#/reeling/ from choices. if you can call them that. by god I need to stop getting into series whose best quality is their painfully just out

[shatterinseconds]

“Baby,” Lance says.

Keith snorts, loud and uncaring. “God no, not in a million years.”

“Alright.” Lance scratches out a line on his pad of paper. “Does that mean babe’s out too?”

Keith wrinkles his nose. “It’s not the best but tolerable.”

“We’ll note that as a strong maybe.” In which Lance actually does mark down a quick note to the side of the list, and Keith catches himself from rolling his eyes.

For the past week, they’ve been staying at Lance’s family home in Cuba while they decide on their next steps in a post Voltron, post war world. They rest on the back patio, facing the backyard that really extends into open land far beyond them, neighbors a mile away at least. It’s quiet and beautiful and even when the commotion of Lance’s entire family is present, it’s one of Keith’s new favorite places in the world. They watch Lance’s niece and nephew for the afternoon while Lance’s older brother runs errands and Lance’s mother prepares dinner.

Keith angles his head closer to Lance, though he’s still mostly blocked by the small table between them, and gestures to the list. “Is this really necessary?”

“Pet names are important to me,” Lance replies with a quirk to the corner of his mouth. The summer breeze, fresh off the ocean and carrying a thin taste of salt, curls through his brown hair. “Mullet is great but I need at least one more that’s affectionate.”

Keith scrunches his nose.

The thing is, all of this is new to Keith. The peace, the stability, having a permanent place to call home again, and… their relationship. They’ve been dancing around each other for years, as their teammates love to complain about, but officially being together, having the ability to call Lance his partner, boyfriend, lover? That all happened less than a couple weeks ago—and yet it already feels timeless.

Seeing Keith’s reluctance, Lance stands to relocate himself on Keith’s lap, settling his full weight on Keith’s thighs. Keith glares, though he moves his hands onto Lance’s hips and his fingers wiggle under Lance’s loose shirt to hunt for warm patches of skin. Lance tugs on his ears, guiding Keith to tilt his head and capture his mouth in a soft kiss. 

And what a lovely kiss it is.

“I’m trying to be nice by giving you a choice.” Lance laughs a little when they break apart, only to lean back down. He stops a hair’s breadth away from Keith’s mouth. When he speaks again, his breath drifts over Keith’s lips, a soft caress. “What about sweetheart, honey bunches, pickle?”

“Okay, now these are just getting ridiculous.” Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, pulling him closer, and buries his nose into the crook of Lance’s neck.

“I don’t know,” Lance mutters, starting to absently play with Keith’s hair, twirling the long strands around his fingers. “I’m kinda partial to sweetheart.”

“Yeah, that’s not bad,” Keith admits as a faint blush rises on his pale cheeks. He tries to bury his face deeper to cover it, but he should’ve guessed how well that would work out.

A shit-eating grin stretches wide across Lance’s face; Keith can feel it against the side of his head. “I see we’ve found our winner.” Humming, Lance leans down toward Keith’s ear. “Sweetheart.”

Face glowing and mind reeling, Keith shoves Lance off his lap. “Shut up,” he lightly growls, mortified at his own reaction.

Lance arches his head back as he cackles from his spot on the ground, eventually flopping down and pillowing his head with his hands as he lazily stares up at Keith. That shit-eating grin refuses to fall off his face. “Yeah, this is going to be fun.”

And despite Keith’s own face remaining beet red, he can’t help but smile too.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 4

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Yes, please, he should be waiting,” you confirm and hang up the phone.  

You’re still in a daze. You barely remember getting to your desk or dialing the call. You’re functioning on habit alone as your mind reels. 

“Ahem,” the throat clear makes you wince and you look up at Loki as he looms on the other side of your monitor. 

You sit up straight and fix the screen, adjusting it so you can see. He tuts and grabs it again, stopping you from sinking into your work. That’s how you deal with things. You just ignore them. 

“What?” You look at him. 

“What?” He echoes.  

“Why are you still here? You have the...” you can’t even say it. You’re married. Somehow.  

“I’ve every right to stay close to my wife.” 

“Ooh, don’t say that,” you shake your head. 

“Pardon?” His brows tweak. 

“Don’t say it out loud. That word. Wife--” You suck in air and hold it in your chest. You shudder as you let it out slowly. 

“You should be flattered. I am a god. You are... minuscule, even for a Midgardian,” he slithers. 

“So why did you do that?” Your voice peaks. 

He snickers. “Well, let’s not get off to such a rough start. There are things still to tend to. As I have it, your marital traditions require a band?” 

He leans in to look over the monitor as your fingers flutter nervously by your keyboard. You follow his gaze and find a large green emerald mounted on a golden band. Where the heck did that come from? You raise your hand and try to wrench it off. It’s stuck! 

“It cannot be undone as easily that,” he taunts. “So, in my research, you are not so dissimilar to Asgardians in the way of marriage, however, I don’t think you’d be fond of a blood sacrifice so I’ll spare you that.” He laughs as you blanch at him. You’re annoyed at how amused he is. “Though the matter of consummation...” 

“Alright, no,” you stand and wave your hands. “No, no. I’m working. I’m busy.” Your voice is brittle and salty in your throat. You sweep around the desk and shoo him, “you need to go, alright? I have work to do and this is insane. So please, leave.” 

He catches you by the wrists as he faces you. You gulp at the iron in his grip. You tug but he doesn’t even flinch. You stare at his pale fingers. He feels like ice. 

“Loki, sir, later when I’m done we can discuss--” 

“I preferred when you called me a prince. Yes. Proper titles. ‘My Prince,’" he sneers. 

You sniff and squirm against his grasp, “my prince, please, will you go? I can’t handle this right now.” 

His lip curls as his green eyes blaze down at you. Is he angry? Entertained? Annoyed? 

“You needn’t be so scandalized. I am perfectly attractive. I am an exceptional choice in mate. By any standard in this universe, I am coveted. Don’t pretend that heart isn’t skipping a beat at my very touch,” he drawls. 

“Yes, it’s a condition. I’ve had it checked. They said it’s nothing to worry about,” you babble dumbly. You know he doesn’t mean that but you really can’t deal with his true implication. 

“We have to seal this union or I have no case for my residence--” 

“Got it. I get it. I understand,” you ramble. “But right now is not the time for that--” 

“There’s an office right there--” 

“Not now,” you repeat. “Loki,” you rip your hands free as his hold on you slackens. “I need to finish my work here and to be honest, I could use a little time to process this.” You turn away and stride back around the desk to face him from the other side. “I should have everything wrapped up at six and then we can figure things out.” 

You sit but your chair is higher than you expect. You blink and he’s gone. No, he’s below you. You writhe in his lap as he wraps an arm around your middle. You push on his elbow and squeal. 

“What are you doing?” You whine and kick your legs. 

“Well, darling, you sat in my lap. It’s rather forward of you,” he laughs. 

“Stop, stop!” You shove his arm helplessly. “I’m begging you to just--” 

“Oh, I knew you would beg--” 

“Enough!” You yell and stomp his foot. You get free and throw yourself off of him. You hit the desk and spin in the small space between you. You puff out as your adrenaline pumps behind your ears.  

You put your hands out, speechless. You can’t think. It’s all a scramble. You clap your palms together and twine your fingers. Then you cup your hands and cover your mouth. 

“Darling, you are dramatic,” he muses. 

You finally untangle your fingers and throw up your arms. You shake your head and turn to storm off. You don’t look back. You are going to hide in the bathroom until the world doesn’t feel so shaky. 

[brianwashere]

How do you feel about a bat family x male reader in which the reader (adopted or biologically Bruce’s, up to you) figures out for himself that he is trans and struggles with telling the family

*laughs maniacally* how do I feel? How do I FEEL???

I was very excited omg :333

I wrote this at 1:00 am so I’m so sorry if it’s not as good as my usual stuff

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from DC Comics**

Pairing: batfam x trans!brother!reader

Genre: slight hurt/comfort? There’s a happy ending

Summary: look at req

Tw: unintentional use of deadname, slight mention of skin picking

The Hardest Answer

You’d figured out you were trans a few months ago.

You didn’t wanna believe it at first. You didn’t wanna think about what being trans meant for you. For your family.

Eventually though, it became too much to bear. Weighing down on your chest and slowly suffocating you. You soon came to the horrifying realization you’d need to tell your family.

You knew at least three of your brothers wouldn’t have a problem with it. Hell, Tim had a boyfriend. But what about Damian and your dad?

Damian was obsessed with living up to the Wayne name, no matter how much he pretended he didn’t, and your father, he was always in the spotlight. Always pressured to be perfect, and by extension you were too.

The media was feral when they found out there was another biological child of The Prince of Gotham.

It was the Wayne’s monthly family dinner. It was awful, everyone kept calling you by that awful name. That name that just wasn’t you. It filled your ears and you had no choice but to respond to it.

“Hey ________ can you pass the salt?”

Or

“________ what do you think about doing our hair together tonight?”

You couldn’t handle it. So many people and none of them knew who you really were. You kept your eyes low and messed around with the various foods on your plate.

Tim was sitting next to you and seemed to catch onto you just picking at the food on your plate and not interacting with the people at the table.

“You good, _____?” He whispered to you.

You clenched your jaw and shrugged, forcing yourself not to scream about how you weren’t whoever the hell he thought he was talking to. How you weren’t a girl.

By now Damian’s attention has been caught and he was eyeing you up and down as well.

“_______, seriously if there’s anything you need to talk about I’m—“ Tim started.

“It’s nothing.” You deadpanned harshly.

Dick nudged Jason and they also looked at you with concern.

“If there’s something you’re not telling us, ______ you should really—“

Something in you snapped. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Oh my god! I’m not fucking _______! That’s not my name that’s not who I am!” You screamed.

You abruptly stood up and stomped off to your room. Leaving your family, their minds reeling and processing what you had said.

You slammed the door and locked it. You fell against the door and slid down burying your head in your knees. Tears welled in your eyes and you let out a gross sob.

You heard conversation downstairs but didn’t bother to listen. This was it. They were gunna kick you out or send you to conversion camp, or completely ignore it and act like everything was fine.

You heard steady unhurried footsteps echoing off the walls and approaching your room. You kept yourself quiet when they stopped in front of your door.

Two gentle knocks. Alfred. You stayed silent, picking at the carpet

“If there is something bothering you this badly I strongly suggest you talk about it.” He stated.

You noticed how he didn’t address you directly. You were grateful for such a small consideration.

“Did Master Tim say something to offend you?” He asked politely.

You sniffled, wiping your tear-stained cheeks and snotty nose. You slowly picked yourself up from the floor and unlocked the door, cracking it only enough to see Alfred.

“It wasn’t Tim.” You mumbled, looking at Alfred’s shoes.

“Mmm. I see. Something else then? Something deeper, maybe?” Alfred tried.

He caught on. He knew. You knew he knew. He’s observant like that. You pursed your lips, you felt tears full your eyes again but forced them down. You nodded.

“Well Young Master Wayne, how would you like to be referred to?”

You smiled and told him.

“An excellent name.” He complimented, a twinkle in his eye.

“Are…are you gunna tell the others?” You nervously asked.

“It is not my place. But if I were to give you advice, I would suggest you do tell them. They’re all quite worried, you know.” He rested a hand on your shoulder.

“They’ll accept you.” He reassured.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You walked downstairs and pushed the large doors to the living room open; Alfred had gathered them all there.

Damian was on the floor, petting Titus. Tim was sitting in a small armchair, legs dangling off of one of the arms. Jason was lounging on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table. And Dick was sitting crisscrossed on the other couch. Bruce was in a large armchair watching you with knit eyebrows.

You gulped and stepped to where all of the could see you.

Picking your cuticles and watching the floor, you cleared your throat.

“I’m—“ your voice cracked. “I’m sorry for lashing out at dinner but there’s something that’s been bothering me for a while now.”

Everyone watched with anticipation. You took a deep breath.

“I’m trans. I use he/him pronouns. I am not a girl.” You say strongly.

There’s no response. You get nervous, your eyes start to water.

This was all a big mistake you should have never—

Arms were around you. You looked up to see your Jason hugging you. You sobbed into his chest.

“Hey hey, you don’t need to cry. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He assured and pat your back.

“What’s your name, kid?” He asked.

You told him and he smiled.

“That’s a damn good name.” He responded.

The rest of your family caught up quickly. Tim and Dick hugging you and apologizing profusely as well.

Damian walked up to you. You looked down on him. He had his arms crossed.

“I guess one more brother couldn’t do any harm.” He said passively.

You pulled him into a hug as well; he was confused at first but then hugged you back.

Then your father approached you. You held your breath. He embraced you then pulled back to smile at you.

“You make me so proud, son.” He remarked.

You grinned and hugged him again.

Yeah, you were gunna be just fine.

[islamicrays]

Dear Muslim Couples,

I read earlier that our community has a 33% divorce rate.

33%!!!!!!!

That means 1/3 of our marriages do not last! That is beyond shocking, disheartening, and demoralizing!

As someone who has lived experience and has worked with several couples over the years, I'd like to share some of my observations as to how or why we've gotten to this dark place and how we can maybe find our way out of it--in sha Allah.

First, let me say as a disclaimer that OBVIOUSLY, some marriages are not meant to last and should end as soon as possible because they are proven harmful to one or both parties involved. So, this is not a critique or debate about divorce, it's just a general commentary about the problems plaguing our marriages and families, and ways we can perhaps do better moving forward in sha Allah.

1. WEAK INTENTIONS: Our marriages are not primarily for the sake of ﷲ. We marry for companionship, as a protection from temptation, for kids, to please our parents, for tax breaks, etc., but we aren't PRIMARILY marrying to please Allah ﷻ and fulfill the sunnah of our Beloved ﷺ. And as we know, any enterprise, endeavor, or major life decision that begins without invoking God's blessing will be fruitless! So, we need to define what marriage for the sake of Allah ﷻ really means and help our youth make better choices. Marriage classes should start much earlier than in the college or post college years. Our teens are learning about all types of twisted relationship models and watching the breakdown of family and society unfold every day, so we can't delay these conversations anymore. They need to know what a healthy relationship means in Islam, and more importantly, they need to see it modeled as well! More on that another time...

2. WEAK BELIEFS: We have adopted dangerous ideologies about manhood, womanhood, and marriage itself, and have completely abandoned what marriage in Islam really means and looks like. When we approach marriage with distrust, suspicion, and cynicism, and see our spouse as either a conquest or a possession instead of a loving partner, then why do we expect the relationship to grow in a healthy direction? We can't invite Iblis to join the union and give him ample opportunity to cause division and tear us apart, and then complain about it. Marriage in Islam is about mutual benefit, respect, and observing appropriate boundaries where BOTH partners are beholden to God's standards and expectations not anyone else's, including each other or one another's parents, inlaws, families, cultures, etc.

