#I WAS THIRTEEN WHEN I DISCOVERED THIS DAMN MUSICAL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onlygenxhere · 9 months

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Happy Juke Jeudi! I wanted to list a few juke Christmas themed fics for this Juke Jeudi for anyone that might be interested. I got a little help from @missjoolee and @preoccupied-educator. I’ve read most of these but not all. The following are listed in word count/size order, shortest to longest.

links under the cut

Peppermint and Chocolate by sanssssastark rated T

He’s wanted to kiss Julie since he was thirteen years old and waiting three years to kiss someone leads to expectations of what that kiss might be like. Turns out, it was way better than every fantasy he ever had. Her lips were soft and warm and her hand clutched at his arm, curling around his bicep and he wished he’d worn a shirt without sleeves because he’d have given anything to feel her touch against his skin. The kiss was everything he imagined it would be.

He just never thought it would leave him this confused.

Christmas lodge by darylvdixon not rated but it’s G

Julie and Luke meet when both their families book to spend Christmas in a lodge on the mountains. It's love at first sight and they spend the whole of their holidays together.

Let Your Heart Be Light by MamiRugbee rated T

With Christmas approaching, Julie decides she wants to pay a visit to Emily Patterson. Unfortunately, Luke realizes things aren’t exactly how he remembers them.

call me babe for the weekend by blushandbooks rated M (and locked for ao3 members)

Julie Molina, Grammy-winning popstar and reluctant Seattle native, returns home to her family and old friends for Christmas - and also to escape rumors and drama back in Los Angeles.

Old friends include Luke Patterson: The ex-boyfriend she left behind for LA and the promise of a blossoming music career. Only, the music career is not what she wanted it to be, and Los Angeles has turned from a welcome escape to an unlikely prison, and the only place she wants to run to is the place (and the person) that knows her best.

At the end of the day, she'll just run back to LA and forget about Seattle all over again.

But the city, and Luke, have more of a grip on her than she expected.

Blame It On the Mistletoe by Courty rated T

In the two years since they met, Julie and Luke have been dancing around the connection between them, both too afraid they'll ruin the other's life they've worked so hard to build.

Good thing they have some friends who decide a little Christmas magic is in order.

all i want for christmas is you by ruzekhalstead rated T

when julie finds herself in a situation where she needs luke to come home with her to celebrate christmas with her family, he is more than happy to oblige. too bad julie's already in love with him, and not sure when she stopped pretending.

holiday au

"the entire family is getting together for christmas and she just assumed i was bringing my boyfriend and then when i tried to explain, she mentioned you by name and i just kind of blanked and basically, my whole family thinks you're my boyfriend and you're coming to spend christmas with me."

"cool. when do we leave?"

Ladder to the Stars: A Juke Christmas Story by SeaStarStories rated T

Julie books a quiet winter retreat, but a typo has her turning up at the wrong cabin. Then a major snowstorm forces her to stay with Luke, whether she likes it or not. The problem is she likes it.

'Tis the Damn Season (hear me out) by IMaketheMonsters rated M

There’s nothing like coming home the week of Christmas and discovering you’re still in love with a worm-eater.

OR: the Home for the Holidays!AU that no one asked for

those cold December nights by Labyrinthinee rated M

Sure, Luke's life hadn’t turned out exactly how he wanted it to.

If anybody had told his eighteen-year-old self, that ten years down the road, he’d spent a Friday evening at his friend’s home, not on stage at some shady club, rocking his heart out, Luke would’ve never believed them. But, he couldn’t say that he was unhappy. He had a good job, amazing friends and was invited to dinner at his parents’ place once a week. So, to be frank, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Of course, that's when Julie Molina stumbled back into his life.

the lucky one (i think it might be you) by itsagamefortwo rated T

“So you know who I am then,” it’s not really a question but Luke shrugs anyway, turning to glance at her quickly before looking back at the road.

“And you know who I am,” he pauses so long Julie thinks that’s all he’ll say on the matter but then he speaks again, and she can just make out the hints of a smile through the shadows on his face, “Reggie posts a lot on instagram stories. You’re in a lot of them.”

“I recognised your hat. From your christmas card,” she offers and feels her own lips pulling into a smile at his bark of laughter. aka julie needs to get the hell out of la for a few days and finds herself in a small town with a familiar face just as a snow storm rolls in.

While You Were Sleeping by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK rated T

AU of the romcom While You Were Sleeping.

Julie doesn't have a lot going for her other than her fantasies about Nick, the cute guy she sees at work and her dreams of marrying him one day. When she saves his life only for him to end up in a coma with his family thinking she's actually his fiancee things get really complicated really fast. They get even more complicated once she meets his brother Luke and the two start to fall for each other. Julie just needs to wait for Nick to wake up and get back to her normal life only things are never that simple. It's time for Julie to decide what...and who...she really wants.

Merry Ex-Mas by Bluefire510 rated T

The one thing Julie Molina hates more than Christmas is Luke Patterson, her former boyfriend and current pain in the ass.

But when her little brother and his best friend embark on a journey to the North Pole for Operation: Save Santa, she's forced to team up with her ex to wrangle them back home in time for Christmas.

It goes as well as expected...

Inspired by the book 'Ex-Mas' written by Kate Brian.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #happy juke jeudi!#juke christmas fics #fic recs #there are of course way more than the few listed here #this is just a few suggestions #feel free to reblog with any of your favorite juke christmas fics

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trektraveler · 3 years

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Nightingale

Chapter Three: Netflix and Chill

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Three: Netflix and Chill

Word Count: 2782

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing!

