, Lan, Jiang, Yao, Ouyang......no one was spared. No matter how they tried to stop it, the curse was too strong.

And the culprit for all this chaos? He was happily tinkering away in his cave, unaware of how powerful the curse he casted was.

#mdzs #wei ying #wei wuxian #wen remnants #jin zixun #curses #everyone in the cultivation world gets indirectly cursed to spread their secrets

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harrydracobang · 3 years ago

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Harry/Draco Big Bang Week #1 Round-Up

Below you'll find a round-up of all of our amazing submissions that have posted during our first week of @harrydracobang!

We hope you’ve been enjoying all the novel-length Drarry and amazing art so far, and we want to thank everybody who has been following the fest and supporting our participants with comments, kudos and recs! You are amazing and we know for certain our fantastic artists and writers appreciate all your support! <3

The next fic will go up tomorrow, and we still have one more week of amazing fic and art, but for now, check our first week below to make sure you didn’t miss anything. Don’t forget to leave some love for our participants as you make your way through the submissions!

Make Yourself written by @anyaelizabethfic with art by @zigster-ao3 [Explicit, 103k] Summary : Harry just wants to be safe within the freshly painted walls of Grimmauld Place, with his friends around him. But when he hears Draco Malfoy has been spotted at the local soup kitchen, he can't help but encourage a different type of stray to come under his roof. -Zigster's Tumblr Art Post 1 -Zigster’s Tumblr Art Post 2

sweeten to taste written by @bigblackdogfic with art by @babooshkart [Explicit, 51k] Summary: It starts with Draco's buckwheat crepes with honeyed oranges. Or maybe it starts with his porridge with toasted walnuts and homemade apple butter. Or perhaps it starts with the cinnamon buns Draco made from scratch with mascarpone icing. Harry just knows he's hungry for more. -Babooshkart’s Tumblr Art Post

Graceless Heart written by @orange-peony with art by @chuckalart and @secretartlair [Explicit, 132k] Summary: Harry is lost and broken after the war. He has gone to countless funerals, broken up with Ginny, moved back into Grimmauld Place—which feels darker and dirtier than ever before despite how much he tries to fix it. He feels lonely and desperate, but he won’t ask for help, and he still can’t cry.

When he agreed to help the Aurors at Malfoy Manor over the summer, he thought that he would be breaking dark curses. Harry never thought that he would actually spend his days sorting out dusty books with Draco Malfoy, or teaching him how to cook.

Little by little, as they begin to navigate their life post-war, Harry and Draco become intimate…in more ways than Harry could have ever expected.

See How They Run written by @harryromper with art by @inveigler81 [Mature, 51k] Summary: Harry’s living above the shop in Knockturn Alley, working as a private detective after a failed stint as an Auror, when he gets an invitation from Luna Lovegood to the last place he could have imagined: Malfoy Manor.

As Luna and Draco’s friends gather for the weekend, it isn’t only memories of wartime violence that surface. It seems that a lot of the guests have things they want to hide, including murder.

It falls to Harry to solve the mystery, and while he’s at it, to untangle his feelings for Draco Malfoy once and for all. -Inveigler81′s Tumblr Art Post 1 -Inveigler81′s Tumblr Art Post 2

Brave Though The Stars They Make Me written by @dwell-the-brave with art by @puncertainty [Mature, 108k] Summary: After the events at the end of his Sixth Year, Draco Malfoy has been kept all but prisoner in his childhood home, Malfoy Manor. Alone, terrified, and desperate for some way out, he begins to have strange dreams - dreams of Harry Potter. Are they a trick of his mind? Or are they a way to change his fate, and a chance at redemption? -Puncertainty's AO3 Art Post -Puncertainty's Tumblr Art Post

Nor All That Glisters written by @sweet-s0rr0w with art by @deancebra-art and @fantalf [Explicit, 110k] Summary: Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

But before long he finds himself with a thriving business, a nice flat, some actual (albeit irritatingly Gryffindor) friends, and a very satisfying sex life. What’s more, no-one is hexing him in the street. And Harry Potter is single, and gorgeous, and giving Draco decidedly interested looks.

Stop taking the Felix? You must be joking… -Fantalf’s Tumblr Art Post

spins madly on written by asofthaven with art by @iaooa and Monotremata [Teen, 56k] Summary: As part of his probation, Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts to complete his N.E.W.T.s. Gobstones, the political machinations of the Hogwarts student body, and one Harry James Potter captures Draco’s attention instead. -Iaooa’s Tumblr Art Post

Chasing Shadows written by @manixzen with art by @avaeryn [Explicit, 93k] Summary: The murder of Lucius Malfoy seems impossible—no cause of death, no traces of spell-work, no potions in his system. The only leads Harry and his partner have are the trail of missing wizards the deeper they go. That and the help of the victim’s estranged son who now spends his time bartending at a queer-friendly Muggle pub.

A case fic featuring a closeted Harry Potter, an out-and-proud, tattooed Draco Malfoy, and a murder mystery that seems to lead to more questions than answers.

Home Truths written by @skeptiquewrites with art by @fantalf [Explicit, 67k] Summary: In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

On professional Quidditch, magical houses, hard choices, Life Debts, and inconvenient truths. -Fantalf’s Tumblr Art Post

The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets written by @iero0 & @ladderofyears with art by @egggnoodles and @faevorite-main-blog [Explicit, 287k] Summary: Hogwarts is the very last place that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy want to return to after the war. The Castle feels claustrophobic and stifling. Both feel trapped within its walls.

Harry is traumatised by the war, by his sudden breakup from Ginny, and by the knowledge that his friends all know what they want to do with their life.

Meanwhile Draco is reeling. He has narrowly escaped an Azkaban prison sentence and is struggling under the strict rules of his probation. He doesn't know where his mother is, and finds himself a pariah among the other students.

The last thing that either student wants is mandatory Mind Healing. What has happened to them feels so big and devastating, that writing to a stranger feels farcical.

Even so, they are not given a choice.

Harry and Draco are both given a shared magical diary, and soon they begin writing letters to an anonymous fellow student.

Their letters, terse at first, grow longer as the days pass. Before long, each wizard confesses their secrets and their fantasies, their wishes and their dreams.

What will happen when their true identities are exposed? Will their vulnerable new relationship be destroyed before it has even begun? -Egggnoodles Tumblr Art Post

A Sense of Scale written by @fantalf with art by @dragontamerdame [Mature, 71k] Summary: Potter merely shrugged, as if it was nothing. After all, it wasn’t his life’s work. “You can try to win it over.” Draco snapped, “What?!” “The school. Win it over.” “How the fuck do I win a school over, Potter?! It’s a bloody school, not a person!” And he didn’t win people over that easily, overall. “I don’t know. Use your charms. I know you to be very inventive.” —— In which Draco spends an obscene amount of time thinking of new nicknames for The Living Git, lying to himself and using his charms to seduce an extremely uncooperative sentient school.

Independent Art: Homage by @cambiodipolvere [General] Summary: A space between dangling feet, less than a foot.

#drarry #drarry fests #drarry fest #draco x harry #harry x draco #drarry fic #drarry art #harrydracobang #2021 fest #weekly roundup #mod post

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

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harmless (vi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: BUCKY BARNES IS BACK AND HAS A CONFIRMED PERSONALITY

also omg everyone who’s been sending me ideas- ur the lomls.

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Your place or mine? ;)

He stares at the text.

The right answer is mine. See you at the lair.

“Y’all are dating now?” Clint peeks over his shoulder.

“Fuck no,” Bucky says indignantly. “God forbid.”

“Okay, man,” he retracts, giving Bucky space to turn around and face him. “What do you want to call your mini dates then?”

“Missions,” Bucky corrects him.

“No one wants to go on a mission. You volunteered to go back there.”

“It’s for the good of the tristate area.”

“I bet.” The snort he lets out contradicts his words. “Whole world is depending on you, Barnes. Go save them from the treachery of your crush.”

“Enemy.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Mortal nemesis.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Go further, I dare you.”

“What are you gonna do? Choke me? Punch me with your metal arm?” Clint cranes his neck. “Bring it, big boy. I’m not scared of some kinky shit.”

He hates living here.

The door is left open for him.

This time, even though the lair is still illuminated by the green light out in the front, there’s a minor change. Sunlight streams in through a skylight in the roof.

There’s a ladder there, leaning against the rim. It gives him an entrance to the roof, which, judging by the lack of any other presence in the lab, is where he’s supposed to go.

As he gets closer he notices there’s a note on one of the rungs.

‘Evil’ with an arrow pointing upwards.

He rolls his eyes, discarding it on the floor before swiftly scaling the steps.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” he hears your voice call out even before his head pops up above the surface. “We’ve been expecting you.”

He pauses, looking around. “Who’s with you?”

Because other than the gigantic machine pointed up towards the sky, there’s only you with a visor and sunglasses. The best way he can describe its design was that it was shaped like a pine cone, had a large antenna pointed towards the sky, two handlebars near its base to manoeuvre it with a large button in between them.

“Just imagine I have my henchmen with me,” you urge. “I’m on a budget, man, I can’t afford them yet. Maybe when my cloning machine finally works-”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s a James Bond reference,” you add when he doesn’t show any signs of answering.

“Haven’t watched it yet.” Bucky shrugs. “We’re doing Star Trek right now.”

“You’re done with Star Wars?” you, receiving a nod in confirmation. “Nice. You’d find the spy shit ridiculous anyway, it’s way below your level.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He makes a mental note to add the Bond movies to the list.

“Speaking of stars,” you begin, gesturing to the machine. “I’m going to harness the power of the sun.”

“For what?” He doesn’t bother asking how, he already knows you’ve figured out something.

“There’s a science exhibition and my team’s stupid solar car experiment isn’t working and I need it for them to win.”

“So build a better one.”

“No, ours is the best and if Jeff and his stupid baking soda volcano beat us then we’re going to have a murder on our hands.”

“Your hands,” he emphasises. He has nothing to do with this.

“I said what I said, boy.” You glare at him. “This is our problem now.”

“How much power are you taking?” If it’s insignificant enough, it wouldn’t matter much. He thinks.

“The whole thing.”

He laughs. He stops when you don’t.

“You’re taking all the energy of the sun to power your shitty science model.”

“Your face is a shitty science model,” you mimic him in a higher pitched voice. “I will do anything to win.”

He wonders which grade kid you stole that insult from was in. There’s no way they were anything older than 13. He could use it on Steve, maybe.

“Everyone on Earth will die.” He feels the need to remind you, even though there was no way it was actually going to take place. Eat shit, Clint. This superseded the tristate area.

“Not for eight minutes.” You look at your watch. “And, if Jeff dies then I win by default.”

“You’ll die too,” he points out.

“I’ll die a winner.” You nod seriously as if that makes it better.

He’s not that worried. Experience tells him that you’re not a mass murderer willingly.

“You’ll die an idiot.”

“Only if you don’t stop me.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And how will you when I do this?”

You yank the machine to point towards him and slam the button. His hand reflectively pulls in front of him to defend himself. Something hits him with enough force to send him skidding backwards slightly.

He removes his hand carefully from in front of him, looking at you.

Something feels off.

“You just-”

The knives strapped to his thighs suddenly feel heavier.

“Took your powers?” you finish his thought. “Yeah.”

He feels his body tip towards his left. He’s suddenly very aware of the weight of the arm. Had it been this heavy all this while?

“You’ve barely changed,” you noted, “You’re just regular Bucky but like, 20% less beef.”

After all, he was a boxer when he was a teen. One of the best men the Howling Commandos had even before the serum.

His shoulder feels heavier though. And somehow he thinks he’s sensing things a little less. He can’t really hear the faint buzzing of the generator downstairs anymore.

“Yep, that’s real muscle.” He turns when you poke at his shoulder. He doesn’t know when you got there. “You’re like a modern day Schwarzenegger. Grade A beefcake.”

He can’t see the construction site near the horizon as clearly as he used to.

Something about this situation makes him feel like he’s going to have a midlife crisis, even though he’s overshot the age by a huge number. No one has a midlife crisis at 106.

“Now that we’ve established that this works,” you say, back near the machine again. When did you walk there? “Let’s show this bitch that I’m the brightest star allowed in this solar system.”

He shakes his head to jolt himself awake, shoves aside his mental dysfunction and breaks out into a sprint when you pull the device down to aim it at the sky.

He latches onto the side, using his left hand to pull himself up, straddling the machine.

“Excuse me,” you exclaim like it’s a minor inconvenience and he feels the machine sway wildly under him. “You’re weighing it down, get off my inator.”

You’re shooting recklessly, trying to shake him off. It’s not dissimilar to the mechanical bull Natasha made him ride during a mission down south so she could win money off placing bets on him. They had lobster that night.

He reaches down to its side, hoping to feel maybe a panel he can rip off. He finds nothing.

He hopes none of the rays are actually hitting anything. It’s a little harder to stay on than he’d imagined it would be, and he thinks that maybe this wasn’t the best plan.

He changes his mind in a split second, swinging himself over so that he can climb the underside of the machine like a monkey bar. He feels like a fucking insect. How was Peter not mortally embarrassed?

He factors in the fact that his hands are getting clammier and his grip is slipping faster than usual. Also, he can taste his lunch at the back of his throat.

“Motherfucker,” Bucky curses when his hand slips, leaving him to hold on only by his metal arm.

“You okay?” you call out, not giving him a second to recover unless he really needed it.