3. WEAK APPETITES: Pornography and sexual perversity is the rot that will eat away at the spiritual connection between a couple. If you allow this filth into your life at any point and then bring it with you into your marriage, you might as well sign the divorce papers because your marriage will inevitably fail. Whatever your personal struggles are, do everything in your power to AVOID the degeneracy of this pornographic culture. That means obviously DON'T watch any form of pornography but also STOP watching filth that may not have a XXX rating but is still pornographic. Watching television, shows, music videos, TikToks, Reels, Youtube videos, reading “erotica” etc., where people are revealing their bodies, and engaging in outright explicit and HARAM behavior is a direct violation of God's command to LOWER ONE'S GAZE. We have long been conditioned to adopt these western standards based on their approved rating system for what is considered appropriate or inappropriate, but the fact is, we have our own rating system in Islam, and if we betray it and normalize watching certain things--especially as an activity with our spouse--then there are serious consequences! No one should be surprised to learn that their partner has suddenly developed a strange habit, or wants to "experiment" sexually with things that just don't feel right when they handed them the keys to access the demonic portals that call to such evil! Deviancy is contagious and corrosive! So please stop bringing the garbage into your living rooms or bedrooms and just turn it off. Look for wholesome entertainment and have a ZERO policy for HARAM. And advocate for intimacy that is modest, pure, and rooted in true love and romance--not perversity, deviance, and pornography that just reduces a sensual and spiritual experience to an animalistic one!

4. WEAK & ENTITLED EGOS: Appreciate what you have and stop the nafsy nonsense that entitles you to a perfect utopian life in this world. If you have a partner who is dutiful first and foremost to their Lord and upholds their responsibilities to you (and your children, parents, family, etc) and is doing their best to SHOW UP and pull their weight in the marriage, then STOP nitpicking over superficial things or comparing them to others. No one has the perfect marriage. No matter what you think about any individual or couple out there, know for certain, that everyone has struggles they have to push past. Just be grateful that you have a partner. Be grateful that God has given you someone to grow with, experience life with, share responsibilities with, etc. And if you have children with them, then for the love of God, stop being an ingrate. If you have ANY love for your children, then put aside your petty squabbles or nagging wishlists, and stop throwing around the word divorce. Unless you are in a situation where there are serious violations happening, you need to learn the language of compromise and focus on the positives in your marriage--which for sure there are many, even if you refuse to state them. The bottom line is, we WILL be tested in our relationships, and what we dismiss as incompatibility is often much more than that. Our partners are sometimes mirrors for us to see some harsh truths about ourselves, and if we are uncomfortable facing those truths then obviously it will seem easier to discard the mirror. But the better route is to look intently, to listen, and to redefine our partners as the means through which we arrive at the door of God--beseeching Him for salvation. Our partners are sometimes the reason we even make it to the door, because whether they carry us when we need to be carried, or they force us to flee to God for refuge from them, they help us and for that reason alone should be appreciated.

In the end, that's all that matters, isn't it? This life will end. We're all on the way out, but it's where end up when we leave here that determines our success. Divorce may be necessary for some, but for a lot of couples, it's a false trap door that looks like an easy escape route. It actually leads to much darker days when opened prematurely and rushed into. We need to start shaking some common sense back into one another and avoid the illusory lies of the modern world that have made us all so self-absorbed we run at the first sign of problems. Let us learn to appreciate what we have. Let us take our marriages more seriously and start making the necessary changes to protect them from the traps of shaitan. Whatever challenges we have aside from abuse and any other serious violations, we should push through and overcome our nafs (ego) in the process. We should admit fatigue and seek professional help when we're too tired and spent fighting on our own. And we should continuously ask God for help and strength.

Iblis will stop at nothing to destroy us. Divide and conquer is one of his preferred tactics. He will destroy everything we build until we're left to rubble. Marriage is about building, and divorce is demolition. Please continue to build, even if you have to renovate, and do everything you can to avoid the wrecking ball.

May Allah ﷻ continue to give us strength...

P.S. Please note that this list is nowhere near exhaustive or complete. There are MANY other issues that can lead to the dissolution of a marriage, but for the sake of time and convenience, I mentioned the general issues above as I believe they are the overarching reasons why many marriages struggle. When the foundation of a building is built faulty or weak, we don’t blame its cracking walls, chipped paint, or creaking floorboards—we look to fixing the source of the issue, not the symptoms.

-Hosai Mojaddidi

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 93 - baking apple pie (I listened to MAG 91-93 on September 5th 2021 and then had to wait a whole week to be able to carry on because I went on vacation to Italy. Managed to finally reel my spouse in though and we listened to MAG 4 till MAG 16 on our drive home)

Such a long meow! At this point I also stormed out of the kitchen to announce to the group of friends that this episode starts with a cat! XD

Btw I'm listening to this while having a super fluffy calico on my lap. She's sleeping though.

JON "Bet the world ends, and you do just fine." - My favorite piece of foreshadowing xD

Hm, Jon hesitates at "Head Archivist". Did it just become unusual to him after two and a half months or is he thinking about using "The Archivist"?

"Instead, he stopped contacting me completely. He still answered the phone when I called, but was polite when I went to check upon him. Every bit of communication had to be instigated by me." - This is something that bugs me a bit. You know that stereotype of a relative saying "YoU NeVer cAlL mE", but they don't call you either. Difference is, I'm fine with it. Also, people grief differently. I want people to leave me alone when I'm grieving, I'd probably would have said some not so nice things if someone kept calling me.

"I didn’t know what I’d just witnessed. I still don’t, not really." - Not really! xD (I should go back and count all not-reallys)

Just a thought about the statement. Is there any indication why Greg could have been falling victim to the Corruption?

Next 4 bullet points are Georgie slander, just a heads up xD

GEORGIE "Where have you been? And what happened to your hand?" JON "I don’t want to talk about it." GEORGIE "Tough." - Asshole move, sorry… He got his hand burned off, it's obviously been traumatic and Georgie is just dismissive and unempathic about it. Georgie has a history of being super nosy when it fits her bill and then she's a smartass about things she doesn't understand…

JON "Look, I’m moving out anyway, so just… just forget it. I’m out of your life. Alright?" GEORGIE "No." - This is the second time now Jon says he's leaving since there are things he wants to do that Georgie is not alright with and she just doesn't want to let him go…

GEORGIE "You leave, you don’t get your tapes back." JON "What?" GEORGIE "When you disappeared, I took the tapes you recorded, and locked them away. Honestly, I thought I might need them as evidence. You want them back, you tell me what’s happening." - Okay, and this is just the icing on the cake. Taking HIS stuff because she thought she might need them as evidence, ok, but then threatening to not give it back?? Yeah, she let Jon crash at her place, but she wasn't obligated to do that and it definitely gives her no right to hold Jon's things and demand from him to tell her everything. This is emotional blackmail and she's using the situation (her letting him stay) to guilt-trip him into obedience. Even though she never openly says it, she doesn't need to. she knows, she said she knew he wouldn't be here if he had other options. Even if she felt obligated to let him stay then, now she's using this monopole to her advantage. She knows Jon's at her mercy. God, Georgie makes me so angry… I'm happy Jon's got Martin…

JON "Georgie, please… You’ll think I’m… You’ll think I’m delusional." GEORGIE "I really hope so, Jon. Because right now I just think you’re a dickhead." - Oh really. He's a dickhead… Maybe you should clean up your own backyard.

I get Georgie's been worried. But does she really not see that he might have had a hard time too?

GEORGIE "What I mean is, if there’s no-one above you, there’s no-one to point out you’re doing everything wrong." JON "Look, can we put my professional competence to one side, please." - Okay, pointing out that it was a weird choice given his qualifications is alright, but now she's just, again, an asshole..

JON "Fine, er… What is something you would never choose to tell me?" GEORGIE "When we first met I thought you were putting on that accent to sound more impressive. Oh. Oh, Jon… I’m so sorry." JON "Oh… No, it’s alright. I, er, I mean, I-I guess I did exaggerate it. It’s a long time ago, anyway." - Haha, I already said I love it when stories are self-aware! XD Jon's Archivist voice in S1 was really… something xD Not so long ago taking the job as Head Archivist though, but Georgie doesn't know that…

GEORGIE "If your job is asking questions, I mean. You were always the one who pushed too far, and asked smart-arse, awkward questions. I always was surprised you never got punched." JON "Well, I think that bit of luck’s run out." - Bit of background story why Jon makes a good Archivist. But that's not why Elias chose him… That's why the Web chose him.

JON "some of the people I’ve been talking to have been… very dangerous. I’m starting to feel like a bit of a punching bag, to be honest. Would be nice to meet a monster, and not have a scar to show for it." - Oh yeah, I think that was the moment when I really, reaaaally started to feel for him… I have a softspot for whumpees. Also foreshadowing for the marks!

I mean, Georgie did take Jon in with no questions asked at the time and the police did come round and she had to lie about him being there. So I feel like to an extent she did deserve some answers if she was put in danger because of him. What do other people think?

[angelbluediary]

Every single day for the past week has been something, but I can relax today. But I still have to plan out tomorrow and “study” for my interview and shower at just the right time for my hair to air dry.

Yesterday I was meeting with V for dinner and he offered to meet anywhere—here in town, or we could meet halfway, but noooo I told him I’d meet him in the city since I needed to go to the mall anyway. Plan was to go to Sephora to test expensive foundations first, find my match, instead of buying blindly online. Then with leftover time before dinner I could look for cheap flats or simple heels to wear with my only decent interview outfit (I have no appropriate shoes that match) and maybe even look for a more professional outfit to wear since I really need this job.

Well! The Sephora in the mall must be gone and I had naively trusted my gps to take me to that old location. Instead I wound up at a random Kohl’s with a tiny little Sephora section that had nothing I’d driven all that way for in my hot ass oven-like car.

Dinner was fine and I offered to pay since V has gotten me the past 2 times, but he insisted on paying for drinks, so we both got martinis. It was strong AF and not very good and in the end I paid the entire bill, so I wish I had just stuck to water. Also regretted my dish of choice as soon as I was looking at it. Then V invites me as his date to a family wedding?… and I gave a noncommittal yes because I had no idea how one responds in that sort of situation?? I’d never casually take a friend I rarely see as a date to a family wedding and maybe it’s different for his family but I wish he hadn’t asked me. It doesn’t sound fun, just stressful. Now I have to figure out a way to weasel out.

12:21 on the clock now.

Today I also finally sent a proper response to Anne about my feelings. On Thursday, I’d just apologized and acknowledged her feelings while I was driving M around and reeling from the whole thing. I’ve wanted to avoid her ever since, so before I got too deep into that, I wanted to state my case as gracefully as I could. Because again, you knew this about me, and it’s nothing personal and never has been, and also YOU COULD HAVE TEXTED OR CALLED or reached out some way other than my muted discord if it was that important???????

But whatever.

Truth be told, I only get sad at the idea of not having friends at my future imaginary wedding. I’ve been without community for so long I’m just used to it by this point. I can’t deal with expectations of always having to be around and within reach and going out with people to maintain relationships. I’ve been struggling to get myself together for years, to find a sliver of real, true peace for YEARS. How am I supposed to pour into others when I haven’t learned how to let go of the past and stop looking at my life from a lack perspective? God knows I’ve been trying.

And I don’t want to talk to Z today either! I’m still stung by him thinking it’s acceptable to respond to a personally made playlist with “there’s a song on there I didn’t care for even 1%, can you guess which one?” and then it turns out to be a song that means a lot to me and immediately uplifts me every time I hear it. Like okay message received, not sharing anything with you like that again. Thanks for contributing to my perpetual shame around sharing my personal interests. I’m totally used to people either ignoring me or criticizing my tastes by now, so thanks for joining in on that fun.

Like. I’m this close to just meeting up with someone off a kink app even if they’re not demisexual or as into emotional connections as I am. Or if I’m not super attracted to them. All my standards and basic boundaries are dissolving in the heat of my need to have an outlet, to maybe be touched in a way that helps my mind find some quiet. I’ve been so goddamn patient for so long. I’m never impulsive, never risk-taking anymore. What do I have to show for all this time?

Ugh. Ughhhhhhh.

[glemmerdash-piecesof8]

Choices

They were ready on time this time when the door rang, except for Robert who had forgotten about the cameras. In came Paul. He was a towering structure of a man and it was obvious to all of them that he was indeed an actor as he was not intimidating but at the same time obviously skilled at communicating.

The interview was going swimmingly when Paul stopped halfway through his sentence on solidarity in the art world and asked if he could have a drink.

They all looked at him and Curtis poured him a glass of water from the carafe in front of him. Paul stared at it dejectedly. Shane looked at Curtis and said quietly, ‘Are you looking for something with a little more spirit?’

Paul brightened up and nodded and then looked at the line of sober people and burst into tears.

‘Oh God, I would love to do this project but I am indeed a garden variety alcoholic. I spend so much time in my bubble I didn’t even realise it was really a problem. Oh Christ!’

Roo stared at him thoughtfully but quite harshly at the same time, thinking of this man with kids and deciding firmly against it. She looked at Franny and Franny took her hand for a second and gave it a squeeze.

Roo started to talk, her voice breaking. ‘Paul, thank you so much for coming today, but unfortunately while many of us enjoy drinking and perhaps drink too much, we will be having kids around and so unfortunately we cannot have a liability of any form of alcoholic, functional as you may be. We all just have too much invested in this project.’

Paul physically slumped in his chair and for all his sheen he looked pretty dejected and somehow much smaller and more vulnerable. Curtis looked at him seriously and started reeling off information about recovery with a slightly detached air. Paul was clutching the water glass now and staring deep into the bottom of it. Shane got up and gave him a pat on the back, looked at the others and said, ‘Do you want to get packed off to rehab mate?’

Paul put his head on the table. ‘I have a show in 3 weeks though the rehearsals are all done. I don’t know if I can handle other alcoholics talking about recovery. I am so fired. Maybe I need to change professions and get out of the city.

Jatetsu came up and started talking softly to Paul. He had brought his bag with him and Shane eventually got him a chair as he started working out Paul’s chart. Paul started recovering but now his was childlike and learning.

Jatetsu was nodding and so was Shane and Paul started smiling a big smile. He looked at the rest of the panel with a big grin on his face and Jatetsu used Shane’s phone to make a call and started talking really quickly and then he handed the phone to Paul who had a pen and paper in hand which he had gotten from Roo and Paul answered some questions as he strode around the room and then the call was over. He looked at Jatetsu and smiled. Jatetsu gave him two thumbs up which made Robert smile and pretty much everyone else.

‘Thank you all - I will get out of your hair. Good luck with the show. It will be great. And thanks to Jatetsu I think I can sort myself out pretty well.’

He made a little bow to Jatetsu, who bowed back and then waved with a big smile and left the building. Muttering the kindness of strangers as Jerome let him out.

He left a room where a lot of hugging was going on for some reason and it was a silent lunch as it sunk in that there would only be six of them or 8 of them, nowhere close to lucky number 7 anymore.

At 2pm everyone was sitting ready when the doorbell went. In walked Beltrano who was small and impeccably dressed with fun detailing, and Anbessa, who was taller and much more simply dressed, with jeans and a hoodie proudly saying BAN FOX HUNTING.

They sat down and Shane asked if they wanted coffee which made Anbessa laugh. ‘Not for me, thanks, I have just come from work, and,’ he said looking at Beltrano, ‘he doesn’t drink coffee after 1pm.’ Beltrano nodded.

Curtis started the spiel again with a surprising amount of enthusiasm considering it was his fourth time on the trot[RvS39] . They all introduced themselves and then Beltrano asked softly if they could come back in 5 minutes. They disappeared around the corner and 7 minutes later they were back, sitting down rather solemnly.

