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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

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*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?

Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.

Exes to Lovers AU

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity

Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.

Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo

Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity

Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Symphysis – ikeracity

Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.

Call/Response – phalangine

Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.

Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black

Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…

Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.

Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?

Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia

Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.

Shop Space – Caradee

Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.

How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...

Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem

Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.

Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination

Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.

Right?

Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee

Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem

Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame

Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.

It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity

Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.

Second chances are wonderful things.

My heart above my head – annejumps

Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe

Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden

Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.

Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.

Note: Unfinished

11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria

Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.

Moon Song – ikeracity

Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.

I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.

Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity

Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire

Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.

A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo

Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r

Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, something like that."

Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.

Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.

They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.

The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #exes to lovers #ex boyfriends

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yourheartonfire · 3 years

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A continuation/conclusion of the hacker protagonist and the villain who tricks them into finding the hero. This turned into a double length snippet, so the Read More is included.

Part one here. Part two here.

In the end, it came down to the basic questions that the protagonist had avoided thinking about from the start: What did they want? And What were they prepared to do to get it?

The protagonist threw their keys in the bowl by the door, sat at their desk and stared at their reflection in their monitors. It had been easier to think of themselves as a victim, as a pawn, as a freelancer dabbling in a bit of wickedness. But now they had a hero's blood on their hands and less than 4 hours until 8:00pm, when the villain would come for them. What do you want? What are you prepared to do to get it?

The protagonist tapped their computer awake. An auto-generated tropical paradise pulled up under their login window, and the protagonist stared at it- white sand, cloudless sky, and clear shallow water.

It was as good an answer as any. The protagonist swallowed, and looked around for their old webcam equipment.

...

223 minutes later, the protagonist was sitting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, watching the villain savor a third bacon-wrapped foie gras cube.

"Are you going to eat?" they asked mildly, gesturing to the two remaining cubes on the shared appetizer plate. "I didn't think you'd be the type to sulk."

The protagonist folded their hands and checked their watch. "I'm not hungry," they replied, just as calm.

The villain's brow creased - but their phone dinged and they glanced down. The crease deepened. "I need to take this. If you'll excuse me?" they said, already tapping away.

"Sure," the protagonist said, mouth dry. There was a moment as the villain looked at them. "Oh." The protagonist rose and went in search of the restroom. They shut themselves in and waited, heart pounding.

The protagonist intended to wait five minutes, but after about three there was a tremendous crash as the villain's enormous driver/bodyguard/henchman barged in and grabbed them. He marched the protagonist through the suddenly empty dining room back to where the villain waited, face thunderous. They held up their phone and pressed play.

The protagonist's face - scared but brave - filled the screen. "...forced me into helping them. But I cant stand by and let [Hero] die. I'm setting this message to send in four hours, so if you're seeing this, I'm..." The villain cut off the video with a jab of their thumb.

"You got that fast," the protagonist said, trying to twist their arms out of the henchman's grip. He held on tighter. "I thought I'd have to not eat the main course too before it leaked from the heroes' group chat to you."

"Why?" the villain breathed out.

The protagonist gulped, but lifted their chin. "I'm not the type to sulk. Did you watch the whole thing?" they went on quickly, seeing the villain's face go red. "I also identified your home address and your main hideout. Once the others rescue [Hero], that's probably where they're headed. You can beat them there, to all your stuff, if you hurry."

The villain bared their teeth, but whirled to the henchman. "Hold them at the pier location," they snarled, jabbing a thumb at the protagonist. "We have a date to continue. Later." The villain stormed away towards the kitchen exit, tugging their jacket off. The henchman dragged the protagonist out the front.

...

The protagonist got lucky. The henchman took their phone but didn't bother to gag them or even tie their hands before showing them into the car. The advantage of looking harmless. Though that would make the next part harder.

"That was crazy stupid," the henchman muttered, shaking his head as he pulled them away. "You know what [Villain's] going to do to you?"

"Nothing," said the protagonist, leaning back in the seat with a smile they prayed looked confident. "[Villain's] not going to win this one. You're about to be unemployed."

The henchman shook his head. His phone chimed- he glanced down but tucked it away. "He always wins."

"I texted the video at 8:05," the protagonist said, glancing down at their nails. "I emailed it almost 90 minutes ago. Every hero in town is already waiting for [Villain]- and if that doesn't do it, the unscheduled software update that's been draining his suit's battery should finish him off." The henchman's phone chimed again. The protagonist took a breath and put as much chill into their voice as they could. "You should answer your daughter's texts. Daniel."

There was a beat. Then henchman yanked the wheel right. They pulled over in a squeal of brakes, and he spun to face the protagonist. There it was. Anger - and fear. "Family is off limits," he snarled, failing to hide the terror in his eyes. "If you've hurt her-"

"Quite the opposite." The protagonist waved a hand airily, trying not to imagine the henchman crushing their skull in one massive hand. "Your daughter has just been accepted into her second choice college on full scholarship. Sorry, couldn't hack her first choice in time. Loved her essay, by the way. Go on, check."

The henchman stared, but started texting away. The protagonist waited for the slow dawning of amazement on his face before clearing their throat. "Check your bank account too. You've been paid the next 12 months' salary - better than [Villain] can do as his accounts will be frozen momentarily." The protagonist sneered. It looked good in the rearview mirror. "Except the ones I've moved to my name, of course."

The henchman swallowed, looked back at the protagonist. "What do you want?" he whispered.

The protagonist could barely keep from clapping with glee. "[Hero] will swear he saw [Villain] drag me off to my death earlier today. Back him up. Swear that you didn't recognize [Villain's] dinner date tonight - that it was someone they picked up in a bar. My name stays out of it, and I think you'll find your daughter's grad school surprisingly affordable in a few years."

The henchman flicked open a banking app on his phone. Glanced at the number. Closed the phone. Stared at his hands on the steering wheel.

"Where do I drop you off?" he asked meekly.

...

Not long after, the protagonist leaned their head against cool glass and gazed out at the starry night sky through the window of the villain's private plane. The protagonist's private plane for now - just long enough to quietly, anonymously exit the country.

Villain's arrest - and the revelation of their identity - was all over the news and the protagonist was more and more sure they had done it. They had gotten away. They'd taken only a fraction of the villain's ill-gotten wealth but it was enough of a nest egg to live off for the rest of their life, if they budgeted, made investments, all that.

But the protagonist's thoughts kept drifting to all the projects the villain had left unfinished. They'd had some real good plans going, some with people who didn't realize who they were working with. People who might not notice if someone else starting the answering the emails,, calling the shots. It didn't seem too hard; mostly it just needed someone with a bit of start-up cash and a way with thorny problems.

The protagonist sipped their champagne and frowned thoughtfully as the little plane sailed on, carrying them off towards that sunny beach with warm, calm water.

#my fiction #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #protagonistxvillain #hacker #hacker protagonist #100

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caitykat · 2 years

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Making Friends while "Adulting"

Making friends as an adult is freaking HARD. I've found that it's much easier to reclaim friends from earlier, (or manage to never lose them in the first place)

My current friend group is very divided by what activity we do together- soccer, running, work- and for the most part our interactions are limited to the activity itself. We don't really invite each over for game nights or to go see a movie. I guess you can call them more acquaintances, then friends. Part of it is my fault, I acknowledge. I could try harder to interact and go out, But I don't really have that much money for going out for drinks and I'm not super comfortable inviting people to my apartment. Those are my justifications to myself, at least.*

I've been incredibly lucky this past summer. My Best Friend from high school has been here to hang out with.

But, BFF is leaving to go back to school... she was in town to do research for her dissertation. Now, she's done and she's got to go back to her classes, and compiling research, and TA-ing and her boyfriend, and life in general.

It's been nice to see her so regularly. It's the first time we have been in the same city for over a month since we graduated high school. Regardless, we chat and write and make trips to see each other regularly. So, even 10 years later, our relationship is still going strong. It's comforting.

The two of us will be crazy old cat ladies cackling about our stories in rocking chairs on the porch some nursing home when we are 100 together.

On the other hand, my other friend and I haven't spoken since sophomore year of college.

I didn't attend a university in or anywhere near my high school friends. I ended up falling out of touch with just about all of them. Not from lack of trying, but the drama we avoided in high school all seem to have exploded in college. I saw the group collapse from a distance. Some stayed in contact, but it petered off as life moved on and different experience started stacking up. BFF is the only one I managed to really keep up with.

Other Friend went abroad our junior year, and contact dried up. Since then, she has graduated, moved back home, spent time in China teaching English, changed her phone number, come back home and worked here ever since.

I never knew. I've been back home since I graduated. We've been in the same city for 4+ years, and never realized it.

Back in May, she ended up with tickets to some event and a friend who bailed on her, so she apparently reached out to BFF whose phone number she still, miraculously, had. BFF, bemused, informed her that she was in grad school and lived in a different state, but that she would be back home for the summer.

They end up hanging out. Other Friend tells BFF about all of her life and job and what-not and they catch up. BFF decides that Other Friend and I are in similar states of life (same work industry- that we kind of want to get out of) and therefore MUST reconnect.

We got sushi and had drinks at my place the other night.

It was nice. Highly amusing to hear how similar we are, even if our interests are wildly different. Other Friend kept joking how we are actually the same person. I'm not sure if I agree completely, but we do have similar approaches to stuff.

I'm happy we've caught up. Maybe we'll manage to stay in touch and I'll have a local friend I can depend on to hang out with regularly.

Next step is to turn my activity friends/acquaintances into real friends. Maybe I can host some for a potluck or game night... Football season's starting up soon too...

*(I spend a LOT of time hanging out with my Mom, actually. We have a great relationship and similar interests. Plus, we live in the same city. She's the easiest person for me to invite to do stuff. And Sometimes she'll pay.)

#adulting is hard #friends #what are friends #adulting #making friends #BFF #Other Friend #Best Friend from High School #Best Friend #reconnecting #mom #mom- daughter bonding

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aquata-the-champ · 2 years

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Free Therapy | Oneshot

Date: Late July 2022 Featuring: Aquata, Stacey Warnings: None!

Aquata complains about her sprained ankle, and her friend sees it as an opportunity to practice what she’s learning in grad school.

As soon as the word “sprain” was out of her mouth, Stacey’s jaw had dropped in surprise and delight, and she was already digging through her closet looking for her Bosu ball. Apparently this was what two semesters of physical therapy school did to you.

“Ohmygosh, Q! You never get injured!”

Aquata groaned. Stacey was clearly not picking up on the vibe here. Her first sprained ankle in her life was not some exciting rite of passage like buying alcohol for the first time or her first kiss. It was simply annoying.

Okay, it was more than annoying. It was bothering Aquata a lot, first the whole embarrassment of having to sit on the couch and elevate and ice her leg, then the stupid ACE bandage, and now that twinge of pain she still got, kind of, when she stepped the wrong way, reminding her that she still wasn’t better.

It was fucking with her head, honestly. Aquata had never had to sit still this long. Normally, when she got restless and antsy, she went for a run or a swim. And now she couldn’t even do that, according to Dr. Tibbs’ orders.

Stacey, however, had never been the sensitive type. Neither had Aquata. It was why their friendship survived through so many fights over the years— they just brushed things off. And Aquata liked it that way. But Neptune, would it hurt Stacey to be a little bit sympathetic?

“Stacey, you really don’t have to go all PT on me, it was, like, one little sprain—” Aquata protested.

“Let me have this! I can already tell, you need to build up strength in your ankles.”

Ugh, that was what Dr. Tibbs had said, too. “Stacey—”

“Get on the ball!”

Rolling her eyes, Aquata kicked off her flip flops and stepped onto the plastic platform on the half-exercise-ball. Sure enough, her ankle wobbled a bit.

Stacey watched, wide-eyed and fascinated. “Wow. You’ve really never done this before, have you? I can’t believe you’ve been an athlete for all these years and the only injury you ever had was— it was that concussion, wasn’t it? You’ve got amazing luck.”

This was exactly what Aquata had been trying to avoid. She did not need anyone getting suspicious about her mysterious lack of injury— or her sudden new one when all the magic had disappeared from town.

Stacey crouched down to stare at Aquata’s ankle muscles. “You’re being creepy,” Aquata complained.

“No, I’m being a medical professional. Don’t make it weird,” Stacey shot back. “Wow, your ankles are so tight. Do you ever, like stretch them?”

“Obviously, I stretch them.”

“Okay, well, you need, like, massage or something—”

“I do not need a massage!” Aquata squawked.

Stacey snorted. “I’m just saying, you’re only getting older. You’ve got to make some changes. The longer you ignore this, the worse it’s gonna get. And when you actually fuck up for real, like, it’s really gonna hurt. You’re being stubborn, and it’s only gonna bite you in the ass in the end—”

Okay, why was this suddenly sounding really personal?

“Can I get down now?” Aquata said impatiently after a few minutes.

“Yes, but take the ball with you! Do that for ten minutes each day. Set a timer. Just wait, it’s going to make such a huge difference. And it will prevent you from getting injured again in the future,” Stacey said seriously.

Actually, Aquata was pretty sure what would prevent her from getting injured again in the future was not stepping into a gopher hole like she had done the other week. It was her own stupid wrong step that had gotten her here, not some deep-rooted problem with her ankle strength. But she was tired of fighting Stacey, so she nodded in a long-suffering kind of way and went to put her shoes on.

“Q, don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re, like, storming out because I gave you ankle advice.”

“I’m not storming out! I have shit to do.”

Stacey still had that stupid, knowing smirk on her face.

The look stuck in Aquata’s head even after she left, and she didn’t know why. They were just talking about her ankle. It was medical advice. It wasn’t a big deal. Of course Aquata was getting older. And of course that advice was kind of BS, because Aquata was a mermaid, and once things got back to normal, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.

Except... would things get back to normal?

And even if they did... maybe Stacey still had a point. Maybe Aquata was... ignoring some things that were inconvenient for her.

Maybe she really would fuck up for real down the line, and maybe it would bite her in the ass.

Maybe she needed to make some changes.

She was halfway home when she realized she had forgotten the ball, though, and she definitely wasn’t going back for it. Whatever. Stacey was just getting overeager about her grad school program. It was nothing to do with her.

Still, she could feel that new twinge of pain in her ankle whenever she walked. And it wasn’t going away.

#this is so late #but its been a crazy summer lol #anyway #i love PT!!!#self para

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hufflepuffhermione · 3 years

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from the drabble list 23 “I immediately regret this decision.” if you feel like it!!

This got LONG. I know that’s what happens with everything I ever write, but this got long even for me. But I hope you enjoy it. It’s set in the summer between S3 and S4.

The Oval Office is a dangerous place. Life or death decisions are made in the room every day, and a briefly floated idea can quickly become policy before all of the words are even out. One the President has an idea set in his head, it’s difficult to talk him out of it.

Unfortunately for everyone, Toby and Josh fail to recognize the present dangers.

It’s a staff meeting outlining upcoming campaign events and the changes to the policy calendar; nothing out of the ordinary or particularly monumental, but when there’s something to do with national parks, there is always an element of risk.

“Will someone tell me why I’m going to Montana in a few weeks? If I know my electoral math, and I think I do, they’ve got all of three votes and they usually go to the other guy,” President Bartlet says, looking up from behind his reading glasses.

There’s a look exchanged between the senior staff, but Josh swallows and answers. “Sir, it’s the… the opening of Big Sky National Park.”

The President pauses. “That’s not a national park. I would know, I’ve been to all of them.”

Again, more glances. Josh clears his throat awkwardly and continues. “Yes sir, but this is the one that you signed an order to establish a few years ago. In Montana. They’re finally opening it to the public, and you’re going to be there at the opening with the Secretary of the Interior.”

“Ah, right, I did do that,” Bartlet says, smiling. “You know, I do love national parks.”

“We’re aware, sir,” Toby says dryly.

President Bartlet puts down the schedule he’s been looking at and meets Toby’s iron gaze. “Well Toby, tell me? What’s the best national park you’ve been to?”

Toby mutters something under his breath, and when he’s asked to repeat it, his voice takes on an edge. “I’ve never been to one,” he admits.

Mistake number one.

“You’re telling me you’re about to write a speech for me about the glories of the national park system, and you’ve never even been to one?” the President asks incredulously.

“Well, I was going to make Sam do it,” Toby admits.

“What, is this below your pay grade?”

Toby would be rolling his eyes if he weren’t in the Oval Office. “No, sir, but I figured California boy here has been outside a few more times in his life than I have.”

“Is this true, Sam?”

Sam shrugs. “I guess. My parents weren’t really outdoorsy types, but we went to the Grand Canyon once. So I guess I’m ahead of Toby on that score.”

“And the rest of you? Have you all had the opportunity to experience the wonder that is American national parks?”

Josh and CJ glance at each other warily. Leo volunteers the information of a few he’s had a chance to visit, but when the President’s gaze rests on CJ, she stammers, “I made plans to go to Yosemite when I was in grad school, but I… I don’t think I made it there.”