He lets out a grunt, swinging his arm up and catching hold of the antenna, yanking it down and towards the machine itself. He pulls himself up so that he’s straddling the machine again.

One more shot and-

“Very smart, Barnes,” you say dryly, letting go of the handles.

He sends you a sly grin before sliding down the barrel, kicking the large button with his heel right before he jumps off.

The beam shoots out, instantly meeting with metal. The device automatically gives a mechanical groan before powering down, turning off altogether.

“I hate you,” you huff, before noting his paleness. “D’you want some water? An IV maybe?”

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, inhaling heavily to catch his breath.

He’s tired, more so than he would have been under any normal circumstance. He feels a little dizzy, a little disoriented.

“Don’t worry, your magic powers will be back in a few minutes or so.” You examine the bent antenna, pressing the button and sighing when it stands there lifelessly. “Once Jeff wins, I’ll send the dry cleaning receipt to you. You can pay to get the tear stains out of the kids’ outfits.”

“Your tears or theirs?” He’s relieved about the powers returning, he thinks.

“Both, bitch.” Your eyebrow quirks at his retort. Clearly, he had more energy in him than people realised; his brain seemed to be working fine. He was stronger than you thought. Good for him.

“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” He lets out a final exhale before standing up a little straighter.

“Thanks. It’d be better if you asked your billionaire tech genius to send us something, but okay.”

“It’s a middle school science exhibition. Make a potato battery or something.”

You tsk-tsk. “No points for creativity, Mr. Barnes.”

It creeps into his mind without warning. He wonders if he actually wanted the powers back. Wonders what his life could be if he maybe retired, settled down. For the brief time he feels like his pre-war self, he starts to think like his pre-war self.

“I’m not the one who’s about to lose to a baking soda volcano,” he finds time to respond, however.

“Your face is a baking soda volcano.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I will not lose.”

“You’re running out of time. Chop chop.”

But the thought hits him. Who is Bucky without his super soldier serum? If he doesn’t have his powers then he can’t think of what use he is to the Avengers.

Who the hell is Bucky if he can’t provide a service to others? How else does he make up for being himself?

His, what he’s now deemed, afterlife crisis is starting to look more apparent.

He compartmentalises and stores it away in a box. He’ll bring it up with his therapist later.

“I’m going to win and then you’ll be sorry you weren’t a part of it because you didn’t let me steal the sun.”

“If you win, I’ll still be glad I didn’t let you.” He climbs back down the ladder, feeling the ache in his muscles reduce with every passing minute.

True to your word, his powers do return a while later.

And while he’s watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with Peter in the living room two days later, his phone beeps with a text.

It’s a picture of a blue first place ribbon next to a toy car that looks like it’s powered by a potato battery. Beside it is an out of focus middle finger that is aimed at him.

Congratulations, he texts back. Told you potato batteries always win.

Your face always wins, he receives in return. He can’t tell if you’re insulting or flirting with him.

He just shuts his phone off and goes back to watching the show.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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jjk-anime-horray · 4 years ago

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Sukuna being fascinated with you would include:

Intially having a very unique cursed technique, that would be useful to him.

Not necessarily being overpowered, but you having a lot of potential with your abilities.

Having to have a certain appeal in your personality that sets you apart.

Him taking over Yuji’s body to talk to you, and megumi for that matter.

Him actually being hyper critical on you because he doesn’t want to admit he’s taken any interest in a mortal, in any way.

But him personally beating up cursed that hurt you because he’s quote the only one allowed to bully you.

Him internally plotting to become a literal deity, and him thinking about ways to try to get you to convert over to his side and cause.

Him occasionally popping out of Yuji's hands trying to convince you to join him, and it's usually combined with Megumi too.

Being surprised when he told you his initial form literally has four arms and a mouth on the stomach, because he's kinda eccentric like that.

Him actually managing to be very helpful, and really inconvenient at the same time.

Him sharing ancient sorcery techniques with you that he may or may not have invented. And talking shit about the higher up's ancestors

Sukuna shit talking gojo to you, no doubt, then claiming that he's a better teacher than he is.

Lastly Yuji spilling the beans to you that Sukuna actually tolerates your presence, then the spirit being pissed about it afterwards. Like what the hell yuji!! You just ruined his facade that he doesn't care about anything, ummm rude.

#anime #weeb #manga #x reader #platonic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk headcanons

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j0ne-jjk · 3 years ago

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Sex with the Members

Pairing: OT7 Characters: Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook Genre: Smut Rating: M

I originally put this together for an adult BTS group in another location online and it was so popular there, I wanted to post it here for posterity.

As a reminder: these are OPINIONS. I do not know the guys, nor do I claim to have any actual knowledge of their intimate styles. So if you don’t like it, don’t come at me.

Seokjin

Jin ultimately wants to ensure his significant other feels safe, comfortable, and desired. He makes it his priority to communicate to his partner how beautiful he finds them.

Jin would be kind and gentle, enjoying slow, sensual love-making over rough and fierce sex. He is constantly checking in with is partner, making sure they are doing okay and still feeling good.

Eventually, he would recognize that he has a praise kink - both for giving and receiving.

Though not a deal-breaker, Jin would prefer his partner be shorter/smaller than he is so he can feel physically protective.

To Jin, sex is just another way to express his love to his significant other. He would be willing to explore different kinks, seeing that as a time to create a deeper, more meaningful, trust-filled bond with his partner.

During kink exploration, he would realize that he likes being choked, so that’s fun...

Jin’s moans would be loud and slightly nasally. Lots of romantic pet names. He would love to hear his significant other’s moans as well and would encourage them to make noise.

SEX PLAYLIST: sweet, sappy, Korean ballads.

Hoseok

Hoseok is made of pure sunshine and is always ready with a smile and gentle, encouraging word for his significant other. He would love the times they can laugh together until their sides ache. Hobi’s primary love language is Quality Time, and he would thrive on evening walks along a quiet riverbank, hand in hand, stealing kisses in the privacy of a grove of trees.

In the bedroom, his sunny personality would continue to shine. Hobi would shower his partner with praise and find little opportunities for giggles throughout sex (slight tickling kink??). He would enjoy making up cute nicknames for his partner and himself in addition to the cute, sappy classics like “jagiya”.

Hoseok is naturally humble and selfless and prefers to focus on his partner’s pleasure first, while forgetting about his own. When his significant other makes a move to return the favor, Hobi would break out in his signature heart-shaped smile, eyes twinkling with affection.

Now, our sunshine isn’t necessarily vanilla. Don’t forget, this man is hella flexible, fit, and has killer dancer’s hips. Hoseok would use all of these to his advantage to alternate between pounding into his partner and rolling his hips at just the right angle to hit their sweet spot.

Hobi’s moans would start out surprisingly low, back in his throat but move higher and more desperate as he gets closer to his release.

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s rap.

Taehyung

Taehyung is a Daddy Dom, no doubt about it.

He’s strict, regal, classy, and expects a well-mannered sub. Taehyung would be called Sir and would call his sub kitten or little one.

He likes seeing his sub in rope or leather bondage and sometimes blindfolded. Taehyung enjoys using toys and light degradation (though nothing too extreme of course, he’s no savage). He will train his sub in edging and orgasm denial, loving the feeling of complete control that he has over them.

Taehyung would be relatively quiet in the bedroom, more focused on giving instruction and listening to his sub. His moans would be deep and gravelly, much like his singing voice.

Like any good Dom, Taehyung understands the importance of good aftercare and always tends to his significant other after sex, ensuring they return to a safe emotional space. As soon as the scene is over, Taehyung’s personality changes from demanding Dom to cuddly bear, ready to care for his darling.

Outside of the bedroom, Taehyung is attentive and doting to his significant other. Of course, he can also be slightly pouty at times, but that can always be fixed with well-timed snuggles, hugs, and forehead kisses.

SEX PLAYLIST: moody jazz.

Jimin

Listen to me when I tell you: Jimin is a freak in the sheets. It is a fact and no one can tell me otherwise. Some days he would want to be in charge, telling his partner exactly how to please him (power bottom, anyone?), and some days he would be the picture perfect pillow princess.

Jimin would be willing to try pretty much anything, as long as it wasn’t gross. If he was with a girl, it wouldn’t be long into the relationship before Jimin would bring up his interest in pegging and strap-ons.

Not shy, Jimin is the kind to send suggestive messages, nude photos, and even videos of himself playing when he’s away from his partner.

He also loves getting head. Jimin will use his puppy eyes to ask for a blow job at the most inconvenient times. All he needs is a dark corner or broom closet and fifteen minutes and he’ll have his partner convinced and on their knees for him in no time.

Though his hands are small, he knows how to use his pretty mouth to get his significant other off. Jimin is a fan of teasing and overstimulation (best of both worlds?) and is more than happy to spend quality time with his mouth between his partner’s legs.

Jimin’s moans would be loud, clear, and high, just like his voice. He would babble praises and curse continually, begging his partner to keep going as he nears his climax.

SEX PLAYLIST: dirty, sexy pop music.

Yoongi

It’s no secret that Yoongi is introverted but desires deep emotional and physical connection. He takes his time getting to know his significant other well enough to reach the point of physical intimacy.

PDA is kept to a minimum, with the exception of hand holding- Yoongi loves holding hands. His large, piano-player hands fit perfectly around those of his significant other, his thumb rubbing gently over their knuckles, fingers squeezing occasionally as a soft reminder of, “I’m still here.”

The best date is an evening in the Genius Lab, sitting side by side, shoulders touching, taking frequent kiss breaks (it “helps with the writers block”, he claims). Since music is the most important thing to Yoongi, sharing it with his partner is almost as intimate as physical contact. The first time Yoongi shares a new, unfinished song with his significant other, his hands and sweating and his body is trembling like the first time he had sex.

In the bedroom, Yoongi is attentive, intentional and deliberate. He takes his time to learn everything he possibly can about his partner’s body and pleasure. Sex is slow and sensual, with both bodies pressed fully together to feel as much skin-to-skin contact as possible.

Yoongi would be relatively quiet during sex, more likely to let out deep gasps and low groans. Occasionally as he reaches his high, his voice cracks in a particularly high-pitched moan, causing a blush to spread across cheeks. Being more of an auditory person, Yoongi would revel in his partner’s moans, encouraging them to make noise.

Though he appreciates a good blow job, Yoongi actually prefers hand jobs because he can still kiss his partner.

And of course, I’m not going to let you forget about that Tongue Technology...

SEX PLAYLIST: underground Korean rap.

Namjoon

Namjoon’s main desire is to express his love for his significant other. Whether it’s a sweet mid morning text, a surprise lunch delivery, or (an attempt at) freshly baked cookies, Joon is always looking for ways to show his partner how much they mean to him. He’s the epitome of romantic.

With Namjoon, it’s not “sex” but “making love”, and it is sure to be romantic and sensual. Joon wants to make sure his significant other feels beautiful, and enjoys body worship, both given and received.

Kink exploration is somewhat rare, but Namjoon will try things out if his partner asks. He draws the line at anything that causes pain because it worries him to think that his clumsiness could surface, causing real harm to his partner.

Aftercare is as important as the actual sex to Joon. He wants to bathe or shower and then cuddle while either talking quietly, watching a movie, or going to sleep.

Namjoon’s moans are deep and low, and during intimacy, his speaking voice is so deep it almost disappears. He speaks in both English and Korean, and groans out so many curse words, it’s almost like he’s invented some of his own.

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s R&B and slow jams.

Jungkook

Jungkook sheds both his oversized clothing and bad boy stage persona in the bedroom. Always the maknae, he would want to be taken care of during sex. He would love being called “baby boy” or “baby bun” and thrives on praise. Degradation and harsh words would crush him and ruin the mood almost immediately.

Sometimes bratty (by choice, of course), Jungkook would occasionally inform his significant other that “Kookie needs to be punished.” His favorite punishments include edging and orgasm denial, spanking, and choking.

Of course, he did work hard for those muscles and has a strength kink for sure. One of his favorite positions is holding his significant other up either pressed up against the wall or with their legs wrapped around his slim waist, while slamming into them.

Oral is another favorite activity, and Jungkook absolutely loves eating his partner out. It makes his heart so giddy to know that he is the one completely responsible for the pleasure his significant other is feeling. Getting head often makes him cum embarrassingly fast, turning him into a blushing, whining mess.

Jungkook would be very vocal during sex, begging, moaning, and whimpering. His sounds would be high and sweet, with lots of heavy breathing and gasps included.

SEX PLAYLIST: Ariana Grande or dark, moody music.

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steves-on-a-plane · 3 years ago

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Keeping the Monsters At Bay

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Anxiety Attacks, mentions of nightmares, mentions of broken bones Word Count: 2137 Square Filled: @star-spangled-bingo Free Space & @buckybarnesbingo U5 *Picture Square* Summary: Reader forgot to replenish the medical supplies after a previous mission and it’s almost time for the team to leave for the next one. The pressure triggers an anxiety attack for Reader, which is when Bucky comes upon them. With Bucky’s help, Reader is able to manage the attack. The next night Reader is able to return the favor when they’re awoken by screaming. Bucky is having nightmares again so Reader helps him get through the night.

“Shit!” You hissed out the word as you slammed the storage compartment closed. You looked over your shoulder to see if anyone else had overheard your outburst. Dr. Banner was the only on the quinjet with you. He politely pretended not to have heard you. The other’s would be arriving soon and expect you to be ready to go. You opened another compartment only to discover it too was empty.

