#you can't have the bit before the title card and then the letter with all the crap in bbetween and think itwill work

[delicrieux]

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 3. summer 1972, late august

pairing for this chapter—sirius black x f!lestrange!reader   warnings for this chapter—sirius hates his brother word count—4.3k

in which you show an act of bravery worthy of a gryffindor. if the come up, that is, wasn't so inherently slytherin.

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

all of sirius' records are bought by andromeda. no one ever speaks of her. it’s bad luck. might split the sky in half, or disentangle the galaxy and all of its atoms; unravel it all, suddenly, like aunt druella falling to her knees at the mention of a well-loved name. she claimed a fainting spell, but you knew. the lights were particularly dim that evening at dinner.

no matter, you're well-meaning enough not to bother. everyone is allowed their own interests. you find it in the depths of father’s coffee cup and the curious hills and swirls the grounds make as they dry. how they shift in the wispy morning light, or become swallowed by your shadow. andromeda’s lay in things not known by the lestranges, or perhaps things frowned upon. she mails her curiosities to sirius via the muggle post. when a strange man appeared at the gates of the lestrange manor, everyone had fallen into a frenzy. the whole household, all twenty-some-or-more staff and four inhabitants (discontent house-elf and mother excluded).

this foreign officer referred to himself as 'the postman,' whatever that meant. grumpily (he was left standing in the rain, see), he shoved a parcel into your affronted butler's hands and demanded a signature. no quill, only a slim, plastic tube that clicked irritably when pressed by his finger. you and regulus watched this whole display out the second floor window, leaning over the ledge for a better look. a whole variety of things came to sirius, it was revealed, all of it contraband in a sort, to your knowledge. a bit of illicit music, a few letters with charmingly fancy stamps. a card titled Miss you that you just managed to save as rabastan threatened to throw it into the fire. a glossy magazine you and regulus were allowed to browse through briefly, only to see for yourselves the unmoving, ugly muggle world.

of course, sirius didn't know of any of this – it was stored away without his knowledge of its arrival. locked up in the attic, where all unpleasant things lie. you and regulus and the staff were sworn to secrecy. sirius musn't ever know his disgraced cousin is sending him strange things and corrupting his impressionable mind. you didn't mean to linger, or listen, or intrude. the pool laid waiting for you, and regulus, impatient by your side, tugged on your sleeve. a plea to leave before your brothers went on a tangent. so many new words to learn. this was, however, the most interesting thing to happen all summer, overshadowing even the long awaited wedding. a muggle postman under the lestrange roof. bella, if she was not away, would have thrown a fit to be outshined by such a thing.

that very night, you sneak out of your room. the hallways are dark in spots where moonlight doesn’t spill; the portraits are asleep, and the landscapes are quiet. the soft echoes of your bare feet against the cool tiles of the flooring make you shudder in your linen. summer heat lingers by the ceiling, though the nights are usually chilly. you creep silently, as you have many times before. you are quite adept, a child who can't seem to stay put no matter the trouble it may cause. and this may cause quite the bit.

you wander to the attic, mind the seventh step with the creaky floorboard, and ascend slowly. patience is a virtue, and when you really want, you possess wells of it. here, the dark is thick, almost tangible, and how and where you move is more thanks to memory than sight. though the dust burns at your eyes, they do eventually adjust, and the outline of a shape becomes easier to see.

austere, sparse. only the sooty remains of old armouries are left. furniture gone to rot, and masses of small boxes and unattended bookshelves. never a pleasant place, even during the day. it sits right above mother's room, and you try to avoid this part of the house entirely. a blind spot, like the corner of your eye. nothing well is ever found here, and you never come searching.

a bit of fumbling and you locate the parcel. it would be good to bring everything, but it's quite heavy, and you'd rather not risk it. you'll let sirius know of his hidden belongings once you have surprised him. you are not as selfless to inform him instantly, no. no, no, to miss an opportunity as this would be a great loss. how else would you show a bravery than going against the collective wishes of the black and lestrange families and blindly grabbing around in the dark for his cousin's gifts?

you sort through the things. lay them gently beside your feet; hear the roll of a crystal charm as it travels down the room and gets lost in a shrouded corner. you thought of waiting for a few days. spun a great tale of being watched and trying to get the presents to him as quick as possible, only to amplify the intensity of it all. your attention span waned an hour into your promise to keep this secret.

you grab for a record and flee. sirius likes music the most. this will make him happy.

carrying your load through the manor's quiet maze, your senses prickle at each shadow. perhaps someone is following you, or you can hear them whispering. the slightest tinge of an anxious feeling comes and goes with each breath. when you were little, regulus needed to hold your hand through the dark, since sirius was too old and too cool for that at eight. the manor at night made his pulse jump under his skin and then, you were the braver of the pair. now, reggie doesn't need your help, and neither do you need his. you’d prefer his quiet reluctance beside you. a want to continue but being too cowardly to make the first step. you’d march together. should you have invited him?

no, sirius wouldn’t like that. he prefers his brother out of sight.

at last, sirius' bedroom door presents itself before you. the faint whistle of the wind rattles the windows. instinctively, you grab for a hand that isn’t there.

you hope he isn’t asleep. he’s too grown to go to bed at an early hour. he must see you in motion, so brave in delivering contraband. contraband is a new word you've learned recently, and you quite enjoy saying it. contraband. this record is the first in, what you presume, a long line of suspicious items you will have to sneak. it will all be worth the effort.

you rap on the door. one. two, three. a forth one for safe measure. no response.

"sirius! i have a gift," you whisper, leaning in close. your cheek presses onto the cool, glossy surface, and thunder rumbles somewhere far overhead. it is not the prettiest song, but you like how deep it is. and sometimes, late at night, when the dark is very deep and the manor is quiet as the grave, you like to hide under the covers, "sirius?" you add, and a beat passes, and it occurs to you might be sleeping.

your plans of grandeur are deflated a little. what is the point of a secret if he isn't there to be surprised?

then, the handle clicks. slowly, cautiously, the door creaks open just enough for him to stick out his head. he's pouting. his gaze flickers, a nervous twitch, "why are you awake?" his voice is raspy from sleep, and his cheeks are splotchy, "aren't you scared of the dark?"

of course not, you had told yourself that the whole trek over. he waits patiently for an answer, despite how tired and annoyed he appears. your heart pounds at the sight. his hair looks funny, tousled. a wave falls over his forehead and the rest stands in spikes. you wonder if regulus' hair will do that in the morning. at breakfast, likely not. if you came to wake him unannounced, it likely would. how embarrassed he’d be.

you hold the record close to your chest, but not too tightly. sirius had once said they are fragile and can shatter if handled unkindly. still, you fear your arms might crush it if the rumble of the thunder shakes it from your grasp, like it would a robber caught red-handed.

"it isn't scary," you try, and tentatively hold out the present, "this came for you. but no one let you have it because, you know, well. it's from, er, you know." can’t say her name, even to someone that would prefer to hear it.

you can imagine a carousel of thoughts whirring madly behind his face. shock. surprise. delight. gratitude. so much more. it's impossible to catch everything, not even in the blip of light. thunder rolls.

"thank you," is his only response. he perks up as he takes his present. perhaps he had gotten over the surprise a bit quickly, or he had expected this to be sent to him all along, but nonetheless, it seems he is rather touched. at least that's what you assume by how happy he's acting, like an eager puppy, "let's go to my bed, 'kay? i've got a record player over there. come on."

you rush after quickly, not one to miss such an opportunity. the room douses in a dim light with a flick of his wand. there are books and clothes and posters slew on every surface and corner, and you overstep a pair of expensive linen trousers carelessly tossed on the rug. next to the bed sits a heavy trunk. he must've been packing. a red and gold scarf peaks over the edge. yours to be, surely.

the space goes mute and settles. like a pop in your ears after travelling via portkey, the sound returns after a small discomfort. a silencing spell. his wand clatters onto the bedside table. you had picked yours only a few days ago, but didn’t dare touch it since you grasped it for the first time.

when you settle into bed beside him, and he sets up the contraption and places the needle, it sings in the quiet. he lowers the volume just a bit.

"muggles like big music, don't they," you remark, though you do rather like it, if it makes him grin so, "can we dance? please?"

a crack, finally, along with thunder. his face splits into a grin, "of course! but a bit quieter. don't want the whole estate to catch you here. come on, now,"

so the pair of you jump and whirl about his room. you're sure he knows real muggle dances. it's very different from waltz, not smooth at all, more free, and not nearly as dignified. but oh, the beats!

as the song finishes and the music winds down, your head spins. not from dizziness, but from pure, unbridled glee. his face matches the feeling. sirius claps, as if he had never been satisfied before now, as if a curtain had gone down. he smiles broadly, a full mouth of teeth, “imagine what people would say if they saw us."

you mirror his expression, "it’s horrendous, isn't it? such disgrace."

a smile and a titter escapes him.

"a terrible affair," he gives a nod to no one, the empty bedroom and his possessions, "it would displease my family greatly. i will never dance another way again."

“what of waltz?”

“what’s that?”

"oh dear, the absolute scandal!" you clasp your hands together in horror, though really, you don't mind at all, "they shall call you a heretic and a bumptious imbecile. surely. won't that be dreadful? your reputation will be ruined."

"utterly! completely ruined. mother will burn my portrait out the family tree."

"what a messy business. tragic. whatever are you to do, young sir black?"

his words and gesticulations and silly faces make you a bit warm. this is quite something to be cherished. him, in his lonely, messy room, and the mellow candlelight. the rain pouring. a nice and pretty tune in the air. dancing is one of your favourite pastimes, besides flying and stargazing.

"hey, wanna play pretend?" he inquires, plopping back onto his bed.

you snort, dropping the audacious accent, "isn't that what we've been doing?"

he shakes his head, though his lips curl and his eyes roll fondly. "different sort. c'mere."

you perch beside him, your head level with his shoulder. his eyes are very shiny. if he told you a story, you wouldn't have trouble believing him, since they tell more than his voice ever would. but that'd be cheesy, and you'd never hear the end of it, if you told him the same. his knee bumps into yours. his head falls forward, just a bit, "tell me a secret."

"tell me a secret."

"no, go first. my secrets are boring, your's are, uh. mysterious. and interesting. and a whole bunch better. pretty please. can i have a hint?"

the compliment, you have to admit, flatters you. so does his prodding and pleading, all his wheedling and how adorable he looks while doing it.

you think of an answer carefully, a plan already forming, "well…someday, i'm going to have to marry, right?"

he groans, "merlin, no, don't tell me you're also thinking of this nonsense?"

your thoughts scramble to change, like little ducklings hurrying away from an unpleasant sound. you frown, a bit ashamed to be rebuffed so unkindly, or you should, but he's still staring at you intently, waiting for you to elaborate. like you had assumed, all boys think weddings silly. sirius is no different.

"is it wrong to think about that? i mean, someday you're going to be married, too," you deflect, "in the future," the distant one, because a child like him cannot comprehend that. or perhaps he can. after all, he will be growing into a man soon, "and besides, with bella's wedding, i suppose it got me thinking."

he has, strangely enough, become flustered. his freckles are darker across his nose, "who says i'll get married?"

"don't you have to?"

"no," he answers defiantly, crossing his arms. how defensive he is suddenly! but with how fidgety he is, it must be a sore subject. perhaps he is being affected more than you'd guessed.

"you're the heir, though," you muss. it's very unlikely walburga won't entangle him into some arrangement. you're sure she already has some sort of ideas for sirius. they are likely being executed as you speak, "you have to make kids to carry on the family, no?"

the odd, stressed look on his face almost breaks your resolve.

"we don't have to do that," he states.

that's news to you, and, logically, seems to be rather improbable. that means you don't have to get married, either. at least you won't have to carry out the other portion of marital duties, of which you are far more squeamish, "hmm," you manage, but you're not convinced. it seems quite rational to you that you should follow the pattern set by generations.

"why would you even want to get married?" he grumbles. the question comes off snottier than intended, "like i'd want some girl telling me how to behave all the time."

"we aren't allowed much choice in the matter."

"the more reason not to, right?"

this conversation had taken a sudden turn, and a sickly, squirmy feeling has taken a seat on the bed between the two of you. the dance music has finished, and the sound of rain overpowers the room. the record spins and crackles.

"we can run away."

the suddenness of his declaration makes the both of you pause, staring at the carpet and bedspread respectively. it’s not a fully formulated thought. can’t be, and in your endless compassion and innate ability to forget audacious ideas, secrets, and suggestions at a moment’s notice, you decide that he never spoke of this, for what he suggested is a breach of trust so careless and terrible that you begin to worry what else lays on his mind. must be many things such as this, dangerous, modern ideas ready to spring free given the proper climate. and the climate is warm, here, built on your friendship and your inability to refuse him.

you decide he had been caught up in the heat of a moment. harmless, silly. he asked you to play pretend, after all.

he amends before the silence could deafen him: "it'll be just the both of us."

you don’t want to listen to this, not in his room, not in your linen, not with the night singing against the windows and the record scratching at the needle. the spin is mesmerizing. he’s older and should understand the implications better. you don’t want to be the one to understand. to be rational, when you only ever wish to be carefree.

you laugh, and it sounds a tad awkward, but what a great big joke! sirius is always funny, "of course. we could live on a raft, or in muggle london. recon there wouldn’t be much of a difference. or perhaps a particularly cosy cave in the scottish highlands. with the sheep."

his eyes narrow, miffed. "i’m serious.”

“don’t suppose i need an introduction, do i?” you smile, but it doesn’t break his frown.

“we can run away.” he says, quite firmly. no more playing, then, “the both of us together," he adds, flicking his eyes away from you. his voice wavers.

"we can't just go and leave,” you start gently, “there's, well, a lot to explain. they’d catch us, too, quickly, i recon. our families. i can’t work, my hands are delicate, even if sheep are a riot. we’d have no galleons.”

"i'd work."

stubborn prat.

"stupid, you're twelve."

"almost thirteen."

"your birthday's not till november," you retort hotly, "therefore: you're twelve. how can you even consider proposing such a stupid scheme?"

his tone shifts, anger showing itself, "don't call it stupid. you haven't thought of a better one!"

you take a deep breath, and fight the childish impulse to sock him on the jaw, "i'm not the only suggesting we run away. that's- you just suggested it, first, no less! all of the sudden!"

"yes! yes, i did, but you were supposed to agree."

you can barely find the words to reply. he just gets so impossibly brattish when he's not having his way, "we can’t leave. that’s positively mental. and we can't leave reggie."

he bristles at the mention of the name, "he's not my problem."

that hurts. for some reason, this cut is especially sharp and stinging, "don't say that. he's your brother."

"only by blood."

such callous words make your face burn. what's this coming from? his posture shifts, back perfectly straight and shoulders taut. this can only mean that his emotions have overcome him. that is never good, "blood is important, though."

his dark eyes glimmer and there's a storm building, something inscrutable, a bad feeling. your mouth goes dry. you had said the wrong thing, a terrible thing. he shan't ever forget or forgive you for this. not to mention the topic itself. these are very dangerous and tender and frightfully unknown waters. you cross your arms and huff, feeling especially very small, "how can you hate him, anyway, when he adores you so much?"

the hard glint in his eyes doesn't leave. in fact, he appears to grow taller and paler with the turn of conversation, or perhaps his skin had always been a rather milky white. his words are colder still, "why are you always defending him?"

"regulus has never done anything bad," your protest is weak. and that isn't what he wants to hear, "he loves you."

"you should be on my side."

"but, why are there sides to begin with?" your tongue feels big in your mouth, and a weird taste bubbles, like metal and rust and salt, "you're brothers, you shouldn't fight."

"he's a rat."

"sirius!"

"and an idiot," he grumbles, "and selfish. a tosser. stop defending him."

this is awful. to see him with such a harsh expression and to be berated as though you're an awful friend and a liar, "stop it."

"what? he's not worth the trouble of you protecting him."

"leave him alone."

"he should leave you alone."

you wince and jerk away. how has everything gotten out of hand so fast? this is his bedside. you brought him a gift, and you danced, and he spoke kindly, and now this. you bite your tongue. your teeth press a bit too hard, “you’re being awful.”

he doesn’t seem to hear you, "why do you even like him anyway?" he sulks. a funny word to describe a very unhappy young man.

"quit it."

"are you fond of him?"

"please, shut up."

"more than me?"

silence. the world tilts, just so slightly, to the right, and spins just a tad bit too fast. does he really dislike his little brother so much? you understand he may feel a twinge of annoyance sometimes, a tad of passive resentment every other hour, which is simply understandable and probably half-decent for brothers, especially those that have nearly nothing in common and no sort of trust. but, there's the matter of an absolute hatred for someone that does no wrong, that would never, by anyone's means, ever hate you back. that isn't fair. it's only heart-breaking.

perhaps you've done wrong not to believe regulus when he confided sirius was terribly cruel to him at times. the thought stings, an acidic sort of shame. regulus wouldn't lie, he's not very good at it. you've only ever seen him sweet and obedient, a boy very different from his older brother. he was honest and soft-spoken, but just as sincere as sirius, though in a subtler manner.

gentle is another good word. or lovely.

one could argue they've both been acting odd lately. regulus had the muddled, far away eyes, but sirius was aggressive in their shared proximity. isn't it expected for siblings to fight and bicker? you and rabastan rib all the time, like it's embedded into your very marrow. you've never grown cold toward him, and you feel this way won't change much, if ever, but there might be a deeper part of you, one that can feel you're much more similar than you originally gave it credit for. perhaps it's the same with them, too.

this discovery makes you itch. it can't be that simple. of course it couldn't be. is this who he is, truly? you almost hope he will suddenly apologize and maybe hug you a bit tighter, or, or make things better somehow, say he's just teasing, tell you you're the dearest most wonderful friend a boy could ask for.

his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper, "answer me. please?"

"you know i'm fond of you both."

"more than him?"

"both."

"so he's your favourite," his voice shakes.

the look on his face…a mixture of embarrassment and genuine hurt. your's must match.

"please don't say that, i don't have favourites."    

"you just put up with me?"

"sirius,"

"stop being so vague."

"you're being mean."

he huffs, "fine. whatever, see if i care what you think."

"sirius?"

"don't bother. just leave."

"what?"

his eyes are strangely wet. you reach out to touch his cheek, in the hopes it'll soften him, but he jerks back, like you had attempted to strike him. the two of you gaze at each other wide-eyed and mortified. his eyes keep tearing, but the rest of him is perfectly still and calm. you decide it's probably best to not call attention to his tears, "what should i say then?"

his face hardens, "don't say anything."

"but--"

"go," he mutters, not even sparing you a glance, "just. stop bothering me."

his eyes brim again, and the sight makes your own become glossy. how humiliating. something coils in your stomach, uncomfortable and inescapable. how should you act? but he doesn't know either. all you have are bits and pieces of lessons and rules, none of which apply to this situation, not in a satisfactory way.

he doesn't move. neither do you. his heart beats and you can feel it, too, on your side of the bed. the clock ticks.

time stretches on.

it's a strange feeling, because it's not a foreign one, and you wish it was. the dull sense of loss makes you feel weak and empty, like you've skipped dinner.

carefully, you inch closer, until the tips of your fingers graze his. you clasp them, awkwardly. it's a childish way of keeping the two of you together. your insides hurt. you wonder if his do, too. he feels warm to the touch, solid and real. both of your palms are clammy.

you manage, breathlessly, "i don't want to fight with you."

his jaw remains tense, "no, you want to have my stupid brother's back,"

"please?"

"fine."

your stare at your joined hands.

"i'll leave," you promise quietly.

"good."

a cold silence creeps in after those words. you let go of his hands and step off his bedside, a great, wistful longing coiling in your gut. you gaze, again, hopefully, only for him to sneer. a terrible look, it doesn't belong there, and it doesn't suit him in the slightest. your head drops, you nod once, and step outside his door and out onto the staircase. the air’s tinted with something burnt and foul.

it's dark and quiet and you feel strangely hollow. the stairs twist beneath your feet. you trudge along, mindlessly, hand gliding down the railing you'd perched on with sirius on sunday. what a distance. it feels like an ocean has swelled, swallowing the shoreline. a curious heat rises up from your neck, itching, prickling, spreading all over.

light dances in the parlour room. the hearth cracks and pops strangely. a swish of a heavy robe, a crinkle of parchment, a sniff.

bellatrix.

she's returned. her silhouette stands imposing by the flickering flames. you're not sure why you came here, only that you did.

she notices you lingering there, head propped against the frame, staring. your hair, mused from earlier, likely gives it away, or, the puffiness in your eyes. her wet footsteps line the polished floor. the lull of rain is oddly soothing.

she tilts her head to the side, examining you, "it's awfully late."

you nod. your chin feels sticky. you wipe at it with the back of your hand, the pads of your fingers swiping your cheek and brushing beneath your nose. she holds out her palm and beckons. something in your stomach unravels, just a little. the carpet is rough, and her hand is heavy on your shoulder.

"shouldn't be wandering around at this hour, my dove," her voice is gentle, the light of the fire lapping across her. her eyes shine strangely, blacker, a dark, curious depth. a flash of green pierces through her iris and disappears. she smells like the night, fresh, and something sweetly charred, like a bonfire or campfire, or, smoke, "a proper little lady sleeps early."

a lump in your throat keeps you from replying. you gaze into the fire. the remains of letters and postcards crumple to black ash. a bright, smiling face on the cover of the magazine shrivels up, blackening at the edges and curling, melting in the cinders. andromeda's gifts.

this is why you never want to know anything.

[rayslittlekitten]

Rich Girl Mood

“Toff Girl” (aka “Damsel” Universe) Masterlist

A/N: I started writing this a long while ago but have been sitting on it because I was still trying to figure out the end game (I still am) but I'm a little closer and I think however this series ends, this chapter I think is still solid for what it is so I finally finished it. This I think gives more insight of the reader character than her relationship with Ray. Title and chapter inspired by "Rich Girl Mood" by Dounia and Kehlani (YT link below)

Rating: T

Word Count:  3,294

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!reader

Plot: Another year, another birthday party.

Contains: angst, recreational drug use, hurt, jealousy, light mentions of D/s relationship, collars, cursing

After your cryfest in your car, you cleaned yourself up and went in to see your parents briefly and sort of lied about a missing pair of shoes. You then feigned looking in your old bedroom which has become a bit of a storage closet for you. You also act surprised when they hand you the gift box Ray mentioned. You told them you would send Mickey and Ray a thank you card.