Before the President can comment on CJ’s admission, Josh chimes in. “Frankly, sir, there aren’t any national parks easily accessible from where I’ve lived, so…”

This is mistake number two.

“Nonsense,” the President exclaims. “Shenandoah is just an hour and a half from here! You’ve lived in DC how long and you still haven’t…” He breaks off, and a dangerous smile spreads across his face. “Josh, do you remember when I suggested we take a staff field trip to Shenandoah?”

“I didn’t think you were serious, sir,” Josh replies, gulping.

“I wasn’t then, but if Toby and Sam are going to be writing a speech for me about the wonders of national parks, on the anniversary of the day which, by the way, the National Park Service was established, you really ought to have some experience visiting national parks,” the President says. “Do you all have anything going on this weekend? Doesn’t matter, I can raise it to the level of an executive order and everyone you have to cancel on will just have to deal with it. We’re going on a field trip.”

The door opens behind them, and it’s Donna standing there. “I’m sorry sir, am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Josh answers with relief.

“I just needed Josh for…”

“Donnatella,” the President interrupts, smiling at her. “How would you like to go on a national park expedition?”

Donna looks at him, wide-eyed. “Well, sir, I do appreciate a good national park. I’m not sure I can say no… can I say no?”

And there’s the third mistake.

“Well, Donna, pack your outdoor things, because you’re going camping this weekend,” the President says gleefully. “I’ll get my guys to arrange all of this.”

“Do you need Josh? He’s needed in a meeting with legislative affairs right now,” Donna says. “They only have twenty minutes before the vote.”

Josh immediately stands up as the President waves him off. “You shouldn’t have come in,” he hisses to Donna, as they walk down the hallway towards his office. “You should have just called. You might have avoided getting roped into this nonsense.

“Well, I immediately regret this decision, but… is he serious?”

“He’s started making plans and everything,” Josh says. “But hey, if I’m forced to go camping, at least you’ll be forced to go too.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “You’re a horrible, horrible man.”

“Yeah, but I sign your paychecks.”

“I had plans!” she whines.

Josh laughs as he turns towards his office to pick up a file. “Haven’t you learned never to make weekend plans? And never to indulge the President when he’s in one of these moods?”

“Believe me, I’m regretting all of this.”

—

“As it turns out,” the President says on a Friday morning staff meeting, “I can’t go to Shenandoah. That would require the Secret Service to shut down the whole park, and even then, there’s nothing they can do about the bears.”

An audible sigh of relief falls across the staff, but it doesn’t last long when he continues, “I’ve arranged transportation and reserved a couple of cabins for you all. You’re leaving at 6am sharp tomorrow morning, and they’ll have you back by Sunday night.”

“Sir… is this… serious?” Sam hazards.

“Serious as the deficit,” the President replies with a grin. “You’re going to experience a real national park.”

“And if we just… happened to be sick tomorrow?” Josh asks.

President Bartlet shakes his head and laughs. “I wouldn’t believe you, since you’ve never taken a sick day you weren’t forced to take. I’d send my guys over to your apartment and have them throw you in the van. Face it, Josh, you’re going to see the great outdoors.”

Toby rests his head in his hands. “Please someone just kill me now.”

“Come on, Toby, you’ll love it!”

“Sir, I’m pretty sure I have to brief this weekend, so I think…” CJ begins to argue.

“You have highly competent deputies, let them handle it,” the President deflects. “6am sharp. Be here, or the Secret Service will be making visits to your places. And they do know where you live.”

—

After a two-hour drive which everyone spent asleep, they are unceremoniously deposited at a campsite with a fire pit and two cabins which might generously be described as ‘rustic’. The August heat that has settled over DC is only marginally lessened by elevation.

“Well this is… something,” Sam remarks, taking a peek inside one of the spartan cabins, which contains nothing but wooden bunks and an ancient-looking table.

“There aren’t any bathrooms,” Toby comments with barely restrained fury. “What are we supposed to do, go in the woods?”

Donna shrugs, wondering, once again, how she got roped into this. “That’s how we usually do it when I went camping as a kid. Sometimes they had a bathroom at the site, but it doesn’t look like they do at this one.”

“You’ve been camping?” Josh asks incredulously.

“Yeah. We’d go camping in the Wisconsin Dells most years, and once in a while we’d go to Minnesota or the UP,” Donna replies offhandedly.

“The UP?” Toby asks.

“Upper Peninsula of Michigan,” Sam corrects, always glad to make a geographic contribution.

Josh picks up a large plastic tub that was left with them, filled with camping food, and begins to walk toward one of the cabins. “Well, at least Donna knows what we’re doing.”

“Didn’t you claim to be an outdoorsman?” CJ asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you prove it.”

He drops the tub and rubs his eye. “I mean… I was on some drugs then, so I’m not sure I can be held liable…”

“You were not on any drugs, Josh, or else I wouldn’t have let you have alcohol,” Donna corrects.

“I was on the drug that was being outside after three months of miserable confinement!”

Donna and CJ share a glance. “Well, I think this is the perfect opportunity for you to demonstrate your outdoorsy prowess. You can lead our hike.”

“Hey, no one said anything about hiking!” Josh completely ignores the tub and stalks over to where CJ and Donna are standing with the rest of the supplies, almost tripping over a branch as he does so.

“It’s in the President’s executive order. He set us an agenda,” Donna declares, waving around a piece of paper that does, in fact, include the presidential seal.

“There’s no way he used an actual executive…”

Josh is cut off by Sam, who snatches the paper out of Donna’s hands with a “Let me see that!” He reads the paper quickly, frowning as he does. “Yeah, he wants us to take three different hikes. There are maps attached to it. Also, he’s set some time aside for Toby and I to… extol the virtues of nature and apply it to our speechwriting?”

“And we wonder why nothing gets done in this country!” Toby throws his hands in the air. “I can extol the virtues of nature perfectly well without having to actually…you know… go out in nature!”

Josh takes a look at the schedule over Sam’s shoulder. “He’s really given us specific times to start each hike?”

“Including one at 5:30 in the morning so we can catch the sunrise over the mountains,” Donna notes.

“Well I’d like to catch a few hours of sleep for once.” CJ rolls her eyes and picks up her duffel bag. “Think we can blow this off?”

Sam presses his lips together. “Um… he’s going to know if we do.”

“Why?”

“Because he left the Secret Service agents here to ‘keep an eye on us’,” Sam says, jerking his head toward the van which they came in, which is parked in a clearing in the woods. “Ostensibly it’s so we don’t die when Josh forgets he’s not actually an outdoorsman, but he’s definitely spying on us.”

Josh rubs his forehead and sighs heavily. “You couldn’t have just lied and said you have a great appreciation for national parks, Toby?”

“If I said I’d been to one, he would have interrogated me about it!” Toby shouts. “I was cornered!”

“You were the one who came up with the idea to establish this new national park,” CJ says, nudging Josh’s side, “so I hold you responsible.”

“God help me for winning a political battle and doing some good for the country at the same time,” Josh replies, rolling his eyes. “That was almost three years ago! Why should I have known it would backfire like this?”

Donna sighs heavily and picks up her bag. “I’m seriously regretting coming out here with any of you.”

“If you had just called the Oval instead of coming in…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “CJ, what do you say to the cabin on the right? I looked inside and I think there are fewer bugs in that one.”

“Please,” CJ says. “I’m grateful I have at least one other member of the Sisterhood here.”

Sam and Josh give each other a look. “I guess we’d better move into the bug-infested cabin,” Sam remarks.

“They’re both bug-infested, but the one on the right is just… less bug-infested,” Donna shouts back, as she heads into the small cabin.

“Well, Mr. Outdoorsman,” Sam says to Josh, “what now?”

Josh rubs the bridge of his nose. “If I wasn’t on drugs, I was under the influence of alcohol—which I hadn’t had in three months—so you know, I can’t be held liable for what I said then.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow as he picks up his duffel bag. “You do have a law degree, don’t you?”

“Don’t remind me.”

—

It’s another hour before all of the stuff in moved into cabins and everyone is seated on logs around the unlit fire pit, unsure of what to do next. It’s Donna, naturally, who has a handle on the schedule.

“Now, the President has recommended we do a short hike before the heat of the day really kicks in, and that one takes off from that trailhead over there.” She points toward a small clearing in the woods with a ragged wood sign marking the head. “It leads to a lake, so he suggests taking a dip to cool off before heading back, so maybe put something to swim in here in your daypack.”

Josh furrows his brow. “Wait, wait, wait. We’re not really doing this, are we? Following this ridiculous schedule, doing all these…”

“Just because you can’t follow a schedule doesn’t mean we shouldn’t,” Donna replies. “And do you really want to defy the President of the United States?”

“Well, if he’s making us go hiking… and swimming,” Toby growls. “I told him, I have a healthy appreciation for the outdoors, but I prefer to be far, far away from them.”

Donna stands up. “Well I, for one, am not going to defy the President, and I think when he asks you very specific details about the hikes, you might want to have some answers for him. Come on, the sooner we get started the less heat we’ll have to deal with.”

“Because this isn’t bad enough?” CJ asks, wiping her brow. The humidity is already oppressive even at nine in the morning.

“Come on California girl,” Toby teases, “aren’t you used to this?”

In unison, Sam and CJ respond with, “It’s a dry heat!”

Josh pulls several files out of his backpack, carries them back to the cabin, and sighs. “It’s going to be a long day.”

—

Donna isn’t sure who does the most complaining in the mile and a half hike. Josh probably complains the most audibly, but there’s something to be said for Toby’s constant glares at everything that constitutes nature and Sam’s intentional, hefty sighs at every single step. CJ is quiet about her discontent, but she doesn’t seem particularly happy either.

Perhaps they really did need an opportunity to learn how to appreciate nature.

The hike isn’t all too steep, although you wouldn’t know that from the way Josh and Toby are panting when they finally reach the swimming hole the President indicated in his instructions.

“Here it is,” Donna says with a smile. The water is set up against a cliff edge, and there are thin streams falling over the edge. It’s really an idyllic place, but none of the staffers seem particularly enthralled.

Still, they’re all hot and sweaty, and so Sam pulls off his shirt and wades into the water, and CJ follows. Toby grumbles, but the prospect of cooling off is too great for him to resist.

Donna is about to take a dip when she notices Josh’s hesitation to go in. He sits at the edge, dipping his toes in, but not looking as if he will go any further.

“Don’t want to swim?”

He shrugs. “Someone has to watch our stuff. You know, because of the bears. Or the tourists. They’re probably Republican tourists, in this part of Virginia.”

She looks at him critically. “Josh… Do you know how to swim?”

“I grew up in Connecticut, of course I know how to swim!” he snaps. “I just don’t want to!” There’s sweat beading on his forehead. There’s no way he doesn’t want to swim.

Donna frowns and takes a seat next to him, dipping her toes in as well. “Why not?”

Josh looks straight ahead at his own soaking feet. “I don’t have another shirt in my pack,” he says quietly.

“Well then, take it…” she begins, and then she sees something in his eyes. He’s still self-conscious about his bare chest. She grabs his hand and smiles at him. “It’s fine. I’ve seen it before.”

Josh shakes his head. “They haven’t.”

“They’re not going to care,” Donna assures him. “They were all there. They don’t need an explanation.” She briefly wonders if he ever had to explain it to Amy.

“Yeah,” he says, his face still grim.

She tugs on his sleeve gently. “Anyway, you’re going to be neck-deep in there anyway, so if you dive in fast, no one will even see anything.”

“I guess,” Josh says.

“I’m not going to go in if you don’t, and I really want to go in, so I’ll be rather upset with you if you don’t go in,” Donna threatens.

He lifts an eyebrow. “So this is on me now?”

“It’s your call,” she challenges.

In one smooth motion, he tears off his shirt and pulls Donna up into his arms, holding her against his chest and taking a few steps into the water. She shrieks as he drops her in a deeper part of the swimming hole. “That good enough for you?” he asks with a grin.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” she chides, although there’s a smile on her face too. “You’re a cruel man.”

He splashes her with quite a bit of force. “You asked for it. I’m just trying to be an outdoorsman.”

Sam practically has to be dragged out of the water, but as the sun nears its high point, everyone agrees that they sooner they get back to the camp, the better. They manage to make it back faster, thanks to the downhill slope and Toby’s urgency to get back to something even slightly resembling civilization.

“What’s on the schedule now?” CJ asks through a bite of the pre-packed sandwiches that the President sent with them. A good thing, too, since none of them are fantastic cooks even in normal circumstances, and certainly none of them know how to cook over a fire.

Donna pulls the piece of paper out of her daypack and skims it. “Well, there’s a couple choices until our second hike at 6. Either working on the speech, or as he puts it, taking a Thoreau-like approach to extolling the virtues of nature…”

“He’s really going to put me through all of this and then tell me to emulate Thoreau?” Toby interrupts indignantly. “That pretentious mother—“

Josh raises an eyebrow and cuts Toby off with a, “So how about those of us who are under any circumstances not allowed to touch the President’s speeches?”

“We ask for your input when we need it, Josh, it’s just… you’re not the most eloquent of writers,” Sam tries to say diplomatically. Toby, still fuming, nods in agreement.

Josh rolls his eyes. “I like to be direct. Sue me.”

“See, that kind of attitude in speechwriting is what gets the President sued,” Toby shoots back.

Donna clears her throat, giving a barely concealed glare to the staffers before her. “Anyway, Josh, in answer to your question, he suggested you could take a nap.”

His brow furrowed, Josh lets out a little snort. “A nap? What is this, kindergarten?”

“Sometimes I think so.” This from CJ, who hasn’t managed to get her head out of her hands in several minutes.

“I remember a time when you were extolling the virtues of naps to me,” Donna says sweetly, folding up the schedule and putting it back in her bag.

Josh sighs and leans back into the log he’s sitting against dramatically. “Can everyone please stop using the things I said while I was on many, many drugs that made me kind of loopy against me?”

“Never, mi amor,” CJ says, standing up and patting his shoulder. “I’m going to take advantage of the once chance I’ll ever get in this administration to take a nap. Any interest in joining me, Tobias?” she asks with a smirk.

Toby raises an eyebrow. “No, because I have to emulate a pretentious dick who thought he knew everything about nature because he was living in the backyard of his in-laws.”

“I quite enjoy Thoreau, actually,” Sam begins to interrupt.

“Of course you do,” Toby says with a sigh, pulling out a legal pad and a pen. “Come on, let’s get to writing this. Anybody know anything about national parks?”

“No,” Josh says. “I think that’s why we’re here.”

—

The afternoon passes rather pleasantly to everyone’s surprise. CJ takes her nap, Josh reads through all of the briefing memos he managed to smuggle in, and Toby and Sam bicker over the speech, but there are several pages filled by the time Donna comes out of the cabin, fresh from her own nap, and calls out that it’s almost time for their next hike.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Josh says. “One isn’t enough?”

“There are three, remember. The next one is very early tomorrow morning so we can catch the sunrise. This one is so we can catch the sunset,” Donna replies, thrusting the schedule at him.

Josh shakes his head as he looks it over. “I’m kind of regretting getting this man elected.”

Still, everyone, even Toby manages to traipse through the woods and up get another mountain to get to a west-facing lookout, where the sun is just starting to dip behind the mountains.

“Is this inspiring you?” CJ teases, stretched out on one of the benches at the lookout. The sky really is turning very pretty, the sunset a fiery orange with hints of pink.

Toby shrugs. “I don’t think the colors of a sunset are relevant to this speech, but sure.”

“I have to say, I think the Midwest does sunsets better. All that open sky…” Donna says. She’s seating on the other bench, and Josh is next to her, his arm stretched around the back of the bench and his fingers just barely grazing the top of her shoulder. The distance between them is acceptable, but only just.

“Do you miss it? Wisconsin?”

Donna bites her lip. “Sometimes? Sometimes I’ll think about a walk I used to take, or about the ice cream shop I would always go to with my friends, or about the view from my dorm when I lived on the top floor, and I feel a little bit of homesickness. But then I think about how amazing it is to live here, and how much I’ve accomplished since I left, and well… I can’t say I regret leaving.”

Josh chuckles. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Donna turns back to look at the sunset and hopes that no one notices that her eyes are beginning to water with what could be tears.

—

“Okay, dinner now? I”m starving.” Sam says, when they come back from their sunset expedition to the camp. Darkness is beginning to settle, so they’ve set up a few lanterns, but it still feels incomplete.

“We have hot dogs for roasting,” Donna says. “You know, good camp food.”

“That means we need a fire,” Sam says, exchanging a glance with Josh. “We can do that.”

CJ and Donna share a look of concern. “Last time you tried to start a fire, you almost set the White House ablaze,” CJ says cautiously.

“But we successfully started a fire,” Josh points out. “And if it wasn’t indoors in a fireplace with the flue welded shut, we would have been successful.”

Donna has to give them this. “Okay. Go find some firewood and get it started. I think we’re all starting to get hungry.”