“Everything all right, [Y/N}?” Bruce asked after you loudly closed a third compartment.

“Yes, I think so.” You sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

You stormed out of the quintet mumbling every curse word you could think of. On the last mission Steve had asked you to rotate the medical supplies. Apparently you’d remembered to empty all the medical compartments, but never refilled the supplies. As soon as you were sure that you were out of Bruce’s sight you began running through the corridors. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach when you thought of how you could be a reason for the mission to be delayed. You didn’t have much time together everything you needed, but you’d have to do your best. The last thing you wanted was to be in the field and not have something you needed.

“[Y/N]!” Tony called out to you as you almost collided with him. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“Sorry Tony, I’ve just got to grab something quick.” You told him without stopping.

“Wheels up in ten minutes!” He shouted after you. “That’s with or without you!” He hadn’t meant anything by it. You knew he didn’t because half of everything Tony said wasn’t serious. You also knew there was no way Steve would let him leave you behind, but you couldn’t rationalize with anxiety.

You really wished you could turn this part of you off. There was never a convenient time for an anxiety attack, but a mission was one of the worst times. You were already experiencing a stomach pain so intense it felt the way a towel looks when it’s being wrung out. You knew what would happen next, the worrying and overthinking. You’d worry so much about making sure to pack everything that you were bound to forget something. You felt the pain in your chest as you rounded the next corner.

“Almost there.” You whispered as you forced yourself from a run to a walking pace. You were starting to have troubling breathing. You tried to tell yourself it was from the running and the worrying. It would go away once you had all the supplies. That did nothing to sooth the burning feeling in your lungs.

“[Y/N]?” You’d been so inside of your own head, you hadn’t seen Bucky at the other end of the hall. Gasping for breaths now, you allowed yourself to lean against the wall and waited for him to come to you. “Are you okay?” He asked you quietly.

You nodded “Yes” Unable to answer him verbally. He seemed unhappy with that answer.

“You wanna try that again?” He asked. His tone was gentle, inventing. It lacked the usual sarcastic whipping you were used to from him.

“I’m…fine.” You managed between gasps. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing. It was no use. A part of you was still acutely aware of the time crunch you were under. You didn’t have time for an anxiety attack, which was only making it worse.

“You can lie to me if you want to, but it’s not going to fix the situation.” Bucky said. You opened your mouth to tell him again that you were fine and instead you began to cry. You confessed to Bucky the reason that you were so upset.

“The medical supplies? [Y/N] you didn’t forget to refill those after the last mission. Tony was doing something to the jet a few weeks ago and there was a hydraulic fuel leak. A bunch of the stuff in the jet was ruined. Steve and Tony forgot they’d thrown it all away. That’s what I’m doing here.” He removed the backpack he was wearing and opened it. You could see the bag was filled with supplies.

“We have to go.” You gasped. Instead of feeling better, you felt worse. You’d wasted time coming all the way here you were making everyone else late.

“They’ll wait for us.” Bucky said with certainty. “Do you have water with you?”

“I’m not thirsty.” You told him.

“You’ll feel better if you drink water.” He produced a water bottle from his backpack and forced it into your shaking hands. You tried to sip slowly from the bottle, it did seem to loosen the horrible feeling in your gut a little. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” He asked. “Sometimes it helps to regulate the breathing.”

You nodded. Bucky wrapped his arms around you. It was like magic how he held you just enough to feel secure but not too tight that you felt trapped.

“We’re going to take big deep breaths and let them out together, okay?” You nodded again, nestling close to him. The act felt a little childish, but it was helping you. After a minute of breathing together and sipping from your water, you were calming down. You were already feeling the post-anxiety attack drain on your system. You felt like you could sleep for a week.

“Okay.” He smiled. “Ready to go? We can take another minute if you need…”

“We should go. We’ve already kept them waiting.” You started to jog away.

“[Y/N], wait.” Bucky caught your hand and you stopped. “We can walk. The extra two minutes won’t make a difference. You continued down the hall together, with Bucky still holding your hand. You decided you should say something before you joined the others.

“Thanks for that back there.” You mumbled.

“Anytime.” He vowed. “Attacks like that can be hard to pull your own way out of. It helps to have someone who can help.”

“I hate asking for help.” You confessed.

“I’ve noticed.” He nodded. “But we’ve got your back. That’s what being on a team means.”

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a long time.” You explained. “I thought I’d grown out of it.”

“You don’t outgrow anxiety [Y/N].” He said. You didn’t know what to say. You were coming up on the quinjet and could tell everyone else had boarded. Tony was standing outside waiting for you both.

“Barnes, [Y/L/N] is this mission an inconvenience to you?” You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment and the panic rising in your chest again. Bucky gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Honestly, yeah, it’s put a damper on my plans for sure.” Bucky called back. “Especially since I had to go all the way to medical to refresh the supplies you ruined.”

“Well, thank you ever so kindly for your contribution Sargent Barnes.” Tony said with a salute. “Thanks for collecting him [Y/N].” Tony winked at you. “He’d probably still be down there gathering bandages without you.”

You and Bucky walked past Tony and continued onto the jet. Bucky dropped your hand and went over to the compartments designated for medical supplies. He began organizing everything While Tony and Steve prepped the jet for take-off.

“Did you find what you needed, [Y/N]?” Bruce asked.

“Hmm? Yeah, I think so.” You nodded. “What did I miss in the briefing?” You changed the subject.

The mission you’d been sent on was, all things considered, a brief one. You were all back by dinner time the following night. The most severe injury had been your own. You sustained a broken fibia when you failed to stick what should have been an easy landing for you. Clint had patched you up in the field and you’d gotten yourself to the team doctor as soon as you got back.

The team lapsed into their post mission routines. For most that meant well deserved naps in their dorms. Steve always liked to work in his debriefings right away and Tony had a new piece of alien tech he wanted to play with.

Your usual post mission routine consisted of pacing around the building until your body and mind were too tired to do anything but sleep. With a broken ankle you couldn’t exactly do that, but you still had no interest in spending the night in the infirmary. As soon as your leg was wrapped in a cast and you received the okay from the doctor, you hobbled out of the medical wing on crutches. Your dorm wasn’t too far away and you were confident you could make it all the way there without assistance.

You were already wearing a plain pair of grey sweatpants an Avengers logo tshirt that had been given to you in medical, so you didn’t bother changing once you reached your dorm. You didn’t bother turning on the lights either. You just placed your crutches by the door and hopped on one foot over to the bed. You feel asleep as soon as your head touched the pillow.

Screaming. You were awakened with a start to the sound of screams. You opened your eyes and tried to listen to where the screaming was coming from. It sounded like one of the dorms. Not wanting to waste any time, and crutches be damned, you raced from your room. The screaming had stopped, which only concerned you more. The lights were off in every dorm in the hall except one, Bucky’s.

With a sliver of light visible under his door, you knocked. When he answered Bucky was covered in sweat. His hair was sticking to his face and he was panting harder than if he’d just run a marathon.

“[Y/N], everything okay?” He asked like you’d been the one screaming your head off just know.

“You tell me, Buck.” You answered. “Either you’re having a hell of a good time in here by yourself or…” you indicated your disheveled appearance.

“Nothing to worry about.” He told you. You didn’t believe him.

“Are you really going to try to ice me out?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “I was honestly with you yesterday when…”

“It’s nothing to worry about, [Y/N].” He repeated. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Shouldn’t you be resting your leg?” He pointed to your cast.

“I was, until someone’s screaming woke me up.” You pointed out.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He apologized awkwardly. “I’m good now.”

“Why were you screaming? Were you having nightmares again?” You asked.

“They’ll go away on their own.” He told you.

“Aren’t you the same person who told me that my anxiety wouldn’t go away on its own and that it’s okay to ask for help?” You reminded him. “I’m here, let me help.”

“It’s not that easy [Y/N].” He frowned.

“Bucky your room is across the hall from mine, so I know you don’t get nightmares every night. You haven’t found anything that helps stop them?” You questioned.

“Well,” He hesitated. There was one thing that seemed to help keep the nightmares away, but he hadn’t exactly tested his theory. He’d only noticed that while he was away on missions, if he had someone sleeping close by him, he would sleep through the night. Steve was the only person he’d felt comfortable sharing this information with so far.

“Let me help you.” You insisted, reaching out and taking his hand. Bucky explained his dilemma to you. “Oh, that’s all?” You smiled at him. “I could stay in here with you. I’m supposed to be resting my leg anyway so would be a win-win. My leg gets to rest, and we both get some sleep.”

“What if someone were to find out you were sleeping in here?” He worried.

“We don’t have tell them why.” You promised. “It’s none of their business. C’mon, help me in the bed.” You put an arm around his neck and leaned against him, relieving the weight on your bad leg.

“You’re sure this is okay with you?” He put an arm around your waist and helped you over to the bed.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” You promised as you sat on the bed.

“Are you okay with the lights on?” he asked, sitting down next to you.

“Whatever helps Bucky.” You nodded. He laid down and you snuggled up next to him. You hadn’t imagined how soft his muscular chest would be, it was the best pillow you’d ever had. When he wrapped an arm around you to hold you close, you were immediately enveloped in warmth.

“This okay?” He questioned.

“Mm-hmm.” You hummed happily while he drew the bedcovers over both of you.

“Good night [Y/N].” He whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.

“Good night, Buck.” You yawned before drifting off to sleep.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky Barnes Fan Fiction #Bucky Barnes FF #Bucky Barnes Fan Fic #ssb2021 #BBB21 #bbb3

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galvanizedfriend · 4 years ago

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The Wolf Outtake

This is a little outtake, if you will, of The Wolf universe. It actually fits within the post-TW2 headcanons I've been writing to keep myself happy, so somewhere in S3. It's something that would never fit within the actual story because it's pure domestic fluff. lol I wrote this for @recyclingss, baby Eve's number one fan who yells at me when the child doesn't make an appearance and who’s also the biggest cheerleader this story’s ever had. 💖

This is set much later in the future, and you will notice baby Eve is actually more of toddler Eve here, but I've removed any specific context to make it so this would fit into any point of The Wolf post S2E14, I guess.

Summary: Just random KC+baby moment in The Wolf. It's fluffy, domestic, features the child and Klaus' bitter feelings for Bayou wolves. Nobody asked for it, but I figured, after the WEEK we've all had, maybe people could use some fluff? Hope you guys enjoy it! :)

______________________

Klaus doesn't even realize it's morning already until Caroline stirs next to him, making a lazy hum deep in her throat that pulls him out of his idle reverie. He blinks his surroundings back into focus; the fluorescence that had been filtering in through the windows last time he checked has now been replaced by warm sunlight. He didn’t even notice so much time had gone by.

Caroline rolled onto her side and was quickly lulled into blissful sleep after their late-night exertions. Klaus was distracted by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest for a long time until his mind was ensnared by its usual culprits, thoughts trapped in the latest batch of torments and woes to take over the Mikaelsons’ lives.

When Caroline opens her eyes and offers him a slow smile, Klaus feels himself touch ground again.

"'Morning," she slurs in that husky voice, still thick with sleep.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he replies with a short grin.

Caroline yawns as she stretches out her body under the thin sheet covering her modesty.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asks, blinking sluggishly at him.

"I'm well-rested, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not." Caroline props herself up on one elbow to stare levelly at him. Some of that drowsiness in her eyes dissipates, disappointment panging through him for bringing her back to the harshness of reality so fast. This is why, sometimes, especially on those not-so-rare nights when he ends up not getting any sleep, he'd rather not stay in bed. It allows the reprieve that slumber offers Caroline to last a little while longer. "Is it about Elijah?" she inquires, a knowing look on her face.

Klaus' eyes wander away from hers. "It's about everything," he states vaguely, but not untruthfully.

Caroline hums unconvinced. "While I know you don't need to sleep, I also know it spells nothing but trouble when you can’t. It’s never good when you spend the whole night thinking."

"Well, not the whole night," he says with a suggestive leer. "I did spend a good portion of the time engaged in far more pleasant activities."

She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile is more than a little satisfied when she leans into him. "You're not as smooth as you think, Mikaelson."

"I beg to differ." Caroline chuckles, shifting under the sheets to press herself against his side, placing a kiss on his shoulder, then his neck, his jaw. Klaus snakes a hand around her back, pulling her closer still, feeling the familiar stirrings of heat in his underbelly. "Shall I prove my point?" he all but purrs.

Caroline smirks against the corner of his mouth, her palm coming to rest on his chest. Klaus covers her hand with his, angling his face to take her mouth into a kiss. Her breasts pressing against his skin sends a tingle shooting through his body, and his other hand is already sliding down her spine, ready to guide her to straddle him, when lively conversation in the next room makes them pause.

"Oh-oh," Caroline mutters. "I guess that means Mr. Wolfy is up early today."

Klaus lets out a disappointed sigh.

Eve doesn't cry so much when she wakes up anymore. Now, she either stays quietly in her crib until someone sees to her, or she starts playing with her toys. A social butterfly like her mother, she loves to engage in complex conversations with that hideous stuffed wolf Jackson gave her and her absolute favorite toy, the wooden knight Klaus carved for Rebekah when they were children.