You're now back at your flat staring at the big Tiffany blue box while stuffing your face with your favorite pastries from Astrid's Cafe and Bakery. You put the mostly eaten slice of cake down and pull the shiny black ribbon loose. Of course it feels so soft. Ray probably spent a good quid on the ribbon alone. You wouldn't be surprised if it was made of actual silk. Only he would do something so extra.

You take a deep breath and finally lift the lid. This asshole even took the time to wrap your things in tissue paper? You roll your eyes and huff. You grab the small cream-colored envelope sitting on top of the neatly and carefully folded white delicate sheets. You flip the envelope open and pull the card out.

Hi love,

I hope this letter finds you well. I figured you'd eventually want your things back, especially your shoes. I know they were one of your favorites. I even took the time to polish them for you since last time you had scuffed them. There are some things in here that I also thought you should have as I have no more use for them.

Take care,

Ray

You gently tear open the tissue paper and as expected, you find your heels looking shiny as new. You see what else is inside the box and find a few things like your toothbrush, toiletries and some clothing, neatly folded and stacked in true Ray fashion. You know he had your clothes washed, dry cleaned and pressed as well, including the outfits he picked out for you. You look through them and choke up a little seeing your collars carefully placed between the perfectly folded clothing. They're all there, including his favorite, the one with a little bell on it. You tilt your head curiously when you find a small velvet box. The rock in your belly is creeping back in. You stare at it for a moment before reaching for it. You nervously grip the box between your fingers as you take your time flipping the lid open. You let out the breath you'd been holding when you don't see a ring, but instead you feel your heart breaking all over again seeing your day collar. The same one you ripped off your neck and threw at him.

Your eyes blur up for the millionth time today and you swipe your fingers over them. In the corner of your eye, you notice another envelope sticking out from under the clothes. You reach for it and pull it out. Flipping it around, you notice it's completely unmarked. You open it and pull out two business class plane tickets to Greece. Confused, you look in the envelope again and find a folded piece of paper. You pull it out and open it up.

I had planned to whisk you away for a week for your birthday, but I can't use these anymore so I thought maybe you can. Enjoy your birthday, my love.

-Ray

This isn't fair. This isn't fucking fair. Not fair to you, not fair to Ray. You don't know how much more your heart can take.

***

Over the next few weeks, you go on a date or two with Fred just to get out of your flat. You've been sulking and comfort eating and sniffing Ray's cardigan long enough. The dates were fun, but if you're honest with yourself, while Fred is a really nice guy, he just doesn't do it for you romantically. You had to be upfront with him as you didn't want to string him along. He deserved to know the truth, but thankfully he took it with ease and understood. You did invite him to your birthday party though and you know someone who would actually pair real well with him. You usually don't play matchmaker, but you think you've got this one in the bag.

Speaking of birthday parties, you just wanted something small but your parents insisted on throwing something for their only child. They do this every year, but you let them because you know it's really just an excuse for them to throw a fancy party to show off to their fancy friends. You know after the first hour or two of greeting people you either don't know, don't remember or haven't seen since you were a wee child, you're going to disappear into the garden shed to get sloshed on expensive liquor and smoke the best weed in all of England with your closest friends like you did when you all were younger. Growing up around so much money, you've always hated the posh snobby kids who thought they were too good for anyone, but you have a small group who were never like that and you always stayed close to them. Everyone else at the party can fuck off and freeload on the booze and food.

You do a once over glance in the mirror to check your makeup and hair. Your hand touches your bare neck and after a moment, you get up from your vanity chair and slip on your heels and smooth out your sickeningly expensive dress. It clings on to your every curve and dip. That’ll sure get some lookers. You still feel like something is missing though.

"Darling, are you ready? Guests are waiting!"

"I'll be right out, mummy!" you shout back.

You quickly go through your overnight bag and pull out a box. You open it up and look at the jewelry for a moment before putting it on, then take one final look in the mirror and you're satisfied with what you see. It doesn’t hold meaning anymore, although it’s sentimental to you, but it has always comforted you, feeling it snug around your neck. It was like your security blanket. It made you feel safe because whenever you wore it, you always knew Ray was close by.

Ray dominating you wasn’t just some kink. It wasn’t just about being in control, or rather giving it up. Being his sub meant he would love you and protect you deeply. It was a shared bond. He brought you pleasure in so many ways and made you forget when you had a bad day, but most importantly, he made sure nothing can hurt you. You completely allowed your heart, body and soul to be delicately encased by his own design.

You take a deep breath and polish off the whiskey you've been nursing while getting ready before putting your face on for the crowd. 

When you reach the bottom of the long grand staircase, you’re greeted by your parents and some people you don’t recognize. You plaster on a smile and shake their hands, thanking them for coming. As you walk off to go greet more people, you grab a flute of champagne and down it, placing it back as quickly as you snatched it up when a server walks by with a tray. You’re reminded why you hate these big parties.

You almost spit your champagne out when you spot Mickey and Ros. The nerve. Of course your parents invited them. You know Mickey only does anything if he’s getting something out of it so while it appears he gives a shit about your birthday and respecting your parents’ cordial invitation, he’s probably rubbing elbows with people who can be potential partners. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already negotiating and sealing deals while he’s here. You now wonder if Ray is somewhere around this giant house.

You walk over to the Pearsons to greet them with the least fake smile you can manage to put on.

“Hi, Mickey.”

“Hello, there. The woman of the hour!” Michael turns to you with a smile. “You’ve met my wife Ros, right?”

“Yes, pleasure to see you again.” You and Ros greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. She might be the only one in his posse you actually don’t mind. Her and Bunny. That gentle giant.

"Thank you both so much for coming!" You try to stretch out your smile but your facial muscles can only go so far.

"Happy birthday, love,” Ros smiles.

Although, you know Rosalind is probably on the up and up on what goes on in Mickey's world, including what happened with you and Ray. There is no way tea didn't get spilled on her.

"Thank you," you slightly bow your head. “How are you doing? Business is going well I assume?”

“Ah, let’s not talk about business. We’re here as guests, not salesmen. How are you doing?” Mickey returns the attention to you.

“No business? What a surprise,” you try to jab subtly. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

“Sweetheart! There’s someone I want you to meet,” your mother suddenly comes out of nowhere.

“Excuse me,” you tell the Pearsons. "I hope you both enjoy yourselves.”

They nod at you before being whisked away by your mother.

***

After being introduced to a bunch of random people including some suitors, you sneak off into a secret side room to get a breather. You used to hide here a lot when you were younger when you wanted to isolate yourself when everything felt too overwhelming.  Especially from these parties. It always felt so performative when you just wanted to be a kid and play with your friends, but you were expected to be prim and proper, until you were old enough to realize you didn’t have to do any of this. You still remember those long boring etiquette classes and sometimes still use the wrong utensil on purpose as an act of rebellion. 

You feel around your body and realize you left your joint and lighter in your bedroom. Letting out a heavy sigh, you savor another moment of silence before marching back out into the wild. As you make your way to your bedroom, you round the corner and smack right into a hard chest.

“Oh my gosh, I am SO…” You look up at the man and your voice dies.

"Kitten…” Ray gasps quietly to himself when he sees your day collar sitting against your neck.

You can't get away from this man now, can you? Ironically, it feels like you're actually seeing him more often than you did when you were together. Like muscle memory, you plaster your cookie cutter smile on your face and greet Ray and the woman standing next to him.

"Hi, Raymond." You mentally kick yourself for overdoing your enthusiasm.

"H-hi."

You never thought there'd be a day you'd make Ray all flustered and stumble over his words. Mr. Calm and Controlled, my arse.

"Didn't expect to see you here tonight, but thank you for coming," you say, still with your painful smile on your face. You’re pretty sure it’s going to be permanent by the end of the night.

"Uh, just here for Michael," Ray quickly comments and nods. "Um, this is–”

“I know dear ol’ Rebecca.” Both you and Rebecca greet each other with air kisses on each side of your faces. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in quite some time,” you tell her.

“I’m doing very well. My company nearly doubled its revenue last month so I can’t complain,” she beams.

“You mean your father’s company?” you clarify.

“Yes, but he made me the president of the company a few months ago so it’s really mine too,” she explains. “He’s retiring soon so I’ll be CEO any day now. Anyways, how are you? I don’t really see you around much,” she shakes her head.

“Oh, I’m just always so busy,” you reply. Avoiding the lot of you. “I was actually thinking about taking a little trip to Mykonos next week. An unexpected birthday present.”

“I hear it’s fabulous this time of year,” Rebecca says. “And the men there are gorgeous.”

“Really?” you ask curiously. “I should probably go then.” You quickly glance over at Ray to see his reaction, seeing him shift uncomfortably.

You spot Fred in your peripheral vision and instantly grab his arm, pulling him in close to you.

“Freddy, love. You remember Raymond, right?” you ask him. You look back at Ray and can see his jaw ticking.

“Oh, hey! Good to see you again, mate!” Fred puts his hand out and Ray reluctantly takes it and as soon as he does, Fred pulls him in for a hug. Ray grimaces and lightly pats Fred on the shoulder. There is some actual genuine joy behind your smile now. 

“Freddy, darling! It’s been ages!” Rebecca exclaims.

After Freddy pulls away, he greets Rebecca.

“Bloody hell, Becca! When did you get so tall?” 

While they hug and catch up, you and Ray stare daggers at each other.

“Wait, are you two dating–” Freddy starts but you interrupt him.

“Um, Freddy,” you loop your arm around his again. “I think I’m ready for…” you vaguely gesture your head, nodding in a general direction towards the garden.

“Oh! Sure, yeah. I’ll meet you there after I stop by the loo,” Freddy says. “It was nice seeing you both again. Excuse me,” he says to Ray and Rebecca before walking off.

“Well, hope you’re both enjoying the party,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Excuse me. I have something I need to do.”

You walk off, not even bothering looking back as you make your way to your bedroom.

***

“Oh my gosh, Sophie, you have to tell that story about that time we pulled that prank on Lit’le Henry. Remember Henry?” you laugh, after taking a puff and passing it to Fred. 

“I don’t think Antonia here has heard about this story.” You wink at Fred. You introduced Antonia to Fred and they seemed to be hitting it off really well.

“‘Enry was a lit’le shite. It wasn’t a prank. It was revenge,” Sophie starts.

Sophie proceeds to tell the story about how a mutual friend kept getting bullied by Henry so the group of you teamed up to exact revenge on him. It was originally Fred’s idea but in the end he also took the fall for all of you. However, Henry never dared to bully anyone ever again.

“And I’d do it again,” he boasts.

You were finally able to sneak off with your friends to go hide in the shed to have a party for yourselves. No pretending, no masks, no manners. Just laughs. For those few hours, you were able to actually enjoy your birthday. You can’t remember the last time you had this much fun or laughed this hard. 

“Oh, fuck. I must have dropped my stash when I went to the toilet,” you say when you realize you can’t find the spare joints you rolled up. “I’ll be back. I’ll also get another bot’le of wine.”

“Love, it’s your birfday. Get one of the servants to fetch it for ya,” someone jumps in.

“They work for my parents, not me. Besides, I can use some fresh air,” you chuckle before bursting out of the shed.

As you cut through the long garden to make your way back into the house, you notice Ray pacing back and forth off to the side of the house while talking on the phone.

“Yes, boss. I understand.”

When he hangs up, he looks up and sees you cautiously walking trying to avoid being seen. You nearly twist your ankle as you tiptoe around and miss a step but Ray quickly catches you instinctively. So much for trying to dodge him.

“Are you alright?” Ray asks, looking into your eyes.

You stare back for a few moments, breathless. It might be the weed and alcohol but you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and let him hold you and never let go, but your daydreaming gets interrupted.

“Oh my! Looks like someone’s had a bit to drink tonight. You always know how to throw a party,” Rebecca comments as she walks over. “Ray, I’ll be back in a few. Need to powder my nose,” she winks before walking off inside the house. 

You quickly remove yourself from Ray’s grip and straighten yourself out.

“Are you alright?” Ray repeats.

“I’m fine,” you reply and start heading towards the house.

“Wait!” Ray takes a step in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

“What is it, Ray?” You ask, now annoyed.

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, Rebecca and I are not together. She’s just here with her parents and it’s my job to keep her entertained while her parents and Michael have an informal meeting,” Ray tells you.

“Ray, it’s really none of my business,” you shrug. "But I'm not surprised that's part of your job. I just hope she doesn't take it too hard when you're done with her and tell her to fuck off." You then try to maneuver around him but he side steps you.

“I know it’s none of your business but it’s important to me that you know. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hurt you in any way because that’s the absolute last thing I want,” Ray shakes his head, ignoring your snide comment. “I don’t want to be at this boring party as much as I know you don’t either.”

“OH!” Your eyebrows shoot up to your almost perfectly coiffed hairline. “I’m so sorry my party isn’t dramatic enough for you.” You cross your arms under your breasts which are now accentuated by your arm placement.

Ray’s eyes begin to twitch as he realizes what he had said.

“No, that’s… that’s not what I meant—“

“No cunt to punch in the face. No damsel for you to save,” you say as you raise your arms above your head and wave them around.

“Can you please lower your voice? I was genuinely concerned for you. That cunt put his hands on you!” Ray snarls.

“It’s my fucking party so I’ll be as loud as I want!”

Ray looks around nervously to make sure they don’t draw any attention.

“You just can’t go around punching every bloke who puts his hands on me! You’re not my boyfriend anymore!” You push right past him with all your might and shoulder check him out of your way.

“Well, your actual boyfriend should have, but he left you all alone in a crowded pub full of drunk men!” Ray growls. “That would have never happened with me. I would have protected you!” 

You stop in your tracks and twirl around.

“Oh, please! You weren’t protecting me. You just don’t like seeing someone else’s hands on me!” You walk up to him and poke your finger into his chest. “Why do you even care so much? You’re the one who broke up with me.”

“I still care about what happens to you,” Ray adjusts his glasses. “Kitten…”

You start shaking your head.

“Just because I can’t love you the way I want to, the way we want to, it doesn’t mean I automatically stop caring for you.” Ray’s face and voice softens.

“No!” You growl into his face. You grunt out of frustration and rip your necklace off for the second time and throw it at him. “I don’t give a shit what you do with that. Just don’t give it back to me.” You spin around and stomp away towards the house.

[aimzicr]

Okay I saw Last Voyage of the Demeter! I have thoughts. As someone who spent three years essaying about Dracula, as a fan and student of literature-to-film adaptations/transformations, and just as a reader and listener of Daily Dracula and Re: Dracula, I have thoughts. Mild spoilers below the cut, but nothing that would ruin the experience completely if you haven't seen/can't see it.

But please be aware: Dracula DOES go about in his Lizard Fashion™.

I wasn't expecting a one-to-one transformation of the Demeter's Log to make it on screen. After all, the story of men being silently hunted until all are dead makes for a great dread-inducing setpiece for Stoker's novel, but not so much for a standalone film. I did enjoy seeing how the story took the 'based on' as far as they could before they started stretching it.

I did have a quiet laugh as the first title-card almost seemed to suggest this was REAL and TRUE EVENTS for a second. Way to get me engaged and reference the epistolary nature of the original novel.

But yes, the story does get turned into a bit of a Last Girl Horror Movie, because they see and know there's something wrong and they're actively fighting against it, even as they get picked off one by one. An interesting take, a pretty damn good method of turning a bleak setpiece into a proper standalone story.

Dot points to follow, before I forget:

The opening with the wagons moving through the countryside was breathtakingly beautiful

(I couldn't help but think 'oh they're wearing the same hats my good friend Jonathan Harker wrote about')

The captain's log being read aloud, word for word, in quieter moments was very very good. (And, of course, by this point I know it word-for-word, so picking up on the small tweaks was quite a delight).

I enjoyed hearing the familiar names as we're introduced to the crew.

The captain's decision to retire and pass the ship on does make me reconsider the mate's stoic nature in the story as a man dedicated to his duty, rather than just an antisocial asshole. Always nice to consider things from a new angle.

Chekov's Black Dog (kind of a missed opportunity to not show Dracula using a mockery of Huck to escape, but this wasn't a one-to-one transformation of texts as I said; also no reference to a black dog being an omen of death? Missed opportunity.)

Dracula being the only one on the ship being allowed to eat meat, just a glimpse of his hypocrisy and tyranny

(Though I'm not a huge fan of modern vampires being depicted as messy eaters, Netflix's Castlevania etc: just DRINK THE BLOOD stop biting people and letting them BLEED EVERYWHERE, did your mother not teach you dining etiquette???)

"Can this disease be passed to people?" "No. Not without a bite" very cute.

The initial reveal of the face in the spyglass FUCK that was terrifying.

Considering inwardly 'why he look like that? We know he was an aristocrat when he left his castle -- wait, hang on, is this what happens when vampires get seasick? When they cross running water? They stop wearing clothes and go feral?' before I turned off my brain and stopped thinking about Seasick Naked Count Dracula

They really did need to add this new character, because the audience and the crew both needed the context and information. Otherwise, how could the crew fight back? RIP to canon, I guess, (but look at it this way: once Mina starts putting all the letters together, she gives Hellsing and the others the necessary information to kill Dracula, so... not too much of a reach?)

But Dracula, sir, bringing along a snack for the road and it ISN'T our friend Jonathan Harker?

The subtle reveal-and-conceal in the early parts of the voyage of Dracula's face and form was well done and genuinely terrifying. Just the parts where you look away for just a second and he's gone? Fuck.

"No, please! D:" "No, please~ :3"

HE'S GOING ABOUT IN HIS LIZARD FASHION AGAIN. THAT BOY AIN'T RIGHT.

Knock Knock. Who's there? Not your friend, that's for sure. (Dracula stealing this is Fucked Up, in the best way. He takes EVERYTHING from you! :) )

Vampirism as possession is an excellent way to recontextualise its parasitic history/links

Where's that tumblr post about how you can tell what a good horror film is? 'This movie's great, a kid DIES in it!'

Seeing the cloth move a second before the captain says 'I saw him move' but doubting myself. I didn't see that, right? It was just the wind. Right?

Oh. It wasn't the wind.

Men of Strength overpowered, Men of Faith made to doubt, Men of Reason rattled by answers that make no sense, and the Innocent hunted down. Dracula as a force of Pure Terror that tests one's character (and then eats, because he's a boyar and he dines on the cattle of his choosing)

Did he just slam this guy down so hard his BRAIN popped out of his skull, holy shit

'In my country, there's no-one else for him to feed on' what, do people go stale after a few bites? Dracula's a picky eater?

'He's rationing' puts the journey into even greater context. A chilling sentence in the film and in the broader understanding of the Demeter's place in the novel.

a Cool Plan to Survive The Monster is very action-movie, but I knew it wouldn't work (sorry, sometimes the spoilers/pre-knowledge ruin things)

'This is my home.' Augh. 'I'll do it.' AUGH.

The slow creeping fog rising up (like hands? like an embrace?) in the final hours was CHEF'S KISS. Beautiful effect

(Also loved the effect of the wind from His Wings displacing the fog, too. Even if you don't see him, you can see where he's been)

"What's going on?" "He knows." Oh. Well. Fuck.

The Last Voyage of the Demeter isn't told from the Captain's perspective, so much of the man's nobility and sacrifice in the name of duty is lost (even to the point that his iconic death pose is capital-m Mocked by The Dracula (almost like the old BAsTard was like 'I know you've read Stoker's book but I'm here to fuck with you, dear audience'). The Captain isn't the Final Girl in this horror movie, but they do give him a proper end as far as the film goes, even if he does get a lot more rattled and shaken than his log might suggest

There's also a sense of blurred intertextuality in vampire lore here, because they drew heavily on the Hammer Films/Buffy The Vampire Slayer context of 'vampires burning in sunlight'. Not truly Stoker's Dracula...

... then again, Dracula has a very particular Design, and is credited in the crawl as 'Dracula/Nosferatu'. He was for sure Count Orlock, rather than Dracula.

Knock Knock. I'm here watching you :3

That brief touch from Dracula as he leaves the bar was - fuck, it was a split second to make a poor man flinch, but in that brief touch was the playful terror of a tyrant: I own you, I don't fear you, you can't stop me, I control you. Nothing you said to me on the Demeter had any effect on me and you are just meat. Ta ta, darling~

The movie ending with a new survivor, the potential for a new vampire hunter, was very good. Instead of the Log of the Demeter ending in bleak despair and all hands lost, instead we have a man galvanised and ready to fight against evil, even if he has to do it alone.

Music kicked ass. Very raw, very primal, very Gothic Victoriana

Lots of fun! It felt a little like they were setting up for an Extended Dracula Universe (I hope I'm misinterpreting) but I did like how Getting To Live after a traumatic experience leads to 'Fuck this guy, he's not getting away with this in the future'. Like I said before, we wanted the monster back so we could kill it, so I appreciate that's the vibe they went with for LVotD. A little bleak? Sure. But the fact that people are willing to keep fighting, even in the direst circumstances with the odds against them? That's what we need. That's what it's all about.

[carylerxsecretsanta]

A Valentine's Getaway by TheresNoSafeHarbor4MyShips

Title:  A Valentine's Getaway Author:  @theresnosafeharbor4myships Rating:  G Theme: Valentine's Day Summary:  Daryl learns it's Valentine's Day and surprises Carol with a getaway. A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, my Caryl loves! I hope you enjoy this little bit of Caryl expressing their love for one another. I greatly appreciate this fandom, so--for now and always--much love from me! <3 Happy Heart Day!

“Uncle Daryl, how do you spell 'valentimes'?”

“RJ!” Judith scolded, causing Daryl to turn from the stove where he stirred the soup they'd eat for dinner.

“What?” RJ asked, indignant. “I need help with the spelling.”

“I could've helped you. You didn't have to ask Uncle Daryl.”

“But you can't help me with the secret part--”

“Shhh,” Jude hissed with a look of consternation.

“Jude, what's goin' on?” Daryl asked before a squabble could break out.

Disappointment crept over her face as she answered. “During writing class the other day, Mr. Travens told us about Valentines Day, how it was celebrated...Before. About how people would write love letters and get or make Valentines Day cards for people they loved. He said Valentines Day is this Friday, and we have to write a letter to a parent or guardian.”

Daryl tried to keep the skepticism he felt from seeping onto his face. “And you have to turn this letter in as an assignment?”

“No, we have to give the letter to the person on Friday,” RJ answered.