Josh grabs a lantern and gives Donna a grin. “Let’s go, Sam.”

While Donna unpacks the food they were sent for dinner, Josh and Sam come back with arms full of wood, Sam looking the worse for wear with several scratches all over his body and what looks like it could be blood.

“Sam! What happened?” CJ exclaims, looking him over.

“I got into a fight with a blackberry bush,” Sam mutters. So not blood, at least, CJ thinks with a sigh of relief.

Josh drops his armful of wood by the pit. “The bush won.”

“Do you need any bandages or anything? They sent us an extensive first aid kid, because I’m sure they know how clumsy you are.” CJ takes Sam’s armful of wood and kneels down next to Josh. “Show me, how do we do this?”

While Sam washes himself off with a water bottle and pulls out the last few thorns, Josh manages to get a fairly impressive fire going. Donna passes around hot dogs and everyone begins to roast theirs, although Sam drops at least two in the fire. Josh intentionally sets his on fire, charring it until anyone else would regard it as inedible.

Perhaps, they all begin to think as they laugh around the fire, for once able to focus on something besides work, this camping thing isn’t so bad. The stress of the election has been weighing heavily on all of them, but they’ve spent almost a whole day without pondering electoral math or congressional seats.

The fire slowly dies, and once it’s down to only the embers, everyone slowly begins to peel off and say good night.

CJ blinks and lets her eyes adjust to the dark before picking up her lantern and padding softly out of the cabin. She would blame her inability to sleep on the nap she took earlier in the day throwing off her schedule, but she knows that’s not the entirety of it.

To her surprise, the fire is still going when she emerges, and there’s someone still seated on a log by it.

“Josh?” she whispers softly, and he turns to face her with the barest trace of a smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

“No. You?”

He shrugs and pokes at the fire with a stick. “Didn’t want to,” he says. “Toby snores.”

“And so you’re just going to spend the whole night out here?”

“Probably.”

“Just because Toby snores?”

Josh doesn’t answer, but CJ turns to look at him and can see the set of his jaw and the tension in his face. And she has an idea of what might be going on.

“Josh, have you been having nightmares lately?” she asks, her voice soft.

She didn’t think his body could show any more tension, but he immediately tenses up even more at her question. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I have, too,” she admits. She can see some of the tension fall away from his shoulders, although he still seems guarded.

“About what?”

CJ bites her lip. “Simon, mostly. Which is ridiculous, I mean, I wasn’t there. And that was three months ago, and I wasn’t even there.”

He reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it. “You can easily imagine it though, because you know what it’s like to be shot at,” he concludes.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t. I don’t even remember it, really, and I still have nightmares,” he tells her. “It’s not ridiculous, CJ. Believe me.”

She sighs. “I just… they went away for a while. I thought I was doing better, I thought I was over my grief, and then this last week… well, let’s just say my nap this afternoon as the only time this week I woke up from something other than a nightmare.”

“Well, it was two years to the day a few days ago when we got shot at,” Josh says. “Because I haven’t slept much this week either.”

CJ takes a look at him, his tired eyes and the vulnerability present on his face that so few get to see. She feels privileged to see it. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” she admits, “but I’m sure that doesn’t help.”

“It’ll get better again,” Josh says. “You’ll notice that you’ve gone weeks, even months, without something. The grief never quite goes away, but the fear does.”

“Okay,” she replies, her voice choked up a little. If it were anyone else saying this to her, she’d probably be annoyed, but she knows that Josh speaks from experience and is telling the truth. “So you and I, it’s going to be a sleepless night for the two of us?”

He smiles at her and leans further back against the log. “Claudia Jean, are you propositioning me?”

“Only if you want it,” she teases.

—

Donna doesn’t end up needing the alarm she set on her watch because her internal clock is set to absurdly early mornings anyway. It’s mostly still dark when she gets up, but as she emerges from the cabin, she can see that there’s still a fire going, and that CJ and Josh are in front of it, seating against a log. CJ’s head is resting on Josh’s shoulder. If Donna didn’t know the completely platonic nature of their relationship, she would have been jealous, and even though she knows Josh and CJ see each other as siblings, she still has to bite back a bit of jealousy as she approaches them.

“Hey,” she says, “you two slept out here?”

Josh blinks and looks up at her. “I guess we did sleep,” he says. “I didn’t think we’d manage.”

CJ smiles. “Who knew your shoulder made such a nice pillow?”

He tries to push himself up from the ground and winces. “Well, this log did not,” he says. “Is it really time to get started already?”

“Our sunrise hike awaits,” Donna says, with a look on her face that’s somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Who’s going to have to wake up Toby and Sam?”

“I say we wake up Sam, and then make him wake up Toby,” Josh says. “I didn’t bring my full-body armor with me.”

—

As it turns out, the sunrise hike is an eight-mile loop, with east-facing lookout about two miles into the trek. Toby, already furious about being woken up, is absolutely fuming at the fact that there are six more miles to go after the sunrise stop. “What kind of a man makes you go on a hike at five in the morning, and then extends It so you’re going to be on this trail all day?”

“I’m finding I don’t hate hiking as much as I thought I did,” Josh says. “But I’m sleep-deprived, so don’t hold that against me.”

“Josh, if you used sleep deprivation as an excuse every time, we’d never be able to call you out for anything you’ve ever said,” CJ points out.

Sam sighs. He’s looking much better now that he’s not covered in blackberry juice, but his arm and leg and the side of his face are still very scratched up. “I just want to take a shower.”

“Ten more hours until they’ll take us home,” Donna says. She doesn’t even have to look at the schedule anymore; her memory is freakishly good sometimes.

They reach a clearing near the top of one of the mountains that has some large rocks and a few benches. They’re above most of the other elevations around them, so they have a clear view of the sun beginning to peek out over the hills before them.

“We never see sunrises or sunsets,” Donna notes. “I think it’s usually dark when I get to the White House and dark when I leave.”

CJ lets out a laugh and perches on a rock. “That’s when we actually manage to leave.”

Donna reaches into her backpack and hands out granola bars. “Breakfast, anyone?”

“Any coffee?” Josh asks.

“There’s a pot to boil water back at camp and a thing of instant coffee,” Donna says.

He groans. “So none here?”

“You should really try to become a less caffeinated life form.”

“Tried that for three months. Worst three months of my life.”

“Just because of the coffee?”

Josh grabs a granola bar from her and takes a seat on one of the benches. “Because of the gunshot wound, but you know, the lack of coffee didn’t help.”

“Will you just shut up and enjoy the sunrise?” CJ asks. “Because I’m not going to see one for another four years.”

Josh clears his throat after a bite of the granola bar. “You really believe that? We’ve got another four years left in us?”

“The President’s in fighting mode. He won’t back down,” CJ says. “And we’re not going to let him, are we?”

Sam smiles. “Absolutely not.”

Through a bite of his granola bar, Toby mumbles, “Careful about tempting fate.”

“We’re not tempting fate,” CJ says, “but we’re renewing our fight. We’ve been so bogged down in reelection struggles that it feels like we’ve lost sight of what we’re fighting for. But you know what Richie wants to do for places like this?”

“Tear them down,” Toby mutters.

“But Jed Bartlet wants to build them up. Build more of them. Let people come to appreciate the outdoors, to see the sunrise, to protect the natural treasures of this country. If we never get to see the sunrise, we should make sure it’s because we’re working long and hard to ensure that other people have that chance here, and at places like this.” Her voice is beginning to get excited. “And that’s only one of the many reasons we’re fighting to show the voters our vision of America. The one that protects the treasures we have, and seeks to provide the best for our citizens. That’s why we’re fighting from before sunrise to after sunset. So what do we say? Four more years?”

Josh grins and holds up the remaining half of his granola bar in a sort of toast. “Four more years!” he shouts out over the mountains.

There’s a chorus of exclamations that no one but them will ever hear, but as the sun rises, there’s a bit of weariness lifted off of each of them. The last four years have been interminably long and difficult, but they are all instilled with a sense of new energy for what they do.

“So that’s what you’re like on sleep deprivation?” Josh teases CJ, as they leave the clearing and set out on the next part of their hike.

“See why that excuse will never work?”

“Fine, but I still stand by the fact that I said a lot of things on heavy drugs that I didn’t mean.”

“Such as being an outdoorsman?” Donna pipes up.

“See, after this weekend, I think I stand by that one.”

——

The Secret Service takes them all back to the White House, rather than to their apartments, and they’re all directed to the Oval Office, where President Bartlet sits behind the desk expectantly.

“You all made it back in one piece!” he says with delight. “I was sure a bear was going to eat one of you; my money was on Toby.” He takes in Sam’s scratched up face. “Except for you, Sam. What happened there?”

“I fought a blackberry bush, and the bush won,” Sam mumbles.

“You did all the hikes?” the President asks.

Toby grimaces. “Donna forced us to.”

“I knew she’d keep you on track,” he says, and Donna beams in response. “And the speech?”

“Needs revision and typing up, but it’s quite good, if I do say so myself,” Sam says, although Toby shoots him a glare, clearly not as pleased with the quality of writing.

“Excellent, excellent. And you two,” the President says, looking at Josh and CJ, “how did you find it?”

CJ smiles. “Quite enlightening, sir. I’m instilled with a new sense of energy. That said, I’d like to go home and get some sleep.” Josh nods in agreement.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the President says. “But senior staff tomorrow, I’m going to have to hear more. God, I can’t wait to open this new national park.”

They all file out of the Oval Office, but Josh hangs back behind the others and grabs Donna’s arm. “Do you have a ride home?”

“I was going to take the metro,” Donna says. “My car’s on the fritz again.”

He shakes his head. “No, don’t. Not will all that stuff. I’ll give you a ride.”

Donna’s about to protest, especially since he definitely seems too tired to be driving, but she considers it and nods in agreement. At least she can make sure he doesn’t fall asleep at the wheel.

“I’m glad you were there,” he says. “I don’t know if I would have made it through this weekend without you.”

She blushes at the compliment. “I’m sure you would have been fine. After all, you proved that you are, in fact, an outdoorsman.”

“Still,” he says, with a surprising amount of sincerity, “the outdoors is so much more fun with you there.”

#donnaamoss #asks #the west wing #josh lyman #donna moss #josh x donna #sort of?#it’s mostly senior staff + donna friendship fic #but it’s 6k words of it lol #this is maybe a weird direction to go with this prompt but i just wanted to write the senior staff camping okay #i really did this instead of working on my final projects go figure

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doc-pickles · 4 years

Text

the storm & the wind

Brooke is running and Alex happens to meet her along her journey. Their brief encounter might just change everything for her.

hey hi hello I am DOUBLE POSTING for some god damn reason. (i updated treacherous on AO3 for the the first time in 20 years) this was in my drafts and I felt the sudden overwhelming need to finish it today. I love this piece more than I can say and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy so I hope y’all enjoy it.

also the title comes from this quote from Little Women: You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.

The snow crunching beneath her feet soaks into her worn Converse, a chilling reminder that she should’ve thought to grab something warmer. She makes a mental note to throw her now soaked socks over the heating vent later as she walks into the diner. It’s an old rundown place, but the gust of warm air that brushes over her face as she enters is a more than welcome feeling. Sitting at the counter she knows she should order something to eat but she can’t bring herself to ask for more than a cup of coffee when an aging waitress comes by and asks, her fingers greedily clutching the mug as she takes a sip.

“You’re not really dressed for the weather.”

The voice startles her, her grip around the cup tightening as she turns to her left. The owner of the voice can’t be much older than her, his chiseled jawline dotted with stubble and his dark hair cropped close to his head. He looks grumpy, an expression more at home on someone twice his age but the glint in his eyes keeps his youthful appearance.

“Your shoes are practically soaked through and you have a sweater on in 13-degree weather,” the stranger continues to share his thoughts, his comment prompting her to pull her cardigan tighter around herself. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here Blondie.”

The observation reminds her that the thick braid hanging over her shoulder is a bright bleach blonde instead of her natural brunette coloring. She’d hastily dyed it in a rest stop somewhere in Ohio, desperate to wash away any traces of him that she could.

“I’m from New Jersey. Well… Kind of. I’m originally from Pennsylvania.”

The words slip from her mouth before she can second-guess them. Normally she would worry about giving any identifying information out, the fear of him being able to find her consuming her mind. But she knows now that she’s far from New Jersey and the life she left behind.

“You’re from the East Coast and you didn’t pack a winter coat?”

“I forgot… I was in a rush.”

That part isn’t a total lie, she had been in a rush when she left. She had shoved as much as she could into her suitcase while he had been working, not wanting to face his anger at her sudden departure. Now though she wishes she had put more thought into what she grabbed, she’d been freezing since she left.

“Here, you look like a wet dog shivering like that,” the man slips his thick red flannel off, holding the garment out to her with an expectant look. “Cmon, I don't have fleas or anything.”

She takes the proffered jacket, only because she’s shaking just as much as he says she is. The heavy material settles on her shoulders instantly warming her. The man looks at her for a moment before turning back to his coffee, speaking as he stares at the dark liquid, “If you're from Jersey what the hell are you doing out here? Middle of nowhere Iowa isn’t exactly a tourist destination.”

“I’m starting over, running away from… something. At least I think I am. I’m not quite sure,” she toys with the sleeves of his jacket, finally looking back up at him after a moment with an accusing tone. “Why do you care anyways? Are you just trying to make sure I don’t have any concerned family members that will come looking for me after you kidnap and murder me?”

There’s a momentary pause before a peel of laughter erupts from the man, a glint taking over his dark eyes as he speaks, “Jesus, you’re really paranoid or something, huh?”

“Or something,” the words are barely a whisper, but they’re loud enough for him to hear and stop his laughter. She looks up and meets his eyes, noticing how he looks her over as if trying to figure out exactly what she’s thinking.

“I’m not trying to kill you, just trying to make conversation,” as if to prove his point he holds his hand out towards her. “I’m Alex.”

She hesitates only for a moment before settling her hand into his much larger one.

“I’m Brooke.”

The conversation seems easier after that, Alex talking about bringing his younger brother home after he had visited him in Seattle and Brooke talking about how she just finished her pre med degree at Princeton. They actually had a lot in common, an almost comforting feeling for her since Paul had isolated her from all her friends.

Paul.

She didn’t dare bring up her abusive husband or the horrors he had dragged her through. No, today she’s not poor defenseless Brooke Stadler whose husband can’t control his temper. Today she’s just Brooke, recent college grad who’s eating breakfast with Alex, the cute doctor with a charming smile.

“So why’d you say you’re starting over,” Alex finally broaches the subject as they both finish their meals. “I mean you just finished pre-med, that means you’re starting med school in the fall right? What are you running from? ”

Brooke shrugs, eyes falling to her now empty plate and she avoids Alex's piercing stare, “I’m supposed to start at Princeton med but now I’m not so sure. A lot has happened lately… It's complicated.”

Alex‘s hand reaches out for her arm, the move causing her to jump slightly. An embarrassed blush paints itself on her cheeks as Alex searches her eyes, almost as if he knows what she’s thinking about. He seems to brush the thought off quickly though as he continues to prod at her.

“Well… Did you get in anywhere else? It’s not too late to change your mind,” Alex shrugged as if sensing Brooke’s discomfort with the situation. “I was supposed to do my residency at the hospital down the street before I switched to Seattle at the last minute. Best thing I probably could’ve done for myself.”

“Well… I got into Harvard too. But I’m not sure,” there’s hesitation lacing her voice when she knows there shouldn’t be. Her mind is swirling, thinking about the fact that she could always go back to him. “I don’t know, I was thinking about going back home.”

Alex scoffs, the small noise causing Brooke to stare at him intensely, “You're not going back home, that’s a load of crap.”

“What makes you so sure about that? You don’t know anything about me.”

There’s a pause as Alex takes a sip of his coffee, a deliberate distraction as he attempts to string together the right words, “Well that black eye isn’t hidden as well as you think it is. And you jumped about a mile in the air when I first started talking to you. So I’m assuming you’re not running from something but someone. Did I get it right?”

Brooke’s fingers froze around her mug, eyes watering as she stared blankly at the dark liquid swirling inside. She pushes down the uncomfortable lump forming in her throat, trying to convince her nerves that Alex was just observant and not a threat.

“My husband… he has a temper,” eyes still focused on the coffee instead of Alex, Brooke found it marginally easier to talk about the real reason she was sitting in a diner in Iowa. “I just knew, the last time he… I just knew if he did it again he would kill me. So when he went to work I grabbed as much as I could and I got in my car and I drove. I don’t think I stopped for almost five hours, not really knowing where I was going. I just knew I had to keep going, that I couldn’t live like that any longer.”

The sounds of the diner around them are all Brooke can hear as her truth settles in the air, Alex taking in everything she’d ungraciously word vomited out. When he finally does speak again, there’s no tell tale tone of pity in his voice that she’d been anticipating.