When he started to wake up to the sound of her talking to herself, he became worried, thinking maybe she was seeing things they weren't - which, in New Orleans, could mean a number of horrifying deals. But Caroline assured him that it is perfectly normal for young children to talk to inanimate objects, especially one who lives exclusively amongst adults.

Apparently, it's good exercise for her imagination, or something.

When Klaus is watching her, he will make a point to take part in her debates, always highlighting Mr. Knight's grandeur compared to Mr. Bog Scum.

"Sweetheart, this filthy dog here is the enemy. He wants to shroud you in flannel, carry you away to the swamp and bore you to sleep. Mr. Knight is here to save you from this stinky animal's claws."

He's convinced one day she'll understand what he means.

What’s most troublesome, however, is that Eve has started to attempt to climb out of her crib on her own. They always lock the other door to her bedroom when she's asleep, but the door connecting her room to Caroline's is always left unlocked for safety reasons. One of these days, Klaus thinks, their little wolf is going to catch mommy and daddy in very compromising positions. The idea mortifies him, especially because he and Caroline can get a tad carried away. They are a hybrid and a near-hybrid, after all. Too much energy and whatnot.

"No rest for the wicked," Caroline speaks around a sigh before peeling away from him. Klaus watches her naked form with wistfulness as she climbs out of bed, his prospect of a lovely morning enterprise disappearing alongside the shape of her beautiful breasts as she shrugs on a fleece robe.

Caroline vamps off to the en suite bathroom to freshen up a bit and then follows to Eve's room.

"Good morning, sweet cheeks!" she greets their daughter sunnily. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Wolfy!" Oh, for goodness' sake, Klaus curses inwardly. "And Mr. Knight!" Much better.

Minutes later, Caroline returns with Eve, comfortable in fresh diapers, right on her heels, carrying Mr. Inconvenient and Mr. Knight.

When she sees Klaus, she takes off towards the bed, her little legs getting more and more agile by the day. He pulls the sheets and covers up to his chest while she tries to hoist herself up. With ease, using just one hand, Klaus lifts her up and puts her sitting on his stomach.

"Good morning, my littlest wolf," he says. "Where's my kiss?"

His daughter leans down and smacks a loud kiss on his cheek, and then holds Mr. Fleabag close to him for a kiss as well. Klaus makes a face. "Not the dog, Eve."

"Seriously?" Caroline says with a bored air about her. "You're antagonizing a stuffed animal now?"

"This thing is a health hazard."

"That thing has a cute little name, Mr. Wolfy, and your daughter loves him."

"I refuse to treat a swamp dog as though it were a gentleman. Besides, I'm sure she loves Mr. Knight way more, don't you, love? Where's Mr. Hero?" She shouts something that sounds like Miter Nigh before pushing it onto Klaus' face. He cracks a proud smile at her. "There you go." He attacks her with tickles, and Eve bursts with sweet laughter.

Caroline shakes her head at him, but he notices she's quite clearly biting back on a smile. "You're impossible."

"I’m quite possible, I assure you," he replies smoothly. "Where are you going?" he asks when she starts tying her hair into a ponytail and taking clothes from her drawers.

"Running with Marcel."

"Oh, for goodness' sake," he protests. "Can you believe this, Eve? It's not even seven in the morning and your mother is willingly stepping out of the house to run. I sometimes fear she might be a psychopath."

She scoffs loudly. "You would know, wouldn't you?" While she walks by him to go into the en suite, she slaps him lightly across the legs. "Stop telling my child that I'm a psycho, psycho."

"How else am I supposed to explain this insanity? What kind of person runs for pleasure when there is an infinite array of far more gratifying activities to invest your energy into? Just now we were about to -"

"Not in front of the small child, Klaus!" she chides from the bathroom.

"She doesn't know what daddy is talking about, do you, love?" Eve giggles while he lifts her up above him, holding her like a flying superhero. "Blissfully clueless."

Caroline steps back into the room, already in her exercise gear. Klaus lets out an infinitely despondent sigh. He would love nothing more than to get her out of those.

"It's inappropriate conversation to have in front of the toddler," she remarks, putting on the smartwatch she bought recently to exercise with and measure her sleep patterns or whatever the bloody hell that is. She showed him all of this gizmo’s functionalities, swearing it’s the best thing ever invented by human minds. Klaus thinks it’s adorable, however incomprehensible, that someone with such close ties with the supernatural world would still be so impressed by technology. There’s literally nothing that cannot be sorted through magic. How is a watch that counts steps supposed to awe you once you’ve seen someone brought back from the dead? Caroline’s attachment to her humanity goes way beyond her empathy. "Besides, it was gonna be a quick activity because I'd go meet Marcel anyway,” she adds after a beat.

"I can make you see stars in five minutes," he leers, a smirk growing on his face.

Caroline whips her face at him with what is clearly an attempt at outrage but turns into something else when she can't hold her own smile. She can't deny him when his point was proved just the night before. Several times, in fact.

"Shut up," she retorts simply. "Can you give her breakfast? I left chopped fruits in the fridge. You can wait about an hour after the bottle and give it to her as a little treat - not Fruit Loops."

"She loves that thing."

"Of course she does, it's pure sugar. That's exactly why we don't let her have it all the time. She needs to eat real fruits."

Klaus rolls his eyes, sitting up in bed and putting the baby beside him. "Honestly, sweetheart, your mother sometimes..."

Caroline narrows her eyes at him. "You really love to make yourself out to be the cool parent, don't you?"

"I don't have to make myself out to be anything, love. I am the parent who doesn't deny her the little joys of sugary treats. If that makes me cool, then you’ve only got yourself to blame."

"You're the parent who'll spoil her rotten, that’s what. Let's see how you'll feel when she's 16 and her boyfriend is climbing the balcony in her room in the middle of the night because she never learned how to take a no."

"Oh, I would love for her suitors to climb her window in the middle of the night. It’ll be the last thing they do,” he says, smiling innocently at Eve.

“You’ll be such a ray of sunshine when she starts dating.”

“As per usual," he says with a bite of arrogance. "Hold the child so I can get decent, will you?"

Caroline picks Eve up and keeps her looking firmly the other way while Klaus flashes out of bed and into the bathroom. He hears Caroline teasing her with “Where did daddy go?” and laughing at what he knows is Eve's extremely confused but astonished face. She thinks they're magicians. It's one of her favorite things, to watch as Klaus makes full use of his vampire speed to all but vanish right before her eyes. Modern technology has got nothing on him.

There's something extremely heartwarming about his daughter's innocence. One day, she'll be old enough to understand why he can do the things he does. When that day comes, Klaus will cease to be a creature of magic and wonder, to become what he truly is: darkness made flesh.

He has never been ashamed of what he is, hardly ever had any qualms with filling the villain shoes, quite glad to do it, in fact, but he suddenly finds himself dreading the day when his child will figure out what it means to carry the Mikaelson name. When their family’s history will weigh down on her shoulders as it does on theirs.

While making people cower in fear at the mere sound of his name has brought him an obscene amount of satisfaction and pride over the centuries, Klaus has to admit he's fascinated by the pure sparkle in his child's eyes. She's the first human being in a millennium who does not see even a fraction of monstrosity in him, no shadow, no taints, no mortal flaws. Not yet, anyway. All she sees is a funny man who makes her laugh and can hold her up with his finger, tells her stories about evil werewolves and keeps her safe and that's enough for her to adore him. Sometimes, he feels unworthy of such love. As though he's a fraud, deceiving his own daughter and taking advantage of her innocence.

It still astonishes him that he should ever be capable of making something as pure and bright as that little girl. In a thousand years, Klaus Mikaelson has only ever brought misery and pain into this world. Eve is the first genuinely good thing he's ever done. Then, of course, she inherited all of that from her mother, who holds herself open for compassion and kindness even though she is herself in a symbiotic existence with her own beast. Caroline has taken control of her darkness in ways Klaus doesn't think he's ever seen a vampire as young as her do before. She truly is extraordinary, and every day he hopes, from the bottom of his withered heart, that Eve will turn out to be every inch Caroline's daughter more so than his.

Klaus can still smell last night’s sex all over himself, so he takes a quick shower and puts on a pair of denims and a shirt and vamps back to the room again, just to surprise Eve. She gasps when he materializes next to her, flinching, and then starts laughing like a little maniac, reaching out to him.

"Remember," Caroline says as she lets Eve slide over to Klaus' arms. "Bottle, fruits. No Fruit Loops. I'll tell your other child you said hi."

"A child who enjoys running has clearly learned nothing from me," he grumbles. “Hopefully I’ll do a better job with this one.”

“Start by not feeding her Fruit Loops,” Caroline remarks with a grin before she smacks a loud kiss on Eve's cheek and then one on his.

When she’s gone, Klaus turns to look at his little wolf, watching him with those dark blues of hers as though she's studying her father. Sometimes he wonders if toddlers know more than they let on.

"Do you want to do magic?"

"Yes!" she practically screams, her face splitting with a wide, toothy grin.

"Get ready, then. Are you ready?" She gives him an exaggerated nod. "Keep your eyes open. One, two..." And then he flashes out of the room with her.

______________

✨ Thanks for reading! :) If you’ve enjoyed this silly thing, please drop me a comment! Your reblogs are also much appreciated to help this reach more people. ✨

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fic #kc fanfiction #kc fic #kcfic #klarolinefic #yokan writes #The Originals rewriting #is this me writing fluff again?#fluff with BABY?#why yes it is #the wolf outtake #klaus x caroline #+ child

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years ago

Text

where to, cas?

Castiel hears Dean talking, sees his mouth moving, knows he should reply, but all he can do is stare at Dean blankly. The words rattle around in his brain, too empty now that it’s devoid of all the voices of his brothers and sisters.

Where to? It’s a reasonable question, a good one, but one Castiel has no answer for. Nora had just found his things at the Gas n’ Sip earlier that day, so he doesn’t want to try and press his luck there, but he has nowhere else. A shelter, maybe? He had stayed in a few while he was making his way to the bunker, and while they’d be okay for a couple nights, maybe, if they have room, it’s not a long term solution.

“Cas?” Dean prods, shaking Castiel out of his thoughts.

Castiel bites his lip. “I’ll…I’ll just tag along with you, if that’s all right.”

Dean’s not making eye contact, so he takes the chance to give Dean a doleful stare, admiring his profile and the way his stubble turns a reddish blond in the glow of the streetlights. “I’ve missed you,” Castiel admits softly.

Dean finally turns his head to look, really look, at Castiel. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Dean lets out a deep sigh, then. “Look, Cas, I—”

Castiel cuts him off. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m not an angel anymore. What use am I?”

A look Castiel can’t quite identify crosses Dean’s face. Even after several years, Castiel still isn’t the most versed in identifying human emotions. “What? It’s not about that. You don’t have to be useful to be worth something to me, man.” Dean huffs and runs a hand through his short hair. “And of course it’s fine that you stay with me for the night, but how about you show me your place, huh? It’ll help me sleep better if I know you’re doing okay.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have… a place.” Now Castiel is the one avoiding eye contact.

“What do you mean? Where have you been staying?”

“At the store,” he answers, glancing over at Dean as shame washes over him in a bright blaze.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean murmurs, before clapping one of his hands against the Impala’s dash. “Well, we ought to get you some better digs, then, right?”

Castiel coughs awkwardly, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of Dean’s now-forced good mood. He looks out the window and leans his head against the cool glass, closing his eyes and trying to pretend he has his wings again, but it’s a poor substitute. His wings never rumbled, or hit potholes, or expelled fumes. Castiel’s nose wrinkles in distaste when Dean cracks his window.

Eventually, after an amount of time Castiel has completely lost track of, the Impala rumbles to a stop and Dean reaches over to shake his shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to waste his breath protesting he wasn’t asleep. He’s not an angel anymore, so it was a reasonable assumption for Dean to make, he supposes. He squints out at the bright lights proclaiming vacancy refracting through the window. The driver’s door slams shut, followed shortly by the trunk squeaking open, and Dean presumably retrieving his duffle bag. Castiel opens his door and slowly gets out, feeling the crunch of gravel beneath his thin soled shoes.

Castiel trails Dean into the lobby, trying not to look out of place as Dean talks to the clerk. “One king,” he says gruffly, and Castiel’s head whips up in surprise.

keep reading or read on AO3 here!

“I’m paying for the month.” Castiel’s head drops just as quickly.

Dean’s just going to dump him here and move on, since Castiel is obviously no longer a worthy investment of Dean’s time now that he has nothing left to offer. To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t just press the key into Castiel’s hand, but brushes past Castiel and out the door, ignoring the questioning look the desk clerk sends the two of them.

Castiel stumbles out after him, the cool night air biting his skin. Dean looks down at the number on the key and mutters to himself, looking around before he spots the door and walks up to it. Dean pounds a hand against the door, as if testing its sturdiness, and he must be satisfied because he unlocks it and gestures for Castiel to go in.

Dean follows and closes the door behind him, tossing his duffel on the bed before pointedly moving it to one side. “I—I figured we could share for the night. That way you’d have more space to stretch out the rest of the time, when I’m not here.”

Castiel may not have angelic hearing anymore, but he can still hear Dean’s hard swallow. “Sure,” Castiel says awkwardly, turning away from Dean and unbuttoning his shirt. He drops his slacks as well before he climbs into the bed, using the covers as a shield for the uncomfortable emotions swirling around in his gut.