‘Everything alright?’ Robert asked. Beltrano started to speak but it was halting and Anbessa put his hand on his arm and started talking. Beltrano leaned back looking relieved.

‘We applied at the urging of Jerome.’ There were a few sighs and nods going around and Curtis looked up looking for Jerome but he slipped out of sight. He started getting up, a little put out, when Roo put her hand on his arm so he sat back down.

‘The problem is,’ Anbessa said carefully,’we are both completely gay.’ There were more sighs and nods with some frowns and some quickly hidden smiles. Anbessa continued, ‘We would still like to do the project and would be happy to get married but the marriage would remain,’ he looked at the cameras, ‘what is the word you use - not complete?’

‘So if you consider us that would be good. I would like to work with print media and Beltrano would like to work for himself and,’ he looked at Beltrano. ‘Yes, I can make clothes for Roo, Luther and Jatetsu,’ he said with a beautiful open smile. Anbessa continued, ‘Yes, he would be using you as ambassadors of his style but you would be able to wear other clothes.’ Beltrano nodded. ‘I also make some clothes for others if wanted.’

‘So what would your cause be Beltrano?’

Anbessa looked at Beltrano, who motioned for him to talk. ‘We both want to work on a literature magazine with poetry and so on but well designed.’

Beltrano interjected. ‘We will call it of the birds too and make it off white paper with blue print and cyanotype cover lookalike.’

Anbessa smiled. ‘Beltrano is a unique creature, being an Italian situationist as I think we said in the application. I would like to do a paper also inspired by your work Robert, it just came to me now, called Extinction Times.’

Robert nodded, ‘A newspaper of all the animals that have gone extinct in the last x amount of time?’

Anbessa nodded.

Interesting, thought Roo. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind pretending to be bi?’ she said carefully. Anbessa and Beltrano shook their heads in a coordinated fashion.

Roo stood up, ‘Do you mind if I go talk to the straight men and Franny? And maybe Curtis?’

Beltrano and Anbessa both smiled and shook their heads. Shane got up, and looked at Carl who avoided his gaze and remained sitting. Luther was leaning back on his chair and then let the legs touch the ground. Jatetsu was talking to Robert and observing at the same time and then got up with the rest of that side of the table, stopping Curtis as he was about to pass and asking another question softly before smiling and following them out waiting for Robert to turn the camera off, saying softly to him, ‘Not wild Yamabushi who comes of the mountain for women or men. Too complicated all men,’ and Robert smiled and nodded putting his hand on his back and smiling. ‘You need time to go hiking!’

Jatetsu smiled and laughed a belly laugh and so did Robert. Roo looked relieved to see them when they came around the corner and Shane gave Jatetsu a big smile. Robert started talking to Franny and Curtis about legal implications and the other just stood. Jatetsu eventually said, ‘I need plenty time for cultivation. Will go to the mountains plenty and will be busy with the charity. Need simplicity, one day a week maybe with Roo but priority is the work. Too many men, too complicated.’

Roo smiled, ‘Well you can change your mind.’

Jatetsu shook his head. ‘No, discipline more important.’ He then looked at Roo and said, ‘Must go. Visitors from Japan from Okinawa. Okinawa serious.’

Shane asked innocently, ‘What is happening in Okinawa?’

‘America is building many military bases.’

‘Really? Even after Hiroshima? Isn’t that against a law?’

Jatetsu shook his head. ‘Good friend, very serious guy.’

‘Could he stay with us and talk about Okinawa?’ Shane said.

Jatetsu looked surprised and then nodded, ‘Maybe interview but will ask.’

He took Roo’s hands and bowed and then Shane’s before disappearing out the door. Roo looked rather surprised. Shane hugged her shoulders, ‘We can see him on Monday.’ Roo looked up at him and smiled. ‘I can’t really go to the mountains with him.’

‘I don’t see why not, we can stay in a house and see him when he’s finished his exploits. There are no sacred mountains in England.’

‘I am sure they’re sacred to somebody,’ Roo said smiling. Shane smiled, ‘I guess you’re right.’ He looked at her, ‘Having them will make things nicely rounded and simpler.’ Roo nodded, realising everyone was looking at her now. Franny smiled, ‘You’ll be a little bit more normal Roo with only one more or less full time lover.’ Roo looked at Shane and smiled. ‘Yes, alright.’

‘Great,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll tell them, you two slip off, unless you want to take Franny and Shane to that restaurant on the black card? Curtis has a reservation for 6 he forgot to cancel and organise people for.’ Curtis nodded. ‘I just remembered now. I have been so distracted by this experiment I forgot it’s the weekend I have a rolling booking for.’ Shane and Franny looked at Roo. She smiled and said, ‘Well the food is good and I don’t want to cook.’

Shane said, ‘I don’t have a show so some delicious food eaten slowly would be a real treat.’ Franny nodded.

‘I’ll go talk to Luke’, Roo said.

‘And welcome the other two - it’s actually best if you do it Roo,’ Robert said earnestly. Roo nodded and smiled, ‘Beautiful clothes!’

And they all laughed.

After Roo welcomed Beltrano and Anbessa she went to Luke and asked if he minded if she went for dinner. Luke looked at her with a smile, ‘With Robert and Franny?’

‘Yes, you could have the flat to yourselves.’ He smiled, ‘Alright love, I have a shift tomorrow night so you might as well go to work wearing one of Shane’s jumpers again.’

‘Sure?’ she said. ‘Yes, see you Monday evening.’

They parted ways and started tidying things up and putting things away. Shane was making whiskey based cocktails with Jerome for those who didn’t want champagne and when they were ready and everyone had a glass in hand they all raised them with Luke saying, ‘To the experiment,’ and they all cheered, happy to have their first toast of many to come.

At the restaurant Shane asked about what situationists really were. Robert put down the dessert menu and sighed. Curtis smiled again then Jerome said, ‘Well it’s all about the spectacle with them. It’s not so much a political stance, it’s a way of seeing the world. Beltrano is particularly influenced by the time, the revolution of everyday life.

‘It is a dead movement pretty much but quite a few people myself included really appreciate the approach,’ Robert said. Curtis looked serious and said, ‘You know about bread and circuses?’

Shane smiled, ‘Sure, there is a Durutti Column album called that which Carl lent me. I looked into it and realised agriculture is pretty complicated and distraction is built into society. So I suppose the point of our project is to try and subvert the distraction and I am assuming the situationists would possibly approve.’

‘Yes, possibly.’

‘But subversion only helps people see things for what they are. It’s not a solution for the average person.’

Robert looked into the middle distance and nodded. ‘The challenges of our time are unprecedented in recorded history, but media is the primary battlefield as it gets more and more consolidated into the hands of the rich. Civilisation makes for a pretty complicated set of living arrangements and what some call neo-capitalism, makes for an even more high speed society.’

‘Well, do you mind terribly if we leave now. I can’t stomach dessert tonight and Franny wants to get back to the flat to get drunk with the others,’ Robert jested.

Franny looked exasperated. ‘I just want to see if they are getting on.’

‘Yes, that will be fine,’ said Curtis, ‘are you two staying? I was thinking of getting the cheeseboard for us but if you two are leaving it’s a bit big.’

Robert faltered and then Franny smiled, ‘I just realised they are adults so we can stay.’ Robert smiled, he did love cheese!

Roo looked at Shane, ‘So we could try desserts?’ Curtis smiled, ‘Yes,’ and Shane shook his head, ‘unless we’re sharing Roo. I am happy with just coffee. This place is a lot to take in and I am knackered after last night’s show.’

Roo looked at the menu and found some bonbons. She pointed at them to Shane and he smiled, sure Roo let’s have some love bites. It is hard to be disciplined here.’

Curtis smiled, ‘That’s why I only come once a month.’ They all laughed. Roo suddenly thought of the others, ‘Do you think we could get 2 cheeseboards and some bonbons takeaway for the others?’

Robert smiled, ‘Good idea Roo, I am sure they will appreciate it. Ready to order?’

Shane enjoyed the coffee so much he insisted on doing some detective work before leaving and triumphantly coming out of the kitchen with a card. ‘I was thinking,’ he said as they waited for the bill, ‘what if we all only have one real luxury each? I am happy to eat rubbish food if I can have coffee like this every day.’

Roo smiled, ‘We’re going local but that is a good idea, if we each choose a luxury exempt item it won’t be so difficult.’

‘So what would yours be Roo?’ Franny asked. ‘Well if Shane’s doing coffee, the next one would be chocolate in some form.’ Shane smiled and said triumphantly, ‘The people I go the number for do fairtrade chocolate with a tribe in the amazon somewhere where it really is fairtrade and sustainable.’

Curtis smiled, ‘I can ask for a list of suppliers to get emailed to me.’

‘That would be great Curtis. Our cab is early though - shall we see you Monday evening to help Jatetsu move in?’

‘Wonderful - let’s make it 6 pm. Night - we did well today!’

They all said their farewells while Robert paid and then left.

Roo and Shane got out of the taxi, waving at Franny and Robert and the driver. They climbed the stairs to Shane’s apartment and collapsed onto the bed with their clothes on as it was still cold. While they were waiting for the heating Shane said gently. ‘You know I thought I had lost you forever and while I would love to have you all to myself, it’s going to be such fun doing the experiment, even if it’s tough sometimes. It’s refreshing to talk to non-music people.’

Roo nodded and took her shoes off and said ‘I am knackered too but that coffee might tide me over for some shenanigans,’ she said with a cheeky smile. ‘Next week I will be out of action but Luke might let us do a sleepover if you’re up for it.’

Shane smiled starting to undress her, ‘You know I love sleepovers with you,’ he said huskily. ‘My one straight man, are you sure you don’t want to experiment with the others?’

Shane was smiling and shaking his head while his shoes and trousers came off. ‘I am a blues man baby. I have tried but honestly you have my favourite body and mind and men really just are for sex, I want to make love to you all day every day but can share you cos [RvS40] that’s what needs to be done, but when the dust settles and the kids have grown up I want to steal you away and escape this town. I am with you for life baby, come what may. Now open your legs for me, haven’t tasted you for a whole week. And Roo kissed him, ‘Shane,’ she said quivering. ‘Hush baby, it’s going to be alright and he started kissing her nipples and touching her before traveling further down her body and when it was time for him to be inside her, he said with such tenderness, ‘You ready to grow old with me baby?’

Roo nodded and said she held him, with her body feeling more relaxed and ready for a man than it had ever been in her life before. ‘Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did. I was younger then and I am still young but if you’re ready to be partners for life, I am ready too, come what may. It will keep me strong knowing I can stop and still have you. I think Luke will be fine but I can’t think of losing you again.’ Shane started kissing her and led himself gently inside her and as he started moving inside her Roo realised for the first time that she was home and safe, she looked up into Shane’s eyes and they locked. Shane had tears in his eyes, but as they stared at each other they both knew there was no going back now. Shane laughed and hugged Roo in his delight, and they kept moving together in a timeless space, being just two people who loved each other deeply, renewing each other with their love and making them both starting singing Marvin Gayes’ Sexual Healing the morning with their breakfast, before returning to bed to do it all over again.

Never did I see so many faces

Franny got home that afternoon to get things ready for Fiona’s visit. She walked from the bus stop in the crisp frosty air feeling invigorated and when she got to the flat went straight to the kitchen for some tea. She was a bit taken aback by the pile of recycling, when Robert walked in, finding her staring at the recycling, and just shook his head. ‘There was a bit of a party last night until Franny’s yawning made then go chilling at home. Luke’s still sleeping and don’t worry, he is alone.’ Robert said wryly. Franny started to protest and then realised there was no point, so she just smiled and said ‘Tea?’

Dinner with Fiona went well, Franny having come home with a huge lasagne after a trip to the shops. It was interesting realising she had to have help for managing things in the future. Fiona was lovely and bubbly and loved the flat. As Franny was dishing out the dessert from yet another huge tray, Franny asked Fiona if it would be fine to start in June when Fanny and Robert left. Fiona looked at Franny and then laughed. ‘You mean you don’t want to film the first series before they leave?’ Roo looked at Luke and then got up and got her diary. There was then a flurry of phone calls and Roo sat waiting for the last few outcomes. They were all positive. Everyone looked at Roo and she asked Fiona earnestly ‘So you’re sure you don’t want to go home first?’

Fiona shook her head. ‘I find it stressful to go home. My parents can come visit me here. Like I said I need to give in my notice but I have outstanding holiday so I can book that tomorrow and then resign the next day.’

‘Luke’s sister is arriving next weekend so maybe we have to think of moving to the In and Out.[RvS41] ’

Robert said: ‘I can stay at Franny’s some of the time, though you probably want to give notice?’ Franny nodded. ‘Then I won’t have to work quite as many shifts until we leave. It will mean the others have to use the underground to get to work, but you might enjoy some last months of anonymity.’

Luke looked at Roo and smiled. Roo smiled back. ‘So we start filming in two weeks - apart from filming people arriving to in and out.’ They all nodded. Roo’s phone rang, it was Curtis, so she put it on speaker phone.

‘Hi Curtis.’

‘Hi Roo.’

‘There’s a few of us here, including Fiona who’s going to help me with things.’

‘Wonderful my dear. I was thinking about furniture.’

‘Yes,’ said Roo.

‘Well the thing is, we need plenty. I am wondering if you have any preference?’

Roo shook her head and said ‘No, just beautiful things. But ideally not too valuable and ideally not flatpack - I don’t think that will go with the house.’

‘Yes, the space needs awareness in its decorating. I spoke to Anbessa and he is free to help me choose things this week. We won’t get sponsorship for the decorations but I was thinking that perhaps you want a sound system for the lounge?’

‘And a baby one for the kitchen. Speak to Shane and Carl though, they will know what to get.’

‘Wonderful, We’ll be ready for the rest of you to move in on the weekend.’

‘So soon? Alright, I suppose it will be nice to settle in.’

‘Yes. I’ll talk to Shane and Carl.’

“Great, we all send our love.’ Everyone nodded.

‘Thanks Curtis.’

‘It’s a pleasure my dear. Could I speak to Robert please?’

‘Sure,’ and Robert took the phone and wondered to the kitchen to talk logistics.

“Well, I suppose everyone is going to have to talk to their landlords or find tenants or whatever,’ Roo said.

‘Yes, it’s London though and only two weeks until April,’ Luke said.

‘You’ll need to find some bluebells to film in and let Jatetsu talk about strange things,’ Franny said.

Fiona looked at her watch, and sighed. ‘Do you mind if I go? I want to sit with my calendar and double check things.’

‘Sure,’ Luke said, ‘it was a pleasure to meet you!’ They all gave her a hug and she waved at Robert as she went past the kitchen as Franny let her out.

‘So that went even better than I expected,’ Franny said smiling as she sat down again. ‘Yes, thanks for organising that Franny,’ said Luke. ‘Now I need to go to bed and update my lovely woman with what we decided last night.’

Roo looked a bit surprised and then nodded. ‘Let me just tidy up a bit.’ ‘No, no, no,’ said Franny, ‘I got it, I need to do something mindful,’ she said smiling. ‘Sure?’ Roo asked. Fanny nodded. ‘You have work tomorrow, both of you. Go rest!’