Additional Notes: This chapter kicked my ass. Sometimes that is the way, it was just a damn struggle. It didn't want to be written! It was because of the overwhelming positive and enthusiastic response that I was able to push through and bring it into being. Thank you all, I needed it!

Series Masterlist

You woke up completely disoriented and stiff as a board. You laid there for a solid two minutes, letting your weary gaze travel over the unfamiliar décor. Eventually it came to you, there had been an accident. The hospital. The doctor.

Jensen.

You were at Jensen’s apartment. He’d brought you home to recuperate, or at least until you regained your memory. Which, to your frustration, you hadn’t. You still had no clue as to the most basic details about yourself. Everyone else seemed confident that your memories would return in time, but how much time? How long would this continue before you should be concerned? What was normal in a case like this? All you had were questions.

Sitting up proved to be a real struggle, every muscle seemed to be twice as sore as it was yesterday. Glancing at the alarm clock, you estimated you’d slept nearly thirteen hours. Which meant any residual pain killers from the hospital were now out of your system. No wonder you felt like roadkill.

Terrific.

With a lot of effort, you managed to get yourself out of the bed and on two feet. The room spun and tilted dangerously, making your vison blur. You sat back down on the mattress with a heavy thump. Squeezing your eyes closed, you breathed through your nose and tried to will the dizziness away. After a few minutes you tried again and succeeded.

After a brief stop in the bathroom, you left in search of your host. You shuffled down the hall like an old man, trailing your hand along the wall for balance until you reached the living room. He was sitting on the sectional, his long legs stretched out in front of him, studying a thick stack of papers. More stacks sat on the coffee table. Scripts, you realized. He said he was an actor.

The look of intense concentration on his face made you sorry to interrupt his process. His brow furrowed, causing a crease just over his nose as his eyes scanned the page. Without the haze of morphine to cloud your perception you could confirm your earlier assessment, Jensen Ackles was gorgeous. Just completely distracting. His face probably fit into that golden ratio that Fibonacci discovered. The mathematical sequence that proves someone is attractive using numbers and science. As if the rest of us couldn’t already tell by the way we drool every time we see them.

“Doing your homework?”

Jensen wasn’t used to just hanging around in his own apartment. He usually headed out the door before he could get antsy, but with you there he didn’t have that option. He did every chore imaginable to keep himself occupied while you slept. He was halfway through deep cleaning the grout lines in his bath when his phone alerted him to an e-mail. It was the latest draft of the script for season fifteen; God himself must have taken pity on him.

He did poke his head into your room to check on you a couple of times, you’d slept straight through it. So, when he glanced up and saw you standing in the doorway, he was actually relieved.

“Hey there,” he said, tossing the script aside. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really well, that bed is amazing.”

He came up beside you, making note of the way you held your ribs and tightness of your features. “Pretty sore, huh?”

“Just a little stiff,” you let him lead you to the couch and ease down into the deep cushions. “A lot stiff.”

“Well, I’ve got some pretty awesome drugs from the doc, but you need to eat with them. Feel up to some breakfast?”

“Definitely.”

He gave you that movie star grin, “Great. You stay put; I’ll be right back.”

You shifted around on the couch, trying for a more comfortable position. Eventually you discovered that a throw pillow tucked against your stomach for your arms to rest on provided the most relief. The script on the top of the stack caught your attention.

Supernatural: Season Fifteen, Episode 1 – Back and to the Future.

You picked it up and began thumbing through it. Many of the pages were already dog-eared and had remarkably neat notes written in the margins. Only around the character of Dean, you noticed. That must be his part. Everything from frame of reference notes on past episodes to internal dialog and camera directions. Who knew the actor’s job was so intricate?

The story itself was fascinating, although you had nothing in your memory to compare it against. It had angels and demons, ghosts, witches.

“John Wayne Gacy? Seriously?”

“The Winchesters don’t shy away from the heavy hitters.”

You were so involved in the story that you didn’t notice when Jensen came back with a plate in his hands. You exchanged the script for eggs and fresh fruit with a shy smile. “Hope you don’t mind me snooping.”

“Nope. Although you should take it easy with the reading. It’s on your list of restrictions along with video games, bright lights, contact sports, caffeine and booze.”

“So that’s why I didn’t get beer with breakfast.”

“Sorry about that, maybe this will make up for it.” He pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket and handed them to you.

“Thank Christ,” you breathed, immediately downing two with a swallow of orange juice.

“We alternate heat and ice every couple of hours for your ribs. And lots of sleep too.”

“I just woke up.”

“You’ll conk out again before you know it, trust me. Concussions are nothing to mess around with.”

You popped a strawberry into your mouth as you considered him. “You speaking from experience?”

“I played a lot of sports when I was a kid, took a hit or two,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, your doctor sent a whole packet of care instructions and things to look out for. Speaking of, you don’t smell burnt toast, do you?”

“That’s for a stroke, not a concussion.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, “See, you’re getting better already.”

You chuckled. Turns out you were starving, you polished off two more helpings of eggs before you were done. Jensen set you up with a heating pad and a blanket before settling himself beside you.

He grabbed the remote and pointed it at the massive flat screen, flipping through options. “Okay, so I’m thinking total binge fest. I’m good for pretty much anything except reality tv, those shows annoy the hell out of me. Netflix and chill, sound good?”

“Sounds amazing. I’m moving pretty slow though, better take a rain check on the chill part.”

To your great amusement, Jensen turned red all the way to tips of his ears. He couldn’t even look at you, just shook his head and punched buttons on the remote. “Damn kids, everything’s an innuendo these days.”

“That’s not kids, that’s humanity. What’s that old saying? Love goes out the door when money comes innuendo?”

He blinked, “No one says that. It’s not a thing.”