Everything is so much more intense now that Castiel is a human, but at the same time, it’s not. His emotions overwhelm him more than they ever did when he was an angel, but his head feels empty without the voices of his brothers and sisters constantly swirling around and the world seems dull and flat now that he can’t perceive souls. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see a sight as beautiful as Dean’s soul again, and the thought is more than a little depressing.

While Castiel's thoughts have been occupied, Dean has slipped into the bathroom, and Castiel can hear the shower running. An urge possesses Castiel to open the door, pull back the shower curtain, and join Dean, like he’s observed many humans do in the years since they’ve invented indoor plumbing, but he stomps down on it.

Castiel lays there staring at the ceiling for what seems like hours, but is probably a few minutes. His patience is just one more thing that evaporated into thin air when he fell. Finally, the bathroom door opens, and Castiel wilts back from the cool air. He was expecting steamy warmness, but he’s left shivering.

Castiel tries to keep his eyes on the ceiling, tracing the cracks and water stains, but his eyes keep shifting towards Dean, tracing drops of water as they run down his back, highlighting the muscles. Castiel swallows hard. He’s lost count of how many times he’s cursed being human in the past day alone.

Castiel snaps his eyes back to the ceiling, turning over for good measure when Dean drops the towel, but not before he gets a good look at Dean’s ass. Castiel remembers shaping the curve of it, placing every freckle with care after he raised Dean from Hell. It’s different, though, now.

Everything is different, and Castiel hates it.

His throat is scratchy. Castiel considers getting up to get a drink from the sink, but then he would have to walk past Dean, and there’s a rapidly developing situation under the sheets that would make that mortifying. Castiel’s newly human body hasn’t seemed to have received the memo that Castiel is not a teenage boy. Castiel holds his breath as Dean lifts the sheets and slides in next to him. There’s a rush of cold air, and Dean shifts as he settles in the bed. “Is this okay?” Dean whispers.

Dean’s presence draws Castiel towards him; it always has, and now Dean expects Castiel to resist his pull when he’s less than six inches away from him. No, it’s not okay.

“It’s fine,” Castiel grunts.

“Just don’t stick your cold feet on me in the middle of the night, okay?”

Castiel always runs cold now that he’s human, and he can feel Dean’s heat radiating even from his spot on the mattress. “Of course, Dean.”

Castiel stays resolutely still, not wanting to bother Dean with his fidgeting. He can’t seem to fall asleep without tossing and turning, and it’s so pathetically human that Castiel hates himself for it. For not being able to fall asleep, and needing to sleep at all in the first place. It’s not until Dean’s breathing evens out that Castiel allows his body to relax. His back and jaw ache from holding himself so stiffly. His wrist throbs from where Ephraim had brutally twisted it. He thinks it has a slight fracture, and he knows he should do something for it, to make sure it doesn’t get worse, but he can’t seem to summon the motivation. He cradles it against his chest and stares at the wall.

The passage of time is marked by the headlights of cars sliding across the walls as they drive by and the slow turn of the flip number alarm clock. His heart pounds in his ears, but he can’t hear Dean’s, which is an uncomfortable change. He turns so he can see the rise and fall of Dean’s chest. Castiel lets the sight soothe him to sleep.

Castiel wakes to a pleasant friction. His hips are slowly rolling into the mattress, and his eyes flutter back shut. Since becoming human, he has discovered the peculiar phenomenon of morning erections, and although they can sometimes be an inconvenience when he’s running late for work, they’re largely enjoyable. He moans a little as he lets the sensation wash over him.

A choked sound comes from next to him, and Castiel freezes, stilling the movement of his hips. The last night comes rushing back to him, and he realizes he’s not as alone as he thought he was. Blood rushes to his face, making it uncomfortably warm. He cracks his eyes open and is relieved to find he’s facing away from Dean. Maybe he can pretend he’s still sleeping.

“Cas?” Dean whispers.

Damn it.

“Good morning, Dean,” he grates out, his voice sleep-hoarse.

The mattress shifts as Dean moves, and Castiel expects the dip of Dean’s weight to disappear, for him to go to the bathroom, or even more likely, say goodbye and take his leave, vanishing from Castiel’s life forever, but all of a sudden, there’s heat pressing against his back instead. Dean reaches over, and his fingers trace a path down Castiel’s chest, ghosting over his hip bones, down to his groin. Castiel stiffens, unsure of if he’s still sleeping or not. This doesn’t happen to him when he’s awake.

Maybe he got thrown against the wall harder than he thought.

“What are you doing?”

Dean’s hand stills. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Why, then?” Castiel is puzzled as to why Dean hasn’t left. He had had no qualms telling Castiel he couldn’t stay in the bunker, so he’s not sure why Dean wants to spend extra time with him now, and he has absolutely no idea why Dean would be trying to initiate this with him. Castiel is still new to feeling emotions in their most potent form, but he doesn’t know which cocktail of them could lead this.

Dean swallows hard, and his hand retreats. “I—I just thought—”

Castiel turns over to face Dean, to look at the microexpressions that flit across his face. Now that he can’t see Dean’s soul, this is all he has to rely on when it comes to gauging Dean’s mood. Dean’s eyes catch on Castiel’s for a second, before he looks away, staring at the curtain instead. He licks his lips nervously. “I thought you looked like you could use a hand. And, you know, you look sad. Sex always makes me feel better.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Does it?”

Dean huffs. “Most of the time. Well, I just thought I’d help you out, but you obviously don’t want that, so that’s fine. That’s cool.”

Dean stumbles out of the bed, accidentally dragging the covers with him, and Castiel winces at the blast of cold air.

“I’m, uh, I’ll go, then. You probably have to be at work, anyway.”

Castiel looks over at the alarm clock. “I have until ten.”

Dean follows his gaze. It’s six. “I suppose you need a ride?” he sighs, tugging a hand through his hair.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not, just— Fuck, Cas. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Castiel looks on in alarm as Dean takes a heavy seat back on the edge of the bed, bringing his hands up to his head and burying his face. Castiel can barely handle his own feelings, much less someone’s else.

Nevertheless, he sits up and puts a hand on Dean’s back. “Are you okay?”

Dean laughs ruefully. “I’m pretty far from okay. I miss you, man, and Sam’s up my ass all the time, and—”

“And what?”

“Nothing, it’s not important. I’m just… stressed, I guess.”

“Ah. So you wanted a relaxation?” Castiel asks. He’s heard of humans using intercourse for anxiety management.

“What? No. Just forget it.”

“Forget it,” Castiel echoes. “Right.”

He turns away from Dean, swinging his legs off the bed and letting his toes wiggle into the scratchy carpet. He wrinkles his nose as the smell of cigarette smoke wafts up.

“Wait, Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel can’t help the way his mind jumps back to last night, when Dean had said the same thing. Castiel had thought Dean was going to tell him to stop, to not go to Nora, to quit his job, to come back home, but there was no such luck last night, and Castiel doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes up now.

He turns to look at Dean, and Dean wilts. “Nevermind.”

Castiel huffs and darts his gaze away, standing up and retrieving his clothes from where they’re a puddle on the ground. He pulls them on, and Dean clears his throat behind him. “Looking a little wrinkly there, buddy.”

Castiel shrugs. “This is all I have.”

“Well, here.” Dean reaches into his army green duffel bag and unfurls an impressively unwrinkled pair of jeans and a shirt. “This ain’t amateur hour, dude,” Dean says, responding to the questioning raise of Castiel’s eyebrows.

Castiel watches intently as Dean folds his clothes from the day before into his duffel, trying to learn the technique. He needs to be able to keep his clothes looking presentable. Dean finishes his folding and looks up to see Castiel’s eyes fixed on him. He grunts. “You ready to go?”

Castiel looks back at the clock, ready to protest and fight for more time with Dean, but he jostles his arm and hisses. Dean is on him in a second, his hands warm and gentle on Castiel’s arm.

“Did this happen last night? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Castiel shrugs.

Dean pokes at it with two fingers. Castiel flinches away.

“All right, all right. Let me wrap this up, okay? A splint probably wouldn’t hurt either,” Dean muses.

Dean pulls out his alarmingly large first aid kit and sifts through it until he finds what he’s looking for. He holds Castiel’s hand like he’s afraid he’s going to break it, and something shifts in Castiel’s chest.

Castiel crushes it deliberately, and as he waves at Dean from just outside the Gas n’ Sip after Dean drops him off, he knows he made the right choice. There’s no ember to be stoked from their ashes.

He wonders if he’s just seen Dean for the last time. He restocks the dairy case, and tries not to think.

“Boyfriend?” Nora asks, making Castiel jump as she appears behind his shoulder as he refills the nacho cheese dispenser.

“What?”

“That guy you left with yesterday. Is he your boyfriend?”

Castiel swallows hard. “No.”

“Oh,” Nora says knowingly. “Your ex.”

“Dean and I have never been together,” Castiel protests, his voice a little more high pitched than normal.

“Oh,” Nora says again. “Hmm. You know, I don’t know much about your past, Steve. I’m here if you want someone to listen.”

Castiel’s throat is dry. “Thank you.”

Later, he stands in the doorway of Nora’s office where she’s hunched over her desk doing payroll. “We were… in the military together.”

Nora looks up, and Castiel sees confusion cross her face, swiftly replaced by understanding. “You must have been through some real shit together, then.”

“You could say that,” Castiel hedges.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Steve. I saw the way you looked at him.” Nora squints at him.

“We’ve saved each other's lives.”

Nora doesn’t respond, just looks at him steadily with a knowing smile, and Castiel retreats back to the register.

He pastes on a smile as he serves the next customer.

That night, he goes back to the motel where Dean had paid for him, and he’s disappointed to find that Dean’s scent is already gone, replaced by the smoke that seems to permeate the whole motel. Castiel figures it’s fitting, at the very least.

He stares at the ceiling and wonders what life has left to offer him.

Nora catches on to his mood the next day. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

Castiel sighs and drums his fingers against the countertop before giving her a wry smile. “Boy problems.”

Nora doesn’t react, and Castiel doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Want to talk about it?”

“Maybe.”

She hums. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

After a millennia of impermanence, of empires rising and falling and everyone Castiel cares about leaving him or pushing him away, Castiel knows Nora can’t promise that, but he appreciates the sentiment.

Castiel’s days fall into a pattern. He scrounges up enough money to keep living out of his motel room and afford some canned fruits and vegetables to supplement his diet that largely consists of peanut butter and jelly and what Nora shoves on him from the Gas n’ Sip. She squints at him and says he looks like he’s getting skinnier, and that’s not going to happen on her watch.

Castiel can’t say he’s too surprised when the pattern breaks. He’s coming from a long day of work, and the door to his motel room swings right open. Castiel freezes. He knows he left it locked. He fumbles in his bag for his angel blade, his one last reminder of his old life. He has a feeling whatever is inside is going to want to compete for that title.

Castiel wonders if it’s too grim to speculate if this will be the thing that finally puts him out of his misery. Although, he supposes it’s not fair to say he’s living in misery. The amount of time he spends staring at the atrociously papered motel room wall might say differently, but Castiel prefers to think of it as monotonous rather than any of those other descriptors.

Angel blade in hand, he walks through the door, scanning for any disturbances. He’s never been more surprised to see Dean. Dean’s propped against the pillows, his legs crossed at the ankles. His flannel is draped over the back of the desk chair, leaving him in just a threadbare t-shirt.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel lowers the angel blade with shaking hands. “Dean. What are you doing here?”

Dean shrugs, and Castiel notices just how beat down he looks. Dean has always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but it finally appears to be taking its toll. He’s paler than Castiel remembers, more drawn, and even more worried looking, if that’s possible.

Castiel sets his bag down on the ground. “Do you need something?” Castiel asks, even though he doesn’t know what he has to offer now.

“Is it a crime to want to see you?”

Castiel lifts his chin. “I was under the impression you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

Dean looks at him in surprise. “What makes you think that?”

“You kicked me out. You told me I couldn’t stay! All I wanted to do was stay,” Castiel says, his voice cracking on the last sentence.

Dean uncrosses his legs and stands up, moves into Castiel’s space. He puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel realizes just how much he’s yearned for touch since leaving Dean last. The most he’s gotten is a brush of fingers as he hands someone their change, and his human body craves more than that.

Nevertheless, he jerks away from Dean. This way, it’ll sting less when Castiel is inevitably dropped from Dean’s life again.

Dean steps back, hurt flashing across his face. Castiel doesn’t let himself feel bad. He’s not the one who should be apologizing. “I missed you,” Dean says weakly.

Castiel desperately returns the sentiment, but he doesn’t voice the thought.

At Castiel’s stony silence, Dean points to the windowsill. “I brought you a housewarming gift. Well, motel warming.”

Castiel follows his finger to where a tiny cactus sits, soaking in the feeble rays of evening sunlight. “I can barely take care of myself,” he jokes, but it lands flat.

“Don’t worry. Sam says they’re impossible to kill.”

“How is Sam?” Castiel asks, seizing on the new topic.

Interestingly, Dean clams up. He’s never not wanted to talk about Sam before. “He’s fine. We’re fine.”

Castiel hums. “That’s why you showed up here, right?”

Dean’s glance flits away before it comes back, making eye contact with a vengeance. Dean’s always been a skilled liar, so Castiel doesn’t give it much weight.

“Can I stay?” Dean asks. “For the night?”

Castiel agrees, and tries not to think of the irony.

When he wakes up in the morning, Dean is gone, and only the lingering scent of his cologne betrays the fact that he was there at all.