And so Luke and Roo retired. After they had gotten ready for bed Luke said carefully ‘So Shane has professed his undying love for you?’

Roo looked shocked and was speechless. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. The others said he would have.’ Luke sat on the bed and then lay down. ‘Don’t worry. I knew this might happen. You know you say his name in your sleep sometimes.’

Roo shook her head, trying to work out what to say.

‘We know he will look after you, we have worked out a rota to make it fair. You spend 4 nights every fortnight with Shane. One night a fortnight with the rest of us, except Anbessa and Beltrano who are really happy to just experiment with us lads. And the rest of the time can be fluid. Jatetsu can negotiate something then.’

Roo laid down next to Luke and then reached out to Luke, stroking his hair.

‘I love you though. I want to spend more than 1 night every two weeks with you,’ she said softly. Luke smiled. ‘Sure, I know that love, but I actually want to get to know the others. When the kids arrive it will get busy and there won’t be time. I thought you would be happy.’

Roo sighed and move onto her back. She stared at the ceiling and there was silence for a long time. Then Luke took her hand, ‘It’s going to be fine.’

Roo nodded and then smiled. ‘So you’re all taking the pressure off me.’

‘Yes love, that’s the idea.’

‘Thank you.’

‘We have to do tests this week.’

Roo nodded, cuddling up to Luke. ‘Shane will be away on tour sometimes.’

‘I know, you’ll see the fluidity will work out.’

‘Alright.’ There was silence for a while.

‘I was surprised when Carl and Luther both stayed yesterday.’

‘And we were surprised when Jatetsu left.’

‘He says it’s too complicated and that he needs time for his cultivation.’

‘Right, that’s true. He’s a full on mystic he is.’

‘Yes, I like him.’

‘We all like him too if you’d like to know.’

‘I did just make that decision didn’t I.’ Roo laughed.

Luke kissed her. ‘And a good decision it was. Sleep well love.’

‘You too.’

And he was gone in the morning when she woke up for an early shift, so Roo had another morning of stillness before work and she couldn’t help but wonder what Luke really wanted and that worry stayed with her all week, only being dispelled when she saw him with the others on Saturday at the house. Then she realised he was in love too.

Jatetsu was sitting in the garden observing the world around him. It had been a busy weekend, with people bringing things and choosing rooms and having a sort of extended party. Jatetsu had excused himself often over the weekend and yesterday had spent an hour with Roo outside just sitting, with Shane appearing halfway through and they had all sat together and watched the clouds and the plants, with the wind keeping them present. He was thinking of that now and was happy that it had happened even though he had been nervous and alert when it was happening.

The house was empty now with everyone at work except for Luther who was cooking. Jatetsu thought of how 10 days ago his life was his and now he really was in service to the universe. He found himself thinking again of his Buddhist monk friend who was working in Okinawa and it was as though he had eaten a bomb, his insides feeling metallic and his head starting to pound. This had been happening for the whole of the time since seeing his friend, annoyingly always when he was trying to enjoy serenity. It was as though when his environment knew he was centred and feeling whole, some god invented after time would appear and hollow him out, with each time being different. The first few days when it happened he had reached for his Juzu[1] but that had filled him with such a howling emptiness he had thrown up each time. It was all very strange but now Jatetsu just sat, ignoring the itch for the Juzu and letting the pain flow through him.

When it eventually stopped Jatetsu found that it was night and the stars were staring at him, his form somehow having collapsed to supine in the process of feeling the fear of the future. In his hand he found a small stone which seemed to shiver in the starlight. Jatetsu kissed it and put it close to his body for safe keeping. He got up slowly and breathed consciously before going inside and asking Luther if there was any lamb. Luther went to a pot and opened it and there was stew. Jatetsu started to cry softly and then nodded and Luther dished him up a bowl and then one for himself. Luther sat opposite Jatetsu quietly as they both ate with Jatetsu eating like an abandoned child but gradually calming so he wasn’t crying anymore. Everyone was already in bed but Luther had been fasting since lunch when he saw that Jatetsu was lying down.

Roo had told him last week, when he had phoned to ask what Jatetsu might be doing that made him so fragile, about the Okinawan friend visiting. So when there was a change of behaviour today Luther knew he had to stay alert. Jatetsu took out the stone and put it on the table. Luther looked at it and at Jatetsu and then said. ‘For your friend?’

Jatetsu nodded and put it away again. ‘Tomorrow he is coming to stay. We must start filming.’

Luther nodded with the acceptance of a man who has seen war and said ‘I’ll tell the others in the morning. Until then I think you have to rest. It’s very cold outside. Roo said you should sleep with her when you got in but she fell asleep about 2 hours ago.

Jatetsu drank a glass of water really slowly and then put it down and nodded. “That would be good.’

‘I will go wake her.’ Jatetsu smiled and nodded and followed him to Roo’s room. Shane was there sitting watching Roo in the dark with a pen and paper in hand. He looked at Jatetsu and smiled. ‘You want to wake the dragon?’ he whispered. Luther and Jatetsu nodded and Shane got up, ‘The best thing with her is to sing softly to her while stroking her hair.’

Jatetsu nodded after bowing to the other two. He closed the door and put the stone on the table and got undressed. It was a bed that only he would share with Roo as he was the only one with a single bed.

He climbed under the covers and started singing a folksong softly and tentatively touched Roo’s hair. She stirred and smiled then reached out and felt his naked form and took his hands and guided them to her breasts. Jatetsu was feeling so shattered his reserve was gone. He gave her hungry desperate kisses and Roo moaned when he entered her and started crying as he moved. They made a tender love that night filled with tears until Roo started laughing a deep belly laugh and then so did Jatetsu, before a tiredness came over him and he collapsed, curling up with Roo curling around him and he sobbed himself softly to sleep, confused by the strong tie he felt to Roo as she cradled him in her arms.

When Jatetsu woke up his friend was sitting on the bed staring out the window and it was afternoon. Jatetsu gestured to the stone on the table which his friend went and picked up. His eyes began to water and then he put it in his pocket and brought Jatetsu his clothes. Shane was sitting in the music room fiddling with a guitar and decompressing after teaching. Robert came in with the camera and Shane looked up and smiled before Jatetsu and his friend came in and sat down.

Jatetsu blew the horagai[2] and Luther came in with a Japanese tea set and they all sat in a circle and Jatetsu’s friend started telling a story.

‘A long time ago there was an old woman who wanted to have a child. She dreamed of a child for many years and then one morning she found a small bear in her bed.

The bear was small and hungry so she fed it warm broth even though there was something about the bear that was strange. The bear followed her around as it got older and the old woman grew to love the bear as if it was her long wished for child. One day a medicine man came to her house and he said ‘Old woman, the bear needs to leave today’. The old woman started screeching and cursing and she chased the medicine man away. When she returned to her house the bear was gone, except for a scratch on the door which it had made when it was younger.

The old woman left the house with her belongings and went and camped in the forest. That night the wind came and it blew on her fire and told her to give up her quest or the world would unravel. The old woman turned on her side and slept and in the morning she continued her journey.

The next night the fire refused to light and in the darkness the old woman’s water was tipped over as the wind came again and gave her the same warning. The old woman turned on her side and slept and in the morning she continued her journey even though the world was now covered with ice and there was no water to be found.

As the old woman walked she listened for birdsong but there was none in the cold silent light. That night she shouted at the wood and the fire and they lit for a blinding second and then went out. The old woman was thirsty and cold she started to cry and then there was the medicine man in front of a fire which gave off no heat and shouted at the old woman in the language of metal and as the fire told the woman of her folly and how if she continued not only would the world unravel but that she would become lost.

The old woman laughed with scorn and then looked at the sky and was filled with terror as the stars were moving and swimming around in confused spirals. The old woman screamed at the medicine man who sat quietly listening and drinking tea. When he was packing the tea set away the old woman started begging him now for water and the medicine man picked up snow on the ground and threw it in the fire while his other hand threw in herbs.

The fire went out and the medicine man said ‘Last night your home was destroyed and the bear was there.’ The old woman began to wail and went to find her things in the dark and all there was melted metal and an apple. The old woman was so sad and angry now that she started throwing the apple in anger and then as she was about to throw it she looked back at the medicine man and he shook his head.

She looked at the sky and its swirling and then she walked over and gave the medicine man the apple and then lay down to die. The medicine man opened the apple and took out the seeds and then buried them around the old woman. Then he left.

There followed many years of winter but one day the winter ended and the seeds in the ground started to warm and the stars stopped swimming in the sky and then the old woman woke up. She found a pack by her body and a note saying ‘There are no medicine people.’ And then the pack began to cry and the old woman’s heart leapt in joy and went to look and as she searched for the baby the sun rose and then she started cursing. The crying stopped and the old woman looked around her and all the trees were still.

Then the woman looked at her hands and her body and realised she was the medicine man except younger. The old woman wandered around looking for water and found some even though she wasn’t thirsty. Then she lit a fire even though she wasn’t cold. And the wind came and told her that she needed to leave in the morning because there was work to do and that for 100 days and 100 nights she wouldn’t be able to make fire or find water but she could be fed by animals and humans. The old woman cursed the wind.

After 50 days of cursing the woman lay down to die. That night a bear came and scratched her face. And after 50 more days she was still alive so she got up and started walking and over the next 1000 years she wrote all of our folksongs by remembering the sounds of the birds. So she sung but she never used another word of language for all her days.’

Shane started singing as the story finished and they all had tea.

[ziracona]

Tumblr user TabrisFam you were right…I should have taken the wisdom of another Tabris and run back to DA2 immediately…

[zachsreaderinserts]

sleepy boys inc x gn!teen! reader headcannons

trying something new! i like bbs and all, but i wanted to write for other youtubers! lemme know if yall wanna see more content like this lol.

this takes place in a minecraft au!!! also, mentions of bad parenting/abusive parents

wc: 2,319

okay the sleepy boys

chaos incarnated, all of them. you can’t deny it

so, when tommy invites a friend from a local village, at first, everyone else is skeptical. since when has tommy made a friend who didn’t hate him within 20 minutes from all the screaming and insults he spewed?

unlike his friends, phil is more excited than anything. though he isn’t tommy’s dad, he feels like it sometimes, so he really wants to meet this new person who has caught the youngest’s attention

techno is very much not on board. he has a hard time trusting people at first glance and having been friends with tommy for the longest, he knows that tommy readily jumps the gun and attempts to befriend literally anything just because he can

and wilbur? indifferent for the most part. yes, he feels the need to make sure tommy is protected and cared for, but he also recognizes that this situation is out of his hands. the best he can do is hope that their friend isn’t an absolute asshole

so, it’s saturday. all three men are sitting on the couch in phil’s cottage, talking amongst themselves as they wait for tommy to come back. techno makes a joke about murdering them, which leads to phil scolding him about his violent tendencies

“you haven’t even met them yet, techno, what the fuck.”

wilbur is simply adding fuel to the fire, making little remarks here and there and watching the whole thing escalate to phil lecturing the piglin hybrid.

because of this, not one of them had noticed that tommy returned, with his newest friend. they both stopped at the sight of phil in dad mode, tommy considering just turning around and taking his friend as far away as physically possible

too late, since techno’s sixth sense made him whip around and stare at the newcomer. this made phil stop lecturing and wilbur quit giggling long enough for tommy to introduce his friend

after saying their name, the friend lifted their hand shyly, face burning from slight embarrassment. their other hand was latched onto tommy’s, feeling intimidated.

can you blame them? the fucking blood god looks like they wanna skewer them and cook them over a campfire.

tommy took notice of their shyness and cleared his throat, “we were planning on going to the carnival in their village if you three assholes feel like tagging along.”

like there was any way they were gonna let tommy and his friend go out without chaperones.

tommy turned back to his friend, “give me a second, i’m gonna go grab my sword just in case.” and proceeded to run up the stairs and towards the guest bedroom in phil’s house that he claimed.

the millisecond he was out of earshot, techno grabbed his friend by the front of the shirt.

“what are your intentions with tommy?”

the friend blinked once, twice, then bit back a smile. “you’re asking that as if i’m about to date that motherfucker.”

this time, it was wilbur who bit back a grin of his own. who would’ve expected the originally shy kid to have replied like that????

techno’s brain short circuited and his grip on their shirt loosened slightly. did.... did this kid just brush off his question???

“can you put me down? you’re gonna stretch my shirt.”

techno’s brain blinked back into focus and he gripped the kid’s shirt harder, shoving them against the nearest wall. “i asked a question, kid.”

“you know, tommy told me something like this would happen. i’m glad i came prepared.” and then, tommy’s friend sucked in a deep breath. techno leaned back, expecting the worst...

“MWISTER TECHNWOBWADE, PWEASE PUT MWE DOWN BEFWORE I SCWEAM”

oh god, this was far worse than anything he thought of.

he dropped the teen out of disgust more than anything, reeling backwards. if there was one thing that haunted his dreams, it was uwu-speak.

phil started howling of laughter, clutching his stomach and hunching over. originally he was going to stop techno from threatening a literal child but this outcome was so much better than anything he was anticipating

wilbur was no better, already tearing up from how hard he was snickering. he started choking on his own spit at one point, smacking his arm against the couch.

tommy was so fucking confused when he came back down the stairs, seeing the mayhem that was, for once, not caused by him. he glanced at his friend, who had the world’s biggest shiteating grin.

yeah, they were gonna fit in just fine.

and they did! phil took them under his wing (both physically and metaphorically) and allowed them to come visit his home whenever they wished. and whenever they did, phil was the first to ask how they’ve been and what they were up to

to phil’s surprise, the kid was overall calm in their choice of activities. things like playing soccer or drawing or figuring out how to learn instruments in their free time. it seemed like they were desperate to get their hands on anything and everything just to learn

he found it funny, though, when their chaotic side shone through. they easily were on tommy’s level when they got into that headspace and it was so hilarious to him.

his favorite memory of the kid was when they walked into the house and marched right up to where techno was reading idly in the corner. planting their hands on their hips, they spoke.

“if you were to fuck a clone of yourself, would it be masturbation or would you be considered gay?”

phil, who was washing the dishes six feet away from them, just about crumbled into a ball on the floor from how hard he was laughing and sobbing.

of all questions, that was the one that came out.

but he had no idea that the chaos was a coping mechanism. he just thought they were naturally like that in their free time.

he soon found out the truth when they came home with tommy, who was cursing up a fit, visibly angry. his friend was slumped over, as if trying to hide themselves from the world

when phil asked what had happened, tommy exploded.