“Are you sure? It could be a thing; it sounds like a thing. Maybe you just haven’t heard it before because you aren’t hip to today’s youth.” You grinned so that the tip of your tongue peaked out between your teeth.

“Today’s youth…. You’re the one with the head injury, Sweetheart. So, I think we’ll be relying on my judgement for what is and what is not hip.”

“Man, we are screwed.” You chuckled, meeting his eyes. The clear green sparkled, and they crinkled at the corners. Your stomach flipped. God, it’s like looking into the sun!

Trying to regain control over your thoughts, you glanced up at the screen, “Hey, is that your show?”

“Ah, yeah,” he replied, feeling bashful.

The familiar clip from the pilot episode played in the preview box. You smiled, delighted as a younger version of the man seated next to you appeared. “Aw! Look at you!”

Like most actors, Jensen didn’t really like watching his own work. Especially not with an attractive woman next to him, and Y/N certainly was that. Now that she was more clear headed, her wit came out. An easy-going banter. It had been ages since he’d had that, and it felt good. Natural.

He was saved from having to watch his baby-faced self by the ring of the doorbell.

You craned your neck to see over the back of the couch as Jensen swung open the door. A much taller man with shaggy brown hair was there. His arms were filled with bags, flowers, and a massive bunch of multicolored balloons.

“Hey, is now a good time?”

Jensen took some of the bags and ushered his friend into the foyer. “Dude, did you buy out the whole store?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what to get so I just got… everything.”

The pills Jensen gave you were certainly effective and had dulled most of the pain to an ache. But you were still moving slow as you got up off the couch. It took seeing the two of them side by side for you to recognize him from the Netflix preview.

You smiled warmly as Jensen introduced him. “Y/N, this goofball is my buddy, Jared. Jare, this is Y/N.”

He looked incredibly nervous as he shifted from one foot to the other, which was at odds with his size. Jensen was no slouch and this guy still dwarfed him. Extremely tall and lanky with kind, hazel eyes and a hesitant smile. Your mind finally put two and two together. Jared. Padalecki. This must be the other guy the doctor had blabbered about.

Recognition dawned on your face, “You helped rescue me, yes?”

“Yeah, after we nearly drowned you.” Jared’s gaze flickered over the dark swelling coloring your face and the guilt went straight to his gut. “God, Y/N, I am SO sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright. It was an accident. Besides, you did save my life… I’d say that makes up for it.”

That hadn’t been an easy day for Jared. He kept his head in the moment but as soon as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance, his anxiety went through the roof. He rode with Jensen to the hospital but found he was too upset to go in with him. It took him hours to calm down and even now found it hard to talk about. It was Jensen who encouraged him to stop by and meet you today, knowing that seeing you walking and talking would help his friend move past it. It had been a traumatic event for all of you.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to center himself. He opened them again when he felt you grasp his hands in your smaller ones.

You smiled up at him and winked, “The balloons help.”

When you hugged him, Jared released a pent-up sigh and hugged you back. Taking extra care not to disturb your fractured ribs. He met Jensen’s gaze over the top of your head. You’d forgiven them, even if it was an accident, Jared wasn’t sure they deserved it. Wasn’t sure he deserved it. But he was sure going to try and be worthy of it.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He released you gently and caught a glimpse of the familiar show on tv. “You guys are watching Supernatural? Seriously?”

“Actually, no. Jensen seemed a little shy about it, I think we’ll find something else.”

“Shy?” Jared repeated with a laugh, “Out of your entire career, Supernatural is not the gig to be shy over.”

“Dude,” Jensen warned.

With a conspiratory grin, Jared leaned over and whispered to you, “Soap opera.”

Your eyes lit up, “Really?! Oh, which one?”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Jensen said, “Days of Our Lives.”

You clapped your hands together and laughed, “Awesome! Tell me you were like an evil twin that came back from the dead, or something!”

Jared laughed loudly then, and Jensen rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t the evil twin... I was the good twin”

“That’s so brilliant!”

“It was brilliant,” Jared agreed, pulling his cell from his pocket. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ve got a few choice clips we can watch.”

“Give me that!” Jensen grabbed for the phone only to set off a brotherly slapping match.

“Alright, fine! You want Supernatural, Sweetheart? You’re going to get it!” He told you before raising an eyebrow at Padalecki, “We’re going to have an old-fashioned screening and I pick the episode.”

Jared knew that meant one upping each other with embarrassing stories. Probably ones that they couldn’t even tell at conventions. They were competitive in everything, and this would be no different. He cocked a smile. Challenge accepted. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

“We’re not starting with the pilot?” You asked, readjusting the cushions under your arms and the heating pad along your ribcage.

“The pilot’s decent, but I thought we’d try something more recent so you won’t notice how badly Padalecki’s aged.”

“Don’t pay any attention, Y/N. It’s not easy being the second-best looking Winchester.”

“Second best my ass,” Jensen grumbled, flipping through the episodes until he came to the one he had in mind.

Jared instantly recognized it. Baby. “Good choice.”

And so it went. Sandwiched between two lead actors of a hit tv show, watching an episode while they made real-time commentary. Hilarious commentary. Everything from insider tricks on how fight scenes were shot to off camera pranks.

“So is Cass the third Winchester brother?”

“He wishes,” Jensen scoffed. “He’s an angel, one of the good guys. Most of the time.”

Jared gave you a speculative look, “So this doesn’t seem familiar to you at all? This show?”

“No. Sorry, I gather its popular.”

“It’s not that… it’s just,” he caught Jensen’s warning look and paused. He didn’t want to push you, but he couldn’t help being curious and hell… maybe it would help jog your memory. “It’s just that after… you know… you came to for a minute. You looked at Jay and called him Dean.”