Nora notices. “You seem… more melancholy than usual today,” she says carefully, and Castiel tries not to snort.

“Melancholy? Really?”

Nora waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”

Castiel bites his lip. “I saw Dean yesterday.”

“Oh?” Nora asks, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“He just showed up. And now he’s gone again.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He seemed stressed.” Castiel shakes his head. “He brought me a cactus.”

Nora looks puzzled by that, and frankly, Castiel is, too, so he lets Nora redirect the conversation, giving him all the latest news about her daughter.

Back at the motel, he runs his fingers over the tiny spines of the cactus, and wonders.

Nora helps him get a bank account, and Castiel watches the numbers slowly add up. Dean drops by periodically, always topping off Castiel’s motel credit. Until, one day, it runs out, and Castiel begins to worry. He and Dean don’t text; Castiel doesn’t even have a phone. Castiel pays for the next week at the motel and frets through his day at work. Nora has the day off, so Castiel has no one to confide in.

He’s never been so relieved to see his motel room broken into, but his relief is quickly shattered when he sees the blood seeping onto his bed spread.

Dean is pouring whiskey on to a wound on his side, and Castiel feels affronted for a second at the disregard Dean has for his sheets, but he rushes forward to take the bottle from Dean. “What happened?” he demands.

“Werewolf got the jump on me,” Dean says weakly. “You got any floss around here? Preferably not mint? That shit stings like a bitch.”

Cas just stares at him.

“Well, you gonna stitch me up, or are you going to let me bleed out?”

By this point, Cas knows better than to ask where Sam is, so he lets his feet carry him to the bathroom where he finds a sewing needle and the requested floss. Unflavored, thankfully for Dean. He digs through Dean’s jacket pocket where he knows he keeps his lighter, ignoring Dean’s comment about buying him dinner first.

Castiel sterilizes the needle and soaks a washcloth in whiskey before wiping at Dean’s wound. Dean hisses. “Don’t be a baby,” Castiel says, and Dean’s mouth flaps up and down, but he doesn’t come up with a response because by then Castiel has the needle threaded and pokes it through Dean’s skin.

Castiel makes neat stitches under Dean’s close supervision. The only time it wanders is when he takes another swig of whiskey.

By the time Castiel has finished and takes the bottle back from Dean to douse the whole thing, Dean is nearly asleep. Castiel puts a bandage on the wound, taken from Dean’s painfully familiar first aid kit. Dean watches Castiel clean up with hooded eyes, and when Castiel curls up beside him, he pets his hand through Castiel’s hair. Dean mumbles something, but he slurs it so much that Castiel can’t understand what it was. He falls asleep with a hand fisted in the sheets.

For once, when Castiel wakes up, Dean is still there. He prods at Dean’s bandage-covered wound, and Dean slaps his hand away and rolls onto his stomach. Castiel gets up to start getting ready for work. When he leaves, he tries to memorize the shape of Dean’s sleeping form. Castiel doesn’t allow himself to hope that that will be the case when he returns.

To Castiel’s shock, there is still a Dean-sized lump in his bed when he finishes his shift. Dean notes his gobsmacked look and rolls his eyes. “Baby’s not exactly the smoothest ride. Did you want me to get all jostled around and open up my stitches?”

“Um. No?”

“That’s what I thought. Now what do you have to eat around here?”

Dean stays the night, and the night after that. Castiel can’t believe his luck, but he doesn’t want to let himself get too used to this, either.

Surprisingly, it’s not Dean that shatters Castiel’s idyll, but Castiel himself. Castiel jerks awake, panting, and Dean is right there with his hands all over Castiel, asking if he’s okay. Castiel flinches back, still seeing the Deans from his dream with their unseeing eyes. He hasn’t told Dean about how Naomi made him kill all those versions of him, and he doesn’t intend to now.

Dean runs a soothing hand down his back, and Castiel melts into the touch, deliberately slowing his breathing. “You good?” Dean asks softly.

“I am now.”

When Dean finally leaves, he presses a worn paperback into Castiel’s hands that he says he picked up at a second hand store. Castiel squints at the cover curiously. Stranger in a Strange Land, it proclaims. “Thought you might be able to relate,” Dean says, shrugging.

“Thank you.” Castiel sits it next to his cactus, and he almost misses the way Dean swells in pride.

Castiel buys a car, Nora by his side and glaring at the salesman until he lowers the price. Castiel smiles at her gratefully. He pats the hood as the salesman walks away to get the paperwork. “What do you think?”

Nora looks over the golden Continental. “It’s, uh, it’s nice.”

Castiel beams.

Castiel knows how Dean takes care of the Impala, so he tries to do the same to his new car. He buys a phone so he can learn how to change the oil on youtube. He carefully plugs in Dean’s number from memory and texts him, letting him know Castiel’s new number. He doesn’t get a response, and Castiel tries not to let it bother him.

His car never seems to become imbued with the same sense of home that Baby has, but he likes it regardless. It’s something that’s solely his, with no influence of his siblings or Dean carved all over it. Nora makes fun of him for it, but he doesn’t mind.

Eventually, Castiel gets a phone call that some part of him knew was inevitable. No one ever really gets out, that’s what Dean has always said.

“Cas, it’s bad. It’s Sam. Just… I need you.”

“Okay. It’s going to be okay, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says, and Castiel graciously doesn’t call him out on the falsehood.

“You know I love you, right?” Dean asks, rushed and all of a sudden, like it’s something he’s been working towards for a while.

“I know,” Castiel lies.

Whatever happens next, he’s excited at the prospect of being able to learn that for himself.

tags (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @urbankat82 @that-one-fandom-chick @youcancallmeanet @nineteensevetyfour @1stborneve @good-things-do-happen-dean @no-frigging-idea

#supernatural #destiel #ficlet #castiel #dean winchester #heaven can't wait #spn 9x06 #contemplative writing

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years ago

Text

The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

(In which Cathy struggles with Christmas. Or, in which I project all of my feelings about Christmas onto various queens.)

***

9.00am, Christmas Eve.

Cathy rolled onto her side and pulled the duvet up over her head. Maybe if she just lay really still, they’d forget her and-

“Merry Almost-Christmas Cathy!”

Damn.

She mumbled something that could be construed as a vaguely cheerful greeting and buried her head in her pillow.

Christmas Eve morning, and she was already wishing it was over.

She hadn’t hated Christmas in her first life- in fact, she’d rather enjoyed the break in routine. Some of the traditions- the yule log, watching the mummers, the wassail cup- reminded her pleasantly of childhood and other, more court based traditions- the boars head, the bear baiting, the elaborate feasting and revelry- were, if not always fun, a welcome distraction.

The prospect of experiencing Christmas in the 21st century though felt somehow less of a pleasure and more of a cruel reminder of happier times past, and, increasingly, like an obligation, a test which she was sure to fail.

(“Looking forward to Christmas? Only a week to go!”)

Had it always been like this? It was harder to remember, but she was sure that Christmas in her first life hadn’t been so relentlessly cheery. There had been a holiday mood, of course, there had been a general sense of goodwill and of course the expectation that one would enter into any amusement going….but she was sure that the insidious pressure to exist in a near-constant state of happiness and warmth and merriment was but another cursed 21st century invention.

(“It’s the most wonderful time of the year! It’s...well, it’s just magical!”)

Back in her youth, one was expected to enter into the spirit of things, of course….but the heavy religious element on the holiday had at least added a welcome breath of sobriety to the proceedings, and there was, of course, always the opportunity to takes oneself off to the quietness of the chapel or to ones prayer closet for a moment of peace, with the excuse of being overcome by religious fervour on the holiest of days.

(“Such a happy time- the build up is so exciting!”)

Now though… She was sure it wasn’t intentional, but she’d definitely got the impression that wanting, let alone needing a break from the festivities marked one out as a decidedly unpleasant and miserly person.

(“How can you not be excited? It’s Christmas! Don’t be such a grinch!”)

“Cathy? Are you awake?”

Cathay fought the urge to pretend to still be sleeping. She wished she hadn’t answered Anna.

“I’ll be down in a minute Jane!”

She looked at her watch. Just another 48 hours to go.

Downstairs, Cathy slipped into her usual place and reached for the coffee.

What’s even wrong? Nothing. Nothing is wrong. You’re fine Cathy. You have no reason to feel like this. Nothing is wrong at all. You have no reason to feel sick and like you can’t breathe. None at all.

Catalina passed behind her with a plate of toast, pausing to drop a kiss on the top of her head.

“Good morning mija.”

“Now that you’re down-” Jane started, “I thought we could discuss what we wanted to have for Christmas breakfast.”

Anne raised an eyebrow. “It’s Christmas dinner that’s the special meal Jane. Turkey, remember?”

Jane huffed a little. “Yes I KNOW, BUT it’s apparently a Thing to have a special breakfast too. Belinda in the sound crew told me- she and her family have croissants. What should we have?”

“Waffles!” said Kitty, at the exact same moment that Anna cried “Eierkuchen!”

Across the table, Anne’s slightly anxious eyes met Cathy’s.

“What’s wrong with what we usually have for breakfast?” Cathy asked tentatively. She did her best to make the question sound light, innocuous.

You’re not being a funsponge, you’re just curious.

Jane shook her head. “It’s meant to be special, she said.”

“Yeah,” added Kitty. “Everyday stuff isn’t special. And even if no one else wants waffles, I’m still making them,” she added, a touch defiantly, as she took another bite of cereal.

“I suppose not….”

She didn’t want to make a fuss.

She also didn’t know if it was possible to find a way to explain that she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having to have a different breakfast, without sounding impossibly dull.

She and Anne had already had more than one whispered conversation about how neither of them was really looking forward to the planned ‘modern’ Christmas dinner.

(“I’ve had turkey….it’s sort of like chicken. Sort of...drier and not as nice tasting…” “And Christmas pudding looks….odd. The texture-”)

They’d agreed to stick it out for the sake of the other queens, to make sure they ate breakfast and then to just eat what they could of the Christmas dinner. Not that Cathy was holding out much hope for that- she knew Anne seldom could face the idea of food when she was under stress and Christmas certainly counted as ‘a stressful time’.

“It’s all the focus on children-” She’d explained. “All the focus on Christmas being for the children, whatever that means. I can’t not think about Elizabeth and….well, all of that-”

“Plus the lights-” Cathy agreed, and Anne nodded frantically.

“Yes! Those awful lights EVERYWHERE flashing enough to give anyone within five miles a migraine, and those horrible songs being played…”

They’d laughed, then, over the horrible assault on the senses that modern Christmas seemed to be but now Cathy didn’t feel much like laughing.

Since early November, leaving the house had felt like a mild sensory assault, and since Jane and Kitty had put the decorations up in December, this had encroached into her own home.

Anne disliked it too, she knew, but neither felt like they could say anything.

(“After all-” Anne had remarked rather gloomily, “-not liking Christmas lights is definitely meant to be a warning sign…”

“What do you mean?”

“In all the films!” Anne gestured impatiently. “It’s always the boring awful secretly-evil person who hates the Christmas lights and the tree and everything else, and the nice, good person who likes it! And I don’t want to have to be the one who spoils everything and everyone is mildly suspicious of again!”

“I definitely shouldn’t have let you binge watch all those Christmas films with Kitty…”

“I’m right though.” Anne eyed her seriously. “You know I am.”

Cathy had nodded. She knew.)

Catalina had taken note of her goddaughters increased irritability, the worsening of her already poor sleeping pattern and tried to gently probe as to the cause but Cathy had brushed her off. She knew that Christmas could easily be painful to Catalina for exactly the same reason that it troubled Anne, and she’d be damned if she was the one to ruin the Christmas of the person she owed so much too.

(“Are you sure you’re alright mija? You know you can always talk to me.”

She’d flashed a smile and surreptitiously moved away. “I’m fine Catty. Really.”)

And she’d convinced herself that she was fine, that she could be fine, that she could keep on being fine right up to Boxing Day. Now though as the day drew closer, she could feel anxiety gnawing at her stomach every day, from the moment she woke up to the moment she would eventually drift into an uneasy sleep.

There was no denying it- she knew she’d never be able to keep up the level of excitement and jollity obviously required for Christmas day and she was dreading the moment that she spoilt it for the others.

Would they be upset if she couldn’t face the thought of unfamiliar food first thing in the morning? They’d certainly be upset if she didn’t enjoy Christmas dinner- they’d all gone to so much trouble making sure the dinner was perfect.

What if she didn’t look grateful enough for her presents? And she knew that games were meant to be a big part of Christmas day too but not knowing how to play, not knowing what was expected of her, made her anxious even on good days- what if she ruined the fun for the others?

She was dreading it so much, she would have given everything she owned to move past Christmas day and just get straight on with the frustration and irritation on behalf of the other queens that she was sure was coming.

That was, of course, if they didn’t go straight in with anger…

“Cathy?” Kitty’s concerned voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you ok?”

She plastered on another smile. “Fine!”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. She kept on being fine as Kitty and Anna squabbled over whether they’d make pancakes or waffles their Christmas breakfast, as they jockeyed with each other to lay presents under the tree, as they went out for the last bits of Christmas shopping and settled in to watch a festive film.

It was only after they all retired to their respective rooms that Cathy allowed the tension to slowly seep out of her body. She leant for a moment against her closed door and then flopped, fully dressed, onto the duvet.