“As a surprise,” Judith intoned, throwing her brother a side-eye—a rare occurrence—before turning to focus once again on her homework.

“I'm giving mine to Aunt Carol,” RJ proclaimed proudly.

“At least it was supposed to be a surprise,” she muttered.

“Judith is writing hers to—”

“RJ!”

Duly scolded, RJ looked sheepishly at Daryl. “So how to do you spell 'valentimes'?”

The wind whipped cold against his face, his dark sunglasses the only thing keeping his eyes from stinging as he pushed his bike past 45 miles per hour.

Carol sat behind him, snugly pressed against his back, her arms around his waist and her hands balled up in his jacket pockets.

She hadn't questioned his insistence that morning that they go hunting, had trusted his promise that he'd packed everything they needed and secured Aaron, Gabriel, and Eugene to watch the kids for a night or two.

*************************************************

The winter months had stretched long, and he'd felt the clawing need to get back on the road, if only for a few days, despite the chill still hanging in the air. He appreciated home, had gratitude for the walls and family they'd all built, missed them when he was gone, and loved Judith and RJ like he imagined he'd love kids of his own—despite them wearing him out most days. And the fact that he got to live and love and spend what time he had left in this life with Carol made the constant fight for survival worth every second.

But those blessed times when he left the confines of Alexandria behind, when he didn't feel pulled in a million directions with others needing him to make decisions, fix something, run here, fight there, make the kids do their damn homework...those days gave him a sense of peace like nothing living inside the walls did.

Today was one of those days.

“Going farther than normal,” Carol called out against the wind, the statement tinged with a question.

He merely nodded, the hum of the bike's motor an excuse not to respond. She waited for more, but when he stayed silent, she settled closer to him, laying her cheek against his shoulder blade, hiding from the fierce wind.

They drove another fifteen minutes or so until he saw the weeping willow tree, its gnarled branches slyly pointing down the overgrown lane he'd discovered last summer. He turned onto the hidden road, deftly avoiding the bare branches that swiped at the air as he maneuvered along. A few minutes later, he pulled the bike in front of an old farmhouse tucked back from the road and hidden within a copse of trees.

“What is this place?” Carol marveled as he killed the engine and she moved off the bike.

“Found it last summer. Tucked a few things inside in case I ever needed them, bein' out here so far from home.” He slung his leg over the bike to dismount, toed the kickstand into place, and untied the two side bags he'd packed from the back of the bike. He turned towards the house to see Carol just standing there, staring at it.

“Reminds me a little of...” she spoke quietly, trailing off instead of finishing her thought.

He'd thought the same thing when he'd found the place. The wraparound porch with an old rocking chair in front, the faded, peeling white clapboard siding with what was once a green roof, the portico porch on the 2nd story, a brick chimney on each side of the house. It was like stepping back into a bittersweet memory of a time before they truly knew how tragic and devastating the world could be.

“Haunting,” she admitted, her eyes darting around them, taking in the expanse of yard. “And comforting, somehow.”

He nodded in agreement, waiting patiently for her to be ready to enter the home.

“You go ahead,” she said. “I'll be right there.” She motioned towards the woods, and he ambled towards the house, leaving her to her privacy. Hopefully her bathroom break would allow him enough time to set everything up.

He hurried into the house and dropped the backpacks onto the living room floor. He'd spent a few nights last summer laying on the couch, ancient now though it was, listening to the owls hoot and the screams of their prey as he drifted off to sleep. He'd found the surrounding woods teeming with prey of his own, especially compared to Alexandria's local forests, and he'd chosen to stay in the solitude an extra day before collecting their future dinners.

The home and its interiors were in decent condition, all things considered. The majority of the furniture stood upright and though dust covered every inch of the place, it was cleaner than most locations he'd drifted into and out of in the past decade.

Daryl flipped up a couch cushion and snagged the blanket he'd tucked there months before, a barrier he'd set between the flimsy cushion and the spring that'd poked at him when he'd first sat down. He shook it out and floated it onto the middle of the living room floor, adding one of the couch's pillows to each side of the blanket. Rifling through the bags, he set out the picnic he'd packed: packages of deer and squirrel jerky, a container with fruit salad Judith had made, two canteens of water and one flask of ages-old wine, a bag with some walnuts and another of peanuts, a small bar of homemade candy one of the neighbors had made, and two forks. He placed the two candles he'd bartered for on each end of the fireplace hearth and lit them with matches from his pack. Then he stood back to take it all in.

It looked as good as he could've imagined, given the items he had to work with. The idea of surprising Carol with a weekend getaway had popped into his head as soon as he'd spelled 'Valentine's' for RJ earlier in the week. It'd been a leech on his mind as he'd fought with himself about how stupid all the manufactured love thing was.

But he did love Carol. Loved her spirit and her heart and her strength. How she took care of him and the kids and their family and their home. Loved her ocean eyes, how she fit snugly against his heart. How she made him feel real. Like a man. Alive.

Reminding himself that he now, nearing 50, actually had a Valentine, he'd decided to ignore how silly he felt about it and just do it. He'd worked through all the details, selecting the perfect location, packing all of the items he'd brought without anyone discovering what he was doing, talking to the guys about watching the kids.

He'd managed to keep his nerves quiet for most of the day, focusing on getting Carol on the bike without answering too many questions, then enjoying their hours-long freedom ride on the bike, and keeping a keen eye out for the hidden lane to this place. But now, in the quiet, staring at his idea come to life, and waiting—just waiting—for Carol, had him nervous as hell.

"What's all this?”

He hadn't heard her enter the house, and he faulted his nerves for it. She moved to stand next to him, and he looked at her, back at the picnic blanket before them, then at her again.

Her eyebrows raised questioningly, she peered at him with a small smile on her face.

Daryl swallowed hard before answering. “It's been a long time...since we spent some time alone. Thought it'd be nice to get away for a day or two. Have a break from running the town, chasing after the kids.”

He held back the rest, feeling ridiculous again. Never one for obvious sentiment or frivolity, he found it hard to admit the real reason he'd set up this romantic getaway.

Carol's smile reached her eyes. “Daryl...”

Her voice came as a near whisper, sending whisps of warmth fluttering through him. “Just wanted to do somethin' nice for you, and...”

Over the past year or so, as they'd made their relationship known and settled into the day-to-day of being with each other, he'd gotten better at the quiet, intimate conversations. He'd learned how to talk about the things he felt and when to keep his mouth shut. But there were still times when his insecurity screamed at him, cinching a vice around his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

“And...?”

Daryl pushed the inherent fear down, focusing on the tender look on her face and the love in her eyes as she gazed at him, recalled the way she'd snuggled against his back on the ride here, and forced the words out of his mouth.

“And Jim was teachin' the kids about...Valentine's day. They said it's today, and...” He swallowed before continuing. “I wanted to spend it with you.”

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder before sliding down to his bicep and urging him to fully face her. He felt his face flush, but he turned to look at her.

Carol moved into him, up on her tiptoes, and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you,” she said softly. “This is the sweetest Valentine's gift I've ever gotten.” She slid her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and linked them behind his neck. “You're the best Valentine,” she whispered before kissing him fully.

Daryl's heart kicked up speed, the fear he'd felt swiftly replaced with fire in his blood, overwhelming love for the woman in his arms, and gratitude for this time for just the two of them.

“Come on,” Daryl said, easing away from her, nodding towards the picnic spread. “I have one more surprise.”

Carol sat on one of the cushions Daryl had placed on the blanket as he rifled through his pack once more. He withdrew two envelopes, then sat across from her.

“The kids made me promise we'd open these today. A homework assignment to write Valentine's letters to their guardians,” he answered the questioning look on her face. He passed an envelope with 'Aunt Carol' written across it in RJ's writing, while he kept the one Judith had addressed to him.

“I can't believe all this, Daryl. I've never...Valentine's day was never a thing for me...Before.”

He thought of the Valentine he'd written for her, still secreted in his bag, of the quiet evening here with her, tucked away in a hidden home, away from the world. Of how much he loved her and how he wanted to show her.

“It's only startin',” he promised. “Happy Valentine's day, love.”

[letmereadherbertwestfics]

W*A*L*T*E*R S1E1: P*A*R*A*D*I*S*E

"I didn't know you liked Westerns, June." Walter said, the words slightly muffled by the popcorn in his mouth. June also munched on popcorn, her eyes trained on the tv in front of the two. 

"I really don't, but one of my favorite actors plays the main gunslinger." She explained. Walter nodded, and was going to ask another question, but before he could get the words out, western themed music began to play on the tv, and a black and white cowboy appeared on the screen. 

June and Walter quieted down, the only sound in the apartment bring the tv and the sound of their popcorn chewing. The western-style music was accompanied by the title card, large red letters reading Paradise. Then the title card faded into the show. 

"What are you two doing?" Said the voice of Wendell, coming from behind Walter and June. The two replied with hissed shushes, both turning to glare at Wendell. 

"Tough crowd." Wendell muttered as he moved from behind the couch, lowering himself into an armchair. 

The three watched together as gunshots fired, horses whinnied, and men in big hats kissed women in big skirts. It was the most stereotypical western any of them had ever seen, and by the end of it Wendell was practically snoring in his seat. When the final scene faded out and the commercials began, he stood from the armchair with a groan. 

"I can't believe you guys enjoyed that crap." He said, stretching as he headed for the kitchen. 

"Crap?! Paradise is not crap." June insisted, following Wendell into the kitchen. "It might be cheesy, but it isn't crap."

"June, I love you like a sister. But that show was C-R-A-P. Crap." Wendell replied, making June scoff. 

"Everyone's a critic." 

While June and Wendell continued to bicker about the show's quality, Walter sat completely still on the couch. His mouth was slightly agape, bits of popcorn sticking to his bottom lip. He was staring wide eyed at the television, seemingly not having realized that the episode was over. And Walter continued to stare at the screen until he was snapped out of his daze by Wendell patting him on the shoulder. 

"Well? Walter? What did you think of Paradise?" He asked, swinging his legs over the back of the couch until he was sitting next to his cousin. 

Walter cleared his throat, wiping the popcorn crumbs away from his lips. "That was the best thing I've seen since Godzilla." He said in a tone that suggested he was deadly serious. 

Wendell rolled his eyes and June grinned. "Whatever. I'm going to Baby Belle's." Wendell announced as he got up from the couch, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." June muttered, making Walter smile. 

And as soon as Wendell was gone June dropped herself onto the cushion he had been sitting on. "So, what did you like about Paradise?" She asked Walter. 

"Oh boy, what wasn't there to like? The acting was captivating, the writing was witty, the setting and the costumes were all great to look at...and the music, it was like...music to my ears." He gushed. Walter took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. "And don't even get me started on David Kauffman, the way he plays his character was just mesmerizing. I get why he's your favorite actor now."

June was thrilled, and she and Walter spent nearly two hours talking about the episode they had watched. June also got Walter up to speed on the episodes he had missed, and they discussed predictions for the episode next week, and when Wendell reappeared in the apartment and saw the two of them still having the conversation he left in the middle of, he was appalled.

"How can you have a two hour long conversation about something as boring as that show?" He asked as he tossed his jacket onto Walter, as if he were a coat rack. 

"Paradise is not boring!" Walter hissed, balling up Wendell's jacket and throwing it on the floor. 

"Whatever, but if you two keep me up with your fangirling I'm going to disconnect the cable." Wendell warned before heading to his bedroom. 

June chuckled before standing from the couch, stretching her arms and legs. "I should get going anyway. It's getting late." 

"Oh, let me walk you to the door." Walter insisted, also rising to his feet. 

----

"Allen, have you seen Walter come by here?" 

Allen, the cook for Gary's, shrugged at June's question. "The guy is so short he could have walked right on by. I'd never know." He said, scratching his head with his spatula. 

"Be nice. And don't use that spatula." June hissed as she walked away.

Walter promised June that he would come by on his lunch hour. Ever since their initial meeting the month before and the revelation of what Walter planned to do, it had become a ritual for June to invite Walter to lunch every day. It may have been a little savior complex-ish, but June doubted she could focus on anything in or outside of work if she didn't make sure Walter was keeping himself safe. At least until it had been long enough for her to not have to worry about that anymore. Which was exactly why Walter missing one little lunch meeting was so concerning to her. 

After waiting for another half hour, June called the police Department's front desk. After three rings the phone was answered by Mrs. Petrie, the secretary. 

"Hi Mrs. Petrie, it's June. Is O'Reilly in right now?" She asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

"No, actually, that's the problem." The secretary responded, sounding tired. "O'Reilly didn't show up for his shift and Sergeant Sowell is taking it all out on us."

June's heart dropped into her stomach. Not only did Walter not show up, but he didn't call in or tell anyone where he would be or why it was more important than work. That was enough to get her to immediately leave work, giving Allen a short explanation of where she was going before running three blocks from Gary's to Walter's apartment. It was also enough for June to walk right into Walter's apartment without knocking. 

"Walter? Are you home?" She called out, sweaty and out of breath from the run but still making her way through the apartment. She caught her breath as she walked into the living room, her eyes widening when she saw the scene in there.

Walter was seated in between the coffee table and the television, swaddled in a blanket and looking unkempt. His hair was a mess and his glasses were on the tip of his nose, but he didn't seem to care about either, because his eyes were glued to the television. Which was playing Paradise. 

"Walter? You feeling okay?" June asked, causing Walter to nearly jump out of his skin. He threw the blanket off of himself and turned around, but looked relieved when he registered that it was June standing there. 

"June! Yeah, I'm okay. Why?"

"...Why? You didn't show up to work and nobody had heard from you all day. I thought you were in danger or sick or..." June trailed off, not wanting to say out loud what she was thinking. But Walter seemed to understand anyway, because he sighed heavily and turned the TV off. 

"I'm sorry June. I guess I lost track of time." He said sheepishly. 

June sat down next to Walter on the floor, pushing away a discarded bowl of popcorn. "What could have been so important that you forgot to go to work?"

Walter's eyes lit up and he motioned to the TV. "There was a marathon for Paradise that started last night. I figured since I haven't seen all the episodes like you have that I would watch it. Then we could talk about the show together." He explained. 

June smiled softly, torn between being flattered at Walter's interest in a show she likes and angry that he had her worried sick so he could stay home and watch television. Deciding she liked to be flattered more, June forgave Walter without even telling him she was upset in the first place. Instead she just grabbed the popcorn bowl and took a piece for herself.

"Walter, it's sweet you're so interested in my interests...but maybe next time you could at least call in to work?" She suggested. Walter's eyes widened at this, and he slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Work! Oh Sergeant Sowell is going to have my butt for this!" He exclaimed, knowing this stunt of his meant the Sergeant was going to reprimand him heavily the next day. And if he even let Walter keep his job, it was going to take a lot of shift covers and skipped lunch breaks to make up for this. June knew this too, having heard enough stories of Sowell from Walter and Wendell to be afraid of a man she had never met, which was why she immediately began brainstorming ideas to get Walter out of hot water. Or at least to lessen the blow. 

"Didn't you say that Wendell bribed Sowell to get out of trouble for being late?" June asked. 

"Yeah, before Sergeant could get on to him, Wendell gave him a gift certificate to Jimboy's Tacos." Walter elaborated, not understanding where June was going with this at first. But once he did, Walter perked up. "Maybe if I do the same thing, he won't tan my hide for this!" 

"Wow, great idea Walter!" June said with sarcasm that Walter didn't pick up on. 

----

"Do you think he's dead, or Sergeant Sowell will keep him alive just long enough to-"

"Wendell you're not helping."

June and Wendell were waiting outside of the Police Department, having watched Walter go inside to speak to Sowell fifteen minutes prior. He had taken a gift certificate to Henry's Hamburgers with him, and all three of them hoped that it would be enough for Walter to keep his job. Or at least to walk out of the Department alive. 

After another few minutes of waiting in silence, the doors opened and Wendell stepped outside. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he put his hat on and walked down the steps, towards an anxious June and Wendell. 

"Well?"

"How did it go?"

Walter swallowed before smiling nervously. "Well...he liked the certificate. And I'm not completely off the hook, but a few extra shifts next week outta be enough to get Serg off my back." He said hopefully. 

June and Wendell both let out sighs of relief. "Way to go Walter." Wendell said as he slapped Walter on the back, grinning. 

"Thanks Wendell. Boy, let's hope I never have to go through something like this again." Walter said with a heavy sigh. 

"As long as you learned your lesson, you shouldn't have to." June assured him as they all began walking in the direction of Walter's apartment. 

"Trust me June, I won't pull a stunt like that ever again." Walter promised. And June believed him, until a few minutes later when she and Wendell realized that at some point they had lost Walter. and turned around to see him with his face a mere inch away from an appliance store window, which had a television on display. And of course, that television was playing Paradise.

"Walter!" June and Wendell snapped, making him snap out of his daze and scurry after them. 

[mlobsters]

supernatural s12e12 stuck in the middle (with you) (w. davy perez)

unfortunate that that song has forever been associated with that reservoir dogs scene in my brain

not sure why this scene reminds me of the movie diner (1982), paul reiser on the brain and a group i guess

DEAN [leaning across the table to talk to Cas] Oh, dude, she is into you. WALLY Mm hmm. MARY Dean… DEAN No, this is good. We’ve been looking for teachable moments. This…

i dunno why i have such a bad attitude about the show right now. partially attributable to my overall depressed ennui situation.

ok so is this scene a reference to reservoir dogs? i recently saw the madonna discussion roundtable diner scene thing from the beginning of the movie (haven't seen in 20+ years) and oof. i didn't particularly enjoy the movie when i saw it originally and my feelings have not improved

job going sideways and bloody, set to an old song, certainly tracks with tarantino. it was a good scene, they say staring dispassionately. cas is leaking

and the title cards and jumping around in time. okay. guess we're really going there

s12e12 / s2e17 heart

ahh how things have changed/not changed (incl my screenshotting habits).

s12e12 / s1e22 / s2e1

well that sound effect when he flashes his eyes is a blast from the past. had to go find out if they did in fact use it for azazel way back when and look at that, yes. i associate it with the title screens more - so i included that too. giving my brain a little pat on the head. *rawr*

very drama, very nice shot. is that the spear of destiny? i thought that was at the bunker. did they do anything with it? can't remember. (lalala the blog search OF COURSE didn't return that post when i searched for destiny. or spear. fucking tumblr fix your shit i'm begging you)

s8e17 / s12e12 / constantine (2005)

WALLY I-I just mean, I-I heard the sales pitch– money, gear. It all sound swell, but someone walks up to you and offers you something that sounds a little too good to be true? I wonder, what’s the catch? MARY Since I’ve been working with them, we’ve taken out more than a dozen vamp nests, four werewolf packs, and a ghoul who was eating his way through Arlington. We saved a lot of people. WALLY Right. So you do trust them.

one way to deal with the american hunter problem i guess, earn the trust and turn them into cannon fodder

WALLY You meet them fancy Men of Letters? SAM British Men of Letters? DEAN Yeah, they got gear, but, uh, you know they tried to kill my brother.

reminds me a bit of how sam is willing to stow baggage for practical reasons, mary willing to work with them if it's for the greater good

from s9e22 stairway to heaven DEAN And the last time you had this kind of juice, you did kill humans and angels, and you did nothing but lie to me and Sam about it the whole damn time! SAM Can we, uh -- can we take this somewhere else, guys? Will you stow the baggage, Dean. Look, we've got a case. Let's work it. Cas, did you know the angel in that video?

--

SAM Wait, Mom? Uh… I just wanted to make sure that, um… you’re okay. I mean, I know… you never really wanted this. MARY Since when is life about getting what you want?

kind of a throwaway comment but also hits a little too close to home

s12e12 / s4e22

thought it might be the same painting as what was in that little fancy jail zachariah put him in during 4x22 but no, different spearing

really, show. i feel like they've done this pulp fiction sight gag before?

s5e14 my bloody valentine

lol they did, it was a soul in the briefcase

mary gonna own up to all this?

CROWLEY Your friend was stupid. You’re all… Do you know what you’ve done? Does the name Ramiel mean anything to you? SAM, DEAN, AND MARY: No. CASTIEL Yes. SAM What? CASTIEL Ramiel, Prince of Hell.

this is me throwing my hands in the air. sure, why not! never mentioned before but hey another harder-than-usual to kill baddie. did we know azazel was ... a prince of hell? also chuckled that when searching for prince you do get the canon discrepancies page about the inconsistent effect the demon knife has on various ranks of demons

and more pulp fiction, polishing a pocket watch for no reason

the lance of michael, i see. so this is six years ago crowley gives it to this prince dude, which would be s6? after michael was tucked away in the cage, he snagged it? and we're gonna retcon in some explanation of how crowley ended up with the king of hell job while multiple members of royalty were out and about

CROWLEY I don’t have friends. I make deals with those I can use. Every kingdom needs allies, even Hell. RAMIEL Allies. Is that what you call three humans with one good liver between them and a busted up angel?

snorted but also, mary got an alcohol problem too? unless sam's doin it on the side

CROWLEY I admit they don’t sound like much. But every Armageddon, every bloody, “this is the end of all things,” a Winchester stopped it. Like it or not, they’re an asset we can’t afford to lose.

crowley selling it well (but also, facts. they might start the armageddon, but they will also stop it)

CASTIEL No, you listen to me. You– Look, thank you. Thank you. Knowing you, it… it’s been the best part of my life. And the things that… [inhales sharply] the things we’ve shared together, they have changed me. You’re my family. I love you. I love all of you. Just please… please, don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run. Save yourselves. And I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.

oh now cas gets a dramatic deathbed goodbye that won't stick

DEAN Cas, no. CASTIEL Yes. You need to keep fighting. SAM We are fighting. We’re fighting for you, Cas. DEAN And like you said, you’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.

admit i giggled at sam's like, it was a little too cheesy earnest. and tried to not giggle at dean's line. it's just too much! the music, the delivery. rousing

so mary is so committed to keeping whatever she stole from him, she's willing to role the dice and fight him? maybe that was the plan anyway. too tired to think this through :p

and crowley gets to save the (cas) day by figuring out the cure is breaking the spear of destiny the lance of michael, ok

conveniently, mary gets a pass on having to explain stealing the thing. god i do not like the homage to tarantino movie music either, what a surprise.