“Really?” Your brows scrunched as you tried to remember the encounter. Of course, nothing came to you, much to your frustration. Even making that little effort caused your head to ache and that worried you almost as much as the amnesia itself.

“I’m sorry… I don’t remember.”

“Meh, I wouldn’t sweat it, Y/N,” Jensen assured you. “We’ve been filming in Vancouver for the past fifteen years. Everyone has seen our ugly mugs around here at some point.”

Unconvinced, but wanting to change the subject you asked, “Can we try another episode?”

He squeezed your hand and winked looking so much like Dean. “Lady, you’re a glutton for punishment.”

Jared looked over at you, your head nodding off on his best friend’s shoulder. You dropped off about ten minutes into the episode about the wishing well and the suicidal teddy bear. A shame really, that’s one of the classics!

“Zonked out, huh?”

Jensen pulled the blanket on your lap up so your shoulder was covered. “I’m surprised she made it this long. The stuff they gave her for pain could double as horse tranquilizers.”

Jared smiled; Jensen always was a softie. “I like her, she’s funny.”

“Yeah, she is,” Jensen agreed, flipping through channels for a game to watch. “She even laughed at your jokes, although that’s probably because of the concussion.”

“She’s pretty.”

Jensen shot him what could only be described as a bitch look.

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m just saying, butt out. You always do this.,” Jensen froze when you shifted in your sleep, and he lowered his voice to a hush. “You are obsessed with match-making. It’s all those Hallmark movies you watch.”

“I’m not obsessed, I’m gifted.” Jared countered in a whisper. “I have a one hundred percent success rate.”

“What about that P.A. Kelly? Didn’t she break up with that guy?”

“They got back together.”

“Huh, good for them. Still, this is not that. This is just… this. I’m helping her recover. Which reminds me, no more pushing her to remember stuff,” Jensen warned. “The doc says she’s gotta take it easy, it will all come back on its own.”

“I wasn’t trying to push.”

“I know, I know. It’s alright, I just don’t want anything else to happen to her.”

Jared let a comfortable quiet settle over them as they watched the game. When Jensen shifted to let you get more comfortable, his arm wrapping naturally around your shoulders, Jared said nothing, but smiled. Surviving what could have been a horrible accident could be called luck. But Jared was a believer in fate, some things were just meant to be. He sincerely hoped, this would be one of them.

#jensen ackles x y/n #Nightingale #spn fic #jensen ackles fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen x you

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ncssian · 4 years

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A Favor: Part Thirteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: merry christmas

***

Nesta and Cassian agree to take separate cars to Velaris— not because they’re so afraid of being discovered together that they’ll risk global warming, but because Nesta has a preceding event and tells Cassian not to wait up for her.

After a rushed Secret Santa with the boys at Emerie’s apartment, Nesta drops by Gwyn’s place and leaves a small parcel at the doorstep. She doesn’t have time to knock and make conversation, but the gift is the least she can do after Gwyn surprised her the other day with a copy of a highly anticipated romance book weeks ahead of its official release.

“The library got early copies and I borrowed this one for you,” she said out of nowhere one afternoon, handing her the book. Nesta blinked in shock, not realizing that she and Gwyn were close enough for such acts of kindness. Even if their conversations felt like they’d been friends for much longer, they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. It was then that she realized that’s just how Gwyn is. She does nice things because she can, not because social bonds or etiquette compels her to.

Guilt isn’t something Nesta feels often, but she was ravaged by it when she thought of not repaying Gwyn’s kindness. She couldn’t bear the idea of imbalances or debts being created in her relationships with her new friends, and spent the last two days searching everywhere for a decent gift to make up for it. She’ll have to text to make sure Gwyn got her present later tonight.

After a two hour drive (she might have taken detours to stall), Nesta is in the hallway leading to Feyre and Rhysand’s penthouse apartment. The door is cracked open enough that laughter and music float out to where she stands, and her fingers tighten on the bag carrying her sisters’ gifts. She checks her makeup in the hall mirror one final time, assuring that not a smidge of her perfect armor is out of place.

An in-and-out operation, she tells herself, flicking a lock of hair away from her face. She’s prepared for this.

Walking up to the half-open door, she’s struck down by the decision of whether to knock before going in or not. Luckily, the choice is taken away from her when the door swings open on its own, and Feyre is on the other side.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise, in a good or bad way Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta blinks. “Did you know I was here?” She gestures to the door.

“Oh, no...” Feyre pokes her head past Nesta into the hallway. “Actually, I was checking to see if the pizza guy was here yet,” —she looks back at Nesta— “but this is even better!”

The slight strain in her voice makes Nesta think otherwise.

She doesn’t play along with the game. She doesn’t even comment on how they’re having pizza on Christmas Eve. Feyre adds after a moment, genuinely this time, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Nesta glances down at her dress, a skintight ruched piece that shows more chest than usual, and then back up at Feyre’s designer jumpsuit. “So do you,” she says, her voice more flat than she’d prefer it. But she means it. “Can I come in?” she gestures inside, hoping to put an end to this conversation and her nerves.

“Right, duh,” Feyre laughs, grabbing Nesta’s gift bag and waving her inside. “Elain’s in the kitchen if you want to see her. Grab a drink and make yourself comfortable.”

Nesta steps past the door cautiously, eyeing the penthouse as if it’s her first time here. The winding iron-railed staircase is to the right, leading up to the second floor which holds all the bedrooms. The living area sprawls to her left, and through a wood-paneled threshold across from her is the dining room and kitchen. If anything is different from the last time she visited, it’s that the place is now considerably more lived in: pictures, hand-picked art, and other signs of life and love decorate every inch of the apartment, to the point where it makes Nesta feel like a home invader.