And when the faint strains of “Wonderful Christmas Time” drifted up to her bedroom window from the street below, the tears that she’d been holding back for nearly two months finally fell.

“Cath?”

A faint tapping caught her ears and she froze.

As quietly as she could, she reached for a tissue to dry her face- finding none, she scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve instead.

She could feel Jane wincing as she did.

“Y-yeah?”

She willed her voice not to crack but it did anyway, of course.

Catalina’s voice was buttery-soft. “Are you alright mija?”

Anne’s voice, in a loud whisper, drifted through the crack in the door. “Don’t ask her, why would you ask her, she’ll just say no and- OW, that hurt!”

“Cathy, can we come in please?”

It would have been easier to brush off Catalina’s loving concern or Anne’s blunt request for entry but Kitty always sounded so hopeful that saying no to her somehow felt harder than saying no to the others. She knew she wasn’t the only one- the others had all discussed it, and eventually had come to the conclusion that as it didn’t appear to be in any way deliberate, they couldn’t really ask Kitty to stop, annoyingly inconvenient as it was.

She couldn’t say no, but she didn’t say yes either, so she just snuffled as quietly as possible and hoped they’d go away.

“Cath?”

They didn’t.

She knew she was merely delaying the inevitable but she couldn’t help but try anyway.

“What is it?”

“Can we come in and talk to you please Cath? We’re worried and we want to check that you’re ok.”

She would have hated Anna for her bluntness if she could, but she couldn’t- it was impossible to even mildly dislike Anna, and she’d yet to find anyone able to manage it. It continued to baffle her that Henry had been able to keep it up- Kitty had once asked, in exasperation, if Anna had just been too easygoing and too patient and too kind, and Cathy had had to agree.

“We heard you crying-” Anne chipped in helpfully, “-and- OW, Jane what the fuck is your problem?!”

Even in her slightly tearstained state, Cathy couldn’t help smiling a little.

“You can come in if you want...”

She’d rather hoped that only one would accept the invitation but of course they all piled in anyway, Anne still rubbing her crushed foot and Jane looking a little too innocent.

Catalina immediately came over to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, as Anne scrambled up on her other side.

“Are you alright mija?”

“Who do I need to kill Cath?”

The two utterly incongruent enquiries from her two favourite people in the world made her laugh, even as her eyes burned with fresh tears. They were so lovely- they were all so lovely-and here she was completely ruining what was meant to be a special day for them.

She shook her head.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She forced a smile onto her face. “Honestly.”

None of them looked remotely convinced; out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kitty sending urgent telegrams to Anne and Anna biting her lip.

“Love-” Jane came over and sat next to Catalina. Her hand on Cathy’s was very warm. “You know we’d never make you talk unless you were ready, but do you think you could give us a vague idea of what it is? Just-” She glanced at the others, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going to be thinking up all sorts of horrible things otherwise and-”

“It’s nothing, honestly-”

“Mija anything that makes you this upset on Christmas Eve is clearly nothing.”

Cathy knew Catalina meant it kindly but the words cut her deeper than any order to pull herself together would have done. It was Christmas Eve and here she was, making the others worry about her, overshadowing their night with her selfishness-

“It’s ok Cath-” Kitty, closely followed by Anna, climbed up onto the remaining space at the foot of the bed and, after realising that Cathy’s hands were already claimed, gently squeezed her foot. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Right?”

The others wholehearted murmured agreement just made Cathy feel worse.

“You’re all so nice-” she eventually managed. “You’re so sweet and I’m spoiling everything, and I’m ruining Christmas and-”

There was an immediate chorus of disagreement:

“You’re not ruining anything mija-”

“It’s all ok love-”

“Please don’t cry Cath-”

“Please tell us what’s wrong?”

They all looked so earnest she just couldn’t bear it- she took a breath.

“I’m sorry. Really, honestly, nothing is wrong. I just…” She tried to think of how to phrase it in a way that didn’t make her seem utterly joyless. “I’m just….struggling a bit, I think.”

“With work? Or death-day stuff or-”

She shook her head. “With Christmas.”

Catalina squeezed her hand. “You miss the old traditions mija?”

“Not exactly. Or-” Cathy tilted her head. “Not that much. It’s not really that I’m homesick for anything, I just…” She sighed. “I’m afraid I’m going to ruin it for you all. More than I have already, of course.”

“What do you mean?” Anne looked confused. “How would you ruin it?”

“By not doing it right….or not feeling how I should feel.” Cathy looked around at the women clustered around her. “I’m sorry- I know how much it means to you all. And I promise I’m not trying to be a drag on purpose. I just… I’m scared I’m going to ruin it for you all by being….not happy or not festive or just….not whatever it is you’re meant to be on Christmas. I won’t be enough and-”

“You could never not be enough for us querida!”

Suddenly Cathy was being enveloped in at least three pairs of arms.

“But it’s Christmas!”

Kitty shrugged. “So?”

“But you’re all so excited! I don’t want to spoil it for you!”

“But it’s just a day-”

“It’s not that important-”

“Cathy-” Anna knelt in front of her. “Nothing you do is going to spoil it, ok? We love you, we care about you. If you’re sad on Christmas, we’ll be sad because you’re unhappy. Not because it’ll be ruining the day or whatever.”

“But-”

“Ok how about this?” Anna considered. “What about we all promise to not base the success of Christmas Day on your emotional state- or on anyone else's? Does that help?”

“Hold up-” Kitty raised a hand. “When did we all agree that the rest of us were going to be super happy and festive all day? Is that a thing? Do we have to all-” She waved a hand, “-festive all day? Can we just be normal instead?”

“Yeah-” Anne agreed. She turned to the others. “I just want to put this out there- obviously I don’t want to ruin the day for you all either. But….I’m struggling a bit too.” She ducked her head and tugged a little at a loose thread in Cathy’s bedspread. “So if I do end up being a massive drag, I’m- I’m really sorry-”

“Love!” Jane leant precariously over Cathy’s legs to pull Anne into her arms. “You won’t! It’s ok-”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kitty asked. “If I’d known you were both so worried, I’d have told you not to worry- we all would have.”

“But you were so excited and-”

Kitty blinked at Anne. “I mean yeah? But it’s just a day, it’s not like there’ll never be another one- and even if there wasn’t I’d still care more about you than about some random day of celebration.”

The others nodded.

Catalina shook her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realise you were so miserable, if I’d known-”

“It’s not your fault.” Cathy avoided her godmother's eyes. “I didn’t want to….to make you think about Christmas being difficult, I didn’t want to remind you of….”

She trailed off. Catalina looked at her for a long moment, then she shook her head.

“Oh mija. Did you really think that you could keep me from remembering…” She too couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. “I know you’re clever but I think you’ve giving yourself much too much credit there…”

Said out loud, it sounded very foolish to Cathy- she could feel herself blushing. Catalina pulled her close again and she took the opportunity to hide her burning cheeks for a moment against her godmother's cardigan.

“I’m sorry, I just thought….”

“I know. And it was very, very sweet of you. But really mija-” Catalina’s hand smoothed back her hair. “Really, we all have our reasons to find Christmas difficult. And even if we deal with them in different ways, that doesn’t mean anyone would be upset with anyone else because of it. Jane, for example-” Everyone looked at Jane, who blushed slightly under their collective gaze. “Jane’s more into it, you and Anne, not so much and that’s ok, that’s-”

She broke off. Jane was twisting her fingers together anxiously and looking very uncomfortable.

“Jane? Are you ok?”

“I’m sorry!” Jane suddenly burst out, looking anguished. “I didn’t mean to make you all feel so pressured to enjoy it! I just- they all say it’s meant to be the Mum who makes Christmas and I thought that if I didn’t, you’d all be disappointed and upset with me and…. And all along I’ve been making you all feel worse! I’m SO sorry, I-”

Anna slung an arm around Jane’s shoulders and pulled her into a side hug.

“Janey no, don’t feel bad! We’re all really appreciative of what you’ve been doing-”

Cathy and Anne nodded fervently. “It wasn’t YOU Jane, I promise-”

Catalina put her head on one side. “What did you mean by us being upset with you though? You didn’t really think that, did you?”

Jane ducked her head. “Well….yes? Isn’t it meant to be the Mum who sorts stuff out?”

“Jane, we keep telling you-” Anne reached over Cathy to squeeze Jane’s hand. “The Mum Friend label is a joke- you’re 29 for goodness sake! It’s a loving testament to how lovely you are of course. But it’s not an obligation! Of course we’d never expect you to be responsible for Christmas!”

Kitty nodded. “I’m really happy we’re having a proper christmas but I didn’t realise you thought we expected it of you…Did you not want to do any of it really?”

Jane shrugged and blushed. “I….don’t know. I like the tree-”

“You’re welcome” said Anna, a touch smugly.

“-and the presents and it’ll be nice to have a special dinner….but also, it’s sort of a relief? To not to have to worry? I was SO afraid if something went wrong that you’d all be really upset and blame me…”

Catalina sighed.

“It looks like we’ve all suffered from lack of communication…. Can I propose that we maybe seek a...an alternative plan for Christmas day?”

“Hm?”

“An entirely opt-in Christmas.” Catalina explained. “I don’t think we really have to choose between striving for the unobtainable picture perfect day, or completely forgoing it….do we?”

“Yeah,” said Anna. “I’m still looking forward to a nice dinner and stuff. Can’t we just do the bits we want to do, but also just agree that if anyone doesn’t want to join in, that’s ok?”

“Or-” Kitty added, “-if they do, it’s ok to just….be however you’re feeling. No particular emotional expression required.”

Cathy smiled at her gratefully. Then she glanced over at Anne, who met her eyes questioningly. She decided she’d do it- for Anne, she told herself.

“Um- just while we’re on the subject…” She addressed herself to Kitty and Jane. “Would it be ok...I’m only saying it since we’re already talking about it and i don’t want to be really ungrateful or anything but….”

“I think what she’s trying to say is-” Anne cut in, “-would it mess things up too much if we made the special breakfast opt-in too? Just-”

She was cut off before she could even carry on explaining by Jane.

“Of course! Why ever wouldn’t you?”

“Well you said-”

“Oh!” Jane looked guilt stricken. “I did, didn’t I? I swear I never meant-”

“It’s fine!” Cathy cut Jane off before she could spiral too far. “You were suggesting something lovely and it’s appreciated! We know you didn’t mean anything by it, we just want to make sure that we won’t be spoiling anything if we-”

“Of course!” Jane nodded emphatically. “We don’t have to have a different breakfast of course, I was only-’”

Anna held up her hand. “Before we get completely sidetracked in a round of mutual guilt and apologies, why don’t we just agree- there will be special breakfast for those who want it, and anyone who doesn’t fancy it is of course welcome to have whatever they want, or nothing at all. The same for Christmas dinner too.”

Anne shot her a grateful glance and Cathy felt her shoulders sink in relief.

“So” Catalina began. “An opt-in breakfast and dinner. With every day alternatives for those who prefer. And mutual understanding that it can be a hard day for everyone and that constant Christmas cheer isn’t expected or required from anyone.”

“And” Kitty added, “also that the day itself absolutely isn’t the responsibility of any one person and that no one would dream of thinking it was.”

She looked directly at Jane as she said it; Jane nodded and smiled a little sheepishly, and leant in to Anna again.

“Is there anything else?”

“The lights...” Anne sounded hesitant but her voice gained more strength when no one seemed annoyed or impatient. “Could we maybe….turn them off for a bit? Or find a way to make them just be on or off, not flashing?”

Catalina nodded. “Of course.”

“Oh and-” Everyone looked surprised to hear Jane speaking up; Jane herself looked slightly embarrassed. “I know I was the one playing them but...I really hate them.” She cast a pleading look around the room. “Does anyone mind if we stop playing the modern Christmas songs? They’re so irritating. Especially that one about the demon.”

“Which one?” Trust Anne to look interested at that, thought Cathy.

Jane tilted her head. “You know. The one about his impending arrival. About how he watches you all the time-”

“Santa Claus Is Coming to Town?”

“That’s it. Whatever happened to simple carols?”

Catalina nodded. “There was a pleasant simplicity to the old ones. No This is the best day of your life or anything. Just ‘Boar is really delicious, maybe try it with mustard.’ Sensible advice, not this….expectation of jollity.”

“I think they still have that actually-” Kitty broke in. “Except it’s not really tuneful and I don’t think you sing it…”

“Really?”

“I think so. At least, my super noodles said that they were best served with stir fried chicken and sesame oil. But there was only the one verse…”

The first Christmas Day that the queens ever celebrated together was, by most standards, an uneventful one.

But no one blinked an eye when Cathy forgoed Anna’s nutella pancakes and Kitty’s strawberry waffles for her usual toast and coffee.

The turkey dinner was, by all accounts, as pretty as the ones on tv. Anne never actually tasted a bite of the turkey itself but praising Jane’s stuffing to the skies more than made up for it.

And Cathy found that when it actually came down to it, it was all a lot less painful than she had imagined: despite her dread, she felt herself genuinely excited about seeing the others open the gifts, and not ambivalent about the beautiful fountain pen, thick fluffy dressing gown, chocolate covered coffee beans (Catalina had shaken her head despairingly at that) and midnight blue boots she’d been given (not to mention a sizeable stack of books from her wishlist).

Even when Kitty suggested playing a game, she found that the casual “Fancy it Cath? No pressure” made all the difference and she’d been able to join in quite happily.