“their fucking dad took all their money from their savings! said he needed it more than them and when they asked for it back, he called them a fucking disappointment! that fucking bitch--”

phil can count very few times when he felt true anger and he can confirm that when tommy had told him what had gone down, he saw red.

but he knew better than to outwardly show it. judging by how hunched over and defeated the kid was, what they needed was a stable support system

so he walked over and shut tommy up with a hand on his shoulder, “why don’t we take the rest of the night to build up that game room you wanted in the basement. i’m sure if we knock it out before techno and wil are supposed to be back, we can all play something like monopoly.”

seeing where phil was headed, tommy nodded and brushed away his anger. he knew that what his friend needed was a serious cheering up. tommy ran towards his guest bedroom, claiming that he was going to find his blocks.

phil crouched in front of the teen, tilting their head up to look him in the eyes. “you’re not a disappointment. you’re an amazing person with a chaotic joke machine going 120 kilos over the speed limit in your head and you are talented. your dad doesn’t know shit about what you’re capable of doing.”

oh boy, the kid’s crying. those are tears, full on tears.

that night was one of the best nights of their life, however. they enjoyed the entire three hour long game of monopoly where they watched the light leave everyone’s eyes. it was funny when wilbur lunged across the table when he landed on a railroad, out for phil’s blood.

speaking of wilbur, he enjoyed every minute in the kid’s presence. they often asked creative and random questions and went along with the abstract jokes he made, the two of them laughing heartily the entire time.

when the kid first mentioned wanting to learn how to play the guitar, he practically burst through the wall of the room next door, breathing heavily and exaggeratedly.

“did someone say guitar”

yeah, he’s feral. that’s canon.

they proceeded to spend the entire day in phil’s garden, each of them equipped with a guitar. despite their outwardly smooth brain and stupid demeanor, the teen was a fast learner and could play the most basic chords by the time the sun was setting.

wilbur’s favorite moment was the first night they met, when they went to the carnival. there was the game where you shoot the water and fill up the balloons and the kid was going head to head against techno and tommy.

it was when techno won that the teen turned to techno with murder in their eyes and spoke in a deadpan tone of voice,

“you’re lucky you won this time, you gentrified mayo monkey.”

wilbur’s jaw dropped, as did techno and phil’s. tommy was already in hysterics, smacking his hand against the counter that held the guns.

needless to say, wilbur found his favorite, not-quite sibling in a heartbeat.

techno was the last to come around with the child. can you blame him? every time he tried to threaten them or had beaten them at something, they would respond in a cryptic threat--

“i’m going to pee your pants if you don’t let me win”

or just brushed him off. without a second thought.

“anyways, i was murdering a chicken the other day, and the fucker had the audacity to ribbit at me.”

to say he was confused was an understatement. he was terrified of the fact that a literal child held so much power and disinterest in things like their own life. so for the first few months, he avoided them.

but he had seen past that when it was around midnight on a weekday. tommy was hanging out with tubbo and ranboo in their village miles away from the area. wilbur was out drinking with schlatt, niki, and fundy, and phil was already asleep.

techno wasn’t too far behind, sitting in front of the fireplace and staring out of the window that showed the front yard. it was only then when he saw the flash of a familiar face and looked closer as the teen walked up to the house quietly. their head was down and they carried a small bag with them.

techno opened the front door with a long creak as they reached the porch steps. it was only when they jumped and looked up in surprise that techno had noticed a deep bruise on their left cheek in the moonlight.

despite the fact that he kept away from them, techno was very protective and territorial of tommy, phil, and wilbur. and since they were attached to the teen, he became protective of them as well.

so all the voices in his head went quiet for a second. before exploding into a mixture of screams and threats, all leading back to protecting the child in front of him.

without thinking, he reached forward and cupped their face for a better view of the bruise. at the warm and soft touch, tears slipped down the kid’s cheeks and they sniffed pathetically.

the voices quickly took a 180, all screaming to take care of them. make them feel better. so, techno led the kid inside and let them spend the night in his room, with them falling asleep on the bed and him falling asleep on the rocking chair in his room.

phil did not hesitate to officially declare himself as the teen’s official father, saying that their biological father was a “little bitch”

now somewhat living with the teen, techno found an appreciation for their quieter moments, when they were reading or simply daydreaming. it was cute, in his eyes. but he also grew to enjoy when they were absolutely feral, especially toward tommy.

his favorite moment with them was when they had gifted tommy a music disc for his birthday. it was sweet and sentimental and tommy just about burst into tears when he saw it.

all of the sappiness quickly vanished when tommy put it into a jukebox.

“FUCK THIS PUSSY, BOY, FUCK. FUCK IT RIGHT, BOY--”

tommy had let out the most terrified scream and it practically engrained itself into techno’s brain. it was the first time he ever laughed at something the teen had done and the teen felt proud of themselves.

and finally, tommy. he was already happy to call himself a friend of the teen’s. they were like peas in a pod, working together.

tommy came to them when his insecurity felt heavy and they came to him whenever their dad’s words got to them. they had a nice system of dependency on one another and neither of them would trade it for the world.

tommy’s favorite moment of being friends with them was during their first birthday living in phil’s house. it was a birthday befitting their personality, with brightly color streamers hung and confetti all over the floor. he knew that they enjoyed it severely and once the cake was cut, the kid turned to phil.

“phil, where’s the big tiddy strippers i requested?”

tommy was GONE

he all but choked on his slice of cake and walked away, shaking his head while trying to stifle his giggles. but when he heard phil’s scream of “WHAT”, he just lost it.

all in all, his friend had made a fine part of the sleepy boys. they were a happy face in an otherwise somewhat bleak and dangerous world. and all four men appreciated it.

[ptergwen]

I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

-

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

[astrohae]

A Dragon’s Greed

pls don’t yell at me about my unfinished series. im trying. take this instead.

dragon king!bakugou X courtesan!reader 

gnc reader as per the usual

Focus. You scold yourself. You're here to entertain, not to wordlessly flirt with the princess's fiance. But what can you say? You've always had a type, and barbarian warlords fell right into your favorite category. The fact that he seemed utterly entranced by you, well that wasn't your fault. Every time you turned your head over your shoulder, you caught his eyes over your half veil and he never looked away, not even for a moment.

The princess didn't seem happy about this, sat next to the king, and huffing when her attempts at catching his attention fell flat. Serves her right for always bullying you and being such a spoiled brat.

Though, to be honest you wouldn't wish marriage to Bakugou Katsuki, the King of Dragons, merciless warlord, upon anyone.

Sure he was attractive and rich, and powerful, but you'd heard horror stories of what he had done on the battlefield.

When Bakugou started looking to new lands to conquer, you country's king had offered up his daughter like a sacrificial lamb to the barbarian in order to forge a treaty and protect his people through political marriage. King Bakugou's sexual conquests were nearly as infamous as his military ones, but he had never married or officially named a consort. The princess would be the first.

The king had sent a huge wedding procession of gifts and treasures to the high court of the Badlands, and along with it the most talented entertainers and artisans they had to offer. As the most talented dancing courtesan in the capital you had no choice but to travel with the caravan, so here you were. Performing a sword dance for a bloodthirsty king who kept looking at you as if you were a meal. It was an ego boost for sure but you were also scared.

When your performance came to a close, you bowed and quickly escaped when the princess had successfully stolen Katsuki's attention. Your face was burning under your veil and you fanned yourself in the cool stone hallway to calm down. You were hoping that the king would forget about you after a few more performers. but you hadn't even been out of the main hall two minutes when a servant came to fetch you.

"His highness requests your presence."

Your blood ran cold and your gulped. Oh gods, you had offended him hadn't you? He was going to kill you, probably behead you right there in the middle of the banquet himself-

You were thinking yourself into a panic when you returned to the banquet hall, eyes downcast now. You bowed, kneeling on the ground and hands clasped in front of your bare midriff.

Faintly you heard a scoff, and then the music stopped. You felt yourself go even more still, eyes darting around to see what happened. Unable to tell, you lifted your head slightly to see the king sauntering his way towards you. He had stepped directly over the table, spilling wine all over the princess in the process.

You quickly bowed your head again and tried not to hyperventilate. You didn't want to pass out now.

Two surprisingly clean leather boots entered your vision and on instinct, you looked up. King Bakugou was even more attractive up close, obviously built for battle with strong chords of muscle littered with scars, a sharp jawline and a head of unruly blonde hair.

"Did I say you could look at me?"

"No, your majesty." you squeak and quickly look back down.

Bakugou crouches to be level with your and grips your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his scarlet gaze.

"Did I say you could look away?" he grumbles this time.

"No, your majesty." You feel conflicted, unsure if he’d be more offended if you averted your eyes or just kept looking at him.

His eyes rake over your body again before coming back to yours.

"What's your name, pretty thing?"

"Y/N. I'm a dancer in my king's court." you answer, praying your voice doesn't sound as shaky as you feel.

He doesn't say anything but lets your chin go and rises to his feet. You rub the bottom half of your face, thinking it might just bruise. Bakugou isn't done with you, though and grabs your wrist, hauling you up from the floor. "What-?" you start to ask but a red-eyed glare has you clamping your mouth shut. The barbarian king drags you with him, right up to the high table. He lifts you over the table as if you weigh nothing, and sits you down on his lap. Right next to the princess. The banquet hall continued to steep in silence until Bakugou looked up.

"Fuck are you all looking at? Get on with the feast!" he yelled, and the music and chatter started back up.

"Your majesty, shouldn't worry with commoners-" she starts and Bakugou growls, actually growls so menacingly, you feel your own blood run cold.

"If I wanted your dumbass fucking opinion, I'd ask for it. Shut the fuck up."

Once he was sure the princess was properly cowed he turned his attention back on you. The arm wrapped around your waist holding you against his was warm against your bare skin.

"Pour me some wine." He commanded and your started before shakily lifting the pitcher and pouring some into his goblet. You hadn't it off to him carefully, and he quickly knocked it back before signaling for you to pour another.

"Most king's with a lick of sense wouldn't let a treasure like you out of their sight, so what are you doing in my court?" Bakugou asks.

"His Majesty decreed that the most talented entertainers accompany Her Highness to Your Majesty's court, for you entertainment and pleasure." you answer, handing off the refilled goblet.

Bakugou snorts at your measured and obviously practiced response. You night have heard him mutter 'toothless old bastard' under his breath, but you can't be sure.

"Give me a strawberry.", he gestures at the plate of fruit no six inches from him and you barely manage not to roll your eyes. Warlord or not, royals will always be royals, you think and pick up one of the berries.

The dragon king open his mouth and allows you to place the fruit on his tongue before biting into it. His ruby red eyes don't leave yours for a second, gripping your wrist when your try to pull away. Some juice trickles down your hand, and without breaking eye contact, Bakugou laves his tongue over your skin licking up the trail of red. He eats the rest of the berry, lips catching on your fingers before the lets your hand go in favor of picking up his wine goblet again.

"My entertainment and pleasure huh? I'm entertained, but I don't know about pleased..." he says, smirking into his goblet.

"Is there anything I can do for Your Majesty?" you manage to ask, brain still reeling from the whole thing with the strawberry.

And you walk right into his trap.

"Yeah, I can think of something..." he starts before leaning closer to you.

His hat breath fans against your neck for a moment, letting your get squirmy and nervous before continuing.

"Fucking you until you cry all that pretty makeup off... Then I'd be real fucking pleased." he says with a predatory smile spreading across his face.

You squeak, face heating under your veil as you try to formulate a response. You have no idea if the princess heard but if she did-

"Y-your majesty, I don't think-" you start but Bakugou cuts you off by grinding his hips up into yours.

"Good thing you don't need to think to take my cock." he muses.

The princess, appears to have reached her limit of watching her fiance flirt with someone else right in front of her.

"Your Majesty! I understand that this is a political marriage but I will not sit here and be humiliated and witch you proposition a commoner in front of me!" she exclaims.

You're a little surprised at her outburst considering the environment, but you guessed everyone had limits.

All chatter and music in the hall ceased for the second time that night. Bakugou pulled his face out of your neck to glare at the princess.

"You can fuck off for all I care. Your side wanted the fucking treaty, I don't have a problem with saddling up and burning your shitty country to the ground tonight." Bakugou stated, his anger growing with each word.

"King Bakugou those words could be taken as an act of war. " the diplomatic envoy from your country, stands and approaches the high table.

"What the- Did you idiots forget where you are? You're in the heart of the Badlands, in the court of Katsuki Bakugo, barbarian warlord and King of Dragons. This is my fucking kingdom and I'll do what I very well fucking please. And if I want to fuck this courtesan on the table right in front of your perfect little princess, I will. " He snarls and all you can do is sit there and pray he doesn't actually follow through on that threat.

Not that you'd hate it, seeing the look on the princess's face as you got fucked by her betrothed. Hah, serves her fucking right for always being such a brat.

"But I'm not a cruel king. I'll marry this one, and you can keep your silly little treaty." Bakugou says and both the diplomat and the princess scoff.

You balk, looking up at King Bakugou in surprise. He's going to what now?

"You can't possible expect the princess to be content with being on the same level as a commoner, even as a consort-" the diplomat starts to protest, which is quickly cut off by Bakugou's harsh laugh.

"You're a country of fucking dumbasses? I'm not marrying your brat of a princess, dump her off on some other poor bastard. I'm marrying Y/N instead of her. They'll be my consort. Won't you, pretty thing?" He says, looking at your for your answer.

"Say yes, treasure. I'm rich as fuck, I could give you anything you want. If I can't buy it I can take it. There's nothing I can't do. You wouldn't lift a fucking finger with me, I can promise that." he boasts to you and you know this.

King Bakugou is an unstoppable force. You had a hard life as a commoner, as a dancer. You weren't a servant but always being at the beck and call of nobility, dancing for them until your feet bled, until you fainted from exhaustion.

You deserved to be greedy, just like the man holding you in his lap.

"Yes, I'll marry you." you answer, and Bakugou smiles wickedly.

Good, he likes greedy. It's one of his favorite traits.

He turns his head back to look at the diplomat and princess from your home country. The diplomat looks like he's sweating buckets and the princess is so angry you think she might start breathing fire.

"So, do we have an agreement? Y/N for your protection?" he asks.

"Y-yes your majesty." the diplomat stutters at the same time the princess protests.

"We do not! How dare you disrespect me so openly, you filthy little wench-" she starts, only to be silenced by the sight of Bakugou pulling his sword. He points the tip at the princess, visibly seething with rage.

"Shut your worthless fucking mouth before I shut it for you." he growls.

Fear takes over the princess' face and she stumbles back behind the diplomat.

"Oi, don't piss on my floor or anything, fucking cowards. Show some respect to my new consort. Bend the knee and I'll forget this transgression." Bakugou orders.

While not officially married  yet, he's bestowed the title of consort upon you and now you outrank the princess. In fact, you outrank nearly everyone here, sans Katsuki, who is your equal. The diplomat and princess wordlessly fall into a bow, and the nobles from both courts follow suit.

"Alright that's enough groveling for now. This banquet is over, I'm retiring to my bed chambers. If you need me, don't." Bakugou gruffs and stands up, once again easily scooping you up into his arms.

"I'm going to rip this pretty little costume to shreds, and pump and heir into you tonight, goddamn it." Bakugou murmurs in your ear as he carries you though out his(your) palace.

"I like this one..." your protest weakly as he kicks a door open, throwing you onto his bed.

He grasps the waistline of your costume, easily ripping the silk to shreds with his bare hands.

"I'm buy you forty just like it, now spread your legs, Consort." he orders, licking his lips.

"I didn't get to finish my meal earlier." He hums and you squeak in anticipation.

"Cute. Let's see how many cute noises you can make, huh?"

@hanji-is-life i hope you enjoy!

[red-archivist]

Not quite part of the liveblog but, lil post-092 hc fic :3

~~ 

As he leaves Elias’ office, Jon’s feet automatically take him down the stairs leading to the archives.

  It is a habit that his long absence hasn’t managed to break but he stops himself from walking straight into his own office.