She’s so busy absorbing this place she doesn’t belong in that it takes her a moment to realize the room has fallen silent.

She turns to the living area, and her eyes land on Cassian first. He went so far as to put on a suit for tonight, and he’s watching her with a stunned quietness that makes her proud of her own outfit choice.

Nesta knows there are other people in the room, but she really can’t bring herself to care. Her hands twitch at her sides, instinctively reaching for him—

“Look who finally decided to show up,” a smug voice drawls.

Nesta looks away from Cassian to find that just about everybody else is staring at her, too. The voice who spoke up is that tiny woman named Amren, and she’s watching Nesta now with a sharp glint in her gray eyes.

Slick discomfort coats Nesta’s insides at Amren’s tone, and she lets her hands fall behind her back so they can’t reveal her anxiety. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” are the first words out of her mouth.

“’Sup, Nesta,” Cassian is the only one that bothers to respond. His tone holds none of the closeness or intimacy it usually does— it’s been replaced with a removed, almost strained friendliness instead.

Remembering that seeking him out for comfort is not an option tonight, she tries to find somewhere else to look.

In the span of a second, she spies Mor’s curiosity, Rhysand’s vague distaste, and Varian’s hesitance, before finally settling on Azriel’s bland look of disinterest. His phone dangles lazily from his hand, and he looks about two seconds away from going back to it and ignoring her completely.

It’s his detachment that grounds Nesta enough to remember her words. “I’m going to…” she gestures vaguely toward the kitchen, “get some food.”

“I can help—” Feyre starts.

“No, thank you,” Nesta quips, then hightails it out of there. The conversation, along with Nesta’s heartbeat, restarts as soon as she’s out of the room.

Following the short hallway connecting the dining space to the huge kitchen, she freezes when she finds Elain standing before the dual range oven, staring intently down at her phone. She curses herself silently— how did she forget her other sister would be waiting here right after being told so?

Elain’s head snaps up at the sound of Nesta’s heels on the tile, looking flustered. She quickly tucks her phone into the pocket of her apron before she realizes who she’s looking at, and a wide smile overtakes her beautiful face. “Is that really you?” Elain marvels in her lilting southern accent.

The words hit Nesta bluntly for some inexplicable reason. She shakes it off with a blink and smiles back, far more subdued than Elain but still genuine. “Lain,” she greets kindly, like they’re two old friends picking up right where they left off.

It’s Nesta’s fault that things are like this, she knows. She hasn’t bothered holding a real conversation with her closest sister in months, and now she’s in the same room as her hoping she won’t have to face Elain’s disappointment for her distance.

“Oh, get over here, how’ve you been?” Elain crosses the sleek kitchen and waves her into a hug. Nesta awkwardly pats her back, and is held even tighter when she tries pulling away.

She only manages to detach from Elain when Elain’s apron pocket vibrates. Stepping back, she takes her phone out and silences it before tucking it away once more. “So,” she grins when her focus returns to Nesta, “how’s the lone wolf life treating you? Isn’t it great to be back at your old apartment?”

“It’s good. I’m doing good,” she nods along. Nesta hates small talk more than anything, but this is the least she owes Elain. And the least she owes herself, if she’s being honest. Even if she knows she will never truly be fit for a life of socialization.

She takes things a step further and nods to the oven, asking, “What are you cooking up?”

She knows she’s done something right when Elain’s dark eyes light up, and she starts rattling off the three-course menu she’s prepared for tonight. (“What about the pizza on the way?” Nesta asks. Elain’s face darkens. “Don’t get me started. Some of the people in that living room have the taste palate of five year olds.”)

Nesta takes a seat at the island and falls into the age-old rhythm of listening to her sister talk, her heart feeling bruised and soothed at the same time. How similar and different they are now from the people they were ten years ago. Nesta doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

***

“That’s the thirtieth time you’ve checked your phone since Mor started telling her dolphin story,” Cassian mutters to Azriel sitting next to him on the couch.

Az clicks his phone off and turns it facedown so Cassian can’t see the screen, his face remaining blank the entire time. “I can’t help it if I’ve heard the dolphin story a hundred times already.”

“You’ve been staring at that thing the entire night,” Cassian calls him out. “Anyone on there more interesting than us, dear brother?”

Az snorts, not bothering to look at him. “Like you’re one to talk.” He reaches for his glass of liquor on the side table.

Cassian frowns as the chatter drowns out his murmur. “What do you mean?”

Azriel takes a sip from his drink, not replying. “When do you plan on letting us back at your cabin?” he says instead.

Cassian snorts. “It’s not like I’ve been keeping you away from it.”

“You turned Rhys and me down every time we made plans about coming over.”

“Because Nesta was staying there.” He is very, very careful about the way he says her name. Even talking about her is walking a thin line.

“She moved out a while ago, though,” Azriel continues. He leans back into the couch. “Speaking of Nesta, I don’t remember her being that hot. Did you see her in that little dress tonight?”

Cassian tenses, dull anger sliding over his bones and under his skin. “We all fucking saw her,” he says tightly.

Az clicks his tongue. “Damn. A woman like that shouldn’t be wasted in a small town.” His eyes slide over to Cassian’s with a dark glint of amusement. “You mind sharing?”

In that moment, Cassian is presented with the option of punching Azriel in the face. Hard. It’s only due to a divine miracle that he doesn’t.

Even with his temper, Cassian knows when he’s being played with. “How did you know.” His voice is flat, cold.

“You have ‘Nesta’s bitch’ written all over your face.”

Goddammit. Cassian clenches his teeth, saying nothing. Can everyone see it, or only his closest brother? How long has he known?