MARY That’s not good enough. I lost a friend. I almost lost one of my boys. KETCH And we apologize– MARY Shut up. Anything like that happens again– anything– and I will burn you down. All of you. KETCH Is that a threat? MARY It’s a promise.

has mary adopted cas too? and i like mary staring down this asshat like a boss

the colt???? oookay.

i know that voice, is it my true lucifer love mark pellegrino??? he's so much better at being creepy

LUCIFER [laughing] Ah. I know that look. Sam and Dean have got you down. Well, I still can’t believe that you’re working for the Dukes of Haphazard. Do you really think they care about you? I mean, think about it, Crowley. They kill your kind. It’s in their blood. And you know… you know… it’s only a matter of time before they come… [singsongy] for you.

dukes of haphazard lol

so they had to keep him in some elaborate cage in hell before, but now he's trapped in some little kennel in the topside "palace"?

this episode might be a record. took 2 days to get through it and probably 4 hours total. too much shit i felt the need to comment on or needed to look something up for. for the literally zero people that will ever read it. wait no, 1 person! i will read it and reference it

[rygoespop]

Thomas and Friends: Tales from Sodor (Story 54): Diesel Goes Too Far

Title Card: Diesel Goes Too Far

Scene opens at Diesel 10's Mountain, where another meeting occurs, this time, only 4 Diesels were shown, as Diesel 10 is silent

Arry: Uuuhhhhh, I think the Boss is a bit silent

Bert: Yeah I agree Arry

Diesel 10: Alright, so far, we lost George, Bulgy, SCruffey, and the Horrid Lorries, all thanks to that Puffball and his friends!

Arry: Yeah, we know boss!

Bert: We gotta do something!

Diesel 10: Ooh leave it to the Second in Command

Diesel: Leave it to me boys *he cackles*

Scene transitions to Knapford Station, Thomas arrived and he was surprised to see a familiar face

Narrator: Later, as Diesel began his plan, Thomas came across a familiar face

Thomas: Merlin?! What are you doing here?

Merlin: Hello Thomas, I have arrived from The Mainland, I have brought the Widow of the Late Mr. Perkins back here to Sodor!

Mrs. Perkins: I wouldn't thank you enough Merlin, I would've never have the urn with the Ashes of my late husband *she shows the golden urn that says "Mr. Perkins" on it*

Thomas: *feeling sorry* Oh, condolences for your loss Mrs. Perkins

Mr. Evans: Yes, we are sorry for your loss Mrs. Perkins

Mrs. Perkins: Mr. Evans! How are you?

Thomas: Wait, you two know each other?

Mr. Evans: Of course Thomas, Mr. Perkins and his wife were close friends of mine, but following Mr. Perkins passing from the world, I had to move away from Sodor and relocate permanently on The Mainland

Mrs. Perkins: I respect your decision to move to The Mainland, Mr. Evans

Mr. Evans: Thank you, so anything else you brought?

Mrs. Perkins: Yes! I have a letter that left my Husband before he succumbed to his Illness *she hands the letter to Mr. Evans*

Mr. Evans: *reading the letter* Dear Mr. Evans, my old friend, if you are reading this, I have passed from the world, but I have one final request for you, I want you scatter my Ashes at a Cove by the Seaside! Signed, Mr. Perkins

Thomas: So, Mr. Perkins wants his Ashes scattered by the sea

Merlin: I think that's his Final Wish

Thomas: Well, we gotta make it count, before Diesel 10 has his way

Diesel: *over hearing them* Heh heh heh heh *he honked his horn as he oiled away*

Thomas: *sees Diesel oiled away* Cinders and Ashes! Diesel heard our conversation!

Merlin: Oh no! So this is one of Diesel 10's doings

Thomas: Yeah!

Scene transitions to Diesel arriving at Diesel 10's Mountain

Diesel 10: So, what do you have?

Diesel: I have learned that Thomas is going to help the Widow of Mr. Perkins, by scattering his Ashes at the sea

Diesel 10: The Ashes of Mr. Perkins, scattered at Sea? Well, bring me the Ashes, I give him a proper way of scattering his Ashes *he clamps Pinchy as he cackles*

Scene transitions to Thomas, puffing through the Countryside pulling Annie and Clarabel

Thomas: I know Diesel is going to stop me and Mr. Evans, but I can't let Diesel 10 stop us!

Merlin: *blew his whistle as he puffs up along side Thomas* Hello Thomas!

Thomas: Merlin! I thought you were heading back to The Mainland

Merlin: Oh I was about to Thomas, but I thought of helping you with the problem with Diesel 10, since he might try and stop us from fulfilling Mr. Perkins's final wish

Thomas: Well if you want to Merlin, then welcome aboard!

Thomas and Merlin both came to a stop, as Rosie puffed up at the Junction

Thomas: Oh, hello Rosie! You remember Merlin right?

Rosie: *sees Merlin* Oh, hello Merlin! What are you doing here on Sodor?

Merlin: Oh, I have brought Mrs. Perkins back here on Sonar after she picked up an urn containing her Husband's Ashes, so after hearing the problem with Diesel 10, I thought I stick around and help!

Rosie: Well, how thoughtful of you Merlin

Thomas: Rosie, can you please look after my Branchline, Merlin and I will be off to deal with Diesel 10! *he was uncoupled from Annie and Clarabel*

Rosie: Of course Thomas!

Thomas: Thank you Rosie! Come on Merlin, let's go!

Both Thomas and Merlin puff off, as Rosie puffed onto the same track and buffered up to Annie and Clarabel

Rosie: Come along Annie and Clarabel, we got passengers to collect!

Annie and Clarabel: Oh that sounds delightful Rosie!

Rosie blew her whistle and puffs off as she pulls Annie and Clarabel

Thomas: So Merlin, how do we stop Diesel?

Merlin: Well, he did say he might find Mr. Evans before us

Thomas: Then we have to keep going

Scene transitions to Knapford, Mr. Evans was waiting for a ride to Tidmouth

Mr. Evans: Oh where is that Pump Trolley? I know I had it in the yards *he heard Diesel's horn*

Diesel: Hello Mr. Evans! Need a ride to Tidmouth?

Mr. Evans: Oh yes Diesel! That sounds nice!

Diesel: Then get in

Mr. Evans enters inside Diesel's Cab, unknownly that this is one of Diesel 10's plan

Thomas: *puffing into Knapford with Merlin, as he sees Mr. Evans entering Diesel* Oh no! Mr. Evans stop! *he blew his whistle*

Diesel: Heh heh heh! *he oiled away with Mr. Evans*

Mr. Evans: Thomas help!

Thomas: Stop Diesel! *he blew his whistle and gave chase*

Merlin: Stop you bad Diesel! *he blew his whistle and gave chase*

Diesel: So long Steamies! *he cackles as he oiled away faster*

Scene transitions to Thomas and Merlin chasing Diesel through the Countryside

Thomas: Stop Diesel! Mr. Evans will not be given to Diesel 10!

Diesel: Oh you steamies never learn!

Merlin: Thomas! I'm gonna try and block Diesel's path by being up front! *he puffs faster*

Diesel: Huh?!

Merlin: Points! *he was switched on the different track, now next to Diesel*

The chase continues through Henry's Tunnel

Merlin: Points! *he was on the same track as Diesel, in front of him*

Diesel: What?! Get Out of my way you silly steamie with three funnels!

Merlin: Invisibility on! *he puffs outs a cloud of steam, making him "Invisible"*

Diesel: What the?! What trickery is this?!

Thomas: It's called invisibility!

Diesel: But I can still see him!

Thomas: Now you don't! *he puffs up behind Diesel*

Diesel: What?! No! Boxed in!

Thomas: Now! *he applies his brakes*

Merlin: We got you now! *he applies his brakes as well*

Diesel was stuck, he had no choice to stop and surrender

Mr. Evans: Thomas? Merlin? What's going on?

Thomas: Mr. Evans! Diesel tricked you, he's not taking you to Tidmouth Sheds, he's trying to take you to Diesel 10!

Mr. Evans: What?!

Diesel: *nervously* Well, you see I was just... Oh ok! I give up! I was trying to take you to Diesel 10! I told him about Mr. Perkins's Final Wish

Mr. Evans: I should've known! Diesel, I'm sending you to work as Whiff's Waste Dump as punishment!

Diesel: But I, I... *sighs in defeat*

Thomas: Well done Merlin!

Merlin: Thank you Thomas!

Scene transitions at the Coaling Plant, where Diesel 10, Arry, and Bert were there

Diesel 10: So, looks Diesel has been caught thanks to that Puffball and that engine who claims to be invisible!

Arry: Oh no Bert, looks like the Boss is losing it!

Bert: Yeah, losing it like a crazy one!

Diesel 10: Alright Barry, play time is over!

Arry and Bert: Oh no!

Diesel 10: Time for the next lesson, how to stop being so concerned! *he bangs Pinchy on the hopper, but Coal came pouring down on Diesel 10 causing him to cough*

Emily chuckled, as did Henry as he puffs backwards next to Edward and his cars

Diesel 10: *covered in Coal Dust* Now that's gonna leave my facial ruined

Arry and Bert: Doh!

Arry: *to Bert* Remind me to turn against on the boss when he chases Thomas and that Merlin engine

Bert: *to Arry* Right!

Scene cuts to black

To be concluded

Story End

[highwaydiamonds]

Nearly everyone involved with Netflix's Persuasion should be slapped in the face with a glove. They have insulted us with drivel on screen, and I, for one, demand satisfaction.

[astranne]

MASTERLIST MADE UP FANFIC TITLES

notes // here are all sent asks from the not so planned event linked. it‘s going to take a while to write all of these. blame foxie. i do too. all titles are linked in the order in which they have been posted.

please note that some titles contain suggestive themes/or talk about nsfw things/pairs not everyone will like. these are no full works, but something like 'summaries' to the fanfic titles which have been sent. sometimes there is a bit more, sometimes there is a bit less. if you're very sensitive to the things named above, then don't read. while my main doesn't have explicit themes, some titles sent are, or at least mention it. if you see a title like that, and don't want to read then don't read. it's this easy.

free candy the white van said // Long-Awaited Secrets Revealed // expense it on my business card, he said // I'm shocked, shocked, I tell you // A Tale bound for the Stars // Oh Mary and Jane, Don't be Simping on Main // Forget the man I used to be and four more titles // 101 things NOT to do with a panda: stealing one from China to deal with the estate's invasive overgrown forest of bamboo // Baby don't worry // No matter where I look, high or low, I still can't find you hoe // be a pathetic social worm getting crushed by lifeTM // reflection in the void // 50 shades of mud // Green Hell // Good luck biting through steel greaves you gremlin // Emergency Food or World Guide: The Debate // Anemo, Electro and....*reads smudged writing* grass? // Dreaming about New Ways to Torture (baby‘s first stand) // "tutorial on how to crack an egg" seconds before disaster // Pretending We Know Things (How Does One Work This "Oven") // Unending Memes Encryption // Not friendly for introverts nor kids // cry for your mama, scoff at your dada // You're the Lightning to My Sound of Thunder // Call Me The Champion (of the Accidental Meme Smackdown) // I see the cosmos in your eyes (do I live in it?) // i'm a mess on fire but no amount of water will fix me // My Physics Professor made me do it // When all the stars go down, a strange type of sound // Dancing in the Dark // If I drop this coffee, someone is going to Die // "Gaze Not into the Abyss, Lest it Gaze Back" // You don't know whether you're dealing with a god, a king or an alien bent on world domination // The Print Was So Small, We Didn't Understand // We Sit Our Thrones (It's Time to Say Goodbye) // Everything wanted to kill me but I lived out of spite // Identity Crisis: The Musical // Why should I hire you? // Dabi's 504 methods of evading taxes // The extraordinarily ordinary life of brothers // Make War Not Tea // It's funny how you think you're still the king (karma is a bitch) // Invincible, We Live Like Legends // The Taste of Who You Are // Past Turns To Dust (Pour It Into The Hourglass) // From Winter Song to Noble Blood (Undo It All) // Mood swings can cause weather change, don't you know? // You sent me a letter. What is this, the medieval times? // "Alright, which fucker broke this again" // Bad Apple (The Prettiest Poison Apple) // We're an endless stream of choices (a haunting melody) // Stay Strong (You're Not Allowed To Laugh) // A Twisted Happy Ever After To Behold (you wanted to fade away? Too late) // We all want to be somebody, but you always wanted to be nobody // Sung Jinah's Secret Pandora Box // Dragons....in MY land? // Oh No, Extreme Dad Energy // Down the rabbit hole but found a fox // the stupidest thing you can give to a child // Flower of Hell (Assassins, Outlaws and Outsiders) // Fishing For A Compliment (You Caught A Childe!) // kill me softly // Round is a shape. // „I‘m in a coma, no one can tell me otherwise“ // Game of Survival, War of Hearts // The legend of going to bed at a reasonable hour // T'was As Amusing As The Light of A Garbage Fire // "DID YOU SEE THIS DUMPSTER FIRE" you laugh, shoving your mobile in my face // Dead Hearts and Doomsday (I can't ditch this fake tea party, send help) // Over the Horizon (Way Back Home) // "I can't be a magical girl!" You, a magical girl, say // 20 STRANGE PHOTOS TAKEN IN USJ // Enemies with benefits comes with tax benefits. // Black haze, blue gleam // ”Heroes should be fashionably late, so why are you early by....TWO HOURS?!" // I left for maybe 5 minutes, why is the kitchen on fire // Beauty and the beast named batkid // Alert! Click on link below to find the missing Batman // what they don't tell you // Twink(le) twink(le) little Pringle

more titles will be linked...

ASTRANNE 2022

[katnissmellarkkk]

Gravity

Hi! Okay, so here’s chapter two of my growing back together story, inspired by the prompt “I won’t hurt you” @rosegardeninwinter sent me. I also posted this fic on AO3 under the title Gravity (like the Sara Bareilles song), if that’s where you prefer to read. And here’s a link to chapter one of this fic if you wanna read and haven’t yet.

Also I know I said in my first author’s note that there will be three chapters, but there might be a bit more.... we love an over-writer, right? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t know if you’re “supposed” to post every part of a multi chapter fic on here? Or just post the link to it on AO3? But for now I posted it in its entirety on here 😊.

Anyways, hope you like it! And thanks to anyone who reads! 💖💖💖

/

A couple months later.

We slide back after that. I don't know if that night-the night he had a nightmare that I died and we slept locked in each other's embrace-moved too quickly for Peeta or if he thought he was protecting me from him, but when morning light came, he was gone from the bed.

I didn't see him again until the following evening, helping Haymitch feed his rambunctious geese in the yard. He didn't speak to me for four more days after that, and when he did, it was to ask what kind of bread I wanted him to bring for lunch the next day.

I pretended to his face that it didn't hurt. That waking up in a cold, empty bed, in a house he all but abandoned until I had evacuated, that sleeping in his arms and awaking so abruptly alone, didn't hurt. I did what I had taught myself to do as a child and I turned my features into an indifferent mask, shutting off all access to my emotions. Destroying any possibility of anyone witnessing my vulnerabilities.

But I knew deep down, it did hurt. It hurt badly.

I didn't speak to him directly the first week he showed up for lunch and to work on the memory book again. I got by fine without addressing him directly, as Haymitch somehow sensed the bubbling tension between us and stayed sober just enough to remain alert for all our shared meals. He helped with the memory book, helped by adding in a snarky comment here or there to reel our focuses onto him instead of each other.

I wanted to say thank you but I never knew how. I doubt Haymitch needs me to verbalize it anyway. One night, as he follows behind Peeta to leave, his hand grazes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze and I know he's much more aware of the dynamic between his old tributes than he leads on.

But weeks after the night in question, the night that set Peeta and my friendship back months, we receive a telegraph from Effie. A telegraph that shakes the small amount of stability we've managed to build in the time since the war.

Apparently President Paylor has decided to move forward with arena destruction, an idea mentioned a few times by Plutarch on Caesar's talk show. An idea I didn't take seriously until now.

Paylor has decided to build a memorial for each of the arenas, for each year the games ever took place, to immortalize our history, so Panem can never forget how cruel and inhumane things once were. But first, she wants to eliminate the actual Hunger Games arenas, once and for all, before putting the memorials in their place.

My initial thought, months ago when Delly showed me Plutarch and Caesar discussing the idea, was that this would takes years to happen.

I was, once again, so clearly wrong. The plans have been expedited and the order in which each arena will be decimated has been swiftly decided.

All that alone doesn't sound terrible. I'd like to see those death pits crushed, burned, torn down, eradicated, or all of the above, by any means necessary. Only downside, initially, is that this will extend me—and Peeta and potentially all the other victors—remaining in the forefront of the public's mind.

Since the war, all I've ever wanted was for everyone in the country to forget who I am. I don't want to be known anymore. I just want to be left alone, to a quiet and peaceful and relatively simple life, without anyone ever recognizing me again. Without anyone thinking of me as the girl on fire, as the Mockingjay, as the sixteen-year-old who volunteered for a sister who was doomed to death anyway.

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch.

Plutarch thinks it would be great to have the living victors be there—televised—in the Capitol and see the arenas before they're bulldozed.

Even with this dreadful proposition, I thought I had time to think of a way out of it. When Effie first sent the telegraph, I thought that I would have years before having to worry about going back to the places where my nightmares started.

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

After all, it takes time to destroy something as large and as vast as an arena-excluding the way I destroyed the one in the Quell, that is. I figured-I rationalized, really-that by the time they got to number Seventy-Four, I would have a solid excuse to get out of attending.

I guess though they wished to start with the big years and the first decade of the Hunger Games wasn't very eventful, apparently—lucky them—so the first arena they wish to bid farewell to is the one from the second Quarter Quell. The Fiftieth Hunger Games. The one that was so strikingly beautiful and almost entirely poisonous.

The year Haymitch Abernathy, from the lowly District Twelve, won.

And being also from Twelve, my presence, along with Peeta's, suddenly became of the utmost importance as well.

At first, I still try to opt out of the event. Even after Effie chastises me over the phone, like not a day has passed since she was my escort, and even after my mother claims in her letter that it could be cathartic for me, I do not relent.

Delly and Thom and a few of the others in the community, like Kanon who runs the candy shop two stores away from the bakery, and Greta, who helps with the dusting and mopping all over town, try to say that it could be good for me. Greasy Sae claims it can't be worse than actually living through the games, and I silently appreciate her much more blatant statement than the comforting platitudes others try to provide me.

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

Because the only person I truly listen to is Peeta. Even bitter and wounded, the only person I really hear is him.

Unfortunately, as irritating as it is sometimes, his voice will always reach me when others can't.

But we don't ever have an actual conversation about it. Five days after Effie calls to announce the news, to tell me unequivocally that my presence is requested, Peeta sways me to go with just a look.

He comes over later than usual and brings extra bread and pastries to go with the deer meat I hunted. We feast silently, the air between us still incredibly awkward, when, without warning, our old mentor comes crashing through the door unceremoniously.

I don't know how much alcohol he consumed, but it's enough to knock even someone with Haymitch's tolerance off his feet.

By the end of the hour, the older man is practically beating his head into the wall of my dining room, screaming the names of dead children and about force fields and axes. And from across the kitchen table, Peeta touches my arm—the first time he's voluntarily touched me in weeks—and my eyes meet his, blue pouring into gray, and silently he begs me to go for the goodbye ceremony to Haymitch's arena.

And I give in. Not just for him. But also, in large part, to repay the caustic, miserable drunk that kept us alive. To support the unpredictable, temperamental man that I do consider my family somehow.

The ceremony is set to take place weeks later and the time does little to alleviate my anxiety. Peeta and me still don't speak much, but come time for lunch or dinner, there he is, in my house like clockwork.

When I point out, a few days before we're due at the train station, that there's a very realistic possibility that the Capitol won't let me go to the ceremony, Peeta casually says, "I already cleared that with Effie and Plutarch."

I shoot him a look of surprise. "You did?"

Shrugging nonchalantly before turning back to the rabbit on his plate, he murmurs quietly, "Thought it'd give you one less thing to worry about."

The ceremony is nothing like I expect. Somehow I figured there would be an obnoxiously large television crew, loud speakers, prepared speeches on written cards, awkward directions and crowds upon crowds of people surrounding us, asking pointed questions, shooting invasive stares and pressing for reactions to their nosy accusations. I expected those accusations to be directed at me and Peeta especially.

Instead, there's none of those things. There's no crowd at all, it's just us victors. Just Enobaria, Johanna, Annie, the three of us from Twelve and Beetee—who I still can't make myself so much as look at, reminded of my sister's absence and his role in it every time we so much as stand in five feet vicinity of each other.

The camera crew consists of Mitchell, Pollux and Cressida, along with two unfamiliar, but seemingly non-threatening faces. There's no directions, no prompting, not close ups or reshoots.

All that happens is Paylor makes a statement that the crew films, stating that the arenas will be destroyed one by one, and in the place of each there will be an individual memorial made, as we victors stand in an unorganized, crooked line that will surely make Effie cringe when she sees the footage on television later.

It's almost peaceful, I think to myself in surprise, as I look around at the location. The sky is a stunning cobalt, even more brilliant in person than in the video Peeta and I watched on the train so long ago. The meadow looks like the grass is fresh, like it was just watered yesterday. The mountain is so breathtaking I have to physically tear my eyes away from it and even the woods look rather cozy. Or maybe that part is just me.

There's also arraignments of flowers, just like in the footage we watched, that spill every which way, filling our noses with soothing, floral scents. It feels unnatural to say about a place set up for murder, but with the deadly poisons lurking at every turn eviscerated, I almost can find this arena truly beautiful.

Of course though, it's not my arena.

It's Haymitch's and he looks like he's about to be sick. He's white-knuckled it for a few days without any sort of drink—to my, Peeta's and, even Effie's, visible shock—and I can see plainly now that he's absolutely regretting it. His eyes are hallow and wild at the same time and I can see his shaking palms beneath the sleeves of his jacket as he stares out at the source of his every nightmare for the last quarter century.

It shocks me that he didn't find a way out of this. Actually, it shocks me still that these ceremonies are even possible.

I never knew they kept arenas after the games were over each year. I never realized they kept all seventy-four death pits, haunted by child sacrifice, the way you keep old vases on a shelf.

At this point though, it's just another thing to add onto the growing list of horrific and unthinkable issues that the Capitol doesn't even grasp. Keeping the haunted graveyards of children as souvenirs shouldn't sit right with anyone, I don't care how you're raised.

I tell myself to not be so quick to judge, as I can't know who I'd be if I had been born in the Capitol instead of the districts. Still, the idea of condoning the things they have without remorse or shame seems unthinkable.