To do so, he would have to pass the open space where the assistants work, and call him a coward but he just isn’t quite ready to see the state that Elias’ little reveal has left the others in.

  He retreats to the breakroom instead, keeping the lights off and taking a moment to take a few steadying breaths in the cool darkness.

As soon as he stops moving, the injuries he has been ignoring loudly make themselves known.

The constant ache of his burned hand provides a low steady hum of contrast to the staccato pulse of his throbbing throat.

He needs to clean them both up in order to avoid infection, and if he doesn’t want some concerned passer-by to call an ambulance on him when he leaves, he will have to bandage his neck as well.

He walks to the nearest press and begins rooting around for the first aid kit. It doesn’t seem to be where he last saw it months ago and a stumbling search in the dim light reveals nothing to him.

Jon is about to give up and just try to give himself a bit of a rinse in the sink when suddenly the door creaks open, and the lights click on behind him.

He whirls around with his heart in his bloody throat expecting something to pounce on him. Perhaps it is Tim come to take his weary anger out on him? Or Daisy aiming to finish what she started? Or maybe Elias with some other unsolvable puzzle to dump into his lap?

The fright only lasts an instant however, when he sees who is standing in the doorway looking even more surprised to see him.

“Martin,” He sighs with relief.

Martin’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to find his voice.

“Uh, h-hi?”

“…Hi. Did you- Ah. W-Was the first aid kit moved?” Jon points to the mess he has made of the open presses.

Martin jumps in place before rushing forward.

“Oh! Uh, y-yeah, sorry!”

He crouches down to pull the kit out from under the sink and when Jon raises a questioning eyebrow, he shrugs meekly.

“Melanie moved it,” He says, “She said we all had to be able to reach it in an emergency.”

“Right.”

He takes the box from Martin with just one hand, keeping the bandaged one away from his body at an angle so it won’t bump into anything.

  It’s a heavy, clunky thing and hoisting it onto the counter makes his joints sting. Ignoring the pain, he flips the latch and starts rummaging through it. A thin roll of bandages, antiseptic cream, gauze and dressing are placed in a pile on the counter as he mentally goes through the half-remembered steps of cleaning an open wound.

Just as Jon starts to unravel the hand bandage, the side of his face burns with awareness. He looks over to find Martin staring at him.

  His gaze lingers on his hand, taking in the old bandages and his cracked nails, both still caked in grave dirt. Jon does his best not to squirm under the scrutiny.

 When Martin’s eyes dart to the mound of medical supplies Jon is compiling, he also realises he is taking up most of the counter space.

“Am I… in your way?” He asks, about to sweep it all to the side.

Martin starts, as if he just remembered where he was and stammers as he turns away from him

“N-No! Sorry, sorry!”

He fusses with the kettle, taking out mugs as it boils, and does not face Jon again.

Jon is glad for the privacy. He doesn’t want to look at his own hand any longer than he has to, no-one else needs to see it.

As he peels the rest of the dirty wrappings off, they catch on his ruined skin and he can’t quite hold back a pained hiss. The burn is still dreadful to see, blistered like bubbling wax and so red it’s almost black. It weeps a clear discharge, making the whole thing reek a fluid, animal smell.

  He rinses it off in the sink, pats it awkwardly dry, smears the whole thing in antiseptic cream and clumsily wraps it up again. It’s a messy, slow process and he barely remembers to clean his other hand as well.

Martin stays stock still as he works, standing guard over two brewing mugs and, as he glances at him, Jon can practically see the questions he wants to ask in the stiff line of his shoulders.

  Jon feels both grateful and guilty that Martin holds his tongue. He owes him answers but his mouth is so tired of talking.

Tentatively, he starts prodding at the cut on his neck. It is long but shallow, already clotting. He can feel the skin around it is tender with a blossoming bruise. Daisy wanted it to hurt.

Jon pries his mind away from that thought. If he thinks about how close he came to dying today, he won’t be able to keep himself standing, nevermind clean up.

He just needs to get through the next few steps, and then he can go back to Georgie’s, lay down somewhere quiet and try not to have a complete breakdown. Laying out gauze and dressing, he wets a clean tea towel. He is halfway to raising it to his neck before he realises his mistake.

“Damn.”

“…Jon?”

Martin is peering over his shoulder at him, concern drawn in deep lines around his face.

Jon blinks back at him. He had almost forgotten he was there.

“I… uh,” He waves the tea towel, “I need two hands, should have done this first.”

He is going to ruin the clean wrappings on his hand. He will either have to do them again or wait to get back to the house and hope Georgie won’t be too pissed off to help him. Clucking his tongue, he weighs up his options.

“Um… Do you…” Martin’s soft voice cuts across his thoughts, “I mean, I can… i-if you want?”

“What?” Jon turns and sees him holding out a hand for the tea towel, “Oh.”

“O-O-Only if you, y’know, you’re comfortable with…”

  Jon stares at him for a moment and regrets flickers across Martin’s face. He starts to draw his hand back.

“Uh, yes, no, I mean, I-I appreciate…” Jon stammers, “You don’t have to. I-I don’t want to interrupt… what you’re doing…”

The sheepishness fades from Martin as he chuckles slightly.

“I just came in to get a bit of a break from everyone else, really,” He immediately winces, “God, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

“No… no, I understand.”

  Martin smiles slightly and Jon’s feels his lips twitch upward in response.

“So, uh,” Martin holds his hand out again and Jon passes him the towel, “Might be easier to sit.”

“Right.”

Jon brings the gauze and dressing to the rickety coffee table while Martin wrings out the towel in the sink. They sit facing each other, and Martin scoots close enough that their knees brush.

“Can you lift your chin?” He asks, “And please tell me if I hurt you?”

Jon raises his head and stares into the yellowing florescent light embedded in the ceiling as Martin starts delicately dabbing at the cut.

It stings, of course. He can feel the edges of the wound prickle with pain as the meagre scabbing that covered them is wiped away. He hopes he isn’t letting it show on his face.

It is a little uncomfortable, letting someone else touch his neck. Especially someone he hasn’t seen for over two months. He peers at Martin out of the corner of his eye.

  He looks exhausted. There are heavy bags under his eyes and the light from above washes him out terribly, making him seem even paler than usual. His hair has grown a bit, more from neglect than choice. His fringe droops over the frame of his glasses.

Guilt bites at the back of Jon’s mind. Without him here, he is almost certain Martin has been doing the lion’s share of the work in the archives. Melanie is only new to the position and Tim… Jon is doubtful Tim has been working at all.

  Martin mumbles a pre-emptive apology as he moves the towel slowly over the cut. His touch is soft but steady, gentle in a way that is completely alien to Jon.

Martin’s gaze is focused on Jon’s neck, intent on washing away every speck of pain scrawled onto it. Instead of the sting of the wound, Jon feels something in his chest ache.

He can’t remember the last time anyone was this careful with him. That thought, more than the pinch of physical pain, makes his eyes water.

He blinks rapidly and rattles his brain for anything that will keep his mind off of how tender Martin’s touch is.

His mouth runs ahead of his head and he tries not to swallow too hard as he speaks.

“Martin… ah…”

“Sorry, am I pressing too hard?” The pressure on his throat eases slightly and Jon wills himself not to chase after it.

“No, no, I just, ah, I wanted to-” Jon bites his tongue in his haste to speak, “H-H-Have you been getting on alright?”

The pressure disappears entirely as Martin reels back to gawk at him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Jon might be offended at his surprise if he wasn’t too busy kicking himself.

He keeps babbling before Martin even has a chance to respond.

“God, that’s stupid- stupid question, of course you’re not-!” He sighs, “Just- Ignore me. Apologies.”

He looks back up to the breakroom lights, his face burning hot.

Martin chuckles.

Jon dares to glance at him.

The surprise has faded into something softer, a not-quite-there smile lingering on his lips.

“Yeah…” He agrees quietly, “That… is pretty stupid.”

“Well-! Pardon me for asking,” Jon snaps.

Martin’s smile grows.

“I’ve… I’ve got a pretty stupid answer for it though?”

“Uh,” Jon leans forward in his seat, “Yes?”

“Despite um, well, all of it…” Martin swings a hand around the room, “It’s… It’s really good to see you, Jon.”

He stares.

  It’s Martin’s turn to try and hide from the scrutiny. Jon watches with fascination as he starts to turn a blotchy red.

He doesn’t understand. The last time they spoke, Jon gave him nothing but a weak apology after suspecting him of murder and invading his privacy for months. Martin should be angry at him, or maybe even afraid. Jon doesn’t want him to be, but he would understand if he were.

Instead, Martin sits in front of him with a shy smile and soft hands, helping him, missing him. Jon can’t possibly understand that.

He opens his mouth without any clue as to what to say.

“That… doesn’t actually answer my question?” He says weakly.

Martin laughs. Not a chuckle or a giggle but a full-throated belly laugh. It is a sound Jon has never heard from him before. His face feels even warmer.

As soon as he calms down, Martin shakes his head before delicately placing his fingertips on Jon’s chin and tilting his head upward.

“I guess not.”

He finishes cleaning and dressing the wound in silence. When he presses the dressing against the cut to make sure its smooth, Jon can’t help but shudder.

A frown crosses Martin’s brow.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to see a doctor about this?”

“You suppose correct,” Jon sighs.

Martin clucks his tongue but doesn’t push him any further.

Jon is overcome with the sudden desire to sit in this chair for the remainder of the afternoon, resting in Martin’s half-joking disapproval with their kneecaps just about touching.

He is also keenly aware that that desire isn’t something he can afford to indulge in.

With a weary groan, he hauls himself upright.

  “I… appreciate the help.”

Grabbing the now-stained tea towel, he turns away to toss it in the sink.

“O-Oh, uh, sure, anytime,” Martin says automatically, “Well, n-no, not anytime- I didn’t mean- I don’t want you to get hurt again or a-anything!”

“It’s fine, Martin, I know what you meant.”

He puts the first aid kit back under the sink and pats his pockets to make sure he has all the things he came in with. It’s not much.

“Right, I won’t be back today, but I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”

“You’d better not be!” Martin exclaims, suddenly loud.

Jon blinks at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re hurt! You need rest!” Martin squeaks indignantly, “Proper rest, Jon not just a half-day off!”

“I- Wh- You can’t stop me coming to work!”

“I bloody well can!”

Jon boggles as a memory suddenly strikes him full-force. He had tried coming back to the archives early after Prentiss’ attack as well, hadn’t he? Martin had practically carried out of the building. At the time, it was just another reason for Jon to be suspicious of him. Now, he can see it for what it was.

  Martin cared.

  He still cares, whether that care takes the form of washing his wounds or scolding him for his poor work-life balance. It’s not a feeling Jon is familiar with.

Martin still sits at the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, colour high in his cheeks. With a wistful smile, Jon decides to let him have his way. It’s paltry thanks for his ministrations, but it is all Jon has.

“Alright.”

Martin’s glare vanishes under his shock.

“Alright?”

Jon nods.

  “Alright. I’ll rest.”

“Oh! Oh. …Good!”

“It’s what, Friday now?” Jon says, “Maybe I’ll even take the weekend off.”

“Wow, let’s not go overboard,” Martin grumbles.

Jon snorts, hiding his laughter behind his bandaged hand. Martin smiles brightly and somehow, gets even redder.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Jon heads for the door. His feet are like lead weights and he already knows he is going to have to stop himself from napping on the tube. He can sleep properly once he is back at Georgie’s. It might even be nice to rest, for once.

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back.

Martin has stood up, his arms still crossed even as he flicks a hand up.

“See you.”

As he stares at him, Jon’s chest aches again. He is overcome with the urge to speak, as if that will ease it.

“For what it is worth… It is really good to see you too.”

Martin’s face goes slack with a look as soft and tender as his hand was on Jon’s throat. It makes the ache worse.

Jon turns away without another word, knocks once on the doorframe and walks away.

  As he heads for the stairs, his hand still throbs, and his neck still stings but it is the hurt in his heart that distracts him. The sound of Martin’s laughter echoes in his head and Jon thinks that this particular pain is one he doesn’t mind keeping.

[eirikaanemo]

Venti's crush is a sister in the Church of Favonius. That's the entire prompt. Okay, she may have overheard Venti when he asked for the Holy Lyre and maaaaybe she gave it to him (in the name of freedom!), but she probably wouldn't be a sister after that.

Venti x GN!Reader

1.7k Words

Warnings: Eviction? Kinda?

Notes: So, halfway through I remembered "Sister" is a gendered term, so I switched it to "Disciple". Hopefully that still works!

Part 2: His Fight

His Lyre

He first caught your attention while he was doing a street performance. You were walking down the street, minding your own business, when you heard a melody so beautiful that you swore it had to be Barbatos himself. Following your curiosity, you found him performing a ballad for a group of children. His clear tenor painted looks of wonder on their faces as he regaled them with tales of Vanessa and the revolution of freedom.

You couldn’t help but stop to watch as well. He had captivated you as much as he had the children and you didn’t regret a thing. After Vanessa’s tale he sang of the fall of the storm god, the rise of Barbatos, the shaping of the lands, and the rise of Mondstadt. Every song seemed almost more amazing than the last.

It was getting close to evening by the time you were able to free yourself from his spell. Or rather, he stopped casting it. His last few notes rang out and faded into the darkness. You almost didn’t dare to breathe in fear of breaking the serene silence that overtook the scene. Then his eyes opened.

This was your first real chance to get a good look at them as he was usually facing just slightly away from you. Everyone else had gone home, so as he scanned the area, his eyes fell on you. And suddenly all you could see was his eyes. They’re beautiful, you thought to yourself, a hint of blush warming your cheeks.

His braids swayed a bit as he tilted his head curiously and a smile flashed across his lips. “It’s not often I see a Disciple here, tell me, did you like what there was to hear?”

“I did,” you confirmed. “I’m very impressed! It was almost like I was listening to Barbatos himself!”

He looked stunned for a moment, then an odd look crossed his face before he quickly covered it up with a broad smile. “Thanks! I appreciate the sentiment! That’s really quite the compliment.”

You were able to spend the next little while chatting before you had to go, but similar scenes occurred fairly often as time went on. About the tenth time or so he decided that you were friends, which you had no objection to. Though there was always a small twinge in your heart whenever he called you that for some reason.

Along with becoming friends, you started to notice some things. His songs are… very detailed in a way that makes them line up with records that rarely see the light of day. While you do your best to share Barbatos’ gospel of freedom with everyone, some records are just too fragile to be available to the general public. So the Disciples, like you, memorize them and tell them to the worshipers who come to the Cathedral.

However, either on purpose or by accident, most of the time Disciples will mix up little details or paraphrase things or skip over sections in a way that can confuse the story some. But Venti’s songs match every detail shown in the records, and more. You had checked multiple times and it always came out the same way. He was one hundred percent correct, in every song he played.

Then there was his hair. You’d never seen anyone with their hair being tinted at the ends like that. And you couldn’t find the hair dye he used either. And oh boy had you looked. You wanted teal in your hair too dang it! And when you finally asked him where he got it he laughed and said it was natural. How is that fair?