“I had my suspicions,” Az says simply, “when you ran out of Thanksgiving dinner like your ass was on fire after she sent you that thirst trap.”

Cassian blinks. Of course; the bastard peeked at his phone the last time they were together. No reason other than that.

“It wasn’t a thirst trap,” he grits, on high defense now. “It was a perfectly appropriate photo that you never should have seen.”

Az’s lips twitch upward. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you reacted to it.”

This— this is exactly why he doesn’t want anybody to know about him and Nesta. Because even though a weight has been lifted off his chest with Azriel knowing, an even heavier weight has started to sink in his stomach.

For months, Nesta has been his alone. And the idea of opening their relationship up to others’ opinions and judgements...

“Cass?”

He breaks his death glare at Azriel to find Feyre standing over the couch. He blinks; when did she cross the room? “Yeah?”

“You okay?” She glances between him and Azriel, clear-cut concern in her eyes. “You’ve been a little out of it tonight.” These last several weeks, actually, he knows she’s thinking.

He pulls his best Nesta face, all emotion carefully hidden behind a wall so blank it’s almost dead. “I’m doing fine,” he says simply. “Don’t worry about me; worry about Rhys spending all of your money on cards tonight.”

When Feyre still looks hesitant, Cassian summons his signature smile, the one that puts everyone and their babies at ease. He knows he’s succeeded when Feyre’s shoulders sink and she smiles back, nudging him in the arm. “Alright,” she says begrudgingly. “Just don’t keep pulling that long face. It’s Christmas Eve.”

***

Nesta is still hiding out in the kitchen while Elain finishes up a roast chicken when Feyre wanders in, eager to play the doting host.

Nesta pauses in the middle of telling Elain what she got earlier today for Secret Santa, waiting for Feyre to interrupt or insert her opinion, but Feyre only leans against the kitchen entrance and waits for her to go on.

“... So I thought it was hideous, but she insisted I keep it,” Nesta finishes cautiously.

“Who insisted you keep what?” Feyre speaks up.

“My friend Emerie got me a Christmas sweater.” Nesta waves a hand. “It looks like it came out of the recycling bin of a thrift shop, but I think she legitimately expects me to wear it tomorrow.” She huffs a lighthearted laugh, remembering how she and Emerie had cackled over the tacky gift together.

She finds she doesn’t mind talking about Emerie to her sisters. Rather, it’s something that brings her pride, like how she imagines new parents talk about their babies.

“Ain’t that amazing?” Elain speaks from where she arranges the chicken onto a platter, her back turned to both sisters. “While we were worried this whole time about Nesta being holed up in her room, she’s been going out and making friends.” Her voice is tight with a forced cheerfulness that only their mother could have taught her. Nesta stiffens in her seat at the island.

“Oh,” Feyre says shortly, blinking. “I see.”

The easiness Nesta had from talking about her friends slips away, being replaced with her usual mask of steel and ice. “See what?”

“Nothing,” Feyre defends, moving to lean against the island across from her. “We barely ever speak anymore, Nesta. How are we supposed to know what goes on in your life these days?”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Nesta says coldly.

“She’s also in therapy.” Elain still hasn’t turned around from the stove. “How exciting.”

Nesta whips her head toward Elain in disbelief at the information spilled. So she is angry at Nesta for avoiding her calls.

“Therapy?” Feyre looks taken aback. “For what?”

Elain swoops in before Nesta can choose between scoffing or rolling her eyes at Feyre’s question. “Who cares what it’s for?” She finally turns around, bracing her hands on the counter. “Does it even matter?”

Nesta tastes venom on her tongue, and it wants to be spit in her sisters’ direction. “If you have something you want to say, Elain, say it. The passive-aggressive act makes you look like a fake bitch.”

Elain flinches, and Feyre looks away to hide her tired disappointment. “We still can’t have a single conversation without you going from zero to a hundred, I see.”

You haven’t even seen a hundred yet. “Tell me,” Nesta demands. “What did I do to mortally wound you this time? Is it the fact that I have a life away from your incestuous circle, or am I missing something else?”

Feyre scoffs incredulously, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s the fact, Nesta, that you have it in yourself to be good to everyone except for your sisters! When it was just me you hated, I could accept it fine, but then you left Tennessee and shut Elain out, too. With no explanation.” Hurt dances across her face. “It’s been years and it’s only gotten worse. And after months of near silence you show up here like—like you would rather be part of any family except ours.”

She keeps saying we, like her and Elain’s feelings are one and the same. Like they’ve talked about this before.

Nesta crosses her arms. “So you are mad I have friends.”

“How is that your takeaway from this?” Feyre has to struggle to keep her voice down.

Nesta’s heated eyes cut to Elain, who’s been silent during this whole exchange. “And you agree with her? Or is there something else you’d like to add?”

Elain opens her mouth to respond, but Nesta doesn’t give her the chance. “If I haven’t changed, then neither have you two,” she seethes. “You still think this is the fucking Disney channel or something, where we’re all best friends who have sisterly sleepovers and text each other good night. Wake the fuck up,” she bares her teeth. “Stop expecting things from me and just be happy I’m alive and doing well— because that’s the bare minimum that I’ve always given you!”

But no matter what Nesta says or does, they will never understand her. She will never be enough for them. The realization sinks in with a rattling finality at the resigned look on Feyre and Elain’s faces: like they didn’t hear a word she said. Nesta wonders when they stopped listening.

A throat clears behind her, and she whirls to see Feyre’s boyfriend at the doorway. His pretty-boy face is drawn tight, barely hidden rage simmering in the violet of his eyes. “Pizza’s here,” he says curtly.