I'm torn out of my thoughts when Cressida speaks. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Haymitch, before we finish filming?"

Once again, catching me off-guard entirely—he's full of all sorts of surprises evidently—Haymitch clears his throat and looks down at his leather boots before speaking. "Ardor. Garnett. Dolan. Silver. Ryker. Artemis. Slayte. Pistol. Lex. Mac. Lumen. Gig. Brook. Aqua. Mary. Ripley. Lyme. Watt. Rocky. Gio. Belle. Raven. Kia. Mecko. Barker. Jack. Holly. Briar. Essie. Stitch. Coco. Paul. Mira. Miller. Coop. Harvey. Butch. Cutter. Bea. Skinna. Basil. Sunny. Rip. Spring. Oaker. Terra. Maysilee." He lists off the names in a way that is so matter-of-fact that it would almost be robotic if it weren't for the hoarseness in his tone that grows stronger with every name he utters. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, "Corentine. Alannah. Alastar."

There's a long stretch of silence, where no one speaks, no one blinks, no one even breathes. We all know instinctively who these people are—I know solely from Maysilee Donner's name being called—but we still wait until Haymitch speaks again, to confirm our assumption.

"Those are the names of all the people this arena killed." His eyes grow glassy and his brow furrows in anger as he fights desperately to repress his emotions, and suddenly I have the strangest urge to hug my mentor, to make him feel better like he tried to do for me once when Peeta was stuck in the Capitol and I was distraught. But I know it wouldn't be appreciated or wanted, and quite honestly I'm glad for that, because I don't even know what to say.

The last three names Haymitch said stick in my head for some reason I can't explain other than an odd gut feeling. But then he speaks again, an in a voice growing gruffer by the second, he says right into the camera, "that's every single person who was killed because of the second Quarter Quell."

And, like I should have known all along, it hits me the last three names are the names of his family who were murdered to punish him for the stunt with the forcefield.

The last three names are the murders of the last people he loved. Until me and Peeta came along.

As if his thoughts matched mine, Haymitch suddenly shakes his head and his eyes widen again as he stares past all the rest of us, as he continues to take in the exact place in which life as he knew it, twenty-six years ago, was altered forever.

His reaction is more understandable and genuine than I imagined he would ever allow it to be, especially on camera, and I want to say something but me and him both aren't good at saying anything, and I find myself looking to Peeta, hoping he'd know what to do.

Peeta doesn't meet my gaze though. He's solely focused on our mentor and just when he opens his mouth to speak, the older man to suddenly shake his head in our general direction and clears his throat.

"I'm done. Tell Plutarch I'm done with this crap. Just hurry up and bulldoze this place so I can go back to Twelve," is all he says to Cressida as he storms off, but his voice is rough and caustic once again, and I can only hope he recovers from this event soon enough.

Somehow, witnessing Haymitch relive his games, even through the shield he so obviously puts up to the outside world, triggers me though. For some reason, I feel my eyes begin to water as I look around at the meadow, at the mountain, at the golden cornucopia, and wonder how anyone could build a place where kids would eventually go to die? How could anyone have ever been so inhumane? How could a country just accept it? How did we live for so long with the Hunger Games overtaking our lives and still remained complicit? I don't understand. The more time passes, the more days I'm separated from the war and from the old world and the old way of life, I just can't comprehend anymore how we ever lived in a place so horrific.

I feel my eyes spill over and I'm grateful that Cressida has stopped filming already, because if Plutarch saw any tears on film, he would make certain it ended up on television.

I wipe my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to go about it as subtly as I can, hoping no one else notices. For the most part, I'm golden. Enobaria is already exiting, with Beetee following not far behind. Jo's back is to me while she speaks to Annie, though as per usual, she seems to be irritated.

Of course, it's too much to ask for everyone to remain oblivious to my waterworks. Even as I rid myself of them before they become widely noticeable, I feel Peeta's eyes train on me and know, despite the distance between us for the last few weeks, he isn't going to ignore my upset.

To my surprise though, he doesn't speak. He doesn't utter a single syllable.

Instead, I feel his large, warm palm slip into mine and squeeze tightly, lacing our fingers together, in a way we have done thousands of times before. Like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete a picture, like two indivisible teammates that will fight against anything that is thrown their way, like two halves of a whole finally finding each other, his hand grasps mine with a vengeance and I know I won't be the one who let's go.

He's still holding my hand when we board the train, hours later.

//

A couple weeks later.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenstead, I will get the chocolate nut loaf and a platter of the cranberry cookies wrapped up for you... Yes, it will be ready by the time you arrive... No, I promise they won't be cold," Peeta assures through the bakery telephone—a new addition that Thom and his wife thought was necessary to run a proper bakery. So necessary they bought it for Peeta as an opening gift.

It's not that the gesture wasn't nice or that Peeta didn't deeply appreciate it. I personally saw that he did, wholeheartedly.

But seeing it on the wall every day was just another reminder to me of my own personal vendetta against the integration between the Capitol's way of life and the districts'.

The only place telephones used to exist, outside of the Capitol limits, was the houses in Victor's Villiage, and if I'm being honest, I wish it would have stayed that way.

Maybe I'm being selfish, as I happen to still reside inside a house that once belonged to the said village, therefore I already had experienced this luxury prior to the new world. But I just can't make myself break the association between the items that had recently become readily available for all and the horror that was the Capitol.

Still though, the change was inescapable Telephones, cameras, heating pads, curling irons, quick bake ovens, cars and so many other items, were all growing in popularly across each district. Not that I was able to see a lot of these changes personally. But letters from Annie and my mom, and the occasional—unprompted and yet still begrudged—call from Jo, all kept me informed. Sometimes more informed than I wished to be.

Maybe I would feel entirely different if these inventions were brand new to me. But they aren't. I'd seen and used every one of them before. Their novelty had always been lost on me, perhaps because my only experience them was while inside the Capitol, surrounded by tacky colors and strong rose scents and itchy materials, headed for a death match, my life and the lives of those I cared always at great risk.

Of course, the new item in the bakery did make some things easier. Days like today are a perfect example.

Harvest Day is only one day away and everyone is coming in for their breads and their desserts. Peeta says it was always one of the most popular days, for as long as he can remember. Only difference is, before the war only Peacekeepers and town folks could afford to purchase anything. And generally, most citizens who even did come in, could only purchase a limited amount of items.

Not now. I don't know where everyone in Twelve was coming up with the money or if Peeta's prices are just a drastic drop from that of his mother's, but today, I swear I've seen every citizen in town inside the bakery.

Makes me glad that the portrait of me is hanging in the back, where no one else can see it. As pretty as it may be, as talented as Peeta is, I don't want a giant version of me displayed for all to see.

"Here you are," I politely say, handing two loaves of warm bread to a man who must be new to Twelve, as I've never seen him before. I'm debating on asking if he moved here recently when he passes a bill to me over the top of the pastry display.

"Thank you, hon." He smiles at me, looking at me a little too closely for my liking, as he swiftly walks out the door. His exit is met with the arrival of Val, a boy Peeta and I went to school with, who definitely was more Peeta's crowd than mine.

Val is a regular customer at the bakery, having always genuinely liked the Mellark family. His parents owned a small carpentry shop four spaces down from the bakery, and even with both them dead, he and his two sisters rebuilt the store, taking over their parents' legacy.

Peeta though is more focused on me now than Val's order. "Give me a second," he calls to his old friend, a little less polite than he had been all morning. "Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks urgently, seeing the look in my eyes.

I shake my head and push away the anxiety threatening to close in on me. "Nothing, just..." I hesitate, not even wanting to say it. Peeta's gaze refuses to lessen though and I sigh before finally mumbling, "That guy. He creeped me out. The way he was looking at me so closely..."

Peeta's hand touches my arm for a brief moment before pulling it away, making it obvious that he regrets the small act of even so much as touching me. But his words are still calming and they relax me a little. "He's gone now, Katniss. And if he scares you, I won't let him come back, okay? There's nothing anyone can do to you or me anymore. We're safe."

I nod, knowing the words like the back of my hand at this point, as it's the same mantra we always repeat to each other, every time one of us begins to panic or flail. But still, I open my mouth to refuse his offer. I don't want Peeta to turn away any sort of business. Not with the unpredictability and uncertainty this new world still rests on. We never know if the bakery will sell anything tomorrow or if all sort of income will soon dry up.

And we're the lucky ones, financially speaking, who were rich before the war and allowed—in a generous declaration by President Paylor—to keep the entirety of our money after. I don't have to imagine the anxiety others in the country must be in, knowing the curse of poverty all too well. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

"I don't want you to turn away people," I say quietly. "Not on my account. You need business to keep this place afloat."

"I have plenty of money, Katniss," he reminds me, a little darker than I expect. "And I'd rather you feel safe than own a popular shop."

His words unexpectedly touch me, unexpectedly cut right down to the depth of my bones, exposing my soft underbelly. I'm about to do something stupid, like touch his hand, when Val makes his presence known again. "Your shop is already the most popular in the district," he points out, not even a little ashamed for having listened to our conversation. "And besides, why don't you just look at the guy's name? Maybe you can look him up, see if he's alright or not."

Peeta gets a glint in his eye. "That's a good idea, Val, thank you." As he moves towards the register to, I can only suppose, look for the man's receipt with his name and signature, he gestures to his school friend. "Katniss can get your order."

I shoot him a glare, only half kidding. I did come to help out, here and there, today but I did not intend to be an actual expected employee. For free, no less.

Instead of saying anything though, I just grab Val his three cinnamon rolls, his two snack cakes, four bagels, white chocolate donut and a loaf with raisins and cranberries.

Val, like Delly Cartwright, was always one of the few people in Twelve who had a few pounds to spare.

Peeta has a type of friend.

"Found it," Peeta now calls, bringing over a slip of paper to where I'm handing Val his three bags of treats. "His name was Rod Catamaran."

Me and Val, for the first time perhaps, exchange a look between us. "That's an odd name for Twelve."

"I've never even heard that name before."

"He may not even be from Twelve, guys," Peeta says.

I roll my eyes. "Because a bombed out district is really a tourist attraction."

"Hey, none of that," Thom calls as he walks through the front door of the bakery, with Kanon Bagley on his heels. "We've rebuilt this place beautifully and negativity is not appreciated here."

"Yeah, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, teasing me. I'm about to kick him in his only real leg, as we're the only two behind the counter and no one else will see, when Kanon speaks up.

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

"Of course," Peeta says kindly, walking around me to personally grab the two items Kanon requests.

Kanon is new to Twelve. One of the few new additions this place gained after all that went down. He's a large man in his early twenties, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes to match. But the only times I've ever interacted with him, he's quiet as a mouse, his eyes a little forlorn at all times and he offers more discounts then he should at the candy shop he recently opened next to the bakery.

He's from District Eleven originally and it takes no real critical thinking to realize he had a hard life, even before the war.

I'm far too familiar with the look of scars etched across the eyes. So is Peeta.

That's why, when Kanon looks down at the money in his hand and realizes he doesn't have enough to afford both pastries, Peeta immediately brushes it off. "That's okay, they're on the house," he instantly promises, handing the small bag over to Kanon with a gentle smile.

"No, I don't want to take it without-"

"I made way too much," Peeta insists, lying outright to make it appear Kanon would be doing him a favor. I know he didn't make too much, because we've been flying through everything today and keeping the ovens hot in case more is needed.

Still though, I back up the fib. "He did. We've been wondering all day how we were gonna sell enough stuff so we don't have to feed the leftovers to Haymitch's geese."

Kanon glances between us shyly, before taking the bag from Peeta's hand and slipping the few dollars he does have into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says softly and turns to leave.

Thom pats Kanon on the back as he passes him, before turning to follow. When the other man isn't looking, he turns back to us subtly and mouths, "thank you."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me. I only watched Peeta make this food, I didn't assist by any stretch of the imagination. I didn't own the bakery or do anything with the money or finances. It was not my choice to give things away for free.

But I'm far too focused on the boy in front of me to say any of that. The boy with the bread, the boy who isn't really a boy anymore. The boy who just gave away food for no reward at all, even on the most demanding and strenuous day all year for his business. The boy who just showed Kanon Bagley the same kindness I begged someone-anyone-to show me at eleven-years-old and not one single person did.

Except for him. He did for me all those years ago what he did for Kanon just now, and I suddenly have the most inexplicable, irrepressible urge to kiss Peeta right then and there, in the middle of the bakery.

I don't, however, and it's for once not because I lost my courage. It's because the door swings open again, just as Val exits right behind Kanon and Thom.

It's the same man from earlier. "Hi," Peeta greets, this time not at all sweet. Clearly recognizing the man as the one who made me nervous before. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the man affirms, his tone brighter than you'd expect given our chilly reception. And our blatant wariness for anyone new. "I forgot to get a pecan butter cake before?"

There is a beat where me and Peeta exchange a look, before I awkwardly move towards the display case and begin to pack up his item. Peeta waits for me to decide to help the man before starting to ring him up.

"That was a nice thing you both just did," the man says as he patiently watches me fold the white waxy paper over his pastry. "For that guy."

"You were watching?" Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Only for a moment," he explains, his tone still friendly. Either he doesn't know how to read people at all or he's the most even keeled person in Panem.

Because I know I'm being rude, to a man who maybe doesn't even deserve it, I force myself to say one thing conversational. "This is my mom's favorite dessert," I offer, gesturing to his cake.

The man raises his eyebrows in an act that looks almost feigned. "Really?"

I instantly regret trying to be even slightly pleasant. Even his mannerisms seem fake. I'm contemplating if I should say anything else or go hide in the back room with the warm ovens and my portrait, when Peeta presses a button and the register dings.

He's about to say the total when the strange man shakes his head and hands to me directly an unfamiliar bill over the display case. "Have a nice day, you two," he calls, grabbing his cake and swiftly walking out.

It's not until he's gone, not until I have a moment to process the second weird encounter with the odd person, that I even glance down at the crisp bill he handed me.

It's a bill with a larger number on the back than I've ever personally seen before. I knew these kinds of dollars existed—I'm sure I could have gotten plenty after my first games—but I'd never seen one in the flesh.

Peeta sees my reaction. "What is it?" His voice sounds alarmed and he's stepping closer to me, but all I can do is gasp out his name.

"Peeta, look." I hold up the bill and point to the number on the back.

His eyes widen too, taking in the amount with a dizzy smile. Of both relief that nothing's wrong and excitement at the digit.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder towards the window, wondering if we should track the man down and give him his money back, before he evaporates into thin air.

"No?" Peeta shakes his head, the wheels in his mind turning quicker than mine. His face turns to that of elation, as the large bill takes some pressure off the bakery's sales. "No, he said he saw us give Kanon a break. He was giving us something in return."

I'm about to say something else, I don't even know what, but it all flies out of my head when Peeta suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and swiftly pulls me into his embrace.

My entire body goes into lockdown and hypervigilance at the same time. I can't move an inch but it feels like every nerve in my body is abruptly tingling and on fire.

My sweater lifts up slightly and his bare arms graze my lower back, eliciting a shiver to run involuntarily down my spine as his face buries into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck after a beat when I can make myself move again, and I feel him smile against my skin. I'm so glad at that moment he's holding me up, because if he wasn't supporting my weight I'd probably crash to the floor, unable to even feel my legs beneath me.

And, as a rush of heat shoots out from the place where Peeta's lips brush my collarbone, I suddenly feel only gratitude, not irritation, at the strange Rod Catamaran.

//

Four days later.

The world surrounding me is green. Green and brown and fire-bitten and scorched. Every which way I spin, there's embers soaring from that direction too, waiting to lick me with their burning flames, ready to decimate me once and for all.

But through the smoke and haze, I still can see between the trees two blonde braids. I still can see a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. I still can see her shirt that's come untucked in the back, creating a duck tail that I desperately want to fix.

Just as I notice her, she whirls around to face me, her blue eyes big and bright and terrified. "Katniss!" She screams, the same way she did the last day she was alive. "Katniss, help! They're coming!"

I don't know who's coming or what's happening or where we even are, but all I feel is relief somehow. Relief that she's here, that I'm in her presence again, that she's almost within my reach. Instinctively I call out, "Prim!" Just so I can finally get a response to the name I've been shouting into oblivion for almost a year now.

"Katniss, help me!" She cries again and then looks over her shoulder. She's not talking about the fire between us, as it doesn't seem too intent on heading towards her.

I don't know what's coming or who she's afraid of, but my instincts now go into overdrive. My body suddenly snaps into alert and I whip my head around, to see if I can find an opening in the fire closing in on me, if I can find a way to get to the sister I lost what feels like only yesterday, if I can find a way to save her this time.

There's no gap in the fire though. It's crowded around me, front, back and side to side. The more seconds that pass by, the closer the fire folds into my proximity, and I have to brace myself before making a split-second decision.

But it's not really a decision at all. Prim needs me and I cannot fail her. I have to save her this time.

I take a bold step directly into the fire, with every intention of running through it somehow. Of running past the wild embers, scorching myself no doubt, but still making it over to my distressed, frightened little sister. But it doesn't work like I expect.

But really, does anything?

These flames are nothing like the fires I've encountered before. And I've been around more fire in my life than anyone ever should.

No, these flames don't burn me. They don't hurt me or put me through agony or singe me to pieces. They don't melt off my makeshift coat of skin and they don't further decimate it either.

Instead the fire feels like almost nothing. Like something almost itchy, something almost irritating, something almost painful. Something that make me want to squirm and scream and escape all at the same time.

Which is real ironic considering what else it seems these flames do.

They seem to hold me into place. The second I'm in their hold, instead of the horrific pain I thought I'd be in, I'm trapped in a series of almost nothing.

I'm not in excruciating pain physically, but seeing my sister standing ten feet from me, and not being able to move any closer, not being able to protect her from whatever she's terrified of, is worse than any amount of injury this fire could have inflicted.

"Katniss!" Prim screams now, her voice only growing in its frantic nature. "Help! Why won't you come help me?"

I try to scream, try to tell her I want to but I can't move. But it turns out that these flames also paralyze vocal muscles.

"Peeta's dying!" Prim yelps out, looking behind her again, her hands beginning to shake in a way she almost never let them in life. She always tried to keep it together, to remain calm and rational in a crisis.

Her words elicit something entirely new inside of me though. "Peeta?" I yell in confusion, my voice suddenly no longer paralyzed.

"They're killing him! Katniss, please, why won't you come here? We need you!" Prim is close to hysterical now and frankly, so am I.

"I'm trying! I just," I move my hands down my body, trying to push the flames away as they rises up to my chest, trying to just break free from these fiery chains once and for all. "The fire, Prim! I can't get out of the fire."

Prim's voice drops then, loses all source of fear, every ounce of panic. Loses any semblance of emotion. "Katniss, there is no fire," she states blankly, her eyes looking directly at the embers covering my stomach and legs. "There's nothing there."

I just look at her for a moment, completely speechless. Her words are inconceivable, her eyes are haunted now, her facial expression is unrecognizable. Even her voice doesn't sound like hers anymore.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, in the distance a gunshot goes off.

Prim delicately glances over her shoulder now, her blue eyes cold as ice. "He's dead," she informs clinically, before sighing deeply, her tone almost disappointed. "And so am I."

I don't know what happens next or how it occurs, but I fly upwards in my bed with such a start, I give myself whiplash.

I hear a loud screeching noise hanging in the air, a hoarse trepidation that almost makes me feel better. I don't know why but someone else screaming in the middle of the night gives me hope, as sick as that may be.

Only it's not someone else, I realize, as my throat burns raw. I realize with startling clarity that I'm the only making all the noise. I'm the one shaking so tremendously. I'm the one who is sobbing.

"Shhh," a voice whispers against the darkness, and I flail involuntarily at the shock. "Sorry, sorry," Peeta instantly apologizes, his hands gripping my arms with a little too much intensity, trying to still my shaking. "It's okay, Katniss, you were just having a nightmare."

His words do precious little to calm me down though. "She was there," I cry, the image, the feeling, of Prim standing only ten feet from me and not being able to reach her too painful for me to unsee.

"Who was there?" He asks tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Katniss, breathe."

I don't even bother listening to his advise. I haven't exhaled since I was eleven. "Prim was there. She was begging me to save her and then I couldn't, I was trapped but-but," I cut myself off, unable to form coherent words and thoughts any longer.

Peeta gets the gist though. "Come here," he whispers and pulls me into his arms, like he used to on the train, when my nightmares woke us both three times a night. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly now, and rubs my back in a way that elicits goosebumps. His way of trying to soothe my shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You died too," I blurt out then. I don't even know why I feel inclined to tell him.

"What?"

"I was stuck and I couldn't speak and then Prim said you were going to die and I got scared enough that I could talk again and I thought-I thought," I stumble breathlessly, my tears pouring out against his shoulder now.

I feel his lips touch my cheek and I'm too upset to revel in the feeling of blood rushing there. "It was just a nightmare," he promises.

But my sentiment is unfinished. "I thought I could break free, that I could-"

"Katniss," he halts, still holding me in his embrace, rocking me slightly. "It wasn't real. I promise you, it wasn't real."

Those words, the words so often said to him by me, ring a bell that I didn't want to ring. It snaps me back into reality abruptly and without warning, I feel like my chest is going to collapse.

Because this means Prim wasn't really there, that she still is as dead as she was yesterday, that I still watched her explode into pieces all over the bombsite in the Capitol.

I still failed to protect her.

Peeta pulls back slightly then and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Katniss," he says again, trying to calm my trembles by rubbing my arms up and down.

"How are you in my house?" I realize, with an intense sudden clarity. "How are you here? Are you real or am I still-"

He quickly puts me out of my misery. "You gave me a key, remember? A long time ago? We gave each other keys to our houses."

Oh. Right. I forgot all about that when he had his nightmare, didn't I?

Good thing he's an idiot who keeps his door unlocked at night.

He's explaining further before I can think to ask. "I heard you having a nightmare from my house. That's why I rushed over here."

I'm caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Sorry, I really don't know what brought it on."

"Hey," he quietly reprimands, lifting my chin now to meet eye contact. "Don't apologize. No one understands nightmares like me."

I nod, accepting his words, though still a little uncomfortable with screaming for all the district to hear at two in the morning.

Then again, our entire neighborhood is Haymitch and the two of us, and our mentor was drinking like a fish last night so really, the only person who could have heard me is already sitting directly in my eye line.