“My dad was the same way, but my mom never had it in her to run. She was pretty messed up herself,” Brooke looks up at the stranger next to her as a small chuckle breaks through his serious tone. “She wouldn’t run so I had to raise my siblings, I had to make sure we all stayed alive. So I get it, why you’re running. And for what it’s worth, I think you should keep running.”

Swiping at the tears that had collected under her eyelashes Brooke thought about Alex’s words, “He's gonna find me, I know he will.”

“Screw him,” Alex scoffs, taking a swig of his coffee before continuing. “Go to Harvard, change your name, live your life. I promise you, you’ll regret it if you turn around and go back. You have a chance, a real chance, to change your life. Don’t let that slip away.”

There’s a beat of silence as Alex’s encouragement settles deep within Brooke’s chest. The man was a stranger in every sense of the word but somehow his whole hearted belief in her encouraged her to keep moving forward.

“Think of it this way, you get to start a brand new life, no strings attached,” Alex continues. “You can pick something cool! Something that means something. Like… One of those sisters from the book where their dad is away at war?”

“Little Women?”

“Yeah that one,” Brooke laughs at Alex’s statement, causing him to roll his eyes. “Oh shut up, my sister was obsessed with it and made me read it like a hundred times. But all those sisters were badasses, you could use one of those names. Like Amy or Beth. Well no she dies… How about Jo! You definitely look like a Jo to me.”

Brooke’s nose scrunches up at the names, causing both of them to laugh as Alex comes up with ridiculous suggestions. A flood of relief washes over Brooke as the two continue to talk. It had been a long time since she’d let her guard down around someone and just been herself.

A while later she excuses herself to the bathroom, a flash of disappointment striking her when she comes back to an empty seat. Her bill that had been sitting on the counter was paid, the receipt turned over and messy scrawl covering the back.

‘Keep running.’

So she does, Brooke keeps running and running and running and she doesn’t stop. In fact, when the running doesn’t feel like enough anymore she takes up actual running to calm her mind.

She runs every morning, at least two miles to clear her head and to keep herself sane. The days she misses her run are filled with overwhelming thoughts and anxiety that courses through her veins so quickly that it feels like a river crashing over her nervous system. She changes her name, cuts her hair, goes to Harvard and graduates top of her class. Every movement, every breath feels like she’s just moving towards the end of a never ending trail. But she keeps going, she keeps running because it’s all she can do.

When she gets accepted into Seattle Grace, one of the best hospitals in the country that puts thousands of miles between her and her past, it finally feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief is on the horizon. So she leaves Boston, leaves the east coast and everything familiar and finally feels like she might be able to stop running.

Seattle is different, it’s new and unexpected and perfect. It’s the first place where her name feels like it’s truly hers even though she’d lived with it now for almost seven years. Her first morning in her new apartment she goes for a run and finds herself looking over the Seattle harbor with a wide smile on her face. She’s a doctor now, something she’s worked towards her whole life it seems, but now it seems so real.

And then she gets put onto a Peds rotation and her heart seems to stop beating in her chest. Because her attending, Doctor Karev, is someone who’s appeared in her mind almost everyday since the first time she met him. His face, albeit a bit younger, is the one that appears when she thinks she can’t go on any longer.

“You mind?”

Alex’s voice brings her back from her daze, the same one that echoes her footfalls as she chases an adrenaline high every morning. She shakes her head in a futile attempt to clear it, “Sorry.”

“Why are you following me,” there’s an annoyed tone to his voice as she mimics his brisk pace down the hallway. She’d heard horror stories about him, about how rude and mean he was but she never would've guessed it was him.

“I'm your intern for the day.”

“Oh. Well, hello, intern,” Alex side eyes her, not really taking her in. “You have a name?”

“Jo. Jo Wilson,” it’s probably the fiftieth time she's said her name out loud since coming to Seattle but this time it feels different.

There’s a pause and Alex turns to take her in once more, as if he had missed something the first time he’d looked. She almost thinks he’ll say something, but he just shrugs and returns to tying his trauma gown, “Oh, nice. I like chicks with boys' names.”

The moment that she thought was there was gone and she stared at her shoelaces as Alex and Doctor Torres prattled on about something. She figures she should be grateful that he didn’t recognize her, that the seven years and the constant self improvement she’d put into herself had paid off. Still, her heart sunk as she realized that the man that had pushed her to keep running, to change her life, didn’t remember her.

Their story isn’t easy, in fact it’s one of the hardest things she’s ever been through. But there’s not a single ounce of hesitation or regret in her body when she wakes up every morning next to him. She’s always up before him, solely so she can get her run in before he wakes. By the time she comes back and showers, his eyes are sleepily staring up at her and his arms are reaching out for her like she’d been gone longer than a quick jog.

Alex is the person she’d needed, the one who pushed her to be better and made her feel like she didn’t need to change anything about herself. But the need to run, to keep running still hammered in her chest right under her heartbeat. She figured it would always sit there, the constant anxiety that her past might catch up with her if she stopped running.

When Paul shows up, all she wants is Alex. Before Seattle she would've run, would’ve been gone before anyone could blink to miss her. But now she wants nothing more than to curl up in Alex’s arms and never leave. She knows there’s more that needs to be done though, knows there’s more to the fight and that she needs to keep running this last little bit.

It’s not until she sees her ex husband laying in a hospital bed brain dead that Jo finally feels like she can breathe again, like she can stop fighting and just be. The breath of relief that washes over her as Alex runs his hand down her back feels like a thousand pound weight being lifted off her shoulders.

“I was pregnant.”

There’s a pause and she can feel Alex tense next to her, his hand on her back slowing as his eyes bore into her. She wishes she could stop but the words have been dying to slip out for the past six years that she’s been with him.

“The day we met, I was pregnant,” she turns to look at him, tears shining in her eyes. He doesn’t look shocked, not as shocked as he would’ve been if he didn’t know too. “I almost turned around and went back to him and raised a baby with him but I didn’t. The only reason I didn’t was because of this cocky asshole I met in a shitty diner who convinced me to start over. You’re the reason I kept running, the reason I didn’t go back. Whenever I doubted myself I heard your voice, the voice of a complete stranger mind you, in the back of my head telling me to keep running. You... you’re the reason I’m alive.”

Alex keeps his gaze on her for a minute, not daring to look away as they both realize that the other has known. Through the years of their relationship, since their second meeting in the very halls of this hospital they’ve both known exactly who the other is.

“You did all of that by yourself, you just needed a little push,” Alex brings her close again, his lips brushing against her forehead as she folds herself into his side. She’s crying full on now, her chest shaking as she finally lets herself stop running and lets the pent up emotions of the past few days wash over her. “I knew you could do it, I’m glad you did.”

Her tears don’t stop for a few days as she comes to terms with the fact that there’s no longer a need for her to run. In fact a few days later as she’s on her morning jog she stops and takes the deepest breath she feels she’s ever taken. As she leans on her knees she takes in the feeling of air freely flowing through her lungs, the exhilaration coursing through her body akin to what she thinks completing a marathon must feel like. Her eyes scan the Seattle harbor, taking in the sunrise as she breathes heavily and lets the day settle in around her. She'd run her race, she’d run it longer and faster and better than she’d thought she was capable of and finally, finally, she had finished.

#jolex fanfic #jolex #Alex Karev #Jo wilson #Jo Karev #grey’s anatomy #grey’s anatomy fanfic #Jo x Alex #jolex fic #nina writes

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steve0discusses · 4 years

Text

Yugioh Ep 35 S4: Raphael Joins the Pile of Dead Bodies

Ah 2020, thankfully we have one trashfire somewhat behind us, but I’m still avoiding social media for so many obvious reasons because of all the other trashfires that just never seem to stop burning, so lets talk about Yugioh with all of this newfound time.

Ah, card games. Card games that go on for 6-7 episodes. Lets see how they pad it out:

In a lot of ways, Roland really is just padding for the show, and that’s OK. He’s doing his best, by doing literally nothing but stand outside and check the time.

Inside the dusty soul chamber, Tristan has decided to do us the favor of recapping what happened last episode, which included the return of our four dead friends, so that they could die...again.

Seto’s reaction to seeing these dead people suddenly alive again was very “guys...I went nuts like years ago, I’m just going with it at this point.” and he’s still 100% positive that this is all a hologram and that no one will ever die.

Whatever it takes for Seto to get out of bed in the morning, I guess.

(read more under the cut)

One of the big mechanics the game is that you need to stay level headed, or the Orichalcos just kind of slurps you up. This explains a little why Dartz is so freakin chill basically all of the time, just the Bob Ross of evil over there. It also is sort of funny because Pharaoh and Seto are the least chill people to have ever lived so he’s just kind of waiting it out to see whom between Seto and Kaiba gets the most angry first and completely botches it.

Yugi has to do literally nothing and for the first time in his life this is the right choice.

I’m so glad he gets to use his big brain move of “If I don’t play, no one dies!” from S1. Glad it came back to serve him for once instead of just make everyone else really annoyed.

Yugi just...not moving means it’s now Seto’s turn to put down some cards, and he kinda looks over at Pegasus and goes...well you know what’s gonna happen next.

I have no idea why he didn’t attack Pegasus. Like this episode is kind of weird because we got these flashbacks of Pegasus being like “you’re my only hope, Yugi!” and it’s like wtf, Pegasus trapped you on a murder island and tried to kill you multiple times. He abducted Mokuba and turned both the Kaiba brothers into cards.

yo did Seto and Pegasus get back together in between seasons or something? Was there a whole character development where these two have fun brunches in San Fransisco now? Because I would watch that anime. I would watch the anime where Seto and Pegasus are co-hosting Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, and just destroying every unsuspecting local restaurant they brunch in.

But are we just assuming that the eyeball did all that evil stuff from S1 and that otherwise Pegasus is a good person? Because like...he was a mess before he got possessed. He’s kind of a Yugi, he’s kind of a Bakura, he’s kind of a Marik...in that there’s a mess in that bean, and getting possesed just only amplified what was already there.

So, with his smug as hell grin, Seto surprises Dartz by only barely getting affected by this inescapable moral dilemma and Seto just very quickly deciding to do a murder. And then we get a little blimp throwback to S2 (S3? I don’t even remember at this point, since we’ve been stuck in S4 for an entire year. Thanks 2020.)

If blocking the shot when Marik did it in S3 or S2 or whenever that was, didn’t get Mai to like Joey, then it shouldn’t work if you do it a second time.

But hey, I guess it’s better than letting her perma-die. Although this show desperately needs to figure out how to use Mai if they’re gonna keep her around, youknow?

Like all ships are fine and valid here, ship whatever you want to your hearts content: I don’t ship at all, as you know, but I hope one day they give Mai a personality that is consistently likeable. I do want to like her because she’s like...good at what she does when she plays cards and can be that can be a fun “hey I’m a girl but I’m not a freakin ‘gamer girl’ you male chauvinist assholes” type of character. But, the show just...the show doesn’t know what they want outside of a little romantic tension that they legally can’t follow through because of a 5-6 year age gap with a teenager.

This show actively tries to destroy this ship, and then turns around and is like “oh shoot this ship is all we have.” This show tries to lift up Mai as a feminist icon one season, and then tears her down for being “too” feminist the next season when she decides to--youknow--kill Joey Wheeler because he made her feel weak or something when he saved her life.

Like the show does a lot to explore weakness and strength, and how what we see as weakness is actually strength, and how what we tend to attribute as strengths is actually weakness, and how our modern career/school/success expectations set us up for failure, but I think they explored that way better with Seto than they ever did with Mai.

Could’ve been cool Mai, you could’ve been cool.

Anyhoo, that was my spicy commentary on a 10+ year old anime, good to get it off my chest.

Seto and Yami have the typical problem they have whenever they play cards together, where one goes completely rogue. Except this time, the one going rogue isn’t Seto, it’s Yami. He’s just like...I’ll make life for Seto very difficult and I will lose this game and I don’t even mind because I’m already dead, deal with it.

So honestly this is an episode where it’s just Seto demanding we kill a bastard, and Yami being like “but not THAT bastard” and Seto just shrugging and saying “I have to kill A bastard, Yugi! Just CHOOSE one!”

That actual line in the show (I forget what it was exactly) does infer that Seto thinks Joey holds him back, and that implication speaks miles about Seto’s insecurities.

HOW THOUGH..........what are you jealous of, Seto?

You’re better at cards than he is, he’s never beat you at anything. It’s not about who’s best friends with Yugi because...Yugi’s possessed so Yami is always going to take first place...

......so what could it possibly BE?

Seto doesn’t attend school anymore, is it about that? Is it because Joey is likeable? Is it because Joey pretends he has a much older girlfriend? I mean hypothetically, Blue Eyes White Dragon is WAY older than Mai so...that can’t be it.

.....what IS it???

Does the “friendship” he have with Joey make Seto too soft? Is that what’s holding him back? Because Seto doesn’t actually think he’s friends with these people and says that Yugi and co are “Mokuba’s friends” so like....

.....what are you talking about, Seto???

Is it because you’re addicted to cards again? Because that’s...sort of Joey’s fault because he was the one who told you he needed a ride to Jacksonville, and then let slip that the “King of Games” title was up for grabs, is that it?

Are you just tired of Joey asking you for a ride?

Not like it matters, because Joey survives, and Seto gets to feel like a complete asshole about it.

As Raphael (who is this purple blur here) motorcycles into the dome of souls, Rolands last words were

“You can’t go in there!”

which was the weirdest thing to say to a guy you just saw fall down a 50 story building a few hours ago. Raphael not being dead should be the thing Roland fixates on, but instead he’s seen so many people die and come back to life, that he’s only concerned that Raphael will get in trouble for trespassing.

Again, Roland is the only Kaiba that hasn’t died yet, and it’s because he’s the only Kaiba that hasn’t broken the law.

Dude. What if the reason Roland is standing outside is because he’s been politely looking for the doorbell to be let in?

...the players asking for death...like clockwork...and me asking for the end of this freakin game...we played...1 turn this episode...

This episode was 1 turn!

And you may ask...well what else could possibly happen to stretch this out and well...

Raphael dives in on a motorcycle to save the day. Which is an aesthetic, by the way, this huge man covered in like a dozen belts, doing a wheelie jump into a chasm of 1 million souls. that’s an aesthetic.

So he shows up, gets off his bike and I was like “Oh good, someone to maybe save Yugi saving Joey saving Mai?” And instead, I was...not given that.

Mostly Raphael is here because he ALSO wants to kill Dartz, and is like “can I join? I know you’ve only played like 1 round, just deal me a new hand, it’ll be fine.” and it’s like...we already played the Orichalcos Raphael, this is not a game of Uno, you cannot just jump in.

Dartz is sort of obsessed with how everyone around him has potential for evil except for him, the chillest human to ever be born, and I gotta say...when he’s in this room...Dartz has a point.

+++++++++++++RANT ABOUT BEING PERFECT FEEL FREE TO SKIP++++++++++++++

It is sort of nice to have the concept of an older generation (in this case 10,000 years older) fighting with a younger generation. To have the older, more typically wiser generation say “Listen, I kinda screwed the planet and the war economy and the prison system...and I’m gonna keep doing that...and you can’t stop me because you’re a bunch of hypocritical dumbasses.” and then the younger generation say. “We don’t care if we’re a mess, dude. We aren’t the problem here.”

I may be putting some recent topical STUFF into this mold here, but it is a nice little analogy that they made even someone who is such a human disaster as Yami and Seto “morally good” enough to fight Dartz. You don’t have to be a perfect Harvard Grad to fight the system, you don’t have to be an entirely problematic-free savior, you can be even as problematic as Seto Kaiba--just get rid of the dumb assholes trying to destroy the world. That’s all.

Like this concept is strangely prescient because in 2020 we’re in a weird time period where if you aren’t perfect, you’re not allowed to have opinions. You’re not allowed to make content. You’re not allowed to make change. This is mostly an online problem in places like twitter, but it’s a real problem--because in the end what you’re left with is no one that wants to step up to the plate because they know that they, too, are flawed.

And like not even just as a political thing, even as a creator, as an artist, I see this problem more and more with kids. Kids who are like “I am afraid to draw because what if I do it wrong and I get dragged on twitter years later?” or “I want to make a story, but I’m afraid to get cancelled because my fantasy story has problematic stuff in it? Am a bad person for wanting to write it?” And it’s like...what are we doing to young creators right now? Did we all fail humanities? How have we failed art and literature SO badly that we’ve come to this point that people are too afraid to even learn how to do it right?

Anyway that was a tangent, but like...you see the similarities, right? That if you really were as perfect as Dartz either politically or creatively, you’d be a freakin monster and would probably just tear down everyone else around you on twitter rather than lift other people up. It’s a stretch but eh, it’s been a while since I went on a good Yugioh tangent and like

---it’s not like I can say this on twitter---

+++++++++++++++END OF THAT RANT+++++++++++++++++++

So it’s at this point that Dartz turns to Raphael is like “I mean...we weren’t really doing anything else, and Yugi and Yami are playing so slowly...I guess I have time to bust your nuts” and decides to bust his nuts.