Elain blinks tears out of her eyes, spinning back to the counter to pick up the platter of chicken. “Of course,” she says quickly, “the rest of the food is ready too.”

Feyre leaves the kitchen first, then Elain, then Rhysand with a final deadly glare at Nesta.

Nesta doesn’t know how long she stands there in the same spot, unmoving. Only when her phone buzzes from the island countertop does she turn.

Gwyn: did u get me a vibrator for christmas???

***

Cassian hasn’t looked at her all night.

Nesta doesn’t know what she expected when she told him they couldn’t be together in public, but it wasn’t this: him, laughing and talking with everybody at the table save for her. Like she isn’t even sitting there.

Nothing has changed. Least of all her.

She swallows around a mouthful of dry meat, feeling herself slip back into that old, familiar role: the background character. Except tonight is different, because everyone saw Elain’s watery eyes and Rhysand’s furious stare when they left the kitchen, and now Nesta is being ignored on purpose.

The buzzing in her head is louder than any conversation going on at the table anyway. Whether her sisters would believe her or not, Nesta had made plans. Plans to call more often, to make amends for the years of radio silence, to reintroduce herself to Feyre and Elain as a better sister. Not now, but one day— when she finally learned how.

Plans that were all dashed in the span of one conversation. Her knuckles turn bone white around her fork. So much for getting better.

The longer the night goes on, the more hurt and rage swells in her chest, until she fears she can’t say a word without screaming. How long will it be like this between her and her sisters, between her and the world? As if Nesta owes them all one thing or another: her time, her energy, her best smile and her affections. Why does everything have to be an exchange, and why is she always the one giving something up?

Cassian is the one person who always let her be, adjusting to her whenever she couldn’t adjust to him. But she’s having trouble remembering that fact when he won’t even spare a glance her way. When he’s sitting there laughing with Mor in a way he never laughs with her.

“And what about you, girl?”

Amren’s voice drags Nesta out of her haze, and she realizes the woman is speaking to her.

Nesta doesn’t like the way Amren speaks— with barely hidden cruelty, like she takes joy in watching people squirm.

Nesta blinks. “What?”

A slow smile creeps up Amren’s red mouth. “I said,” she repeats, “are you finding the pay for your work at Night Court sufficient?”

“Amren,” Cassian starts, but Nesta is already on her feet. The table falls silent.

“I have to...” she mumbles unintelligibly. She can’t come up with an excuse. Shaking her head, she leaves the table without finishing her sentence. Leaves the dining room and the whole damn apartment.

***

The slam of the door shutting echoes through the penthouse. No one speaks for a long moment, and Cassian finds himself filling the silence: “Was that necessary, Amren?”

Amren sneers. “What did I do?”

Because he’s counting down the seconds until it’s acceptable to go after Nesta, Cassian indulges her. “Not everyone has it in them to play Mean Girls with you whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah, but did she have to ruin dinner over it?” Mor snorts, reaching over and plucking a roasted Brussels sprout from Nesta’s nearly untouched plate.

Feyre stands up. “I’ll go after her—”

“Don’t bother,” Cassian says, earning a raised brow from Azriel. Elain looks inclined to agree with Cassian until he adds, “I’ll check on her. You don’t need to stress, Feyre.” With a reassuring smile, he pushes out of his seat and heads for the door.

Each casual step toward Nesta lasts a million years, but he finally reaches the hallway beyond the apartment, letting his facade drop in the same breath that the door shuts behind him. Relief wracks his body when he finds Nesta waiting for the elevator, still here.

“Nes,” he calls, hurrying after her.

She punches the elevator button repeatedly, as if that’ll get it to hurry up. He catches up to her and takes hold of her hand, turning her around—

She snatches her wrist out of his grip like she’s been burned, her fingers flexing with pent up emotion. “Not tonight, Cassian.”

“I’ll go home with you, you can tell me what’s wrong—”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” he demands. She never shuts him out like this.

Nesta stares intently at the elevator doors. “Go back to forgetting I exist.” Her voice is flat.

He scoffs in disbelief. “You’re not serious—”

She whirls on him so quickly he almost stumbles back in surprise. “You didn’t look at me once the entire night.”

Cassian stills, stunned. Is that what this is about? “How could I have?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone knowing about us!”

“So you pretend I’m not there at all?” Hurt flares beneath her angered words.

“I can’t do both.” He fights to keep his voice low, aware of the thin walls. “I can’t look at you and not have everyone see what I feel for you— you’re all over me.” Even Azriel sees it, for God’s sake.

“What’s the truth, then?” she hisses. “Are you a terrible actor or a great one? Because in that apartment I forgot we were even in a relationship.”

“You walked in looking like that,” he gestures wildly at the black sheer mesh hugging her body, “and I was supposed to, what? Act like we were friends?” He hasn’t spent all night nearly losing his mind trying to fulfill Nesta’s wishes, trying not to let his feelings show, to get dragged through the mud for it.

“Is that your best excuse?” Nesta sneers. “I used to be too boring to spare a glance, and now I’m too sexy?” She steps closer to him, bringing them chest to chest. “We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world. That’s why we haven’t told anybody, Cassian.”

Cassian knows a spiral when he sees one, and he’s fighting not to get dragged into Nesta’s. “I know this isn’t about me.” He closes his eyes, praying for calm. “It’s about whatever happened with Feyre and Elain tonight.”

Which is the wrong thing to say, from the way Nesta’s face reddens. “Don’t even fucking go there.”

He doesn’t realize that the elevator has dinged open until Nesta reaches out her arm to stop the doors from closing. “You know nothing about me,” she says heatedly. “You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now. You haven’t. Learned. Anything.”