And then there are the times where he just didn’t act quite human. Like forgetting to eat all day without realizing it. Or referring to other people as “humans”, as if he, himself, isn’t human. Or how he only ever wears one outfit. Or the way anemo energy seems to flow through him instead of around him. You wouldn’t even have noticed that last one if it wasn’t for the fact that you are hypersensitive to it due to how you use your anemo vision. From all of that, and more, you can just tell that something isn’t quite what it seems about him.

So when you’re cleaning the cathedral in the back and hear him out himself as Barbatos to Sister Gotelinde something just clicked. Oh, of course he was Barbatos. What else could he possibly be? Too much added up for it to not make sense! Unfortunately by the time you were done reeling from shock Sister Gotelinde had sent him right out the door.

You had caught enough of the conversation, though, that you knew that Venti- no, Barbatos had need of his lyre. So you came up with a plan. This was going to get you in so, so much trouble. But this is what needed to be done. You need to get him his lyre.

It was surprisingly easy to swipe the lyre from its pedestal and avoid the other inhabitants of the Cathedral by taking back passageways. You had almost made it out, you were so close when you suddenly ran into someone.

Holding a hand to the point of impact starting to swell on your forehead, you squint over towards the other group. When your brain registers that you just ran into Venti you gasp and scramble to your feet, still holding the holy lyre to your chest. “Oh my goodness, I’m so, so sorry Venti,” you apologize. “Or, uh, would you prefer I call you Barbatos?”

Your friend blinks once, then twice, dumbstruck by the situation. “Venti is fine,” he scrambles to assure you after a few moments. “How did you know?”

“You weren’t exactly the quietest when speaking with Sister Gotelinde, Venti. And I was cleaning just out of sight. It made a lot more sense than some other explanations for your weird behavior that I’d come up with.” You admit sheepishly. “And I believe this is yours.”

His face lit up as you held the holy lyre out towards him. “The Lyre de Himmel! Thank you so much! See that, Traveler? We didn’t even have to steal it! I promise to do my best to take care of it.” You quirk an eyebrow as the Traveler finishes shaking off the effects of running into you.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and you better.” you tell him pointedly, causing him to giggle nervously. “Besides, the two of you need to go! I… didn’t exactly tell anyone about this. Good luck with Dvalin, Venti, Traveler. May Barbatos be with you!” You called out the last part out of habit.

Moments later you felt a hand clap onto your shoulder. “Dear,” Sister Gotelinde drawled slightly. “Please tell me you didn’t hand our sacred treasure over to that alcoholic bard.” You’re silent for a moment before years of being at the Cathedral won over your common sense. “You know I can’t do that, Sister.”

She sighs from her position behind you and her hand tightens on your shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much trouble you’re in, especially if it doesn’t come back in one piece.” You gulp.

“Yes, Sister Gotelinde.” You murmur.

“Good, now get back to cleaning.” She instructs you curtly.

Nodding, you turn and walk past her towards where you were cleaning. She continued on, likely going to report the situation to Sister Barbara. You really hope that Venti keeps his promise.

While you try your best to put the situation out of your mind, your thoughts keep drifting back to it the whole next day. The nightmare you’d had that night hadn’t helped either. It had been a morbid scene, a broken lyre on the ground with an equally broken Venti as a triumphant Stormterror screeched over their still forms. You’d woken up sweaty.

Logically you knew that Barbatos- no, Venti wouldn’t fall to Stormterror. But the scene still wouldn’t go away. And neither did the awkward feeling that accompanied your usual duties as a disciple. Some of your regular duties were suddenly almost… laughable? You now knew that Barbatos didn’t care about a good chunk of what you did in the Cathedral that some considered absolutely essential.

Your attitude didn’t help your position though, not with everyone now knowing what you did and watching you closely. The day is long and you feel trapped every second of it. Then Venti returns victorious with a broken lyre and everything crumbles around you. You’re kicked out, banned for life, right after him, with a suitcase of your stuff chucked out after you. Even though he ‘fixed it’.

Part of you wants to just lay there and regret your life choices; but you can’t help but smile when Venti reaches a hand out to lift you up, laughing about the irony of the situation. A small smile manages to reach your face as Jean starts chuckling too.

“Don’t worry too much, I know you’ve done a great good for Mondstadt.” She reassures you. “I know you have a vision, an anemo vision at that.” She gives Venti a pointed look. “How would you like to become a knight?”

Your smile grows into something a little more natural. “I’d like that, thank you Jean.”

“It’s no problem, really the least I could do. I’m sorry it had to end like this. Now, come to my office when you have a moment so we can formalize it. But for now I need to go and formally close the Stormterror case.” With a sigh she walked past you towards the knights headquarters and the inevitable paperwork which awaits her.

“I’m sorry that you got kicked out,” Venti apologizes once Jean’s out of sight. “All you did was help and you got in trouble for it.”

“It’s alright, Venti,” you try to claim. “It was kind of awkward knowing that you are Barbatos anyway.”

“Still,” he pressed. “You put everything on the line for me and I really appreciate it. I’m really sorry I didn’t follow through. I’ll have to make it up to you. And I know just where to start.”

His kiss to your cheek was quick but sent a warmth blooming across your face, contrasting with the coolness of his lips.

“Of course,” you mumble, embarrassed. “It was your lyre anyway.”

“It was,” he agreed. “But you believed me. And that really does mean a lot to me. Thank you, really.”

[sluttyminghao]

Part 1/?

✧ pairing: wen junhui x gender neutral!reader ✧ word count: 2k ✧ genre: smut ✧ warnings in this chapter: camboy!jun, masturbation, masturbating on camera, camboy!minghao makes an appearance ✧notes for this chapter: reader only makes an appearance at the end of the installment, i hope it makes sense as you read it! ✧ a/n: you asked, and i delivered! this is the first installment of going live! a series about camboy jun and his adventures! i hope you all enjoy, and if you would like to be added to a taglist pls inbox me! feedback is appreciated! ✧ synopsis: he’s a shy college boy who is stuck in financial difficulty, and his best friends gives him a suggestion that may or may not be a good idea.

A slight glance at the clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 10:49 pm, and he knew that within a matter of minutes he’d be doing the exact thing he said he would never do. His palms had grown sweaty and he felt his heart rate quicken at the thought, and all he could think to do was wipe his palms on his sweats. He remembers the conversation he had about his thoughts with Minghao vividly, even though it had happened months before his current situation.

“I just don’t see how you can do it, how do you not get embarrassed? Aren’t you being watched by...god knows how many people?” Junhui spoke between mouthfuls of ramen, immense heat rising in his cheeks at the nature of the conversation that had come up when talking about Junhui’s increasing level of financial difficulties. Minghao raised a brow at the older, before erupting into a fit of giggles and making Junhui cock one of his brows in confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Why would I be embarrassed about my livelihood?” Minghao began, wrapping some noodles around his chopsticks expertly and blowing them lightly to cool them down. “I make so much profit off of doing camming and making videos, that I’ve been able to pay my rent and amenities for the next six months, as well as keeping on top of all my art school debts,” he continued, an amused smirk finding its way onto his face at Junhui’s shocked facial features.

“Six months? That’s crazy... I’m basically living paycheck to paycheck at the minute,” he mumbled and let out a small sigh, picking at the small pieces of meat left within his ramen bowl with his chopsticks. “Well, that’s kinda what you get for working at a small and dingy diner run by a bunch of college students,” Minghao quipped while giving him a pointed look, letting his napkin fall to the table to signify he had finished his meal.

Junhui sighed. He knew Minghao was right, 99% of the time he generally was, but this was one thing he really didn’t want to admit to him. “But...would people recognise me? That’s one thing I really don’t want,” Junhui spoke shyly, and Minghao’s face softened towards his elder, before shaking his head slightly. “You can use blurring filters or wear items on your face so people won’t recognise you, that’s what I do, and no one knows who I am to this day.”

He thought a little more about it, and Minghao could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, deciding to offer a piece of advice to his struggling long-time friend. “Hey,” he spoke, gaining Junhui’s attention, “you should really think about it, especially if you need the money. With a face and a body like yours, I’m sure you’ll have thousands of subscribers in no time.”

Well, what did he have to lose? He sure didn’t have any shreds of dignity left, may as well give it a shot.

In all his years of living, he had been very well off financially, but in recent months his rent had become increasingly more expensive and the cost of living had jumped up exponentially. To his dismay, he found himself without a choice, needing the money as soon as possible so he would still have a roof over his head and the bare minimum of food. 

He had been staring at the webpage for the camming website for the past 45 minutes, trying to hype himself up, but he had just become increasingly nervous as the time had passed. Minghao had explained to him countless times that this website was very reputable and a great starting point for beginners going into camming, and he knew that he could trust the words of his younger friend.

But even still, the nerves would not stop pouring over him, almost acting like a cascading effect, flowing down his back like a waterfall and seeping into every crevice of his body.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling shakily and picking up his phone to call Minghao. He knew that if anyone was able to calm his nerves, it would be his long-time friend. He tapped on Minghao’s contact before placing the phone to his ear, listening to the phone ring a few times before he was met with Minghao’s groggy voice.

“Were you sleeping?” Junhui’s voice is quiet as he speaks into the receiver, awaiting his companion’s response even though he was almost sure he knew the answer already. “No, I was out feeding the ducks, of course, I was sleeping,” Minghao sighed sarcastically, and Junhui suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the late-night call to his friend. “What did you need, ‘Hui?” Minghao continued, sleep laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you up...I’m so nervous...I don’t even know how to start the camming videos…do you have any...pointers, maybe...” Junhui trailed off, and he could hear Minghao hum from the other end of the phone. He remained silent for a few beats, only further amplifying Junhui’s nerves to the point where his leg had begun to bounce incessantly.

“I think you just need to relax a little, maybe have a drink or two to settle your nerves,” he replied smoothly, wanting to end the conversation so that he could get back to sleep. “If you’re really worried, why don’t you just show everything from the neck down when you’re recording?” He continued, waiting for his older friend’s reply.

Junhui was contemplating the options laid out to him and decided to combine both, deciding he didn’t have anything to lose. “Thanks, Hao, I owe you,” he rushed, hanging up and throwing his phone on his desk and standing up to get himself a bottle of alcohol. He assured himself that he was only going to have a few sips to loosen himself up, but he figured that he may need to down the whole bottle by the night’s end.

A few swigs of his precious alcohol later, and he had finally built up the courage to remove his shirt but left his sweats on as a safety measure. Minghao was right, the alcohol definitely loosened him up, and before he had even realised what he was doing, he had pressed the record button and had started his live stream.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not a single clue. His mind was fuzzy and his last shreds of dignity left him the moment his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the side. The only thought that was now running rampant through his mind was how much he wanted to cum. He wasn’t even focused on the live video anymore, only focused on his hardening cock and the way his hand wrapped around it.

Normally when he got himself off, he would take his time and relish in the sensations, not wanting to rush. In his nervous and alcohol-fueled state, however, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush like he would if he was sober. His hand moved up and down the length of his cock rapidly, small whimpers eliciting from the man’s lips as he pleasured himself.

Junhui could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge the faster he pumped his cock, but he knew he didn’t want to cum just yet. He slowed his hand significantly to a steady pace, almost feather-like touches, and moved his free hand up to flick at his nipple, sighing at the sensation. 

Not that he would ever admit to anyone, but his nipples had always been extra sensitive and even just the slightest feather touch would have him reeling and wanting more.

The whines poured endlessly from his mouth, even as he built up his orgasm for a second time. He kept one hand on his cock, pumping up and down swiftly and gaining speed, while the other pinched at his nipples. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the position he was in.

Before he could even think about stopping himself from cumming again, he felt the string snap in his abdomen and felt the hot streaks of white land on his stomach. He gasped at the feeling and let his hand continue to move steadily, letting the white streaks hit his chest. His head had grown fuzzy from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, and he could feel his hips lightly bucking up into his still closed fist.

When he was sure his orgasm had ebbed away, he removed his hand from his softening cock and sighed, leaning back in his computer chair. After a moment of stillness, his eyes widened upon seeing the small red recording dot on his computer, reminding him of the act he had just performed.

He clicked the stop button hurriedly and closed all his tabs before slamming the lid of his laptop shut. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; his mind was whirring with a thousand and one thoughts, his heart was about to leap right out of his chest, and he knew that there was no going back from the acts he had just performed.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards his bathroom, showering in an attempt to get the cum off his body and somehow trying to scrub off the gross feeling he had from his lewd behaviour. It wouldn’t come off that easily, however, so all he could do was face the consequences of his actions and own them as Minghao told him to.

After a hot shower and a whole lot of contemplation later, Junhui knew that he would have to use his laptop again and see the damage that he had caused, so he decided to simply bite the bullet and take a look back at his video and see if anyone had commented or liked it. It didn’t seem likely in his opinion, since it was his first video and he had no subscribers, but there was a small glimmer of hope buried deep within him.

His eyes widened at the results in front of him. He truly could not believe the sight he saw when he clicked back on to his video to check for feedback.

200 new subscribers, 800 stars and 27 comments

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was all a hallucination. How could this be? He only sat in front of his computer for roughly 10 minutes jacking himself off and had garnered a huge response to it. He clicked the refresh button, thinking that it was simply a mistake on the website’s part. Surely he, a newbie to camming, did not just rack up over a thousand notifications from a ten-minute video.

When the page refreshed he saw the same notifications, except for one new comment that had caught his attention. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to look at just one comment and then head to bed, so he let his mouse hover over the little star-shaped notification icon and pressed on it. His eyes moved across the screen quickly, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to his cheeks at the comment he had seen.

angelbaby96: you’ve got such a nice cock, and such pretty noises too. I would love to hear more of them sometime <3

[dothwrites]

15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3 

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes. 

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers. 

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color. 

“Cas.” 

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice. 

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave. 

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here. 

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?” 

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy. 

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story. 

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words. 

That’s not who I am. 

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets. 

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...” 

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking. 

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.” 

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon. 

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.” 

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what. 

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?” 

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems. 

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed. 

He does make one stop, however. 

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders. 

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.” 

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...” 

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his. 

“So what happened?” 

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack. 

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.” 

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved. 

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses. 

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem. 

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle? 

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...” 

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does. 

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out. 

There’s work to be done. 

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention. 

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” 

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human. 

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.” 

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back. 

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?” 

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.” 

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.” 

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.” 

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.” 

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing. 

---

Bobby is wrong. 

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him. 

There’s still time. 

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt. 

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow. 

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him. 

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon. 

It’s always too soon. 

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?” 

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer. 

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.” 

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him. 

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology. 

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care. 

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier. 

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere. 

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before. 

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around. 

Dean Winchester is there. 

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world. 

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move. 

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.” 

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.” 

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm. 

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.” 

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.” 

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them. 

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.” 

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--” 

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?” 

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.” 

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.” 

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his. 

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more. 

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.” 

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them. 

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him. 

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?” 

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.” 

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing. 

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest. 

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed. 

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure. 

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s. 

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.” 

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say. 

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?” 

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition. 

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought. 

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him. 

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place. 

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.” 

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles. 

“Dean,” he says. 

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo. 

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs. 

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.” 

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to. 

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?” 

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.” 

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair. 

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him. 

You are valued. You are loved. 

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies. 

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling. 

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years. 

There is so much work to do. 

But they have time. They have all the time they need. 