Oh hey, I was right.

And yeah, that’s still effed up. Dartz killed his Raphael’s family, left him on an island, and then adopted him later after forcing him to dig up their graves. Like...Raphael, that’s effed up.

He also did the same thing to everyone else (and for Valon he just kinda glazed over that really fast because we had to edit his backstory out of the English version)

PS at this part Mokuba started sweating bullets and Tea leaned over and was like “Is this true, Mokuba?”

And Mokuba was like “...yes.”

Because, I don’t think Mokuba can keep any secret from Tea. Like for reals, Tea may be the most dangerous thing to all of KaibaCorp if she wasn’t so distracted by Yami’s endless string of problems. Mokuba is constantly telling them all of Seto’s deepest darkest secrets and there is like nothing Seto can do about it.

The animation of Gozaburo turning into a beautiful Dartz was just a simple fade to white, but man--imagine if they had dome some crazy effed up animation where Gozaburo just whips back his head and he has ass length blue hair and long, luscious lashes?

Imagine.

Anyway, this was enough for Raphael, who was already our most gullible and unstable person on this show, to just flip that switch and go lime green like all those other minibosses before him.

Really glad we built up Raphael for him to just die at the door hahaha.

That was so freakin random.

OK then. Thanks for nothing, Raphael.

I guess we go to the next episode to see if we finally play another turn? We can hope for good things. But if we don’t play a full turn I will NOT be surprised.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

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parvuls · 4 years

Text

fic: in the space between (2/2)

word count: 6.6k

rating: teen

tags: space, science fiction, enemies to friends to lovers, pre-relationship

notes: due to length and tumblr's formatting, reading on ao3 is recommended

(part 1 | part 2 | read on ao3)

“Just a month till we’re home, boys,” Holster announces as he climbs into the bottom bunk across from Eric, addressing the dark room at large. Eric can hear him shift around in his bed, sheets rustling with his movements. “Can I get a hallelujah?”

“You can get pizza,” Ransom replies dreamily from the top bunk above him. “Because Holtzy -- The Real fucking Pep God. You and me, Matty Matheson pepperoni. One month.”

There’s one month left until landing back in Houston and disbanding for three weeks of leave. It’s been creeping up in conversations for weeks now, nestling itself in crew breakfasts and mission briefs and downtime. Shitty waxes poetry about things like dipping his toes into the ocean and breathing that sweet Terra air as often as he talks about smoking three joints at once the moment they set foot on the ground. Holster and Ransom talk about the heaps of food they’ll be shoveling to compensate for a year of outer space cuisine. Jack doesn’t talk about much other than the missions, and Eric thinks about organic chemistry and molecular modeling on good days, thinks about crying on bad ones. He talks about almost anything else to distract himself and hopes to Jesus that no one can tell.

The picture frame on the shelf by his bunk wobbles on its back stand as the ship tips into Krer orbit for the night. Krer itself is dim and murky, obscuring the shining lights of its neighboring planets and cloaking the crew quarters’ portal window in darkness. Jack said that the last mission of this tour should be coming in from Flight Director Hall sometime during the night.

Eric sighs quietly, turns onto his side, and stares blindly at the blank white of the wall as he mentally runs through the primary structure of proteins once more. Holster and Ransom are arguing about the best Toronto pizza in the background, the sound of their voices weaving in with the beeps of the ship’s machinery and the creaking noises of it when in motion.

“You gotta come too, Bittle,” Holster says, drawing Eric’s attention. He rolls his head to the other side, watches Holster’s blurred figure move in the dark to lean over the edge of his bunk. Eric must’ve missed a change of conversation. “Getting together over leave? We spend the last day before launch together, all of us. Y’know, hitting some bar, maybe watching a game, then catching the plane to Texas in the morning. Last time we went to Shitty’s -- man, that was fucking wild sauce.”

“And you gotta meet Lardo,” Ransom adds. “Crew bylaws. Sorry, rookie, everyone’s in.”

There are ten densely-printed pages about prokaryotes crumpled in the back of Eric’s personal locker, that he’s riffled through maybe twice. Eric chews his lip raw, tries to think of a carefully-masqueraded way of brushing the invitation off, but Holster grumbles lowly before he can. “Well, not everyone.”

“Right,” Ransom says, his enthusiastic tone turning slightly hesitant. “But. Us and Shitty and Lardo and probably her trainee Ford. It’s almost everyone.”

It’s almost everyone, plus ground team. “But not Jack,” Eric concludes, unintentionally dismayed. He should know better by now than to be disappointed, probably. He should, but doesn’t.

Holster sighs and throws himself back onto the mattress, bed springs groaning loudly. “Jack doesn’t really do social things. He’s too cool for them. Which -- whatever, man, who cares, it’s probably more fun for us that way. So you in?”

What Eric’s in for is a world of trouble. Eric’s in for the sweltering heat of the Texan desert, he’s in for submerging in textbooks all the way up to his ears, he’s in for never being quite enough for this world. He turns his head back to the other side, facing the wall, and stifles a sigh.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and knows that he will, also knows he’d never be able to say yes. He doesn’t leave them enough time to round up on him before he adds, “Now shut your pieholes, gentlemen, some people need their beauty sleep. And by some people I do mean y’all.”

“Really, he means you,” Ransom tells Holster, and there’s the distinct sound of Holster reaching up and whacking the top bunk with a pillow. Eric buries his face in his sheets and tries to think distracting thoughts loudly enough to drown out the constant screeching noise of his worries. That, at least, is something he’s an expert at.

Eric wishes he could say that he spent his entire life looking up to the stars. That would be a lie.

He spent most of his childhood looking at the ground, instead. At the toe picks beneath his feet; at the dough rising in the oven; at the floor of his school’s hallways, trying to avoid eye contact. The sky in Georgia was ordinarily clear, stars blinking in and out of view, but they’d never held much of Eric’s interest. He wouldn’t have known what to search for even if he’d tried.

Eric, aged eighteen, went to college mostly for the going and less for college. New England was as much an escape as it was a destination. He liked some of his classes, didn’t like others -- remained undeclared for most of junior year, bouncing around between classes about food and culture. He put off doing his work for too long and preferred baking to writing essays too often, but it was fine, most of the time. His days were filled with more people than papers and he found that it was exactly the way he liked it.

College was the point Eric realized that, once he’d stopped being too afraid to try, he was really good with people.

“You could charm mountains into moving for you,” his sophomore year roommate told him, not without a hint of exasperation, when Eric fretted about meeting his first boyfriend’s parents. “Literally everybody likes you.”

And Eric laughed nervously, said, “Come on now, that is certainly not true,” because he couldn’t charm thirteen year old bullies out of forcing him across the state, couldn’t make small-town Georgia like him for who he really was. Those seemed a lot like immovable mountains to him.

But people flocked to his vlog, kept telling him he was so charismatic, and his hockey team kept turning to him for advice with their problems, and in November of junior year he reviewed his credits, expecting to see every food class his college had to offer, but found Populism and Norms and Deviance and Inequality and Social Change, instead.

He got his B.A. Got his master’s, too, not particularly fond of academia but not too keen on leaving the shelter it provided, either. He accepted an offer to work as a consultant for a big company right after grad school, spent a year expertly tailoring trade relations and marketing techniques to partners and customers from foreign cultures. He understood people, liked people, and people, apparently, liked him. It wasn’t the job of his dreams but it was a decent start, and once the one year mark came and went he began considering PR work, maybe putting his people skills to a smaller-scale use. He was twenty-five and definitely not unhappy and his eyes were, always, firmly on the ground.

And then -- well. Then, one day, NASA called.

Jack gathers the four of them outside the flight deck to inform them that their crew has been tasked with the last Human-Islik Intergalactic Treaty info exchange of the quarter, in time for the summit meeting at the end of August. He tells them Flight Director Hall is counting on them, tells them to wear clean suits, and when Holster and Ransom begin chanting last mission, last mission, last mission, he sternly reminds them that being assigned to the Treaty IE is an honor. Still, when they all scatter and the two of them practically skip down the bridge, Eric thinks he sees the corners of Jack’s mouth twitch.

The mission takes four days, requires a series of security checks before entering each room and short transmissions to Houston for green lights at every step. Islikaru has the largest concentration of humans outside of Earth, but protocol must be followed nevertheless. Eric shakes hands, shakes paws, shakes tentacles, makes pleasant small talk and smiles brightly and lets Ransom ramble about science and Jack deal with bureaucracy. It feels at last like a familiar dance, and Eric tries not to think about how much he doesn’t ever want to stop dancing.

By dusk of the fourth day Shitty convinces Jack to wrap it up at a local eatery, the crew crowded around a small table in a pressurized O2 pod with their helmets thrown on the seats by their thighs. Eric finds himself squeezed between Jack on one side and Shitty on the other, a cool syrupy drink emitting translucent wisps of steam in his hand. Holster orders for all of them in rusty Isli that may or may not actually result in food, but they’re all just too jubilant to care.

“Alright boys,” Shitty hollers, banging his coaster on the table several times for effect. The glass containers holding all of their drinks jiggle with its force, creating a cheerful ringing sound. “A toast to this fucking beaut of a year. Being stuck in a cramped metal case floating in nothing for three hundred sixty-five days has been a great pleasure with your rockin’ bods for company. Fucking cheers!”

Ransom whoops, Shitty pretends to wipe a tear, Holster belts out the chorus of Cheers’ theme song passionately. Eric watches them, helplessly indulgent, and thinks: he’s actually making a home here.

On his other side, Jack shoves one of the food baskets towards Eric with his knuckles and says, “You should try the octo-bacon, if you haven’t.” His eyes meet Eric’s for a brief moment, make Eric’s lungs expand in his chest. He can’t remember the last time Jack spoke to him for no good reason.

Jack’s face is uniquely relaxed, his jaw convulsing as he fruitlessly tries not to laugh at something Shitty says, and Eric’s former thought continues, completely unbidden: gracious, I’m going to miss these boys so much. Their bickering and their worst habits and their dumbest moments. Holster’s booming voice, Ransom’s midnight thesis writing, Shitty’s insistence on nudity, Jack’s continual ability to confuse him.

“Holy shit, man,” Ransom says, slamming his emptied drink onto the table and staring at its last drops in awe. “What the fuck is this shit. I need another one ASAP.”

“Not it!” Holster calls, and then stretches his arm across the table, fingertip of his index finger pointed mere inches from Jack’s face. “But I just know our commander would love to buy his best crew another round. Right, Zimmermann?”

“You’re my only crew, Birkholtz,” Jack rolls his eyes, mostly good-natured. Holster’s wiggling finger and Shitty’s foot kicking at his shin beneath the table must goad him into action anyway, because he puts his helmet back on, disappears out of the pod and towards the service counter without further protest.

While Eric watches him go, Shitty slides closer in the booth and flings his arm around Eric, tugs him right into the crook of Shitty’s body.

“This is it, Bittle,” he sighs, eyes closing dramatically. “Once this tour ends, you will no longer hold the title of rookie. Finally, you will graduate to the same titles everybody else gets -- mainly bro, or fucker, or, if I’m spectacularly schwasted, yo, what’syourname. This is a monumental day for all. You might even get a nickname. Are you appropriately emotional?”

Eric is emotional about many things. He can't stop thinking about this crew and what they've come to mean to him, can't stop hating keeping secrets, can't stop dreading the moment they cross back into Earth. Eric is emotional about the possibility of seeing his mama again, and what it'll mean if he does; Eric is emotional about life in general, right now, so he says, “Sure thing, Shitty,” and shoves a ring of octo-bacon into his mouth. It seems, for lack of a better option, like the smartest response.

From above Ransom’s head, Eric spots Jack reappearing just beyond the glassy walls of the pod, carrying a tray with four containers between both hands. He then keeps watching, helpless and open-mouthed, as another astronaut rises from a nearby booth and slams into Jack shoulder-first, tipping the entire tray sideways and nearly knocking its contents over and to the floor.

“Oh shit, sorry mate!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching out to catch Jack’s hands and help stable the tray. His Australian accent is thick, the ASA pin decorating the shoulder that knocked into Jack glinting under artificial lights. The two of them grab the tray with three hands, containers sliding back into place still intact, before the man’s eyes flick up and catch on Jack’s face. He then jerks back, his eyes widening and his hands yanked away from Jack like he’s afraid to catch on fire. “Fuck, Zimmermann! I didn’t see it was you! Fuck my life, uh -- here, I’ll pay for the drinks --”

Eric watches, crestfallen, as Jack’s previously relaxed expression gradually darkens back into his usual scowl, lips disappearing between his teeth. “It’s fine, don’t --”

The other astronaut shakes his head vehemently, shoving his gloved hand into his utility pocket and fishing out some local coins that he then throws onto the tray haphazardly.

“Fuck no, mate, I’m not taking risks with you,” he hurries backwards, flat palms raised up, like he’s under some kind of threat Eric can’t read in Jack’s distressed body language. “For real, it was an accident, don’t get your dad to kick me off the program, yeah?”

The man backs off, scurrying back to his pod and to his whispering crewmates. Jack remains standing, shoulders rigid and tray held in clenched white knuckles, vacant stare fixed on the floor. Eric glances away from Jack for the first time since he saw him approach and notices that his whole table is silent and tense. He catches Shitty’s furrowed eyebrows and Ransom’s worried look, and becomes slowly conscious of the fact that unlike him, everybody else already know what just went on in front of them.

Jack’s mood seems to fracture, then. He steps through the pod’s sliding sealing and sets the tray down on the table too forcibly, glass containers knocking together. He doesn’t sit back down. Shitty parts his mouth to say something, but Jack latches his helmet closed before he can, muttering, “I’m done for tonight. I’ll see you guys back on the ship.”

His face is almost blank, valiantly trying for imperviousness, but Eric has never seen him look so decidedly miserable before. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab Jack’s wrist; he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what just happened, but he does know that Jack shouldn’t leave like that. He manages to stammer out, “...Jack --” before Jack tears his hand away from Eric’s grip with the same excessive aggression that rattled the drinks, and says curtly, “Excuse me.”

Eric stares at his back stalking off until he's entirely out of view, feels unjustly hurt and primarily very confused.

Jack Zimmermann is --

Jack Zimmermann is one of NASA’s Arctic Project’s best pilots and ship commanders, Eric learned his first year in the program. He’s exceptionally committed to his job, loyal to his crew, unwaveringly focused on the mission. He’s direct, sometimes brutally so. He’s good at following orders, makes tough decisions under pressure, and never takes the opportunity to rub elbows with the higher ups. He just loves what he does, and does it notably well.

The name and the legend is a lot to live up to, but when Eric met Jack he realized that the man is exactly as he’s advertised. Jack, in the role of Jack Zimmermann, is straightforwardly that: an amazing astronaut, an amazing ship commander, an amazing pilot.

It’s unfortunate, then, that Jack in the role of a human being is sometimes an enormous asshole.

The ship’s lights are all off when the boys straggle themselves back on board later in the evening, their boots dragging sluggishly against gravity. When Jack left, the celebratory mood followed his footsteps out the door; no one seemed the least bit inclined to talk about it, so Eric didn’t ask. Though the four of them did their best to recover, cracking halfhearted jokes and staying for another couple of rounds, even Shitty’s mustache seems to droop lower than normal by the time they finally find their way back to the ship.

Shitty passes airlock and walks straight towards the pilots’ quarters without saying a thing, so Eric wordlessly follows Holster and Ransom into their own quarters, brow still creased with puzzlement. He watches as Holster starts stripping by the door and Ransom sits down on the bottom bunk to take off his gear, and waits, and waits, until the silence is just too strange to handle.

“Alright, can anyone tell me what in the deep-fried hell was that?”

Holster glowers, rips off his support strap with gusto. He doesn’t answer, so Eric turns his frown at Ransom, who sighs as he removes the tough overshoe off his boots. “Ignore him, Bittle. Jack just gets real bitchy when people mention his dad. Which happens pretty often because, you now, his dad.”

“His dad…?” Eric prompts, desperate, because it seems like he should know something that he doesn’t. It’s not in the least a foreign feeling these days, when concerning space and science and always, always Jack.

Ransom looks up at him, one boot dangling from his left hand. “Yeah, you know, his dad. It’s a lot of pressure, living up to that. It’s probably most of why Jack is how Jack is.”

Eric doesn’t believe daddy issues are any excuse to be so surly, and he thinks, rather bitterly, that he would know something about the matter. But he pushes, still, because it’s always one step forward and three steps back with Jack, and any scrap of information making his commander seem a little more human could go a long way right now. Or even not human; Lord knows Eric can figure out nonhums just fine. “What does he have to live up to?”

Holster pauses peeling off the suit’s hard upper torso to squint incredulously at Eric. The lower torso assembly of the suit pools around his thighs. “You don’t know who Mad Bob is?”