To punctuate his words, when I don't respond verbally, he lifts my hand up and brings it to his lips tenderly.

And I don't know what comes over me or why. I don't know if it's because we've been growing closer again lately or if I just haven't felt his arms around me since days ago in the bakery and I miss the feel of it desperately, but I find myself abruptly throwing my body around his before I can talk myself out of it.

He catches me easily, like he anticipated my reaction and sways me for a long moment, until my breathing begins to even itself out.

"Will you stay?" I rasp into his neck, as I feel his hand tangles in my matted locks.

"Always."

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

four

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: the party

disclaimer: slander of Elton John, self doubt,

Someday, it could be more than we intended

“Can I help you with anything?’’ Avery jumped at the sudden voice and felt her heart start to race. The middle-aged man behind the counter of the vinyl store was looking in her direction with a raised brow.

“Yeah,” She nervously plays with the hem on her cardigan. “I need a present for a… friend.”

He nods and rounds the corner of the counter, making his way towards her. “What does he listen to?”

“I don't know… But he is turning 22,” Avery stammers as the man starts to sift through several boxes filled with old vinyl. “And he is called Harry.” She adds quickly before realizing that his name says little to none about his music taste.

He sighs and pulls out a colorful record. “Well, everyone likes the Beatles I guess, but I only have two of their albums.”

“Do you think he already has it?” She asks, still studying the bright cover.

The guy frowns at her before sighing again. “I don't know, it's in their top three, and if he likes the Beatles he probably does.”

“And that one?” she points at another brightly colored album cover. Since Avery didn't know much about the music she decided to go with a pretty one.

“That's Elton John, not very good in my opinion, but he has an album with a Beatles song on it.”

She takes the vinyl and flips it around to look at the tracklist. One of the tracks was titled I'm Going To Be A Teenage Idol which, at least in her opinion, fits well with her with Harry’s I'm a rockstar exclamation. “I will take this one.” She smiles handing it to the cashier.

The guy nods and makes his way back behind the counter to ring it up. “Should I wrap it up?” He asks while Avery searches her bag for her wallet.

“No, thank you. I'm going to.”

“I was kidding.”

“Oh, sorry.”

It was half-past seven when Avery left the second-hand vinyl shop and made her way back to her flat. She could have bought the present earlier, but she had only decided this morning that she was going to go to the party. After reading Harry's letter she thought he was mental. Parties weren't Avery's scene, but this morning unjustified guilt overcame her and she decided to go.

At home, she wraps the record in wrapping paper she had bought while she was out. It was brown with little bees sprinkled all over it, in the store she thought it was cute but now that she is looking at it, it seems quite childish. “Well, you've got nothing else to use, so this will just have to do.” She whispers to herself.

She decided on wearing a pair of jeans and a red sweater, hoping that Harry's flat would be warm because she despises the cold. With the bee wrapping paper covered vinyl under her arm and her keys and tube card in hand, she leaves her flat at eight o’clock.

Saying that Avery was just nervous when she hopped off the tube in Farringdon was a huge understatement. Farringdon is at the border of the city of London, where everything was very nice and incredibly expensive, she had never felt more out of place.

Ignoring her racing thoughts about all of this she makes her way out of the tube station, following the directions on her phone until she is stood outside a very pretty house. The music and flashing lights coming from the windows on the third floor was a sure sign that she was in the right place.

Avery opens the door, gripping the present a bit tighter. They’ll think you’re stupid. Why would you go for the bee wrapping paper? That’s so childish. They’ll laugh at you.

She keeps her gaze on the floor, stumbling up the stairs until she is standing in front of a dark green door, decorated with three balloons. While Avery is still debating whether she should ring the doorbell or knock, someone shoves her from behind. She stumbles forward, nearly crashing into the door. The couple gives an apology before they disappear into Harry's flat.

The girl takes a few steps back from the green door. “I can't do this,” Avery mumbles. “I can't do this… No. I can do this. It's just a party.” She takes a deep breath before entering the flat.

Inside she is immediately greeted by many flashing lights and a lot of people. Most of them are talking to one another, some are dancing. She spots the couple who had accidentally shoved her in the corner of her room making out. The smartest thing is to find Harry first so she could get rid of the present as soon as possible.

Luckily Harry isn't far from her, as she spots him just across the room. As she makes her way to him her nerves What up again. He is standing around and talking to multiple people, two tallboys and a shorter brunette girl. Just the thought of talking to him around them made Avery unexplainably nervous.

As Harry turns around there is an eminent frown on his face until he sees Avery. His smile grows and two dimples make an appearance on his cheeks. “Avery the journalist! I can't believe you made it.” He steps forward, immediately wrapping his arms around her tiny frame, he feels her stiffen and contract inter herself, but just brushes it off.

“Hey.” She nervously says, her hands gripping the vinyl tighter and tighter by the second. Her gaze moves to the three people around them, sending them a polite smile. The two guys smiled back at her while the girl just simply stared her down.

“What's that?” The brunette asks, nodding towards Avery's hand.

“A present, Jo. What else would it be?” Harry snaps back. “I'll see you guys in a bit.” He adds before lightly gripping Avery’s arm and leading her to the kitchen. The kitchen was way less crowded, there were far less people and the music isn't as loud.

“Present time!” Harry cheers. The big toothy smile on his face warms Avery's heart. It had been a long while since anyone appreciated her presence to any extent.

“I… I couldn't find any other wrapping paper… I'm sorry. I know it's kinda… ugly and-”

“I love it. Avery. It's cute.” he smiles, carefully peeling the tape off the paper to avoid ripping. As if he was going to use it again. As soon as he pulled the record out of the wrapping, she couldn't help but start rambling once again.

“I don't know much about music so I wasn't too sure about what was good, but I liked the song titles. I thought the Teenage Idol one fit you quite well.”

Harry watches her with a grin on his face. “Calm down. I love it, Okay? Elton John is the king of the piano. It's a great present. I really love it. Thank you.”

He pulls her into another hug, and this time Avery doesn't stiffen.

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[drshojo]

The World, My Childhood And My Hero Academia: Vigilantes

Hello friends!  

Its Dr. Shojo coming at you with a post that will be divided into three parts!

Part One: The world as we know it! 

The world has changed a lot since we last connected. For starters, TOILET BOUND HANAKO KUN HAS NOT ONLY A PHYSICAL RELEASE BUT A GORGEOUS ANIME! And not only that, but MY NEXT LIFE AS A VILLAINESS: ALL ROUTES LEAD TO DOOM! IS GETTING AN ANIME AS WELL! The last time I wrote about Katerina there wasn’t even an official English translation of that long-ass light-novel-title. And now?

A WHOLE ANIME. A BISEXUAL HAREM AWAITS! I am JAZZED!

Do you think it’s my fault? No matter, I’ll take all the credit. All the manga I talk about are getting anime adaptations. I’LL DO MY DUTY AND TALK ABOUT SOME MORE!

But first. Let us address the Covid-19 shaped elephant in the room

I deeply regret that it took a whole-ass pandemic to get me back to writing. In my defense, I bought an iPad and started drawing like 900 kokichi oumas. I was really busy with that. And then I started reading fanfiction. Then that got me thinking about how fanfiction such an interesting look into how people interpret fandom, use it for wish fulfillment and escapism, and good god is everyone OK cause that bulimia fan fic was super detailed....and I am officially on a tangent. Off track. Ahem.

We are all staying inside a whole lot more which means y’all probably need some reading material and Dr. Shojo has your back! Go read “Horimiya”! It’s amazing! Ahhhh, my work here is done! I'm serious, if you’re here for a Shojo rec, that’s it! There's also like 8 million more Otome Isekais to check out now. It’s like they’re multiplying like rabbits..............

As a Doctor, I must advise you to stay inside and read some manga and practice social distancing. Embrace your inner hikikomori. 

Allright? All good? Okay now one final disclaimer:

This post is going to be talking about something a little different than usual and I want to start by giving you some context about who Dr. Shojo is in real life. 

Part Two: Dr. Shojo Exposed 

You see, when I was little I was obsessed with Japanese media. This doesn't surprise you at all I can tell. Probably because I walk around calling myself Dr. Shojo and shout about manga that you should read.

Anyways, the reason why I was obsessed wasn’t because of the big eyes or the spikey hair or the interesting new culture. It was because it tended to have more character development and overarching plotlines than the media I was used to in Canada. Dexter’s Lab, Magic School Bus, pretty much everything I saw on TV was episodic in nature, so imagine how much my mind was blown when I saw Naruto and Card Captor Sakura, heck, even Pokémon had the Indigo Plateau! Here were kids that were learning more and more each day and got to see enemies become friends and vice versa. They lived and grew older just like me. Except they were cooler than me. And had more interesting lives than me. I gotta tell you, I was so sad when I was 12 and Kero didn’t tell me I had latent magical powers. But there was magic in my life and it was the magic of a complex narrative story. And not only that, it had a sense of movement and had cool costumes. I was hooked immediately.

Also, fun fact, at that age I happened to be a complete and utter tomboy! I loved pretending to fight my friends in the playground and was really worried that puberty would ruin my life because being a girl sounded so CUMBERSOME.

Which leads me up to my confession. Before I became Dr. Shojo, I was in fact......Dr. Shonen.

Bleach? Naruto? One Piece? I've read every single chapter there is.  

Hundreds of hours of watching fight sequences. Another fun fact, I only got into shojo because my aunt bought me volume 7 and 8 of Fruits Basket thinking “all mangas like the same right? Kids love comics?” It’s a tribute to how episodic western media was back then that she thought buying volume SEVEN and EIGHT was a REASONABLE PLACE TO START READING.

Now you might also say, Hey! Dr Shojo! Cardcaptors was a shojo! And you are right! but back then the anime was marketed to boys over here in the west and they actualy like, edited out episodes that they thought wouldn't interest boys?! Second fun fact, Once when I was in Grade 3 I was told I was not allowed to join a club under the stairs cause I was a girl and it was BOYS ONLY. The point of the club? To talk about how great Cardcaptors was! I Kid you not!

So anyways, your pall Dr. Shojo loves Shonen manga to this day!

The only reason I made this Dr. Shojo blog specifically about shojo is because, being a tomboy with no female friends, reading shojo manga was the first time I really thought about what it meant to be a girl and fall in love. And y i k e s. Shojo manga, like most media, fails miserably most of the time in displaying real world relationships. Or at least, it  doesn't prepare you for how disappointing everything can be. When I had my first kiss, I was thinking about how it didn’t feel at all like how I felt reading Zen and Shirayukis kiss in Akagame No Shirayuki Hime. Those were formative years, and shojo was one of the only places I saw romance being talked about for younger audiences. I liked reading romances where no one had any sexual experiences and were figuring out what love meant to them. But let’s shelve this topic for now.

The point is that gender roles are dumb and if you have an open mind there's a world of stories out there for you. Take this time inside to read something you wouldn’t normally. Critically think about the ways that the worlds you see in stories and how you experience the world differ. What are the messages a story is trying to tell you? And why do you like the stories you do? Reflect on how the stories you tell yourself color your view of the world. Even mindless entertainment leaves an impression on us. Anyways.

Whilst you're doing that, I'm going to absolutely lose my hecking mind over the Shonen Jump series MY HERO ACADEMIA: Vigilantes!

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

Part Three: I downloaded the one month free trial of the Shonen Jump app and made you read all that, so I can tell you that today Dr. Shojo is going to rant about a spin-off of a shonen manga

THAT’S RIGHT, OF COURSE I READ HERO ACA AND YES I DID PICK UP THE SPIN OFF SERIES. SHONEN JUMP LETS YOU READ ALL THE NEW CHAPTERS FOR FREE ON THEIR APP. KIDS, IF YOU LIKE SHONEN AND YOU’RE PIRATING ON A SCANLATION SITE STILL GET OUT BECAUSE YOU DON’T NEED TO SEE THOSE WEIRD PLASTIC SURGERY AND DENTISTRY ADDS ANY MORE.

SHONEN IS HERE AND ITS LEGAL AND ITS FREE FOR YOU. GET OFF MANGA FOX OR MANGA ROCK OR WHATEVER THE KIDS ARE USING THESE DAYS.

OK, so by this point in the article you have learned two very important things about me: 1) I love Shonen manga and 2) I read a lot of fanfiction.

Specifically, I read an absolutely biblical amount of My Hero Academia fan fiction and let me tell you, A solid chunk of it is vigilante/ Deadpool / criminal with a heart of gold themed.

So when I saw Hero Aca had a spin off, and it was about vigilantes, I was NOT SURPRISED IN THE SLIGHTEST. Ao3 sure is powerful.

Now, if you will permit me a tangent in a post full of tangents—HOLY CRAP, THERE ARE TOO MANY VIGILANTE AUS. I CAN'T KEEP TRACK OF EM. IT’S THE ISEKAI PROBLEM ALL OVER AGAIN. I GET AN EMAIL A FIC HAS UPDATED AND I’M LIKE IS THIS THE FIC WHERE DEKU HAS AN ABUSIVE MOM OR THE ONE WHERE HE HAS SPLIT PERSONALITY DISORDER OR THE ONE WHERE HE’S VIGILANTES WITH HITOSHI. OH WAIT, nvm, it’s the one where deku has a healing quirk.

OH WAIT WHICH OF THE 6 DEKU WITH HEALING QUIRK VIGILATE AU FICS IS THIS ONE?! ARGH WHY DIDN’T I WRITE A DESCRIPTION IN THE BOOKMARK FOR THIS!

My gripes aside, there's a reason why there's such an abundance of vigilante story telling—

Deadpool made like an absolute buttload of money and people love sass and memes.

People have a desire for a story in which they see themselves. Or, how they think of themselves.They like a story about someone who maybe came from nothing. Someone who has less money, maybe someone who is unlucky and had some bad breaks. Someone who never learned they had magic, never got their Hogwarts letter, never saw Kero, someone who never got that God-level quirk from All Might. And if your on Ao3 They want someone who also has seen a lot of memes and kind of wants taco bell and is also questioning their sexuality a bit?

Enter our new hero VIGILANTE DEKU.  

But the cannon can't do this, cause hey, Deku is the chosen one. Albeit, chosen by All Might, He’s got his own thing to do. But how can we still cash in on a vigilante story?

And thus enter our New-New hero KOICHI HAIMAWARI—code name Nice Guy and then later The Crawler. True to his relatable roots. He’s just a dude in an hoodie who can go about as fast as a bike.

First off, I love Koichi. He wants to be a hero and fight crime, but most of the time he has to run away because at the end of the day he's just a dude.

He’s cute but not wildly good-looking, A bit of a nerd but not like an extreme okaku. He’s got a part time job and hates violence.

And this is where Koichi really shines—in every day stuff. He helps out wherever he can. Often, that just means listening to people complain and maybe helping his friends out with whatever they’re going through. He’s the kind of guy who smiles, not because he's especially brave, but because he just takes things one at a time and doesn't sweat the past. I think it’s really telling that he missed getting into hero high-school because he skipped the entrance exam to help someone. He’s the kind of person who lets us experience the superpower of human decency and empathy. And you know what? That’s something the world need desperately.  

This theme of human decency is really the driving force of Vigilantes—it’s a manga about how the laws are there for a reason but sometimes they unfairly impact the poor and vulnerable. It's about how a lot of criminals are just people who fell into bad social circles or on bad times. People have the capacity for cruelty and violence but that’s never all they are.  

Now, speaking of crime, the entirety of Hero Aca falls into some murky water when it comes to its evil doers. Much of the fandom has a huuuuuge problem with how much the franchise is willing to sweep under the rug in the name of redeeming their baddies. RE: people getting mad about forgiving Endeavor’s child abuse, or Bakugo’s suicide baiting. Or Mineta’s blatant sexual harassment.

But this theme is in Vigilantes even more than it ever was in the main series. To start off with, there’s this guy who tries to rape Pop Step early on, and the later he later winds up befriending everybody. It becomes a running gag that each new villain winds up befriending the other villain guys and then they all open a cat café together.

Using jobs as a way to lift people out of lives of crime is great and all but in the story there is no nuance or consequences for past wrong and well.....it feels very weird.  It's like Vigilantes plays at having an opinion about moral ambiguity and the complexity of human existence and then just.......lets everyone get along because who has time to get into all that. Make of that what you will but it sits weird for me personally.

Anyway, let's move on and talk about POP STEP our main girl!

I love pop stars and I love vigilantes and a guerrilla performer is defiantly a character I could get behind. And I think they do a good job with Pop. She is actually kind of shy, but has this secret edgy persona she puts on when she performs. She is every girl on tumbler in the early 2000s. I also looooove that they make her not that great a singer. SHE’S GOT PASSION AND CHARISMA and maybe not born talent but like why should that stop you! Talent can be earned through practice and this is a great lesson to show people.

Unfortunately, Pop is also a great example of everything wrong with romance in Shonen.

It’s established early on that Pop loves Koichi because she is the girl he rescued all those years ago and yada yada yikes we’ve heard this one before. Many times before.

Sure, it's fine that they’ve met before, but gosh am I sick of damsels in distress. It's like she can't love him just because she respects what a great guy he is in her life and in the community at large, no no, she just needs to be rescued on top of that. And LOLOLOL isn't it funny he never noticed she was a girl because she was a child with short hair?! Once he realizes she has boobs now they will for sure fall in love! That’s how love works!

She's just with him all the time—nothing romantic ever happens she just gets a little tsundere.

I am never ever going to believe Koichi likes Pop because he spends like sooooo much time with her and they never have like, a moment. The first time he considers her is when Makoto is like, ‘hey I would love to get together with you, but have you thought about if you are crushing on Pop’. (Also this entire plot point is suspect—she's arbitrarily falling for Koichi cause he.......is the protagonist?)  

Say what you will about shojo, they give you the emotional conversations, the moments where you think.....ahhh I can see why she is falling for him. They give you context! Shonen likes to just say HERE’S A GIRL YOUR AGE. YOU CAN DATE LATER WHEN THE ADVENTURE IS DONE.

Just when they might get together, Pop suddenly turns evilllllll. The evilllll beeeees made her eeeevilllll (and more sexy).

*Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Because why on earth would they get together if Koichi didn’t get to rescue Pop one more time?

I’m tired. These troupes are tired. I’m sure you are too. HOWEVER! If your still with me, Let’s move into why I'm really writing this post. Let’s get to the part that got me screaming to my friends, who by the way, don’t even care bout Hero Aca….but listened anyways. May you all find nakama like these my friends.

Anyways,

HOLY FUCK ERASERHEAD’S ENTIRE BACK STORY IS IN THIS AROUND CHAPTER 60 AND IT IS WONDERFUL AND ABSOLUTLY HEARTBREAKING AND IS ONE OF THE BEST CHARACTER BACKSTORIES I HAVE EVER SEEN AND IS THE REASON WHY THIS SERIES IS A MUST-READ FOR MAIN SERIES FANS.

AND BY ALMIGHT.  

WHY. IS. IT HERE.  

I present to you my late night text messages to my friends

ALSO, AIZAWAS TEACHER IS PRINCE?!?!?!

AHEM, so as you can see, I kinda lost my shit.

And now, I would like to formally defend my claim that DESPITE HOW AMAZING IT WAS, ERASERHEAD’S BACKSTORY HAD NO BUISSNESS BEING IN THE VIGILANTES SPIN-OFF MANGA.

Eraserhead, aka Aizawa Shouta, is a side character who is working with the police on some crime stuff. He is not a main cast member in this spin off. He’s a guest character that fans of the main series will be like OH COOL. GRUMPY CAT MAN LIKES CATS ON HIS OFF HOURS TOO. LOVE THAT FOR HIM.

So, my imagine my absolute surprise when Aizawa runs into Koichi and the following happens:

It starts to rain, so, like in any good manga, this means some great FORCED BONDING TIME

Except no. It doesn't because rather than start talking, Aizawa JUST STARTS REMEMBERING—ABSOLUTLY SILENTLY TO HIS OWN PRIVETE SELF—HIS ENTIRE TRAGIC BACKSTORY.

AND THIS GOES ON FOR CHAPTERS.

THIS GOES ON LONGER THEN ARC ONE IT FEELS LIKE.

I LOVE IT, BUT KOICHI IS ABOUT TO JOIN ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA IN THE DUBIOUS CATEGORY OF “PROTAGONISTS THE SERIES FORGOT ABOUT IN LIEU OF COOLER SIDE CHARACTERS”.

AND LO IT HAS NO BEARING ON THE REST OF THE PLOT, CHARACTERS, OR STORY

What the ever-loving-just WHY?

WHY?

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

SURE, IT’S A COOL TIE-IN.

YES, OF COURSE I LOVED IT. I SHIP ERASER MIC, I DREW THIS FOR HECK’S SAKE:

AND YET I AM ANGRY.

I AM ANGRY BECAUSE MY FRIDAY WAS RUINED BECAUSE VIGILATES SUCKER PUNCHED ME WITH AN AMAZING STORY THAT REALLY WASN’T PLOT RELEVANT AND PROBABLY SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE.  

IS THIS WHY THEY TOOK LIKE NEXT-TO-NO CARE WITH POPS ARC?!?

I mean its ongoing, so it’s too early to say but—

In conclusion—

Excuse me one more,

AIZAWA WAS TAUGHT BY PRINCE!?!??!?!?!?!? PURPLE RAIN PRINCE!?!??!?!?!? WHAT!??!?!?!

It’s so ABSURD that I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I HAD TO WRITE PARAGRAPHS TO JUSTIFY YELLING ABOUT THIS ONE THING. WHAT THE ABSOLUTE—

Ahem,

Anyways, I hope you liked this weird rant/personal-story/random-diatribe in three parts.

If you’re reading this, thank you, stay safe, and I’ll be back with more shojo manga next time.  

Ciao!