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

[peachbear88]

The Greatest Love Story

A/N: Inspired by this lovely image I saw. I'm making this into a high school angst AU that takes place in like the 1900's. For the record, I know Steve isn't a bad person but this is an AU and I need one of those... You know, guys for this story so.... Yeah! Sorry! BTW, the second poem is not written by me, it's written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and I stole some quotes from Shakespeare.

Warnings: Angst, homophobia, swearing, character death.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

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You scale the ancient wooden stairs of your small school. avoiding eye contact with anyone. The stares you receive from others are painfully obvious as you speed walk towards the library, seeking shelter from the judgmental glances from your peers.

"Hello dear," the kind librarian greets you as you walk past her towards your corner of the library.

You don't respond, quickly ducking behind the massive shelves, hoping to spend as much time as possible in your safe space before the classes start. Placing back your old books, you scan the shelves, until a particular title catches your eye.

"Love Poems by Women?" You murmur, flipping through the worn pages.

----------

A giant dusty book lands on the librarian's desk, making her look up.

"May I take this out?" You ask, your tone emotionless, cold yet tentative. The librarian smiles gently at you handing you back the book.

"Of course dear. Happy reading." You give her a small, thankful smile before dashing out of the library door. The halls are partially empty, save for the kids that skip class, hanging around in the hallways and dark alleys after school.

You duck your head, avoiding eye contact as you pass the group leaning against the lockers, most importantly, the hazel eyed beauty that could snap your neck in half, Yelena Belova.

"Hey!" Your head snaps up. Big mistake. You lock eyes with the famed blonde and you drop your head immediately, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Y-Yes?"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She snaps. You peek at her from the corner of your eye, her sleek dress pants catching your eye.

"Interesting outfit choice," you note before you can stop yourself.

"What did you say?" She demands and you gulp, backing away.

"N-nothing." She slowly steps towards you, backing you into the lockers.

"Get to class. And don't ever let me see you again идиот (idiot)." You hurry down the hall towards your classroom, tripping in the process as you repeatedly look over your shoulder, watching as Yelena turns back to her friend group.

---------

"She was cute," Natasha points out as Yelena reclaims her spot leaning against the lockers. "Why do you feel the need to tease her so relentlessly?" Yelena rolls her eyes, grabbing the flask of vodka back from her sister.

"She's annoying. I don't like her." Natasha smirks.

"Sure. Whatever you say."

---------

You let out a sigh of relief when the bell rings.

Your classmates flood out of the classroom, jostling each other aside in their rush to get home. You quickly sprint out the door, eager to get home, safe and sound when a hand grabs you by the arm and pulls you into a dark alley behind the school.

"Hello there girly..." A deep voice says. You gulp. The boy steps into the light to reveal Steve Rogers. One of those people that take pride in hurting others, a bully, your tormenter.

"W-what do you want?" He smirks, stepping closer to you.

"Well, a little birdie told me that someone had an encounter with a specific blonde this morning." You flinch when he grabs you by the throat, pinning you to the wall. "You wouldn't happen to be... I don't know, one of those dykes would you?" Your eyes widen and you shake your head vigorously as he laughs. "Oh man," he sputters, choking through his laughter. "Wait till the school gets ahold of this-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence because a fist connects with his face, sending him reeling backwards.

"What the-" A strong hand wraps around his throat, pushing him backwards till his back connects with the wall.

"Listen to me you маленькое дерьмо (little shit), if you ever even think about coming near her again, I will sneak into your house at night, gut you like the fish you are and paint the school with them." Yelena warns in a surprisingly calm voice. Steve's eyes widen and he nods his head frantically until she lets go.

"Crazy bitch!" He spits, backing away quickly. You shuffle your feet, looking down at the ground as she watches him run.

"T-thank you." You mutter, not daring to look her in the eye. She sighs.

"This better not become a daily thing Y/L/N." You nod feebly. "Get out of here." You quickly pick your bag back up and sprint out of the alley, leaving Yelena by herself,

---------

"I'm home mom!"

"Welcome home sweetie!" Your mom pokes her head out of the living room.

"How's your book going?"

"As great as a woman writing a book can be." She chuckles forcibly. There's an awkward silence before she continues. "Your father came by today." She pauses as you swallow, feeling like something lodged itself in your throat.

"And what did he want?" She frowns at your tone.

"Sweetie, I know you don't like him but he's still your fa-"

"I don't have a dad," you growl, picking up your bag. "My dad died when he chose to abandon us." She watches as you climb up the stairs, sighing and rubbing her temple.

---------

You flop onto your bed, dropping the thick dusty buck onto the bed. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading through the poems until your mom calls you down for dinner.

It's an awkward dinner, quiet, only the sounds of dishes, chewing and utensils filling the room.

"I'm going to bed." You say after washing the dishes, not bothering to wait for a response.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of your room.

"Love poems by women." You mutter, an idea popping into your head. You quickly sit up, flicking on your lamp and pulling out the book and a pen.

----------

"Good morning dear," the librarian greets you like she does every morning.

"I'd like to return this book." You reply coldly, passing her the book once again. She smiles gently at you.

"I hope you enjoyed your reading." She says while passing you, returning the book to its original shelf.

-----------

"Hello hon, can I help you with anything?" The librarian asks the dirty-blonde haired girl.

"No, thank you." The girl sends the librarian a tight lipped smile before returning her attention to the shelves. A ripped leather cover catches her attention. Love Poems by Women. She smiles, pulling the book from the shelf. Flipping open to the title page, a neat cursive catches her eyes.

Love flows between beings Gift from the gods Curse from the demons The missing part of every person Destined to be opposites Love is flexible Yet some seek to objectify love Love is not for the weak willed. - Aristophanes

The blonde haired girl hums, pulling a pen from her jacket's pocket and discreetly writing in the book, right next to the poem.

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

Terrible.

That's the only way to describe your day. You received your essay back, ecstatic to see that you had received an A. Steve on the other hand had absolutely flunked. Instead of dedicating his time to studying, he decided to beat you up as a way of taking out his frustration.

You ended up limping out of the women's toilet, your leg flaring up whenever you moved, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"Hi sweetcheeks," the librarian murmurs, her eyes trailing down your injured leg.

"'Ello." You quickly duck behind the shelves, pulling out the book you were looking for. Your brows scrunch together in confusion as you see a messier scrawl next to your handwriting.

Reality hits hard

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

- Orpheus

You smile letting a light laugh slip from your lips. A sweet titter revealing the little girl underneath your cold, traumatized exterior.

Quickly, you grab your pen from your pocket and begin scribbling.

-----------

The air is knocked from your body as your back makes contact with the floor.

"Listen here dyke. I don't like you alright," Steve growls into your ear as Tony cracks his knuckles. "So here's what's going to happen: Everyday you're going to meet us here and," he pauses, cracking his neck. "Help us relive some stress." He smiles wickedly before punching you in the stomach, making you double over in pain.

Your eyes flutter shut as they deliver blow after blow 'till they finally stop. You tentatively open your eyes to see Yelena tackling Steve to the ground as Tony stares at them, eyes wide.

"I. Told. You. To. Leave. Her. Alone!" She screams, pummeling Steve with her fists. He groans, unmoving. You watch in terror as Tony picks up a trash can lid, sneaking up behind her as she punches Steve in the face.

"Watch out!" You scream, taking Tony as well yourself by surprise. She looks up to see you slamming into Tony sending him flying into the nearby wall of the alley.

He crumples, unconscious.

"Are you okay?" You mumble, limping towards Yelena, who's clutching a blood gash on her arm.

"'M fine,' she grits out. You shake your head, grabbing her wrist. She flinches but doesn't push you away.

"You're not okay. Let me help you." You plead. She stays silent and you quickly take her silence as a yes, leading her to the front steps of your home. You rummage through your back pack, finding a large wrap of bandages that you kept after your daily beating from Rogers and his friends.

She winces as you wrap her wound swiftly.

"Gentle!" She growls and you stare back at her defiantly.

"Well maybe if you would stop moving, it'd hurt less!" You retort and she shuts up, staring off into the distance. You dab the cut with a small bit of alcohol before wrapping the bandage all around her arm.

"Thank you." She whispers, giving you a small smile. Reaching out, she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you flinch back. You quickly, shovel the bandages and medicinal alcohol back into your pack, not noticing the hurt look on her face.

"No problem. The least I could do since you saved me." You reply bluntly, swinging the bag over your shoulder and slipping through the door.

"Wait-" She sighs as the door slams shut in front of her.

You exhale, leaning against the door as you try to catch your breath.

-----------

Yelena sighs exasperatedly, tugging at the collar of her dress shirt.

"What's wrong little sis?" Natasha smirks, plopping down next to her.

"I got hurt and Y/N patched me up." Natasha jumps up, eyes wide.

"You stained your new shirt?" She groans shaking Yelena violently. "God I'm going to kill you!" Yelena grabs her sister, stopping her.

"You're missing the point!"

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Nat challenges, flopping back down on to the couch.

"She patched me up!" Nat's eyes widen.

"Oh. Oh." She inches closer to her sister, nudging her playfully, much to Yelena's dislike. "So are y'all like," she winks at her sister insinuatingly. "A thing?" Yelena scrunches her brows in confusion.

"A thing?" Nat rolls her eyes, sidling closer to her.

"Yes. A thing. An item? Lovers?" She shrugs, missing the way Yelena blushes.

"In her dreams," Yelena snorts, leaning back into the couch.

"If you say so..."

-----------

"Morning pumpkin!" The librarian chirps.

The blonde girl ignores her, breezing past her towards the the shelves at the very back, peeking over her shoulder quickly before pulling an old, leather bound book from the shelf.

She flips the leather cover aside to reveal the title page. Next to her messy, distorted scrawl was a neat, distinctive cursive once again.

Speak low if you speak love

- Aristophanes

She smiles gently, chuckling as she shakes her head.

"Shakespeare of all people," she whispers, her accent thickening. Pulling a forgotten pen from the shelves, she begins writing,

-----------

The highlight of your day became going to the library and reading the little messages scrawled in between the margins of the book by Orpheus. Like:

If music be the food of love, play on

Or

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love.

They made you smile on a daily basis, sometimes even eliciting a rare light laugh.

"Good morning sweetpea." The librarian greets you, not expecting a response. To her surprise and yours, you muster a small smile and a wave.

"Hello." You can feel the librarians shocked eyes following you as you round the bookshelf corner to find Steve, eyes wide, mouth open in shock as he stares down at something in his hands.

Your heart plummets. A book with a soft leather cover, yellowed pages. The book of poems.

You lunge for it but he step sides you swiftly, raising the book above his head.

"Speak low if you speak of love huh? I'm not surprised you know Shakespeare, you're such a nerd." He sneers, waving the book above his head.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." You stutter, backing up. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, lifting you into the air.

"Don't fuck with me!" He growls, dropping the book and kicking it to the side. "Who's Orpheus?"

"G-Greek hero. Musician." You stutter and he slaps you, hard. You can feel your cheek swelling under his fiery gaze.

"Don't even try me. Who. Is. Orpheus?"

"I don't know, I swear!" You mutter, wincing when you accidentally bite your cheek.

He drops you, watching as you scramble to your feet, backing away.

"This isn't over you little shit. I'll be back for you," he warns, giving your book one last kick for good measure before storming out of the library with Tony and Bucky on his heels.

You fall to your knees, silently sobbing as you crawl over too the book, dusting it off and hugging it to your chest.

Yelena sighs, her heart breaking as she watches you curl around the book protectively, lying on the floor.

-----------

"Where are you going?"

Yelena turns to find Nat, leaning against the school stairwell doorway, watching her.

"Just up to the roof. Need some fresh air," she lies, avoiding Nat's gaze. Nat lifts Yelena's chin up, staring into her eyes, boring into her very soul. Yelena squirms under her gaze until she finally lets go.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She smiles sadly at her little sister. "Just-" Her voice cracks as she pats her sister's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry. I won't." She gives Nat a brief hug before hiking her pants up and starting up the stairs.

-----------

"Ah, well look who decided to join the party!" You look up from the ground to see Yelena, your eyes clouded with pain.

"No..." You croak but Steve pays no attention to you.

"Come to save your love Yelena?" He sneers, dropping you to the ground. "Or should I say... Orpheus?" Your eyes widen as you watch him advance towards her, pushing her closer to the edge of the roof.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She deadpans and Steve chuckles.

"Sure. If you won't admit, I'll just have to settle for destroying you from the inside out instead." He grabs her by the arm. "I haven't forgotten what you did to me." He points at a long thin scar along his jawline.

You watch as Tony sneaks up from behind Yelena, striking her with a metal bar. She crumples, falling to her knees.

"Hold her." Steve directs and Bucky dutifully grabs you by the arms. He holds Yelena's chin in between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "Now you watch as I destroy the one thing you love the most." Tony tosses his the metal bar and Steve prepares himself before swinging it like a baseball bat.

There's a sickening crunch followed by your scream as the bar makes contact with your ribs.

"Stop!" She struggles, her eyes never leaving your broken body as he hits you over and over again. "Please! Leave her alone!"

Steve smiles evilly, locking eyes with her before swinging the bat again. Another scream. Blood trickles down your face from your nose.

"Is that right? Did the famous Yelena Belova just beg me?" He smiles cruelly before pushing you down on your back, his foot on your chest. You scream as he increases the pressure, your broken ribs digging into your lungs.

Yelena screams, kicking Tony's legs out from under him before punching Steve in the jaw. She grabs the iron bar before it hits the ground, clobbering Bucky in the stomach before kicking Steve in the stomach.

"ты сука (you bitch)!" She steps on his face swiftly, taking satisfaction in the groan of pain he emits before turning to you, gently cradling your face.

"Wow... That was pretty badass," you mumble and she laughs, tearing up. You reach out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Don't cry." She frowns.

"I'm not crying."

"You are too." You smile, wincing in pain. "I didn't know you knew Shakespeare."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen." You frown, caressing her face, forcing her to look at you.

"Hey, hey. It's fine. Don't worry. I'll be fine." You attempt to smile reassuringly but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Listen, if I don't make it-"

"Don't say that! You can't leave me!"

"Shush, listen you thickheaded poet. If I don't make it, go back to the book." You instruct her. She frowns but you can her off. "Promise me."

"But-"

"Promise me."

"I promise..."

"Good." You smile at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, your eyesight blurring. "Wait for me okay?" Your eyes flutter shut.

"No! No Y/N! Come back!" She shakes you roughly, sobbing when you don't respond.

----------

Yelena watches as your body is carted off under a white sheet. Nat stands to the side, watching as her sister stares off into the distance, all life drained from her body.

Go back to the book.

She stands, slowly trailing towards the library, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks caked with dry tears.

"Hi dear," the librarian greets her, discreetly wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "What a shame. She was a lovely girl."

"She really was the best." Yelena agrees quietly, giving the librarian a small, comforting pat on the back before moving to the back of the library where she finds the book, lying on the floor.

Yelena,

I believe that we are the greatest love poem ever written. I love you always,

Y/N

A choked sob escapes her lips as she stares at the page. You knew. You knew the whole time and you didn't even say anything. A pair of soft arms wrap around Yelena's stomach as she lets go of the dam, her cries echoing throughout the library.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry...

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