“Uh,” Eric deflates, taking a tentative step back, the crown of his head hitting the frame of the top bunk. The tone of conversation begins to sound a lot like the time he disclosed that he doesn’t really know the periodic table or has, at any point of time, known it at all. “No. I don’t.”

Ransom throws his other boot to the side and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and face contorting into an expression that closely mirrors Holster’s; surprised, scandalized, disbelieving. “He’s like -- Mad Bob. He was the first commander in the original Avalanche Project. He was the first pilot to leave the Solar System and come back alive?”

“They say he was the first to meet extraterrestrial life!” Holster gestures grandly with his hand, yanking off the EV glove to have free use of the other hand as well.

“That’s actually not true,” Ransom clarifies, “No nonhum races were recorded until almost a decade later --”

“Not the point, dude,” Holster waves him off. “The point is, Mad Bob is a legend. His ship nearly burned on the way back to Earth and he totally saved everyone on board. Made the first round trip, you know? He’s a big fucking deal. Can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.”

Eric blanches, digs his nails into his skin to hold his instinctual reaction at bay. Eric spent the first twenty-five years of his life with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his eyes never straying upwards. Later, Eric spent every moment of his time at Houston scrambling to prove his worth in an environment so wholly alien to him that the irony in the metaphor was no longer funny. Eric wouldn’t be able to tell Neil Armstrong from Adam, just like Eric can never really remember the difference between Newton’s and Einstein's theories, doesn't know the primary structure of proteins even now. Eric doesn’t belong here, and he’s quickly running out of time to pretend like he does.

“Oh,” he says finally, weakly. Holster and Ransom haven’t looked away from him yet, so he averts his eyes, turns to face his bunk. “Must’ve just missed it somehow.”

He can almost hear Holster and Ransom hem and haw for a few long, silent moments, before the sound of nylon rustling resumes. Eric takes a deep breath, and does his very best not to regret ever asking. It’s made worse by the fact that this hasn't really helped him understand Jack any better than before.

So Jack had spent most of Eric’s first few months on the ship treating Eric like an inconvenience. That was okay -- it hadn’t been the first time he’d been perceived like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. He hadn’t been a fresh-faced teenager from the South in a long while; he’d been older, tougher. He’d been places and had met people, nicer people and smarter people and even meaner people than Jack Zimmermann. He hadn’t really needed a pat on the shoulder or an encouraging smile, just the opportunity to do his job, and do it well.

The real problem was that Eric had always been good at his job because he understood people. And Eric, despite his best begrudging efforts, cannot make sense of Jack.

Jack, who clearly had not understood Eric’s job at all until, suddenly and out of nowhere, there was Evor. Jack who, after Evor, told Eric good work and sounded like maybe he even meant it. Jack who, after Evor, was sat by Eric when Lardo radioed to tell them that Jack’s report had made the deputy administrator call to congratulate Eric specifically.

Jack who, also after Evor, stopped meeting Eric’s eyes unless absolutely necessary. Jack, who Eric sometimes caught staring from the corner of his eye, looking lost in thoughts. Jack, who roughhoused with Shitty in the flight deck, and arranged Holster a private DSN connection for his mom’s birthday, and listened to Charlie Rich on late night piloting shifts -- but whose glimpses of personality disappeared the moment Eric tried to study them for too long.

Missions transformed into something different in the aftermath of Evor. A month after the crew’s return to action they were sent to do testing on the magnetic field of Pladora, and Jack put Eric in charge of communication with the local scientists without preambles. Eric choked, floundered, but grabbed the opportunity with both hands; he still couldn’t shake the weight of Jack’s gaze on his shoulders whenever he spoke with the Pladoran team.

Later, Jack pulled him aside and asked, “Are you capable of confidently explaining to me the exact kind of testing we’re doing here?”, stared at Eric until he was fidgeting uncomfortably in place. “It’s important that you can do that,” he added, like Eric didn’t already know, like Eric didn’t think about it every night before he fell asleep, like he needed Jack’s eyes on him for that, making the nape of his neck burn and his palms tingle with sweat. But Jack frowned at him, then, took a step back, like he didn’t understand why Eric was flushed with embarrassment. It almost seemed for a moment like he wasn’t actively gunning for humiliation.

And then it happened again. Two weeks after that they were helping ESA fix a satellite on a German space station, and Jack left Eric to discuss mission parameters unattended, but also ordered him to watch Shitty install a new GPS chip for three hours. During the strategy session for a recon mission in the Austra System, Jack insisted on hearing Eric’s opinion, but also accosted him after it to demand that Eric read about the complication with the wavelength disturbance. In a charged encounter with destitute merchants from a dead galaxy, Jack remained two steps behind Eric’s right shoulder and let him conciliate them, but when Eric later babbled about the civil turmoil caused by the demise of the galaxy, Jack asserted that he should understand the astrophysical process leading to such death.

So Eric generously thought: maybe Jack was trying, poorly. But three months after Evor the two of them returned to the ship frazzled and peeved, had spent most of the day wrangling with diplomats on Uzeru, and Eric scrubbed a hand over his face, resolved to try one more time. He offered Jack a friendly, tired smile, and said, “Wanna share bad coffee in the kitchen to drown our sorrows?”, but Jack only shook his head once, sharply, before immediately walking away.

The inability to make any sense of it consumes Eric's thoughts for much longer than he's comfortable with. Jack pushes and then pulls, hovers over Eric professionally but disappears the moment it’s interpersonal. A week before they're off for leave Eric looks up from his plate to see Jack taking his dinner into the flight deck, ignoring Shitty’s offer to join him, and thinks that maybe he can never peek past Jack's mask because Jack makes sure to turn away whenever it comes off. He thinks that maybe this is what loneliness looks like, thinks that he should still know better than to care, thinks for the first time that maybe Jack’s silent treatment is nothing more than not knowing what to say to Eric after Evor. Thinks that maybe Jack’s inept solution to not knowing what to say is to just say nothing at all.

The impact crater chipping Vylos’ surface is visible from two-hundred thousand miles out. It’s the nearest planet to the jumping point back to Earth, and its crater serves as a parking lot for all ships on their way to or from there. Its chaotic layout strongly reminds Eric of the QuikTrip station just north of Atlanta, but he bites his tongue and keeps that to himself. Jack and Shitty have probably never seen a QuikTrip, anyway.

Jack grumbles about finding a parking space on the night before leave, body curved over the control wheel and eyes squinted at the windowpane. Shitty leaves him to it, drapes his legs sideways on his armrest to tell Eric about the long claws of capitalism stretching into the cosmos, and how this has resulted in Vylosian beer being the best there is this side of the Milky Way, “Even though it’s like, totally not a real beer, dude, but -- marketing ploy!”, and how its atmosphere was chemically engineered, “To be breathable for all us Earthly suckers passing by ‘cause of the jump point. Filthy fucking marketing plot, I tell ya -- and the beer costs like my goddamn kidney.”

“Your goddamn kidney’s not worth much with the amount of Vylosian beer you regularly consume,” Jack interjects, lowering the ship into a vacant spot skillfully. Vylos’ terrain, reflected at Eric from the three surrounding windows in the flight deck, is grainy and blue.

The Vylosian bar Shitty buoyantly pushes them into is decorated in mismatched memorabilia, posters of Uma Thurman and Justin Bieber and a life-size stormtrooper suit personally signed by George Lucas looming by the wall. The AI pouring the drinks is a hologram in the shape of a Western saloon bartender, the beer is thick and neon green. Eric’s been outside the Kármán line for nearly a year and feels caught by surprise, still, almost daily; but tonight he gets to wear denim shorts instead of nylon spacesuits, gets to clink his glass against Ransom’s, gets to pretend that tomorrow isn’t possibly the end of it all. It has to be enough, he thinks, and takes a determined drink.

Their group starts out leaning against the wooden countertop, skin sticking to its surface. Later, Holster and Ransom chat their way into the table of two local girls, and Jack disappears from view. Eventually, their group winds up scattered across different corners of the bar, red-faced and loose. Eric catches himself repeatedly looking up from the bottom of his glass to the open door, at the pale glint of the sky just outside it, and after a thorough sweep around he takes his drink, gets up, and starts walking.

The bar overlooks the vast expanses of the crater sprawling beneath it, and Eric finds himself sitting outside at the edge of the cliff, thighs bare over the rough azure dirt and beer glass tilting in his hand. Vylos’ three moons are out of sync, rising and peaking and setting in a simultaneous cycle, and Eric is busy watching them when he hears heavy footsteps coming up behind him.

He’s surprised to find Jack standing there, suspended in motion with his hands deep in his pockets and his hair windswept, figure backlit by the lights of the bar twinkling behind him. He seems just as startled to see Eric; his expression wavers out of its usual stoic façade to betray some semblance of emoting.

“Oh, Bittle, I -- I thought you’re inside with the boys,” Jack blinks, a hint of a frown wrinkling his forehead.

“No,” Eric blinks in turn, unsettled by this strange creature wearing the face of his commander. He looks so different in jeans and an AsCans training program t-shirt, out of the bulky spacesuits they spend most days in. “Uh -- no. I’m not.”

“Right.” Jack nods stiffly, glances at the ground and then at a spot somewhere over Eric’s shoulder. His body language is guarded, and he looks misplaced, painfully awkward. They still haven’t exchanged more than two or three sentences in private since Evor and Eric, typically the chatterbox, wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Well, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll go.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Eric says, before he can think too carefully about why the heck he’d say such a thing. Before he can recall the snapshot memory of Jack turning to eat dinner in the flight deck, alone. “I mean. I’m just sitting here. Drinking alien beer,” he raises his glass, the bright green liquid sloshing around, leaving traces of neon on its rim. The ridiculousness of the situation may be slightly lost on Jack, but not on him. Space still is, and probably always will be, kind of weird.

“Right,” Jack repeats, the line of his back tightening and his eyes narrowing at Eric. “Be careful with that. Don’t want you to throw up during descent tomorrow.”

Dear Lord. One step forward and three steps back. “Yes, Commander,” Eric sighs, swallowing the chagrin out of his voice. His shoulders sag as his body curls towards the view, away from Jack. God forbid Jack Zimmermann think about anything other than the mission for a single flippin' moment. Eric should know better than to be disappointed, but the sour churn of his stomach is unmistakable. Eric should, but doesn’t.

The footsteps behind him pick up again, and he expects to hear Jack walking farther and farther away. Instead, he’s shocked into silence by Jack sliding into his peripheral view, sitting down beside him on the cliff. His shoulders are rigid, his mouth pressed thin. His expression looks like he’s as bewildered as Eric by his own actions.

“Are you excited to go back?” Jack asks after a long, uncomfortable minute, during which they both sit mutely and watch the pits of Vylos before them. Its second moon has finished a full rotation and is now shining down in soft lilac beams. Jack’s voice is tense, flat; this boy, Eric thinks almost pityingly, really is terrible at small talk.

He’s been asked this question a dozen times that month, but mustering his practiced fake enthusiasm now seems hard. Maybe it’s the alien alcohol; maybe it’s that Jack could regress into not speaking to him again at any moment. “I guess so. Home sweet home, ‘m I right?”

Jack shrugs one shoulder, a short and angular movement. “It doesn't feel like going home to me,” he says, honest and plain. “I spend most of my time out here. It’s more like -- a summer vacation. Some people go to the Caribbean and we go visit Earth.”

Eric nods, absently, unsure of how to respond. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long swig of it, tastes green all the way to the back of his throat. It’s almost impossible to imagine that in twenty-four hours he could be drinking locally-produced white wine in the Washington Corridor. Earth feels so darn far away.

“What’ll you do on your vacation, then?” Eric asks after another long stretch of silence, mostly out of politeness that his mother persistently lectured into him over years.

Jack’s attention is fixed on the moons, his profile sculpted by the sharp lines of his nose and cheekbones and chin. His eyes are so pale under the lilac moon -- big, slanted, annoyingly beautiful. He remains quiet for a moment, leans his weight on his palms and considers Eric’s question. His gaze is still flickering over the view when he says, finally, “I usually go see my parents. Read. Buy groceries.”

Eric snorts inelegantly. If he didn’t know any better, didn’t know Jack any better, that could almost be mistaken for a joke. “Buy groceries?”

“Yes,” Jack says, perfectly serious. His eyes flit over to meet Eric’s, and Eric holds them for only a moment before quickly looking away. His cheeks grow inexplicably warm. “I don’t really miss anything when I’m up here -- I mean, not really -- but I guess sometimes it’s nice to remember people. Stupid human stuff, eh? Supermarkets. Banks. I always think I'd catch a movie in the theatre but somehow I never do.”

He appears to be uncomfortable with his admission, face closing off once the words are out of his mouth. The sharp lines of his features twist back into a familiar scowl, but Eric watches them, him, thoroughly transfixed. The authentic snippet of personality cannot disappear under the reapplied mask this time; Jack has put something truthful on the table, a hint of something charmingly sentimental. A mundane humanity space can't recreate, newspapers and laundromats and coffee stands and taxes. Grocery shopping. Eric doesn’t know if the fast, erratic beating in his chest is at the sweet tinge of it, or the mere thought of Jack paying attention to such things.

“You should,” Eric finally finds his words somewhere in his strangled windpipe, slowly facing forward. Jack, and his continual ability to confuse. He can see Jack from the corner of his eye, turning his head to subtly raise both eyebrows at Eric. “Go to the movies. You should do it this time.”

“Yeah. Maybe I will,” Jack says after a long pause. “I'll tell you how it went when we’re back here.”

“If I come back,” Eric sighs before he can catch himself, and then freezes, fingers clenching around his glass. Dang it. Dang it all to hell.

“What?” Jack asks, confused, and when Eric refuses to meet his eyes, shoulders squaring and chin dropping to his chest, Jack’s voice sharpens and he repeats, “What? What do you mean? Bittle. What do you mean.”

Eric exhales unsteadily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his free hand. He thought he'd have more time. He thought -- like he always does, and is always wrong -- that he’d successfully outrun his problems by denying their existence. He could try shoving those four incriminating words back into his mouth, but Eric can feel Jack’s intense attention focused on the side of his face. Once Jack stepped back into the professional boots of Commander Zimmermann, no denial will make him let this go.

“I’m spending all of my leave in Texas. I gotta pass evaluation for the clearance to come back here with y’all. These past six months were my test run -- I’ve never passed the written exam.” Eric drags his shoe through the sandy ground, watches as the grooves he makes are swept away. “Y’all know I’m no good at the sciency stuff, Jack, alright. I don't need to hear it from you as well. If I don't get an adequate score I'm off the program for good.”

Eric chews the inside of his cheek and chances a side glance. Jack looks outraged, his thick brows drawn down and his entire face devoid of color. Eric’s immediate reflex is to flinch away, but Jack speaks before he can make a move. “What subjects?”

“What?” Eric asks, thrown completely off-balance. He was expecting a thundering reprimand at worst, an indifferent dismissal at best. He doesn’t know what the quiet, heated response he's gotten even is.

"What subjects are they testing you on?”

Eric hesitates, body still braced for the blow that isn't coming. “Uh. All of the introductory subjects. Basic physics, geobiology... mostly modern astronomy. But I swear --”

“Alright,” Jack cuts him off with a single sharp nod, his chin sticking out slightly, like Eric has somehow pushed him to make up his mind. His expression, typically impassive, is now staggeringly transparent. “I’ll help you study for the written exam.”

“What?" Eric blinks several times, glances down to see if he's had more to drink than he thought, but the glass is still half-full and Jack's figure is still corporeal by his side, intense expression still in place. He doesn't fade away like the hallucination Eric is so sure he must be. "Jack -- what --?”

Jack doesn't seem to pick up on the astonishment that has Eric stumbling over his words. “We’ve got two and a half weeks, right? You need entry level stuff to pass that exam. If we study hard, you can do it.”

Eric thinks he might be gaping, his mouth hanging open and growing dry in the arid air, but he apparently isn't capable of collecting his jaw off of Vylos’ ground. “But… what… but you’ll be in Canada…?”

“I’ll stay in Huston,” Jack looks determined. “Bittle, we're a team. You should’ve told us before and we would’ve helped you. You’re a strong crew member, you’re smart, you’ve got an edge that none of us has got. If that’s the only thing holding you back we’re going to get you over it. Study clinic, day and night.” He pauses, the self-assurances faltering for only a moment, and the lines of his mouth soften somewhat. “Just trust me, okay?”

Eric is absolutely floored. The only foolish thing that manages to leave his mouth is, “What about going to the movies?”

Jack almost smiles. Eric has spied that expression on rare occasions before, but never directed at him, and never from up close. It does something to Jack's face that Eric can't put in words. “I’ll catch one on the next leave. Which you’ll be taking as well, ‘cause you’re not leaving the program. We've got each other's backs, Bittle.”