Dr. Shojo

(aka Dr. Shonen)

[finkmakescharacters]

Name: Dantalion Goethe

Gender: male

Age: 30

Residence: Here-Nor-There 

Personality: serious, fair, reserved, intelligent, prim, logical, arrogant, persnickety, introverted, unfriendly, morbid, polite

Likes: black tea, mystery novels, being challenged, puzzles and riddles, rainy nights, learning something new, studying magic

Dislikes: getting dirty, parties, people who mistreat library books, closemindedness, secrets, rulebreakers, yardwork

Important Belongings

-The Old Grimoire, a book of incantations passed down to him by his father

-his vintage tea set, very expensive white porcelain with plum and gold trim

This is Dantalion, a well mannered psychic. He can show you visions of past, present or future and control the minds of others. He's a bit haughty and very hard to impress but he has a strong desire to maintain order. Lawful Neutral, if you will. Quiet, serious and eternally hungry for knowledge, Dantalion is often holed up in his study, reading through his grimoire or perhaps a good mystery. He loathes secrets and will not stand for information being withheld from him. He'll use his powers to either stealthily read the other's thoughts or overload their mind and cause crippling migraines if a more forceful approach is needed. That's not to say he doesn't hold his own secrets. Bit hypocritical maybe. Dantalion is not a social creature, preferring to keep his nose buried in his books. He's open to learning about all types of magic and has great respect for those who can provide him with an intellectually stimulating conversation. His wild hair appears to have a mind of its own and he can even hold objects with it. More books to read! He lives in an old gothic house in the small port town of Here-Nor-There that's not exactly in the most fabulous state, but Dantalion doesn't seem to mind. The roof may leak and the doors all squeak but he calls it home. His belongings are all tidy and organized, despite the exterior of his home looking rather shabby. If he's not reading, Dantalion may be writing his own tales or practicing his calligraphy. He takes great pride in his gorgeous penmanship and lettering. Though rather distant and stern, Dantalion is far from heartless. He's the type to listen closely and say little, allowing you to vent your frustrations without judgement. He's also dependable and loyal, as well as honest. Lying disgusts him and he picks on lies quickly. Dantalion has a very strong sense of honor. He will never back down from a fair challenge, nor will he flee or quit when he's losing. It does sting him when he's defeated by a lesser opponent. Dantalion isn't one to joke around and cuts playful goofiness short with a curt call back to serious conversation. That's not to say he doesn't ever have a laugh. His own sense of humor is very dry and unique to him. Others might think he's being weird or even rude when he's cracking the rare joke.

Design Notes

-6'3"

-wears pale face makeup and blush, neck is his natural skin tone

-beauty mark under eye

-hair is wild and untamed but always covers one eye 

-cleft chin

Have a character interview with Dantalion!

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

"My name is Dantalion. A pleasure."

WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?

"Dantalion is my real name. Dantalion Victor Goethe. Please do not call me Dante."

DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT?

"I can't say that I know the full origin of my name, but I recall Father mentioning my middle name was taken from a distant uncle. I don't believe I ever met him though."

ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?

"I am quite single and quite happy so. Perhaps in time I will find a man or woman that I can spend my life with, but I am content as I am currently."

HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS?

"I am a psychic, a seer. I can see what has been or will be. It is not always voluntary and visions can be sudden."

STOP BEING A GARY STU.

"I apologize, I don't know of a 'Gary Stu'."

WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR?

 "Allow me to move my hair for you. They're a vibrant light green."

HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR?

"My hair is a dark, deep, plum purple."

HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?

"In my immediate family, there is Mother and Father, as well as my two younger brothers, Valefar and Eligos. Valefar is two years younger than me and Eligos is five years younger."

OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS?

"Not currently. I had a wonderful cat for many years before he passed recently. His name was Azrael, a lovely little sphynx. It's unfortunate but not unexpected. 24 is quite good for a house cat."

THAT’S COOL I GUESS, NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE.

"Secrets. I can't stand them. Not terribly fond of sweet tea either. And people who 'dog ear' the pages of books, don't get me started..."

DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING?

"I took calligraphy lessons as a boy and continue to practice today. I'm also an avid reader and enjoy cleaning and organizing my study. Granted it doesn't really get disorganized, but I enjoy organizing my books in different ways. Perhaps alphabetical by title, perhaps alphabetical by author, who can say? Bit of a wild card, I am." 

EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?

"Yes, though only when necessary to obtain information or incapacitate. I have assisted local detectives before in apprehending criminals and in order to give them what they wanted, I was required to use my powers to induce migraines in the accused. I don't particularly enjoy it, but I answer to the authorities at the end of the day, and they needed me."

EVER….KILLED ANYONE BEFORE?

"No, I have never needed to use lethal force and I pray I never need to. I believe lethal force should only be used if there is a very real threat on one's life and even then it shouldn't be your first choice."

WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?

"I'm of the humanoid sort."

NAME YOUR WORST HABITS.

"I, ah...am rather embarrassed to admit that I often pour myself another drink before finishing one I already have. It tends to slip my mind..."

DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL?

"There is an author I am absolutely enamored with, Bea Wilder. Her work has inspired me since I was a very young child. I recall picking up her novel Hair in the Spider's Web from the school library and reading the entirety of it in one day."

GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?

"I identify as bisexual, with a small preference for women."

DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL?

"I graduated years ago. I was salutatorian, in fact."

DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY?

"Perhaps one day, but not in the near future. I believe I'm a bit young for marriage and children."

DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS?

"Not that I am aware of. Unless every pop star, actor and internet celebrity drops dead at once, I doubt the children would obsess over the likes of me."

WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?

"Death, naturally. It's the greatest unknown and that terrifies me."

WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?

"I typically wear a dark colored suit, two or three pieces. My favorite one is the one I'm wearing currently. Quite a beautiful shade of purple."

DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?

"I love my parents, as most do."

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF?

"I was four. Accidents happen."

WELL, IT’S NOT OVER YET!

"Very well."

WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS)

"Higher middle class. I live quite comfortably but I wouldn't call myself notably wealthy."

HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?

"I have very few friends, only one I speak to regularly, but they are very near and dear to my heart."

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?

"I enjoy blackberry pie."

FAVOURITE DRINK?

"Black tea, no milk, no sugar. Especially in the morning with a light breakfast."

WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE?

"My study. It is my sanctuary."

ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE?

"Not currently, no."

WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY?

"That is a very inappropriate question and I will not be entertaining it."

WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?

"Neither. Are you aware of how filthy that water can be? The types of parasitic creatures that thrive in it?"

WHAT’S YOUR TYPE?

"Intelligent, artistic and graceful."

ANY FETISHES?

"I will say this once, please refrain from asking these invasive questions."

SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?

"If you continue to pester me like this, I will ask you to leave. This is your final warning."

CAMPING OR INDOORS? 

"Indoors. It's pleasantly warm and there are the conveniences of tea kettles, antibacterial soap and indoor plumbing."

ARE YOU WANTING THE QUIZ TO END?

"If it means you will not ask me about my sexual preferences, yes."

[omegangrins]

A Treatise On the Doctor

I don't know how to start this. Because I think of Peter Capaldi's words when he said that the only thing required to be a Doctor Who fan, is kindness.

I like 13 and think Chibnall is doing his best job writing the show.

So I struggle to write this because I am engaging against that very unkindness in the Doctor Who fandom, and trying very hard not to be angry back. "Allways try to be nice but never fail to be kind." But I've begun to wonder more and more if those who speak so loudly against the show really know what the show itself is about.

Enough of talking about other people though, cause frankly they're only important as set-up for this conversation. And again, I'm working kind.

So here's what you're gonna learn from this lifelong fan (and the best Tl;dr you're gonna get):

1. The Doctor sucks. From the very beginning. People complain about character traits now that have been around as long as the show.

2. Due to the Doctor's suckage, they tend to do more harm than good. (And because of this, most of the Doctor's "friends" along the way have been, well, let's leave it at the air quotes for now cause it's a damn big list of "BOOOO!!!".)

3. All of the showrunners and writers and actors and editors and everyone else has allways knows this and has played it this way.

4. And last but not least, since this is a time travel show. If you wanna know what and why stuff is happening now, look it up. Everything that happened before is allways in play.

5. None of this is bad, and in fact, it makes the show morally grayer. It's about kindness at all costs. Even your own.

A. First things first, the hard thing. The Doctor is not grrrreat. I mean, sure they try, but they fail a lot more often. In Extremis, a majority of those fatality index counts come from people the Doctor failed to save. That's why it's worded so specifically as "cause of death". All the death's caused by the Doctor's very interaction with time and lack of saving those around them. And part of it's not their fault, but more often than not, the Doctor says I can save you, and can't, won't, or chooses not to.

And that would be alright, but it took them over 1000 years to realize they should start letting their companions lead lives outside of theirs so THEY DON'T DIE. A bit too long as someone who claims to be better.

Not to mention how many times the Doctor is dismissive of their companions and the people around them only to use them for their help and just bug off again. If they truly cared and wanted to help, they would stay and listen in between adventures. Their lifespan is near infinite anyway. What's a few extra Earth hours with some friends you made along the way. You know, maybe fix some of the psychological and emotional damage created by encountering things behind a human's original scope of reasoning. But nope, we gotta go adventure more, byyyyeee!!

So when people talk about these qualities in 13 in a negative aspect I have to laugh because I'm not sure if they understand the joke. Cause we're talking about an alien that grew up around a species calling themselves Time Lords. I try not to blame them too much for it. 1 had to learn how to be hospitable to humans and it's been a bit of a slow learning curve ever since.

B. After the Doctor survived the horrors of the Time War and happened upon a human companion they felt worth connecting to, what did they do? They took Rose to watch her planet burn in front of her eyes. Great, first date, amirite?

And that's a little bit of companion damage. Do you know that the Doctor is responsible for the almost complete genocide of the Silurian race across multiple occasions. I am legitimately surprised there are any left after all of the ones the Doctor has killed. Like before, they cause destruction either purposefully or accidentally or simply by force of being there.

Remember before how I said that the Doctor just flies away. Yeah, they leave a lot of problems behind when they do (something that I can see Chibnall is planting the seeds of). If you had a time and space machine and practically unlimited capabilities and you choose to just leave after a situation and not check up on them from time to or see if there are any other underlying crises to be solved. But oh no, "gotta follow that rule of time and keep going even though I stopped in the first place because of how interested I was.". This is why 9 has a great arc about this. He thought he killed all the Daleks. They came back. He thought he'd gotten rid of the Slitheen. They came back. He thought he saved Satellite 5 from aliens. But opsies, they came back. And look! They're Daleks. Which he "finally" got rid of.

The Doctor just bounces around all carefree and without an ounce of care for themselves, their companions or consequences unless there's consequences for themselves or their companions. Then they get indignant.

Is that really kind of the person you want flying around fixing things in time and space? Who knows. But at least they are trying. Most of the time the T.A.R.D.I.S. lands somewhere and the authority figures are the most pretentious bull-headed pigs you can find. To me, I laugh cause it seems like both sides end up getting a taste of their own medicine. Usually with the bull charging to death in a sad glory while the Doctor wiles on metaphorically about not being as good as them.

But again, as a "superior" alien with "advanced" technology and "culture" you'd think they'd just know better already. But that's all part of the character. The Doctor may be in flux, but true change is difficult. The real hero of every story is the other people BESIDES the Doctor.

Cause the title is Doctor *Who* . The Who being half of the title, despite having less letters. It's the constant question of "What and why and who is that crazy person that's trying to help?" Why do you think they keep flying back to Earth? (Besides set construction reasons.) They've grown as attached to us as we have to them. And at this point, a lot of their saving us is guilt and embarrassment at having a hand in our timeline.

This is also the same reason the Doctor dumps companions in a fluff. Baggage. Every time a companion gets too heavy to carry the memories of... off they fly.

Except for 13. She's stayed. To this end, we can see how the Doctor changes. Not on our smaller, human timelines, but on the timeline of a god with way too much power.

D. With that in mind, we go Classic. It's the Who you need to consult if you wish to make any critique on what's happening now. Because how can you know how a part operates inside of a whole without seeing the whole part?

Cause I don't know if you've watched it but it can be rough, and I don't mean in the sense of production value (which admittedly they do a fairly decent job of using what money they had. A problem the BBC plagues to Doctor Who to this day.). The 3rd Doctor shits on every one they call friends constantly and then turns around expecting help. 4 did the same. Then 5 masked that contempt with a plucky face and a cheeky word. But it was still there, bubbling out of 6 and 7 as the inability to suffer fools gladly and using their own righteousness to enact change in their companions. A trait that kept going til an entire war and regeneration was used solving the question of "Doctor Who?" Only for them to try and forget twice more by putting on their pretty grinning faces and running away from it.

And I'm only talking from a companion perspective. Each of the Doctors has enacted their own form of genocide on countless species. Sure, it's to "save humans" but at the end of the day you'd have to ask yourself if we're really worth that blood. And this is all in the Doctor's history. As much as they claim better, they're hands are still gushing red.

The Doctor left Jo because she fell in love. They drove Adric to put their life on the line in order to feel adequate. The entirety of the Silurian race has been wiped out fivefold under their watch, with one time by their hand itself. Same for several other singular and unique species you won't be able to find elsewhere in the universe. 7 used time travel to enact a personality change in Ace while simultaneously using her as a pawn in an interdimensional war. The Time War itself. Sure it got erased but the Doctor still did those things ("War" Doctor or whatever nonsense titles they feel necessary to delude themselves). The entirety of Amy's childhood was destroyed by their presence, and Rory got erased. Twice! Sarah Kingdom. We know the list. Hell, the Doctor whisked Barbara and Ian away because they wanted to teach the snobby humans some lessons.

They may have a time machine, but we have the bill of their actions. This is where 13 excels. Because they're trying to be better than themselves. They've learnt the lessons of all those years traveling and the failures they wish they could reverse but don't as a way of keeping a scoreboard of pain. It's not perfect by any means, but look at 12 needing cue cards to understand and react to human grief under duress. They've come a helluva long way. After 50 years, I'm inclined to believe better. After all, it's what the Doctor would want.

E. You know how people like the ASOIAF series because it offers up morally complex characters existing in a morally complex world where black and white are harder to define than grey? Have you ever thought of Doctor Who as the same? Strip past the fairytale and adventure and "wibbly wobbly timey wimeyness and it's just people reacting to situations. We're just harder on the Doctor because they're hard on us. You could go round and round on who's the bigger killer, but at the end of the day Time Lords and humans fight and feel about the same things. It's allways been a joke to pretend otherwise.

That's why I love the Timeless Child. Not for making the Doctor anymore special but for saying that even despite having all of their specialness ripped away and repurposed to create a lie of a society then having the memory wiped of said event, the Doctor broke out of their mold, stole a TARDIS and told the Time Lords to fuck off. That's not a Captain America/Superman hero. That's Batman in space with a society of Lex Luthor's. Gotham and Gallifrey. The Doctor saw what they were a part of and broke free, without even knowing the more horrifying truth. Cause it's the thing I see many fans missing because they're so preocuppied with the Doctor being special. The thing that made the Doctor different was their ability to know the difference and walk away to find better. Now, the Doctor has a reason to go back and find out why they never stopped running.

The Time Lords might be the greatest monsters in the universe. It is in the name. "Lords". Those who would lord over us and impose their will with a banthium fist.

And this is a children's show.

C the thing is, the people who made and make this show all collectively rail against one thing: Hate. Kindness is the way of Doctor's. Even if they're sawing off your leg, it's to do the kindness of saving your life. This is because the people who make this (United Kingdomers) have seen centuries of war and conflict and oppression enacted by their own country in the name of progress. And they want to see it no more. Look no further than any of the Doctor's adventures with UNIT. Allways advocating for peace and being ignored for the comfortable war-cry. It's why it's hard to blame the Doctor when we do very similar and often worse (though we don't have time travel.... yet). The creators of this show know better, see better, and wrote better, to know that the powers that be nipped would nip their creations and sanitize them. So they wrote their messages so strong that you can feel them from the future. They're powerfull enough that even across eras they have all collectively moved me to write this.

That's another point I have to laugh at people saying Doctor Who has never been in your face about progressive politics. The Green Death. Survival. Trial of a Timelord (Yes, all of it. Sit down and power through.) The Happiness Patrol is one of my all time favorite episodes for going there in this regard. People may poo poo but history has its' eyes on you. Doctor Who loves taking potshots at the issues of the day. As long as you don't make the aliens black of course. Make them all the colors of the rainbow but never make them black. That'd be too on the nose (That's something they used to say back in the day! Crazy how far we've come).

So bravoa to Chibnall for continuing the legacy of Doctor Who. From where I'm standing, he's not doing anything different than any other showrunner before him. Cause if you want to argue canon, you at least have to know what created it. This show owes what it is to those Classic eras. And if you think Chibnall is shitting on those years and your childhood.... well, then why did you read this whole thing?

[solargroup09]

Solar on Weekly Idol

- MCs: “They’re an 8 member group, each from their own planet who have come to steal the hearts of many with their wit and spunk. They recently debuted with their first title track ‘Solar System.’ Please welcome Solar!”

- Solar joins the MCs, bowing towards them while waving and smiling towards the cameras. Once everyone is assembled, Mina begins to count down: “3, 2, 1″ and the other members chime in:

“Your rays of sunshine. Hello, we are Solar!”

- INTRODUCTIONS: “Solar’s intros” -

- Mina smiles and waves with both hands, before making a finger heart which she shoots towards the camera like an arrow: “Hi everyone, I’m your brightly shining Mina, the eldest and leader of Solar - I hope you’ll take care of us today! We’re really excited to be here, thank you for having us!”

- Skitz winks at the camera and gives a smirk while shooting finger guns between the camera and hosts: “Just because I’m the coldest doesn’t mean I can’t melt hearts. Heyo, I’m Skitz!”, she gives a two fingered salute and bow.

- Yueliang bows swiftly and smiles: "As bright as the moon, it's Solar sweetheart Yueliang!". She sends a flirty wink and a finger heart at the camera.

- Ari gives a small flirty smile to the camera and a little finger wave. “I’m the sweetest heat of Solar, you can call me Ari” She does a dramatic model pose before laughing.

- AJ smiles at the camera and cups her cheeks with both hands, “I’m Solar’s small ball of sunshine! It’s always nice to see you, I’m AJ”, she does a finger heart before the camera changes to the next member.

- Luna smiles sweetly and sends a little finger heart to the camera. "Just like the moon, I'm always there for you. Hi i'm your Luna"

- Rin scrunches her nose up at the other members' introductions and when it's her turn, flashing her gummy smile as she awkwardly does a ✌️ pose to the cameras (the wrong ones) and then - when Mina tilts her body to the camera - she just does the blank tight lipped smile: "yes, hi, uh I'm Rin! Uh....it's nice to be here! yes! yes...." she looks over to Mina to ask for help to get out of this very awkward introduction time; Mina just smiles at the younger member before noding towards the MCs to continue.

- MCs: “Your maknae, Hannah, unfortunately couldn’t make it today as she has gone on temporary hiatus to focus on her school work. Anything you want to tell her?”

- all the members nod: “We want to say that we love and miss her, and that we can’t wait for her to come back and join us again - and, of course, that we’ll be happily cheering for her to succeed in school! Hannah, fighting!” The members shoot different kinds of hearts towards the cameras, smiling and waving. 

- CONCEPT  -

- MCs: “So, each member represents a planet - could you tell us a bit more about that?”

- Mina flashes a smile, before beginning to explain: „my planet is Mercury, the ruler of communication, messages, eloquence and wit. But not only can I talk for hours, I can also listen for hours - so please know that I‘ll always have an open ear for you!“ Mina shoots a flirty wink towards a camera.

- Skitz smirks and points to her face. “Just like my planet Uranus I have 13 rings around my body! I represent being weird, art, science, originality, the unexpected, libido. And I symbolize discovery, not being traditional, insight, expression of self, and shock value. So don’t worry, I’ll keep you on your toes!”

- Yueliang smiles again: "In Solar I'm Jupiter which is the planet of growth and good fortune so keep me close to your heart, I'll be your lucky charm!

- Ari nods. “I represent the planet Mars, the planet of energy, action, and desire. You’re always in for a good time when I’m around”, she tries to wink a fails miserably.

- AJ: “My planet is Venus! It’s the planet of love, beauty and aesthetics and pleasure! I live by ‘Give the love around and back around it goes’ I think it’s a good philosophy that matches my planet!” 

- Luna: "In Solar, I represent Earth. I am the Earth, the Earth is me, so I own everything you're walking on !", everyone laughs. "I'm joking, I picked Earth, well... it was kind of the last one", she giggles, "I'm happy I got it though, as nature, like music has a healing effect on people's souls. And I truly hope I can heal yours through my music"

- Rin, clenches fist and does a 'hwaiting' motion. "I represent Neptune. It is associated with dreams, inspiration, psychic receptivity and illusion. The members always say that I always zone out so I guess it fits me quite well!"

- TALENTS AND PROFILES -

- MCs: “Soo, about Skitz - “tired parent who carries a caffeine drink with her….where is this drink then?” 

- Skitz smirks and motions toward the manager hiding behind screen. “Actually I was told I couldn’t bring one on set today.... so what you see is me fighting the urge to scream and cry and nap on the floor.” 

- MCs: “Skitz can sing and rap? Like at the same time?” The group laughs as Skitz shakes her head with a snort: “I’m the rapper of the group, but I can sing as well. I auditioned as a singer at J. Tune and passed with a rap I came up with.”

- MCs turn towards Ari now: “Lived in Boston and in Korea growing up... can you do a Boston accent?” Ari starts going off in English with a Boston-accent, saying something about one of the girls stealing her candy.

- MCs smile at Mina: “It says here that you’re not only the oldest and tallest, but also the one with the biggest hands? Can you show them to us?” Mina laughs and hides her face behind her hands for a few seconds, before holding both hands towards the camera. Everyone makes “ooh” and “aah”, before the MCs give Mina a ruler to measure one hand - it’s 17cm, and Luna grins slyly while grabbing for one of her leader’s hands. “Perfect size for holding mine!”, she says, making everyone laugh, Mina hugs her lovingly.

- MCs continue: “According to your profile, Mina, you’re the main vocal and can also play the piano really well - we heard you prepared a little performance for us?” Mina smiles and nods, before getting up and walking towards the keyboard that has just been set up for her. She then sings an acoustic cover of Heart of Gold by Neil Young while playing the piano. Yue and Luna hold up imaginary lightsticks and dramatically swing their arms around to the music, while Skitz seems a bit touched by the performance of the leader. Everyone cheers and whoops when Mina finishes, and she smiles and bows towards the cameras and MCs, before taking her seat again.

- now it’s Yueliang’s turn: "We can see here that you have played the violin since you were three years old, can you show us? We prepared a violin for you!" Yueliang looks a bit taken aback but she accepts the challenge right away. When she sees the violin, though, she burst out laughing. It's a 1/32 size, basically a child violin. Despite the small and cheap instrument, she tries to play some famous pieces but since the violin is made of plastic the sound is terrible. Yueliang can't stop laughing and all the members are cheering and clapping excitedly like it was a real concert.