And when, mid afternoon, she felt herself becoming slightly overwhelmed and excused herself, Catalina following her into the hall hadn’t felt anywhere near as uncomfortable as it would have done before.

“Ok mija?”

“Yeah just-” She’d shrugged and waved a hand. “It’s a bit much.”

Catalina, rather than looking disappointed or irritated, had just nodded. “That’s understandable. Do you want some space or shall I keep you company?”

“I don’t want to take you away from the fun-”

“You absolutely wouldn’t be doing that. But please don’t feel pressured either way- if you want some time alone, that’s fine.”

“It’s not that I want to be alone, it’s-”

Catalina looked understanding. “How about we relocate to my room for a bit? We can listen to some more of that podcast you like, if you’re up to it?”

Cathy nodded. Curled up under Catalina’s arm, the podcast murmuring quietly in the background, she felt herself start to decompress. Then, a tap at the door made them both sit up- Jane peeked in.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

A little uncomfortable, Jane hovered by the bed. “Would it be ok if I joined you? I promise I won’t talk. The others are going to play scrabble and-”

“Of course” Cathy knew she would nevern ot appreciate Catalina looking to her to answer first. “Although don’t you want to play?”

Jane shook her head. “You know I-”

“Catalina will make a team with you again if you want-” She glanced to her godmother. “Won’t you? Or I will, if the others will hold the game off another fifteen minutes or so-”

Jane shook her head.

“Not that I don’t love teaming up with either of you- I totally appreciate the offer. I just- got to thinking about things. Thought a quiet room would be nice, you know?”

Catalina nodded understandingly and Jane settled gratefully on her other side. After a moment, Catalina wrapped her free arm around her shoulders and Jane leant into her.

After a while, her phone buzzed and she let out a short laugh.

“Sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t interrupt but, look what Kitty just sent me…”

She passed her phone to Catalina.

On the screen, it read:

Let us know if we get too noisy! Lots of love to all three of you from all three of us <3 <3 <3 Also Janey, I thought you’d appreciate this more carol I found.

Catalina clicked on the link and the three listened to the festive sounding if slightly tinny music emanate from the phone speakers.

“….angels we have heard on high…..tell us to go out and buy….”

“Really sums it up, doesn’t it?” murmured Cathy and Catalina smiled.

“Shall I take back your fountain pen then mija?”

“Oh god no!”

Catalina chuckled and squeezed her hand and Cathy burrowed back into her side, listening to the faint sounds of good natured arguing drift up from below, her godmothers heartbeat and Jane's quiet breathing beside her.

Maybe it wasn’t such an awful day after all.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction

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ho-ku-o-five · 4 years ago

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Kongeriget Danmark

Here is little DenNor oneshot based off the headcanon I have about how the Nations live amongst their citizens and how they must change their persona often in order for them not to be discovered as the immortal country personifications that they are, which is a pretty dark concept if you think about it.

Denmark gets too attached to his human neighbours and struggles with the knowledge that he will always outlive them all. Without Norway by his side, he wouldn't be able to cope.

-------------------

"Nation Persona Registration for Kongeriget Danmark: STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL"

Denmark stared at the document on the desk in front of him, his pen hovering just a few centimetres from the page.

The Danish National Day had been and gone a just a few days prior, on the 5th of June, and although he had been expecting that he would wake up to find the thick brown envelope sealed with the red wax seal from his government on his doormat any day now, that didn't mean he was prepared for it.

It had been 10 years since he’d last had this form lain out in front of him, and it had been just as hard back in 2010 as it was today.

In order to keep their existence somewhat unknown from their people and ordinary citizens, the Nations must change their identity regularly if they wanted to live among humans to avoid suspicion. Denmark couldn’t imagine a life away from his people, away from his neighbours and community, away from everyone and simply hidden away on a large piece of land all alone in a draughty house, and so he’d always chosen to re-register himself and play the role of an citizen since the 1800’s when it first became an available option to him.

Each government had their own way of doing this and so it could differ from country to country, but the Prime Minister and cabinet of Denmark’s government liked to keep it simple. Every 10 years around the 5th of June, or Denmark’s ‘birthday’ as it was sometimes coined, was when it was time for Denmark to pack up his things and re-invent himself.

He threw down his pen and his head fell into his open palms, sighing heavily.

At present, he was Mikkel Jensen, a 30-something year old Danish man who worked for the electricity board and lived on Maglekildevej in the small city of Roskilde, or at least this is how he was registered and this is what he told his neighbours.

Now, Denmark didn’t hate the responsibility of being a Nation Personification. He was good at his job and his role and in fact he rather loved it, sometimes working for 12 hours or more at a time to support his government. He even hadn’t minded the Viking days or the Kalmar union, even though he did still hold many regrets from that time in his long life. What he hated, truly hated, was the minor inconvenience of immortality. To the average person, 10 years would seem like a relatively long amount of time, but to Denmark it was like the blink of an eye. It felt like only yesterday that he bought this house and Lars Løkke Rasmussen was his prime minister.

Rising from his chair, Denmark walked over to the window and leant on the window ledge. He looked out at the street past the low fence of his front yard and at the house across the road. In the 10 years he had lived here he had got to know his neighbours and the humans that ran the local businesses around him.

Jette and Askel lived across the street in the house that he was looking at. It was a pretty house, all white plaster with a beautiful rose bed in the front garden. They had a baby girl last year, and Denmark had taken them a cake a hamper full of toys and outfits for the little newborn in congratulations. Then there was Eva the friendly bar tender in his local bar. She’d recently got engaged to Bo from the bakers. Denmark had bought them a bottle of Moet in celebration. He would miss them all, but the person that he couldn’t stand the thought of moving away from this time was Lillebeth, the elderly lady who lived directly next door. Denmark did everything for her.

Although he lived alongside his human citizens and had relationships with them, he tried his best not to get too attached for them and go as far as making friends with them, but Lillebeth had captured his heart pretty much as soon as he’d taken the ‘sold’ sign down in his front yard. He’d moved to Roskilde from Copenhagen in the summer of 2010, just after he’d left behind his life as Magnus Jensen, a high rise office worker, and became Mikkel. Denmark liked to keep the same last name and the same initial of his first name each time it came to re-register, not wanting to completely re-invent himself to the point he was unrecognisable from his previous human persona.

On the day Denmark had moved in, Lillebeth had been struggling to bring in her bags of groceries from her car. He hadn’t hesitated to go and help her, despite being exhausted from carrying heavy boxes and furniture to and from his house all morning, part of him genuinely wanting to help an old lady, and the other part of him happy for an excuse to get to know his new neighbours. She invited him in for a coffee and a sandwich that afternoon in thanks, and Denmark found comfort in her right away. He had always longed for a mother or grandmother figure, and Lillebeth turned out to be just that. As the years rolled by, the two had become quite the pair. In summer they would garden together and share Limoncello, Lillebeths favourite tipple, over the fence, and in the colder winter months Denmark would walk with her to the shops and back to make sure that she didn’t slip on the ice. All the while however he knew that he was just making things worse for himself as he knew he couldn’t stay in Roskilde forever.

Tearing his eyes away from the window, Denmark brought a hand up to his cheek and wiped away a tear that he hadn’t realised was rolling down his face as he was deep in thought until he felt it drip onto his collarbone. In a haze, he walked into the kitchen and set the coffee machine brewing, looking around the house. It suddenly felt cold and empty. In his lifetime, Denmark had seen many a movie and read many a book written by humans about the gifts of immortality. Vampires, Witches, even teenage school children were often written as immortal as if it were some kind of divine quality. He scoffed as he thought about it. Who in their right mind would want to live forever? To be devoid of friends, of family? Sure, Denmark had the other Nordics and the other Nations, but nothing would ever be able to fill the hole in his heart where his own family and children should have been.

He couldn’t count how many times he’d started again and how many people he’d left behind over the years, and at times cursed himself for not choosing to live as a recluse and only interacting with other nations and a select few humans in government like some of the other nations did. In his appearance Denmark could pass for a human between his early 20’s and up to late 30’s depending on how he dressed, and over each of the 10 year personas he had repeated pretending to age so many times. Each year that passed he would change his looks slightly, cut his hair a little differently and lose and gain different interests just to really make it believable to the humans around him that he was a man going from a young adult to mature adult, and it was exhausting. He’d run out of hobbies and interests at this point, and had no idea who he was going to be next.

His eyes stung and his lungs burned as he tried his best to hold back his misery, but he couldn’t. Burying his face in the crook of his arm, Denmark slid down the counter and landed softly on the kitchen tiles, sitting with his back against the cupboard and just wept. The sound of his body wracking sobs filled the house and he could feel his throat becoming hoarse. The coffee machine beeped above him on the side and there was a knock at the front door, but Denmark was in no state of mind to care, wanting nothing more than to just scream out in anger. His mind was turning dark, and he could think of nothing other than wanting to throw himself off a cliff or hold his head under the bathwater just long enough to slip away than to go through another 10 years of silent torture, but he couldn’t do that to his people.

Denmark was so detached from the world around him at that moment in his wave of sorrow that he hadn’t heard keys jangling in the lock of the front door or the calling of his name, and hadn’t realised the was someone else in the room with him until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He looked up, startled, fighting to slow his tears and blinked blurry eyed into the face above him.

“Norge…” he choked out as a gentle hand brushed the hair that had fallen flat around his face away from his eyes. Denmark struggled to sit up, but soon stopped and instead leaned into the familiar, warm figure as Norway didn’t relax his grip around his shoulders.

“Shh, I’m here.” Norway said, and Denmark could feel the rumble of his chest as he spoke. The two of them sat in silence for a short while as Denmark worked on slowing his breathing and just let Norway hold him. For as long as he could remember, Norway had always smelt the same, and being wrapped in his embrace and breathing in the faint scent of saltwater and fallen pine needles was the closest thing that Denmark would ever feel to being home.

“I had a feelin’ you would’ve had your forms already.” Norway spoke again, his voice as soft as ever, and finally released Denmark from his embrace. He uncrossed his legs and stood up from the kitchen floor, then extended a hand down to Denmark and pulled him to his feet once he’d grasped it. His eyes wandered over Denmark for a moment, lids heavy, as he stood before him, a foot taller, with his broad shoulders slumped and his eyes red and swollen.

Compared to Denmark’s, Norway’s government were a little more lenient when it came to him living amongst humans as the Nation that he was. There was no set deadline in which Norway had to re-register, as long as it was within 20 years of him having previously done so. He knew by now that Denmark had to re-register every 10 years, and that each time Denmark found it harder and harder. Norway’s bosses also knew this, and so he had worked over time the past week to allow some free time to visit Denmark. He’d had to miss out on Denmark’s celebrations on the 5th of June as well as Sweden’s the day after, but after a brief chat, Sweden understood and would rather Norway spend the coming days with Denmark as he packed up his house and sent in his re-registration forms than to get just drunk with him as they could do any other year.

In the last 25 years or so, Norway had gone from Sigurd Helgeson, to Nils Isberg, then to his recent name of Lukas Vik-Olsen which he had registered to two years ago, and currently resided in Tromsø. He was worn out from working so hard the past couple of days, but he was glad that he did it.

Denmark wiped his runny nose messily on the sleeve of his sweater and looked sheepishly at Norway, already feeling a little better at having the one person he loved more than anything in the entire world standing before him.

“They came this mornin’. I’m just so tired, Nor. I can’t start again, not yet.” He said, and his voice came out as just a strained whisper.

Silence fell between them once more as Norway leaned towards Denmark and reached up, cupping his face in one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. His thumb brushed against Denmark’s cheek, and Denmark leaned into the gentle touch, wanting to cry all over again at the way Norway looked at him with such love that he would never tire of no matter how long he lived.

“Do you wanna talk through your plan with me? I can stay for a few days. You’ll be okay, I promise.” Norway said, and nodded to his suitcase that stood by the front door, his jacket and shoes messily discarded beside it from where he had rushed to Denmark’s side upon entering.

Although reluctant, Denmark trusted Norway and knew that eventually he would be alright. Living among humans wasn’t all bad, in fact majority of the time he loved it, and once he’d got settled into his new life he would soon start to feel better.

He nodded as Norway slid his hand away from his face, “Getting my passport re-done is the easiest part, I just need to think of my next name. I mean, I’ve got an idea but…” Denmark mused as he turned to the coffee machine and took two mugs from the shelf behind it, reaching all the way to the back to dig out the large one that had always been Norway’s favourite.

“Well you know I’ll take your new passport photo for you, if you want.” Norway said, taking the hot mug of coffee that Denmark had poured as he passed it to him and curled his fingers around it.

The pair walked into the living room. Norway took a seat on the couch and Denmark set his coffee down on the table, disappearing into the study for a moment and then returning with the brown envelope. Denmark was in no state of mind to make any solid decisions right now about his re-registration, but running over his thoughts and voicing his worries with Norway would help his mentality. Sitting down heavily next to Norway, Denmark laid the envelope on his knee and slid the contents out again.

“Y’know,” Norway began, blowing softly onto the hot coffee in his mug in a vain attempt to cool it down, “I’ve always liked the name Matthias.”

Denmark glanced at Norway out of the corner of his eye. No matter where he found himself, or how much he might despise the curse of his immortality, as long as the Kingdom of Denmark had the Kingdom of Norway by his side, he would be alright.

Now, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Matthias, huh?”

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