Under the moonlight, purple shadows carving his face from marble and a mellow half-smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards, Eric could almost let himself admit how handsome Jack is. Jack rubs the dirt off of one palm and slowly curls his fingers, holds them up in a silent offer. Eric can see the thin veins beneath the surface of his skin. He looks at the hand, looks up at Jack, and lets a tentative smile blossom on his face. He brings his clenched hand up to meet Jack’s, and bumps his fist.

#zimbits #omgcp #omgcheckplease #zimbits fic #it is the space fic! they are in space!#i cleaned up the first chapter if anyone wants to reread or catch up #check please!#jack x bitty #pavfics #okay great this is a series now. i'm SORRY

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traincat · 4 years

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What’s Peter’s natal chart look like?

An astrology ask! Fun! So the problem with doing a full natal chart for any long running comics character is, as with so many things, the sliding timescale. Even if we had a concrete everyone-agrees-upon canon birthday for Peter (which I don’t believe we do) his birth year would still slide as time went by and that would affect his chart. For Peter to have been a teenager in the early ‘60s like he was during his inception, he would’ve been born in the late ‘40s. However, we know Peter isn’t currently a 70-year-old man; he’s ~30. That would currently put his birth year in the late ‘80s, but it’ll move before long and soon Peter will be a ‘90s baby instead of a baby boomer. The outer planets are slow movers -- some of them can stay in the same sign for entire generations. One thing I think would be interesting to do, although it’s not what I’m gonna do today, would be to run a natal chart for the same comic book character through every decade of their publication history and to look at how the placement of the stars at the beginning of that decade corresponds to the shifts in their characterization or the events of their lives during that decade’s publication. So for example, to contrast the decade of Peter’s inception, the ‘60s, against his most commonly thought of “strongest decade”, the ‘80s, with what I believe is currently his weakest period of characterization to date, right now.

There’s obviously then multiple ways to do a full natal chart for a character with this situation -- you can pick the birth year that suits your purposes best, whether it’s the year that character would have been born at their inception or the birth year that lines up with what their current age would be. I’m doing neither of those things -- my personal preferred way to do a full natal chart for a comic book character is to treat the date of their first published appearance as their birthday. This is, after all, the day they came out into the world, the first day anyone but their creator could meet them. That’s a birth, baby. So that makes Peter Parker’s “birthday” July 31, 1962. The cover date of Amazing Fantasy #15 is August, so I guess we could also go with August 1st, 1962, or August 10th, which I’ve also seen as the release date for Amazing Fantasy #15. I’m not gonna go down a google well trying to find the exact date and I think Peter feels like a July baby, so that’s what I’m doing. If someone knows better they can run their own. Now unfortunately for a completely accurate natal chart, we also need a birth time and a birth place as well as a birth date. You’re basically never going to get a birth time for a comic book character unless you find some canon detail where they go “and then I was born at exactly 7:37 PM” in some comic, but that’s okay -- a lot of people don’t know their exact time of birth either. We can still run charts for them. The formula I’ve been taught is to use 12 PM if the time is unknown, but the closer you can get for a real person, the better. You want the time of day, if not the hour, and if you can get the minute that’s the best. We’re gonna use 12 PM for Peter because he’s fictional, though. As for birth place, Peter’s lucky -- we’re going to use New York, New York both as the place of his creation, where Stan Lee and Steve Ditko came up with him, and as his most likely in-universe place of birth. So that gives us Peter appearing in the world at 12 PM on July 31st, 1962, in New York, New York. I usually use ASTROLABE to run full charts because they’re free and I like their formatting. Let’s go.

Here’s the breakdown we get from running that information: Peter would be Leo -- that’s his sun sign, which is what people mean when they refer to “their” sign -- with Libra rising and his moon also in Leo. This works for me -- I think Peter is without one single doubt a fire sign, and Leos are big flashy showoffs, which, look at that red and blue costume. Look at how he initially wanted to go into show biz. Look at how he’s remained in the spotlight of pop culture for decades. He’s a scene stealer, an attention grabber, the big ol’ MGM lion. A Libra rising would also make sense -- Peter’s got real charm and charisma, and Libras are famously charming. (And also good looking.) Your rising sign is how you’re perceived by others -- what they think when they look at you. Astrolabe describes this placement as “very attractive and popular, your charm helps you to get your own way and prevents others from getting angry with you” which like, does explain how the fuck Peter has friends. But with both moon and sun in Leo, that’s a very strong influence on him. (I’m a triple Scorpio, sun, moon, and rising, for example, which means when you look at me you think Scorpio and when I look inside myself I feel Scorpio and what am I actually? A fucking Scorpio.) Leo is a fixed sign -- there are three sign categories, and they are fixed, mutable, and cardinal. Fixed signs have a tendency to be stubborn and set in their ways, literally fixed, which -- everything about Peter.

Moving past the Big Three into the other planets, this lands us with a Peter with Mercury in Leo, Venus in Virgo, Mars in Gemini. These are all interesting; to simplify it, Mercury is how you think, Venus is how you love, and Mars is how you fight. So he’s also thinking like a Leo -- he’s got a big ego. He’s very “me me me” in his thought processes. Which, we know this is true for the character. He’s convinced he’s right and that his way is the best way. He’s stubborn and proud, and he doesn’t like being personally challenged on an intellectual level -- look at his interactions with Paul Stacy when he was in grad school. Astrolabe says Mercury in Leo “delights in being asked for your advice and counsel.” Peter is very much the person in his friend group that others go to for help and advice, so I would say this is true. I wouldn’t have necessarily put his Venus in Virgo myself -- Virgo is a hyper-critical sign, good at finding flaws, and Venus is how you love. However, the first line of Astrolabe’s description is I think an extremely good fit for how Peter loves: “You express your love and affection through selfless service to people or causes.” That’s love as devotion, and if you view Spider-Man as a love story not just between Peter and his romances but Peter and his city, that’s what he does. It’s selfless love and that’s what Spider-Man represents at his best. He’s always trying to fix, and he has a sense of service. Mars in Gemini is perfect. Gemini TALKS. It’s a sign commonly characterized by being hyper verbal, and Spider-Man is perhaps best known for his quips during fights. He’s got one vicious tongue. I’m personally very attached to the idea that Peter’s Mars is in Gemini, and it’s where I always tend to place it in my own estimations, even if I run a chart with a different date that places it elsewhere. My Mars is in Gemini and I know my own asshole argumentative tendencies when I see them in the wild. Astrolabe goes on to say, “You love to debate and argue, usually in a spirit of friendly disagreement. But watch out that you do not get too overly aggressive or antagonistic or others will be quick to take offense where none may have really been intended. You need to be in constant physical motion -- sports or daily exercise is a must for you if you are to feel fit and healthy.” I think this is all pretty spot on; we know that for Peter being Spider-Man isn’t only about the crimefighting -- he loves the physicality of it, which is a pretty good reflection of this sentiment.

Jupiter in Pisces: “You are at your best when you give of yourself and what you have -- try to avoid being a martyr about it, though. You're a true idealist, but you must learn not to be upset when life does not cooperate with the way you think things should be.” Again, that’s pretty accurate. Now though as we move through the outer planets we’re going to hit things that are generational instead of strictly personal. I think they still make for interesting character dissection, but everyone who was born around this time is going to have these things in their chart because the outer planets have much slower rotations. Saturn in Aquarius, Uranus in Leo, Neptune in Scorpio, Pluto in Virgo. One thing that’s interesting here is he’s pretty balanced in terms of the elements -- lot of fire, but also some earth, water, and air. The air influence is BIG, too, with his Rising, Mars, and Saturn, which makes sense -- Peter’s a literal aerialist.

Now if we wanted to go really in depth -- and I’m not going to because this is already long -- we would look at his chart on the whole, the placements of the planets within houses, conjunctions within planets, whether anything was retrograde, and then factor that into how we view his chart as a whole. But even just looking over the basics, I think this is a pretty good reflection and summation of who Peter Parker is as a person in his own universe and as a popular figure in the pop culture landscape.

#peter parker #spiderman #marvel comics #traincat talks comics #astrology #*replies

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vivisgn · 4 years

Text

hi hello, it’s me! your local loser! (´,,•ω•,,)♡ my name is kitty, 22, gmt+4, and this is my loser child vivi! we are ready to plot, my dudes! but like. slowly because i’m v slow at getting to stuff lmao (i’ll get to messages by tomorrow hopefully, but thank you for the very warm welcome! ♡) okay so i’ll be listing out some (note: a lot) info and plots below! like this post if you’d like me to approach you to plot! i also have a discord for easier communication uwu

okay first up! here’s some basic info:

her real name is feifei but nobody calls her that. she doesn’t acknowledge that name at all lol she only goes by vivi

born and raised in amsterdam, the netherlands, but her family moved to china when she was 10. her family owns a multinational investment bank and financial services company, which happens to be the fourth largest bank in the world so you know her family’s loaded af. however, she’s not close at all with her parents and was mostly raised by her aunt who is a principal dancer in the netherlands.

she has a brother (a possible open connection? tho i’m also fine with him staying as an npc) who was heavily favoured by her parents due to him displaying the qualities needed to take over their company in the future, and vivi was kinda just yeeted? yote? to her aunt’s lmaooo

lied to her parents and said that she’ll be studying university in the netherlands, but went to korea instead without telling them which later on led to her mom finding out and visiting her during the last few days of her senior year. she was disowned at that night and disappeared the next day so that’s the tea here if you were curious haha

homeschooled all her life and never had many friends so she was awkward af when she first entered uni, but eventually became miss congeniality

okay enough about background stuff! vivi is little miss sunshine who tends to be an overachiever. always on top of her studies and part of so many clubs and sports teams (though she did drop a couple of them in the beginning of her first year as a grad student) but she will always find time to be a friend to everyone and help out when she can! need tutoring on some subjects? you’re out of town and you missed the last bus back to campus? just need a friend who will listen to your woes and worries? she’s finding a way to fit you into her busy schedule. she’s got you.

very girly, but also sporty af! as mentioned, she’s part of a lot of active sports and clubs, and also knows how to skateboard. also a major health buff so you’d see her at the gym pretty often and running laps around the quad at 6 am.

ever since she came back for graduate school, she’s been a bit different. maybe casual friends wouldn’t notice, but her cheerfulness came off a bit forced and she would space out more often. she also started partying a lot and drinking and overall hanging out with some people who aren’t the best influence on her. also got a couple of tattoos and piercings but nobody’s seen them yet.

flies to the netherlands during breaks between semesters. she’s a bit of a celebrity there (mostly because of her aunt) and does some modeling every now and then, but people in korea don’t know about that side of her.

people don’t know anything about her family. they also don’t know about her getting disowned because she’s not the type to open up to anyone.

that’s all i can think of right now, but if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to hmu!

now for some plots and connections:

her penpal! she had a penpal when she was younger, either while she was still based in the netherlands or when she moved to beijing. they kept correspondence for many years and they are the reason why vivi chose to study in south korea.

a best friend or the person who’s been the closest to her throughout their school life. maybe they understand that vivi’s going through something right now and is just supporting her, or their relationship might be strained because she refuses to tell them anything about what happened and why she just disappeared all of a sudden.

an accidental confidante! a person that she spilled everything to when she had a little too much to drink one time and it just got. a lil emotional. and messy. vivi doesn’t remember that she told them them anything, so it’s up to your muse if they’ll tell her about what they know or if they’ll tell other people.

someone who’s in the know. they know about their family and her situation because their families run around the same social circle. were they the one that snitched on vivi, and that’s how her parents found out that she was in korea? or they an observer, or perhaps a friend that she could talk to when there’s simply too much to bottle up?

a road trip buddy, perhaps? she tends to go on out of town drives during weekends when she’s free, sometimes to go hiking or camping, other times just to sight see. she usually does these things alone, but she doesn’t mind someone coming along occasionally. they’ll get to ride on her aston martin one-77 and she might give them the aux cord if she likes their music taste lol

and a workout buddy, too! someone she can work out with or accompany her during her early morning runs

people that she tutors! anything related to business/physics/languages, she’s your girl.

the wrong crowd. the bad influences in her life that introduced a couple of new vices to her, always bringing her to parties, etc.

a one night stand that she had during a particularly bad night when she just wanted to feel something - anything. regretted it as soon as it was done and ended up avoiding them the entire year - unless...?

the confused lmao it would have been around her freshman year or so and she ended up accidentally speaking dutch to them and the person ended up thinking that she only spoke that language. could have lasted for days or weeks because vivi is a Fool™ who would not have known how to make it clear to them that hey,,, she actually spoke korean too ahaha but ye it took a while before she came clean and they still have a good laugh about it to this day

okay that’s all for now! i know this is a lot haha but this is what i have while i work on her complete background and plots page. feel free to message me if you see a plot that you’re interested in or if she somehow fits one of the plots/connections you need for your muse(s)! for now i sleep bc i have an early day tomorrow, but i’ll get to these + the messages soon uwu thank u for reading and take care! ♡

#♡┆ intro #♡┆ ooc #did i... proofread? no i did not. i'm sorry i'm sleep #but it's been great so far and everyone's so welcoming! thank u i hope ur all well ♡

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saywhatjessie · 4 years

Photo

Aromatic Adjectives Need Not Apply

Castiel was an Alpha, despite what everyone always guessed upon meeting him. He was tall, and he had the stern and imposing profile, but, to most people, those Alpha traits were where it ended. He had a lithe, runner’s frame, with trim waist and thick thighs. “Child-bearing hips” he’d been told. Though, obviously, no children would be born of him. This scuffling man, though. He was… round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men.

Or Castiel is an Alpha that doesn’t believe in true mates but sniffs one out anyway. 4.3k [Ao3]

Art by @castielangeldelaguarda

Castiel immediately knew two things upon walking out of the campus library.

The first was that there was some underclassman roughhousing taking place down on the lawn. These ‘fights’ were one of the more distasteful things this university had to offer. They were unfortunately common and even encouraged: a way for up-and-coming Alphas to exercise some of their aggression and for Betas and even Omegas to test themselves against the (Castiel always rolled his eyes) dominant gender. To Castiel, it always seemed like a school sanctioned excuse for bullying but he was just a grad student; there wasn’t much he could do.

The second thing he knew was that his true mate was somewhere in the nearby scuffle.

Castiel, as a rule, didn’t believe in true mates. That he was biologically programmed to mate with one person, a specific person he didn’t even get to pick, for the rest of his earthly life was a concept he simply couldn’t entertain. It wasn’t something he was ever going to bother himself over so it wasn’t even worth the mental brain space of belief.

But his true mate was there, whether Castiel believed it or not.

He could smell it in the air. There was no comparable smell, no aromatic adjective that could define it. It smelled like green, but not like plants. It smelled like light but not like fire. It smelled like… righteousness. But that was too pretentious for Castiel to even process.

He followed it with haste, but not as urgently as someone who thought their true mate might be having their face beaten in. He was in too much shock at the existence of a true mate to think about anything else.

It was a small scuffle, at least, which made the selection of who Castiel might be smelling fortunately narrow. Three guys, two of whom were clearly big Alphas preying on the third.

Castiel sighed a bit, his steps speeding up only to spare this third guy more pain. Because it looked like the third guy was going to be Castiel’s true mate.

This scuffling man, though. He was... round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men.

Castiel cleared his throat, the deepness of his voice startling the three men on the ground, as it usually did. People usually expected Castiel’s voice to be higher than it was.

“I think that’s enough,” he said, not quite using his Alpha voice but not leaving room for argument, either.

Apparently there was room for argument, because one of the Alphas – a younger looking guy with floppy, dust-colored hair – sneered up at him from his rather undignified position on the ground. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

“You too prissy to come down here and fight in the mud with us?” said the other one.

Castiel felt his face go stormy and opened his mouth to use his real Alpha voice, when the third and final guy snorted from his feet.

“What, Chet, you’re gonna tussle with this guy? He would tear you apart.”

Castiel looked down at him, a little shocked. The third guy had a giant purple bruise covering the right side of his face and there was blood dripping from his nose straight down his chin, but he looked perfectly at ease. He’d rolled himself to a sitting position, legs folded pretzel style, and he leaned back on his arms like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Chet, the blond guy with the crew cut, went slightly red in the face, but he avoided the third’s eyes. Now that Castiel could get a look at him, he was roughed up as well. Gravel clung to his hairline and his jaw had almost no skin left on it. Ashy hair’s left eye was swelling like crazy.

Castiel looked back at the third where he pulled at the string of his red hoodie, casual as anything.

“I think that actually can be enough for the day,” the guy said, nodding decisively. And he moved to stand up, groaning as he got his to his feet, his bulk moving with him.

When he was standing, Castiel finally got a good look at him. A lot of what Castiel had seen on the ground was still true. He was wearing jeans and converse sneakers, a ratty and now bloodstained hoodie on top.

And he was fat. A more generous person may have said chubby, but there was no denying this guy was as full-bodied as they came. He carried it well. He was tall – maybe as tall as Castiel himself - and his legs bowed out like they were straining under the weight of his upper half, but he still carried it well. He looked like him being fat didn’t matter. Like he couldn’t care less about it, that he knew he was still hot. Which Castiel was also just now noticing he was.