- the MCs look at AJ: “It says here that you do CF’s, and you have experience in MCing and variety”. AJ nods, listening attentively, “I do. I have done quite a few, mostly for make up brands”. “You actually sold out a lip tint... is that the brand you’re wearing today?”. AJ panics a bit, “Well... actually no... it’s sold out!” everyone laughs at her quick save and she smiles shyly.

- one of the MCs waves at AJ: “Come to this side, you’re going to be an MC with us for a while” they gesture for AJ to join them on the other side, where the staff brings a chair for her and a new name tag with the letters MC quickly scribbled. AJ laughs and bows before taking a seat next to the MC, trying to read the cards over their shoulders. After failing to see the questions and just swinging her legs over the chair, the MC’s dismiss her, ripping the MC tag from her dramatically.

- the MCs look at Luna’s profile now: "Grew up in London. Fluent in Japanese as well as Spanish. Could you say something to International fans watching Weekly Idol ?" She agrees to do so and starts with Japanese. "Hello everyone, I'm Solar's main dancer Luna, we hope you'll like this episode of Weekly Idol,please give it lots of love. Thank you for supporting us ! Bye bye !" And translates it in Spanish. "Hola encantadores de Weekly Idol. Me llamo Luna, soy la bailarina principal de Solar. Esperamos que les encantará este episodio de Weekly Idol y le dará mucho amor. ¡Muchas gracias por apoyarnos ! ¡Adiós!"

- the MCs applaud her and ask: "You also have a special little dance that is 'similar to the Carlton Dance'. What is it ? Can you show it to us?" She explains briefly what the Carlton Dance is and gets up to show it which sends everyone into a laughing fit as she moves her body from left to right dramatically. "Now I will show you my version." Luna says before flailing around dancing again, in a very over the top manner. Giggles happily as she goes back to her seat, like a child who was just given candy.

- it’s finally Rin’s turn, and the MCs read: "Master Bone Cracker, nickname is Crunchy. So Rin, I guess you have a really old body?" other members chime in agreement, while Rin just gummy smiles again "So before you crack any more of your bones while waiting for your turn, let's get the game started. You have to produce at least 30 pop sounds to pass the challenge." Rin nods and waves to the camera, "this is easy peasy. my fingers alone can crack 22 times in one session. guys, are y'all ready to win?"

- DANCE GAMES -

- Ari enjoys learning new dance choreos, so is having the time of her life. But makes the most dramatic noises throughout, which makes the other girls laugh and mess up

- During a song switch, Mina somehow slips on the ground and falls down, making everyone laugh. She quickly gets up and bows to the hosts and members, apologizing for messing up all while still giggling uncontrollably. 

-Skitz is the one that enjoys having fun with the dances, and depending on which song comes on, will make faces at the camera or be completely serious and in the moment.

- In the end of all the dancing Skitz falls to the floor and groans. “No morrreeee.” Tries to nap instead and gets sat on by Luna.

– AJ knows lots of other groups choreos but she stays sitting and just dancing softly to herself, letting the other members showcase their talent. Nobody has seen AJ more confused in her life during the 2x version. She keeps making funny faces that the MC’s can’t help but point out and she’s basically singing to herself to remember where she’s supposed to go. Celebrates like she just won the World Cup by the time the challenge is over.

- Luna is one of the members who does pretty well unless someone starts making noises and it distracts her, which is exactly what Ari does so Luna giggles and smacks her arm in fake anger because she can barely get her moves straight. In the x2 version she is one of the members who does really well, along with Rin.

- Yueliang is the one who shouts at the members to correct their position and identifies which section of the song they're dancing to when it's confusing. All of this while giggling.

- Rin knows every single choreo, and does the 2x perfectly too. slightly out of breath at the end and is just standing there looking at the other members panting like “👀 y'all good?”

- PAPER KISS GAME -

- Mina is first in line and stands beside Luna, using her as an arm rest and starting to tease her for their height difference right before the game starts. They’re both laughing too much when facing each other, immediately failing to proceed with the game and having to take a new paper.

- Ari stands next to Yueliang in the “pass the paper by your mouths” game and she plays up their ship so hard. Mina finally has to tell them to calm down

- Yueliang can't stay concentrate during the game because Skitz face when she tries to take the paper from Yue is too hilarious.

- AJ is the last in the line and feels slightly concerned about the game. She keeps laughing at her members failing but doesn’t wanna fail herself aka gay panic. In the end, although they succeed she still gives a loud kiss on the cheek to each member.

-Skitz is in between Yueliang and AJ, always making both girls laugh at the faces she makes as she’s trying to take and pass the paper. She gets flustered with the girls and ends up yelling at them to focus, while still laughing herself in the end because she knows how crazy she looks.

- Rin loves affection and kisses are one of her favorites. Watch her not even try so she can get a free kiss 🤩

- ENDING - 

- MCs: “Well, we had lots of fun with these girls today! Thank you so much for joining our program, Solar - we’ll make sure to invite you after your new comeback, too.”

- all members thank the MCs, bowing to them, and start waving towards the cameras, shooting finger hearts and blowing kisses, before Mina counts down “3, 2, 1″ and the other members chime in: “Your rays of sunshine. This was Solar! Thank you very much!”

- THE SHOW FINISHES - 

[honeybeesintheimpala]

Title: An Angel's Lullaby

Pairing: DeanCas, Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Words: 93,662

Status: Complete

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984306/chapters/18268822

Chapter One - The Man with the Ocean Eyes

"Excuse me," a gravelly voice suddenly fills the room and Dean's pen nearly goes flying, heart pumping. It's been at least two days since anyone's even walked through those doors and being alone with his thoughts isn't exactly a new thing but for that long, it gets to be a surprise when someone says something. He keeps it under control though, doesn't look up except a quick glance at a nice pair of khakis and a deep purple jumper.

He goes back to scribbling on the piece of paper where he's supposed to be filling out a request for another truck to come and take away a few boxes of older books, bring them to a charity or a foster house somewhere. 

"What can I help you with," he says, surprised that his own voice is bored considering his heart is pounding out a Jamaican beat and he's pretty sure he almost pissed his pants.

"I was just wondering if there are any books that you might recommend? I'm in the mood for reading, but not really sure what to look for," the man speaks at a low volume, as if there's anyone here to be disturbed.

Dean's intrigue is piqued though, so he pauses his doodles, knits his eyebrows together and looks up.

His eyes trace up the outline of his jumper, which wraps nicely around a narrow waist and a great chest, then leads into a white collared shirt, tan neck, a scruffy jaw that can't decide between chiseled and soft, some full lips that look like they might be chapped bit also look incredibly kissable, a straight-edge nose, and finally, two unfathomable blue eyes, shining bright as the Caribbean ocean that Dean is entirely too sure they are made of. His hair is a messy looking, bed-head-esque mop of dark chocolate brown and he smiles down at Dean as if he isn't the most attractive person Dean's ever encountered.

He's actually blown away by the fact that this man is inside a nearly failing library right now instead of out modeling a white pinstripe suit and blue tie from Men's Warehouse somewhere.

This time, Dean thinks he may actually piss his pants, but he refrains from any sort of urination onto cloth, as a mind-blowingly handsome man with some captivating blue eyes that seem to have stolen the sea is standing in front of his desk, asking about books.

He also refrains from exhibiting all of these passing thoughts on his face, because it feels like it's been a few minutes since he asked the question and the guy's probably starting to think Dean's some weirdo who can't speak under pressure.

"Library's a dying business, sir," he sits back in his chair and sets the pen down slowly. "Yeah, all the kids got their...electronic readers and...there are bookstores that sell books. Never out of stock of a specific book. Sometimes we get that; not having a specific book because all the copies got checked out...or we used to have that..."

The man stares down at him with such focus and intent, nodding along and knitting his brows together. Who is this guy?

"Nah, I mean, it's amazing that...someone wants a book so badly and loves it so much that they gotta buy it and have it forever," Dean continues, then leans forward again, grabbing a book to his left and wiggling it in the air. "Not so awesome for the library."

"That's so...intriguing...that you respect those other industries so much..." He replies, squinting, head tilting in a puppy dog manner.

Dean chuckles, setting the book down. Stares at the black cover as his smile slowly fades.

"Not much else I can do," he shrugs, shuffling through several books to find the one with the light yellow-beige cover, red outline and text reading Oliver Twist glaring up at him, and a small, square, painted picture of a boy in a hat playing at the edge of a wood sitting just above the title. "Once these places shut down, I'll inevitably drift into a bookstore, sign up to be a clerk or a stocker. 'Cause I mean," he flips the book over and opens the back page. Pulls out the name card from the pocket glued to the inside of the cover and examines it. "Yeah, a book ain't been checked out from here in three months."

He laughs and throws the book to his right, watches it skid across the table and come to a stop beside the red canvas hardcover with shiny blue letters indenting the words Of Mice and Men.

"Wow...so...I mean, how do you guys stay in business?" The guy is leaning ever forward, hands gripping the edge of the desk and arms stick straight as he balances himself over the books.

Dean smirks up at him.

"Ah," he scrubs at the back of his neck, cheeks hot, and looks away into the corner of the main entrance. "Well, charities? Mostly...and, uh, you know, school fundraisers, donations from the coffee shop down the street." He squints up at the giant skylight making up about ninety percent of the roof, thinking. "Oh, uh...this one guy. Some sorta bookwrite. Author of...damn, what are those things called...gaaahh...oh! An Angel's Lullaby!" Recognition passes over the man's face in clear abundance. "Guy's name, I'm still drawin' a blank on--"

"Chuck Shurley," the guy cuts him off but Dean is impressed. It's such an obscure book but he obviously knows it well.

"Yeah!" He points at the guy. "Yeah, yeah. You know him? I mean, his work?"

"Yeah...too well...why?"

"Ah, no...I'm just...just surprised, you know? Not a real popular selection," Dean thinks for a moment and it falls silent once more. Then: "You met him? He did a book signing here once. Not many people came, but..."

"Oh, yeah I've met him..." He doesn't elaborate, but Dean suspects it's because he just explained it for the guy, and it seems like it's making him a little uncomfortable anyway.

"Uh," he looks for something that might change the subject. "Well, to answer your first question..." He opens his mouth to continue but ends up chuckling and shaking his head. "Look, man, there's just too many books and not enough time. I've been coming to this library my entire life, probably read every single book by now. I mean, I can point you to some of my favourites, I guess, but really the only one off the top of my head and without me getting up is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Are you religious?" He asks suddenly and Dean's bewildered by the inquiry until he realises how obsessed he must seem with the book.

"Oh..." He breathes out a laugh. "Nah, that's...I'm an atheist, actually. I'm just...really into angels. Religions and...gods and deities are my thing. To be honest, I could probably list thirty Christian angels off the top of my head."

"Really," he seems impressed and Dean blushes harder. "How about...the three main archangels and...the Angel of Thursday."

Specific...and strange. But okay, he'll play along. For the sake of flirting.

"Okay...well there's Michael, the eldest son of God who was set to the task of casting Lucifer, second oldest, into hell because he claimed he could not love humanity as he loved his father. Gabriel, protector of humanity, present at the birth of Jesus Christ and the deliverer of the Holy news. And then...actually, my favourite, if I'm honest-" he looks up and watches the man's lips part, a blush crawling up his neck too, and he briefly wonders why, "-Castiel. Angel of Thursday, keeper of prayers said on that day." He smirks for a second before adding, "Always heard he was a real looker."

The man seems flustered, tugging at his jumper, pulling the v-neck away from his chest and adjusting his collar.

"Me too," he chokes out and Dean thinks it's entirely unfair how cute this man looks with a scarlet flush painting his cheeks and his hands not able to find a resting placing.

"I..." Dean starts, gazing down at his hand fiddling with the edge of a hardcover, nail scraping against the canvas. "I think I remember a few more books. Not real sure what you would like, but, uh..." He tears a corner off of the paper he was drawing on and scribbles down the titles and respective authors, then continues as he hands the list to the man. "Most of 'em are...classics...Little Women, Gone With the Wind, A Wrinkle in Time, Wuthering Heights...the original and best...version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

The man smiles down at the list and then down at Dean, and Dean's heart leaps into his throat.

"Thank you," he says quietly and Dean's eyes flit down, small smile of modest pride lifting his lips.

"Don't mention it," he whispers back, gaze meeting the man's once more. Then he leans forward and takes up the pen again, waggling it between two fingers. He leans on his bent arm and says, "So, you plannin' on checkin' anything out today, sir?"

And, without blinking or missing a beat, the man replies with the most unexpected answer, letting the words drip from his lips like fuckin' honey when he replies, "Just you."

Dean is astonished at this guy's guts, but a brazen vocabulary and a cocky attitude is exactly the kind of thing that gets him going.

He opens his mouth in a shocked kind of smile, and shakes his head as if he's offended at the nerve of those words.

"I...don't even know your name," Dean says slowly, eyes twitching from the man's leg to his chest to his mouth to his eyes. When they meet, the man tilts his head with another squint, this one more challenging than curious. Amazing how he can squint in the same manner with just the slightest differences and change the entire composure of the movement.

But Dean doesn't let himself get too distracted by this ability, and soon encounters a moment of realisation.

The blushing, fidgeting, stumbling words when he talked about Castiel...

"Your name is Castiel," he whispers, astounded. "And you have three brothers." Then more realisation. "And you haven't met Chuck Shurley, you used to live with him."

Castiel pushes his lips out and looks down, scratches through the stubble on the edge of his jaw, nods.

"And I assume," Castiel says, squinting at the wooden triangle at the corner of Dean's desk and smiling, then continuing, "your name is Dean Winchester and you work as a librarian."

"Hey, I am not...a librarian," he protests playfully, grin growing on his teeth. "I am...a book obsessed...checker...outer."

Castiel laughs and Dean gives him a look for a moment before bursting out into his own fit of laughter at how utterly ridiculous that title sounds.

"I'm guessing that sounded better in your head?"

"It did," Dean nods and chucks the pen at one of the books, sitting back in his chair again and kicking his legs up onto his desk. He cranes his neck and reaches behind him, grips the back of another rolling chair, and rolls it over so it's facing him. Pats the seat and jerks his head. "Come on around." Castiel looks uncertain, sliding the torn paper into his pocket and pursing his lips, slight squint of his eyes. Dean chuckles. "Come on. I don't bite."

"Isn't that against the rules or something?" Castiel asks as he makes his way around the right side of the desk and through the opening in the side, in spite of his words.

"'Eah, mostly," Dean shrugs and pushes his lips out, then smiles. "But no one else is around, don't have any cameras, and-" he holds out a hand, "-I'm a rebel."

Castiel laughs wholeheartedly at this, grin huge and gummy - the most enchanting thing Dean's ever seen - and his head tilted back, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Dean notices a slight dimple in his left cheek and stores that information in the back of his mind for later, when he's having a rough day.

"What," he says, though he knows Castiel is laughing at his insanely stupid joking around.

"Nothing, you're just...really...interesting--"

"Interesting meaning...lame?" He squints and adds, "Dumbass, weirdo, bad amusement--"

"Hey, I genuinely laughed at that," Castiel points a finger at him, not hiding his grin.

Dean shakes his head, looks away, licks his lips. Things settle for a moment.

Dean plays with the hem of his black t-shirt, scratches his nails over the faded denim of his jeans, examines the familiar dark splotch of oil on the knee. He would dress nicer for work, but the last time anyone even walked through the doors was 48 hours ago, and he wasn't expecting any company today, either.

"Can't believe I'm flirting with the son of my favourite author," he mutters, reaching back over the back of his chair to snatch up another pen.

Castiel scoffs playfully, and Dean catches the smirk on his face when he turns back around.

"You call that flirting," Castiel quips, unbuttoning the wrists if his collared shirt and rolling the sleeves of both the shirt and jumper up.

Dean lets his brows drop and pushes his lips out in confusion. "Well...yeah..." Dean watches Castiel stifle a smile and glance down and away. "Why, what do you call it."

Castiel peeks up through mischievous, dark lashes and swimming eyes, lips parting in a secretive smirk.

"Honestly?" He starts, shifting in his seat and sitting back, settling his hands together in his lap. "A sad but sweet attempt to impress me."

"Oh, is that so?"

Castiel nods, grin growing across his cheeks. 

"And what would you consider flirting, mr. big-shot-I-know-exactly-how-to-woo-the-ladies?"

"Well, first of all," Castiel leans forward, rests an elbow against his knee, uses the armrest to balance himself, and points at Dean with raised brows, as if he's about to teach a lesson. "Sir. There's a difference between being laid back and being downright cocky. And you-" the corner of his lips twitches up very briefly, and his cyan blue eyes turn dark "-are neither."

"So what, exactly," Dean whispers, fingers a bit too loosely woven around the pen, teeth digging into his lip. "Do you propose I do about it?"

Castiel's gummy smile is printed into his teeth again and he shrugs a shoulder, bringing his lips down in an impressed bow.

"Well, that's the first step. Ask what you are instead of asking what to change. When you know, even if it's not true, even if it's only what another person sees, you can accept it."

Dean squints, leaning further back into his chair, pressing his index finger into the ballpoint, black ink tip of the pen and the other to the textured top of the cap wrapped around the end, pushing his tongue into his cheek and pursing his lips.

"Alright, fine. What am I?" Dean imposes, then grips the tip of the pen between his thumb and finger and adds, "To you. Smartass."

This earns him a short chuckle and an approving nod.

"Well...I think...you're reserved. You act like you're king shit and like you know exactly who you are, like you don't give two flying fucks about where you're headed in life, or maybe like you've already accepted it. You act comfortable with yourself, but what nerd is ever actually satisfied with their existence?" He's leaning ever-forward and Dean's cocksure smile is ever-fading, eyes becoming wide with marvel as the man-who-knows-too-much continues. "I think you're unsure. You're scared and you...you hide things that you think no one cares about. You're upset and self-deprecating. Eyes of a guilty conscience."

Dean drops his gaze, first to the floor, then to the pen, still grasped tightly by his fingers which have fallen into his lap and which fiddle vapidly with the object, nail scraping at the black polycarbonate and over the white indents that spell out the company name.

"But," Castiel starts up again, voice soft and lilting. Dean swallows hard. "I think you have a lot to give. I think you have...maybe too much to give. Too much forgiveness, too much love, too much doubt, too much strength and care. I think you are the embodiment of generosity, but you don't take what you really need in return. And I think that can get dangerous, but I also think that nothing is ever really too much." Dean's eyes flit back up in time to catch Castiel's angling downward, past Dean's chair, through the desk, through the floor, staring wistfully at something intangible. "People are greedy. And you're too willing to give."

Dean searches the man's face for any sign that this is all some sort of joke, that he's being filmed or some shit, but all he finds is truth and wisdom and knowledge, and possibly a glimmer, just a glimpse in those blue eyes, of a bittersweet past, an origin for where these words came from.

"I was right!" He exclaims as he sits back in the chair, shoulders trembling with a silent laugh. "You like to cover up your pain with gay jokes and stupid references."

"Now, that, I can't deny," Dean nods and everything falls silent. He rocks his chair gently, side to side, left to right, fingers still fidgeting with the tips of the pen, his head tilted in thought. Castiel's mouth is pulled up into a ginger smile, his eyes faraway and swimming in themselves, in the past, in glistening memories and soft-edged, slow-motion, sunny-fielded dreams. "What about you?" He asks suddenly, voice crackling and ripping through the still air as a quiet question. Castiel eyes don't move but his smile grows slightly. "I mean...what do you think of yourself."

"Not much," he replies, head lolling to the side and back, eyes catching on the impotent, pathetic little piles of books scattered about Dean's desk. "I like books. Reading. Writing. Time-consuming, arbitrary activities which include my eyes scanning words on a piece of pressed wood?" He furrows his brows and Dean throws his head back in a genuine, full laughter that he hasn't experienced in a long time.

"I can tell you write. What do you write about? Like, schmoopy romance novels? Sci-fi thrillers? Action adventure futurism?"

"And I can tell you do a lot of librarian...ing..." Castiel squints and presses his lips together in the contrite afterthought but continues, nevertheless. "I write what my dad would call 'a bunch of gay shit'." Dean cocks a brow. "Get your head out of the gutter, it's not as sexy as it sounds. For the most part. Bottom line, I'm gay, I hang out with gay people, and I wanted to dedicate my life to writing about it, about that experience. But my dad has never approved much."

"You don't say."

"Yeah...he's...more into theology. I think the one book he's ever written that really ventures into the realm of fiction, or at least dips it's toes past the line, is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Which parts are real?" Dean scratches the pen across the bumpy plastic chair arm and watches the black ink run in splotches over the grey of the polyvinyl.

"Our names, obviously," Castiel shifts again, bringing his leg down from across his knee and kicking off from the floor so he spins in a circle. Dean watches with a strangely adoring smile. "It's funny that that's the part most people think is fiction. But, no. Mom was a Jesus nut and Dad is too passive to care, so we ended up with angelic names and weird looks from sane people. The only parts that aren't completely true are the things like our address, the colours they painted our rooms, some of the dialogue that he added or got rid of in order to make the conversations more interesting or sensible - you know, just these really inane things..."

He trails off and he's staring at Dean with expectant brows, and Dean realises he's staring too, realises Castiel probably stopped because it's weird how attentive he is.

"Sorry. You're fun to listen to."

Castiel's cheeks paint themselves a thick fuchsia and his eyes drop to his empty palms resting uselessly in his lap, the lines becoming suddenly very interesting. Then they catch on his watch and widen and his head whips up.

"Well, if I'm so interesting to listen to," he leans forward, snatches the pen from Dean's hand, then takes the other hand and begins a careful scrawl across the back of it as he continues, "why don't you call me. And we can figure out a time to meet at the-" he recaps the pen and gently replaces it in Dean's hand "-coffee place down the street. But, right now, I have to go. College...and shit. Studying for a major in English takes a lot of time away from socialising."

"Sorry to keep you, I didn't--"

"No no no! It was..." His blush deepens and he stands, head down. "It was incredible to meet you. I really hope I can see you again."

"O-Of course," Dean's voice comes out stammered and soft, crackling with hope and fear and adoration, and Castiel smiles broadly.

"Great," he whispers back, then he's rushing around the side of the desk and out the front door and Dean is left to wonder if the entire exchange was even real or if his lonely, empty mind is just playing games. 

When he looks at the neat, black little numbers on his hand, he realises just how real right now is.