The guy ran a hand through his hair, unflattening the sandy strands from the scuffle, and straightened the thick framed glasses on his nose. The glasses didn’t look any worse for wear, despite the face they’d been sitting on looking like it’d been hit with a brick. He had to know Castiel was watching him but he didn’t bother wiping the blood away, letting it drip over his mouth. He blew out a breath through parted lips and tiny drops of blood came spraying out. Castiel recoiled.

The guy winced but still didn't move to wipe the blood away. “Sorry about that.”

He turned to the two still on the ground so that Castiel was left looking at his back. “You guys good?” he said, his voice just this side of goading. “Need help?”

“Fuck you, Winchester,” the non-Chet guy said.

The guy – Winchester – just chuckled.

“Come on, guys,” Winchester said, spreading his hands. “It was fun, but–”

Chet growled – an undeveloped sound from a kid who was maybe just over 19. “Don’t talk to us like some pump-and-dump Omega bitches, man.”

Castiel watched Winchester’s shoulder’s change, rolling back from their relaxed posture into a tenser, more battle-ready position. Castiel took an automatic step back, preparing for another fight to break out.

But all Winchester did was growl “Watch it,” in a deep and dangerous sounding voice that Castiel was not expecting.

He had assumed, upon first approach, that this man was the true mate he’d scented. But he’d mostly assumed that because he didn’t give off the overaggressive Alpha vibes he’d gotten off of the other two, and, well, Castiel himself was an Alpha. And in the three seconds between finding out true mates were real and that he had one and meeting the three men, he hadn’t considered that two Alphas could be true mates.

But Winchester had just used his Alpha voice. And his scent had intensified. And all of it confirmed that he was not just an Alpha but an Alpha who was Castiel’s true mate.

“Oh,” Castiel said.

Winchester turned to wink at him but Castiel watched as his nostrils flared. And he froze, eyes widening.

Chet took a step forward and Winchester whipped around with the headiest growl Castiel had ever heard.

It was so primal, so visceral, that Chet and not-Chet’s knees buckled on impact, both of them folding to a more submissive position.

In the back of Castiel’s mind, he was considering for the first time that perhaps these boys weren’t actually Alphas. The rest of Castiel’s mind, however, was intently focused on Winchester in front of him. His right arm extended, palm turned back in a protective barrier between Castiel and the two other men. His left fist up in an aggressive display as if the growl weren’t enough to keep even the meanest predator at bay.

A strip of skin was exposed between the top of his jeans and the bottom of his sweatshirt. This wasn’t as relevant to the rest of the presentation but it caught Castiel’s attention and held it nonetheless.

There was a low rumble in Winchester’s chest, like he was building up to another growl. But all he said was “Go.”

Chet and not-Chent went, scrambling across the grass and tumbling over each other in their haste to get away.

Winchester held his position, watching them leave, until they turned a corner around a building and were out of sight.

He then turned to Castiel, grin spread wide. “Hi, I’m Dean.”

Winchester – or, Dean, Castiel supposed – still had blood all over his face. His cheek was still purpled and he had grass caught in the short bristles of his sandy hair.

Castiel looked him over for a long moment: long enough for Dean to messily wipe his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, the blood completely unnoticeable against the burgundy fabric. Castiel wondered in an offhand way if that’s why he wore it.

Instead of asking, he said, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean grinned wider. There was even more blood in his teeth.

Castiel reached into one of the deep pockets of his overcoat and pulled out a half-full plastic water-bottle. He offered it to Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel fought a blush.

“To rinse out your mouth,” he explained, his embarrassment making his voice even deeper.

Dean’s eyes lit up in understanding and he took the bottle with another bright grin. “Thanks.”

He took a deep pull from the bottle and swished it around before spitting it out on the grass. Castiel’s face scrunched in disapproval, despite the fact that this was why he’d offered it to Dean in the first place.

Dean, at least, seemed to notice how gross he was being, because he winced before coughing into his fist and turning back to Castiel. “Can I get your name?”

“I’ll tell it to you, but you can’t keep it,” Castiel said, before wincing. “That’s a joke,” he started to explain. “About fairies….”

There was half a second of an awkward pause before Dean rumbled a bit in a laugh. “I get it. It’s funny.”

Castiel’s cheeks heated up again. “Right,” he cleared his throat. “It’s Castiel. My name.”

Dean nodded, his smile yet to flag, and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Castiel.”

Castiel was reluctant to take Dean’s hand (He’d just watched him wipe his bloody face with his sleeve, who knew where his hands had been?) but he gamely reached out to take Dean’s hand. The hand of his mate.

Dean yanked his hand back before Castiel could make contact though, looking horrified.

“Oh, my God, no, you can’t touch that. I’m disgusting.” He held up his hand like it was evidence in a murder trial. He then looked down at his hoodie and the near-invisible blood crusting on it. “Ah, shit, oh fuck.” He blew out a breath then mumbled. “This is not how this should go.”

Castiel cocked his head, lowering his hand with no small amount of relief. “How what should go?”

“Meeting my true mate,” Dean groaned. “There should be more–” he gestured with his infected hand, “fireworks or rainbows or whatever.”

Dean looked so disgruntled that there were no fireworks or rainbows or whatever and instead just two men, one of whom was dirtied and bloodied from fighting on the lawn, that Castiel couldn’t keep back a fond smile. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean snorted. “It’s not, but I can get there. Hang on.”

Dean reached for the back of his neck, pulling his hoodie off over his head. He knocked his glasses off so he had to pick them up off the ground.

“Why am I still wearing these?” he asked himself in an undertone before shrugging and putting them back on.

He used his hoodie to wipe off the remainder of the dirt and blood on his face, shaking the grass out of his hair. He glanced questioningly at Castiel, holding up the water bottle, and when Castiel nodded in assent, poured some water out on the cleaner sleeve and started rubbing down the crusted stuff along his hairline.

It was one of the most efficient displays of impromptu cleaning Castiel has ever seen.

When Dean was finished and mostly filth free (a truly impressive feat without a mirror) he balled his sweatshirt up, casting a hesitant look at Castiel.

“Can you just– gimme a sec.”

Dean jogged to the dorm building just off the quad, his red t-shirt riding up as he ran, and wound up to throw his balled up sweatshirt through a second floor window.

Castiel watched him, startled, as Dean jogged back, grinning and tugging his shirt down over his belly.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Dean asked brightly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a travel sized hand-sanitizer which he used liberally on his hands and forearms.

“Was that your room?” Castiel asked, still trying to process the flying grime-encrusted sweatshirt.

Dean shrugged. “No. But I know the guys who live there and they should be fine. I’ll text them.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s not Chet is it?”

Dean snorted, shaking out his hands to help dry the hand sanitizer. “No. Fuckin Chet....”

Castiel found himself smiling back and bit his lip, turning his body. “Yes, let’s go for a walk.”

Dean grinned, practically skipping to Castiel’s side, his bulk moving surprisingly well.

Dean pulled his phone out and typed up a text before he forgot. Castiel let him do this, waiting to speak until he put his phone away.

“So I haven’t seen you around before,” Castiel started, unsure where else to begin.

Dean shrugged again. “‘s a big school.”

Castiel scrunched his nose, shoving his hands in his overcoat pockets. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, shooting him a wink.

Castiel rolled his eyes.“We’re true mates,” he said, comfortably blunt. “Why am I just now catching your scent?”

“I transferred up this semester,” Dean answered, also happy to be blunt. He picked at the wrapper of the now empty water bottle he was still holding. “Did three years at a community college, but I could only take specific credits here. So I transferred.”

“Oh, thank God,” Castiel said, letting his shoulders slump a bit in relief. “You’re not a freshman. I was worried.”

Dean snorted. “No, not a freshman.”

Castiel nodded, but squinted his eyes. “But still…” he began again. “Semester’s been happening for six weeks already.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man. This was my first fight?”

Castiel nodded, accepting this answer. Alphas’ scents amplified when they were behaving aggressively.

“Well, I guess that’s impressive, in itself,” Castiel allowed. “It’s unusual for Alphas not to drop their hands as soon as they arrive on campus.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before turning to Castiel with an incredulous look on his face. “Do you mean gloves? Drop their gloves?”

Castiel sighed, exasperated. “Yes. It was supposed to be a hockey metaphor. For fighting.”

“No, I got that,” Dean said grinning. “It was cute.”

Castiel flushed again. He scowled.

“What about you, though,” Dean asked, making the plastic of the water bottle crinkle. “Doesn’t look like you fight.”

Castiel startled before he realized Dean had probably picked out the Alpha in his scent. Even still, this was maybe the first time someone had assumed he was an Alpha without Castiel telling them.

“I don’t,” Castiel admitted.

“So then how’s it fair you can make blanket statements about what ‘Alphas’ do?”

Castiel scowled again. Dean just kept smiling at him.

“Well, you did fight this time.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Chet and Lincoln were asking for it.”

Castiel’s face soured. He didn’t care for that excuse.

But Dean rushed to correct him. “No, like, they were literally asking for it. They’re both betas and, I don’t know, wanted to improve their rep?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn’t really get it. But they asked me to tussle so I said sure.”

Castiel looked Dean up and down, humming to himself.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You think they picked me because they thought I was an easy target?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” Castiel said honestly. “Although, those glasses do give you a certain vulnerable look.”

Dean scoffed, taking off the glasses and pointing at his face. “20/20 vision, baby.” He put the glasses back on. “I’m a programming major. These filter out the blue light so I don’t give myself a migraine staring at screens all day.”

Castiel hummed again, in acceptance this time. “Practical.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Thank you.”

Castiel smiled. “No, I was actually thinking it was unwise to challenge you. Because you’re so much bigger than they are.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You calling me fat, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered automatically and Dean laughed. Castiel’s face was still warming that Dean had called him ‘Cas.’ “But also you have a rather big persona. You are bigger than them, but you also act bigger.”

Dean’s mouth screwed up to the side. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

Dean dropped his chin to his chest, exhaling a laugh.

They turned on the pathway to cross in front of the administration building and Dean excused himself for a moment to throw the empty water bottle into the plastic recycling bin.

“You didn’t want to keep that, did you?” Dean asked, jogging back up. “I didn’t think of it until I already threw it out but it’s not cool for me to throw out your stuff.”

Castiel smiled at him. “It’s fine, Dean. I’m just glad you recycle.”

“I’m environmentally conscious as fuck .” Dean said, pumping his fist.

Castiel laughed. Dean grinned.

“Would you like to get coffee?” Castiel asked, curling his hands in his pockets.

Dean straightened, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.”

Castiel smiled and started walking off campus to his favorite local coffee shop.

Castiel gestured for Dean to order first. Dean did so with no apparent self-consciousness, ordering a caramel macchiato, a pressed sandwich, and a muffin. When the cashier asked if there would be anything else, Castiel stepped in front of Dean, ordered his own loose leaf tea, and then paid for the entire order.

Dean looked very put out by that. “That’s not fair! You shouldn’t have paid for me, I got so much more than you did.”

Castiel shot him a smirk, tucking his change back into his wallet. “I invited you. I’m the Alpha. I pay.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m the Alpha, too.”

Castiel blinked. “Oh. Right.”

He didn’t know how he could have forgotten. Hadn’t he just watched Dean wipe blood and dirt from his body? Hadn’t he just felt the force of Dean’s Alpha voice against those two other men?

Not the first but certainly the heaviest awkward silence fell over them like a physical press.

Dean put his hands in his pockets. “Is that something we’re gonna have to talk about?”

Castiel shook his head, automatically. And then reconsidered. “Perhaps we should.”

Castiel gestured to the attendants behind the counter, alerting them that he and Dean were taking a table and their order should be brought out to them. The attendants nodded in understanding and Castiel turned to find a place to sit.

There was an empty two-person table just off of the entrance in front of the window. Castiel made for it, taking a seat without a fuss.

When he was seated, he looked at Dean, who was looking back at Castiel with something like appreciation.

“Okay, I get it now,” he said, resting his elbows on the table.

Castiel frowned. “Get what?”

“How you’re an Alpha,” Dean explained. “I mean I could smell it, obviously but–” he gestured at Castiel as if to encompass the non-Alpha-ness look of him.

There was the aforementioned hips and thin frame, but how Castiel dressed didn’t help, he was sure. He preferred turtlenecks and oxford shoes, his ankles exposed by the fitted chinos he favored, over any brusque and “masculine” Alpha wear.

Castiel folded his hands, raising an eyebrow in a signal for Dean to continue.

Dean gestured at him again. “Right, and then you do that. Your Alpha eyebrow. And you just casually commanded the whole room so we could get this table.”

Castiel blinked. “The table was open.”

“Except for the three people who were about to take it before they saw your domineering ass.”

Castiel tilted his head. He hasn’t noticed anyone else.

But then, he guessed, that supported Dean’s point.

He hummed to allow the point.

Dean grinned. Then frowned.

“So how is this gonna work?”

Castiel tilted his head the other way.

Dean flexed his shoulders, gearing himself up for the conversation. “We’re true mates, right? So… we’re gonna be together?”

This was the most nervous Castiel had seen Dean. He felt his protective instinct rear up in a way he’d never experienced before. He leaned forward and took Dean’s hand on instinct alone.

“This is a date,” Castiel clarified, watching as Dean’s shoulders untensed even while a blush rose to his cheeks. “I asked you on a date. We’re going to date more, probably.”

He squeezed Dean’s hands. “I can’t guarantee where the dating will go. I’ve never had a true mate before. I’ve never even heard of them in real life. So we’re just going to take this as it comes. Are you okay with that?”

Dean looked from their joined hands then back to Castiel. He immediately changed their grip so Castiel’s hands were held in his.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, a challenge in his tone. “But I’m an Alpha. So you can’t talk to me like I’m some wilting flower. And you can’t think you get to make all the decisions and shit. I’m gonna have something to say about it. Are you okay with that ?”

Tips of Castiel’s brain rejected the firm hold Dean had on him. It wanted to square up against Dean, to assert dominance.

But the rest of Castiel marked the glint in his eye. Caught the turn of his wrist and the cock of his head. All of it was a tease. A challenge, but a tantalizing one. It invited Castiel to play along.

Castiel had never been one for roughhousing play.

But with his true mate – with Dean – he was considering it.

“I can…” He looked down at their tangled hands, how they kept circling and gripping and never letting their skin lose contact, before looking back up at Dean, his own challenging smirk bending his face. “...perhaps be okay with that.”

Dean’s grin was a knife across his face, so different from the genial look of their meeting. It filled Castiel with that same rightness, the same sense of ‘yes, true mate’ but now with a sense of curiosity. A sense of wonder. A sense of wanting to know more.

Their orders arrived. Castiel attended to his tea – pressing the leaves back to pour the steeped water into his mug, adding honey and stirring with a deliberate unaffectedness he’d cultivated.

Dean, meanwhile, devoured his food and coffee without discernment. He had his whole sandwich and muffin swallowed almost simultaneously. It was as impressive as it was disgusting, yet Castiel was oddly charmed. Surely it was the happy and satisfied scent Dean was giving off now that he’d been fed. Castiel couldn’t think of any other scenario where he wouldn’t be repulsed by such a display.

But he was beguiled. And once he’d eaten, Dean did take some time over his macchiato instead of chugging it like an animal. So there were some things to be redeemed.

They talked over their drinks, getting some baseline stuff out of the way. Castiel was a grad student. Dean had a brother. Castiel was an orphan. Dean was raised by a single mother. Castiel liked bees. Dean liked old muscle cars.

By the time both of their mugs were empty, they knew they had to give up their table. But Castiel wanted to know more.

“Here’s my phone number,” he said taking a pen from his pocket and writing it on Dean’s hand.

Dean smiled down at it but nudged Castiel with his shoulder. “You could have just plugged it into my phone.”

Castiel nudged him back. “Yes. But now, you can look at my number on your hand and think of me for the rest of the day.”

Dean smiled wider.

“That’s some pretty soft shit for an Alpha, Cas.”

Castiel smirked like danger, letting what Dean had called his Alpha Eyebrow make his point. “We’re redefining Alpha shit, Dean.”

Dean ducked his head, suddenly shy again.

They were redefining Alpha shit, indeed.

“We should do this again sometime,” Dean said.

They both knew full well they would be doing this again sometime. Again and again for the rest of their lives, probably.

But the way Dean said it was like that challenge again. It was with pride. Like he knew Castiel would say yes but not because they were true mates. But because he trusted that Castiel liked him.

And he did.

Castiel looked Dean over in an obvious up and down that made Dean’s ears turn pink. There was a dare in his eyes. A proposition in the tilt of his head.

Castiel met it with a smile. “I look forward to it.”

#deancasreversebang #dcrb #Aromatic Adjectives Need Not Applu #oops I wrote a thing #Jessie writes Destiel fic #omegaverse #Alpha/Alpha #chubby!Dean #fat Dean #chubby dean

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