Cassian almost wishes she would scream senseless things at him like she used to do whenever she was upset— because this refined wrath of hers is so much more hurtful. And it makes him angry, too.

He leans in until his nose is brushing hers. “If this is one of those things where you try to push me away by being cruel, I’m not fucking buying it.”

Like a switch is flipped, the flame in Nesta’s eyes flares out. He sees that dead nothingness and knows he’s lost. “You don’t have to buy it,” she says simply. She steps onto the waiting elevator, and he doesn’t try stopping her. She doesn’t want to be stopped.

Nesta gives him a final look before the doors shut between them. “And I wore this dress for you, asshole.”

Cassian stands there long after she’s gone. Not knowing what to do next.

A muffled laugh breaks through to him from the other side of the walls, and he realizes that everyone has moved back into the living room. Turning around, he goes back inside to his friends.

***

;)

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

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saintkaczynski-archive · 2 years

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tell me abt ur fave books nezu :3c

oooh thank you for the cute ask!!

hmm... i had to think hard about this so it took me a while sorry. >-<

damned - chuck palahniuk: a thirteen year old girl with affluent parents dies and goes to hell. there, she has to work as a telemarketer and the only people willing to talk to telemarketers are lonely, dying people. she starts recruiting them into hell and satan is impressed by her power.

ballads of suburbia - stephanie kuehnert: i loved this one a lot when i was younger. it's got a lot of teen angst and centers around a group of teens bonding through drugs, personal problems, and music, and focuses on the aftermath of trying to heal from it all later in life. the main character is a girl with a shitty home life that gets addicted to heroin and her shit boyfriend leaves her to die.

white pine - mary oliver: a collection of nature poems. her writing is so beautiful and vivid. a lot of the poems overwhelmed me with emotion, especially 'this morning i watched the deer'. it's relatively short (about 80 pages) but i couldn't put it down and blew through it in like a day.

coraline - neil gaiman: a young unloved and neglected girl discovers another world in her house that offers her the love and attention she hasn't been given in the real world. she realizes something suspicious is going on and without the help of any adults, goes on a terrifying mission to rescue her parents. it was really nice seeing a story about a brave little girl saving herself/saving the day, but of course the movie version had to throw in a boy character to help her out cos little girls can't do it on their own apparently. -_-

ordinary hazards - nikki grimes: a memoir told through poetry about growing up with racism, misogyny, and a mother with untreated bipolar disorder. i couldn't put it down and this one had the biggest emotional impact on me. i felt so angry and heartbroken reading her story and i'm pretty sure i cried a few times. at the end you get to see pictures of the people mentioned throughout her life and learn a bit about how her life turned out afterwards.

also this is getting long but i really love a series of unfortunate events by lemony snicket.

#i appreciate this ask a lot thank you panchy mwah #special deliveryー💌;

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ramonahblog · 2 years

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Well, time to dump my Superman and Lois(CW) bisexual headcanons on you lot. By that, I mean when they had their Bisexual Awakening/Panics and what age and what started the Bi Awakening/Panic. And by “Superman and Lois (CW)” I mean the Kent family.

Also I used one word and there is a link to a song that propels this into 18+ content. So Obligatory 18+ warning under the cut.

Except for Lois (which is why I said Kent instead of Lane-Kent). Because apparently my brain decided she’s the token straight in (the family) this show. I don’t know why. I can’t even make a joke about how that’s because she’s the token alienfucker because Clark fills that spot as well. And my brain is “he bi too”. 🤔🤔🤔

Damn it, it’s all the Superbat fanfics I read in my teen years, isn’t it? I’m sure there are ones where Lois wasn’t straight but the ones I read, she was (supportive) straight.

Clark:

Bi Awakening: Pirates of the Caribbean. No, I am not projecting at all.

He does not know the plot. Granted, being Superman meant the first few times, there was an emergency so he just assumed that was the reason for not understanding the plot. It wasn’t. It didn’t help but it wasn’t the reason.

Clark deserves to be thirsty, okay.

Why does that sound like a threat?

Age of Bi Awakening: Whatever age he was in 2003. How old are Clark and Lois supposed to be in this show?

Reason for Age: Sometimes you discover your sexuality in adulthood. Also just wanted him to realise his sexuality because of Pirates. Once again, not projecting at all.

Jordan:

Bi Awakening: He watched Domo Wilson’s Bisexual Anthem music video and was like 😍😍😍 to everyone in the video.

Age of Bi Awakening: Sixteen

Reason for Age: Don’t have one. Also RIP Jordan being the odd bi out. He just doesn’t like pirates.

Jon

Bi Panic: It was Pirates of the Caribbean. Lois wanted to watch it and Jon decided to watch with her. He may or may not have thought Elizabeth Swann was very pretty. Was surprised at how much he liked Will Turner. Got surprised at how much he liked the first fight scene between Will Turner and Captain Jack Sparrow.

He also doesn’t know the plot.

Side note: Lois thinks he was just humouring her until he comes out to her at twenty-one. She wants to facepalm because she really should have put it together considering how Clark realised his bisexuality.

Age of Bi Awakening: Thirteen.

Reason for Age: “Even normal people hide stuff” lives rent-free in my head and everyone probably forgot about that line because it happened in like 1x07 or 1x08 or something BUT IT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT-FREE. Fuck, at this point, I’m probably paying rent to it. So Jon was referring to being closeted. He already knows he is bisexual, just hasn’t come out.

Maybe I should do which family member they came out first to next post.

Huh, I just realised my intro by saying “Kent family” I would also be referring to Martha and Jonathan Sr.

You know what. Martha was bisexual. Jonathan was an ally (subject to change due to sexuality headcanons and how I end up here).

#headcanons #bisexual headcanons #superman and lois cw #jon kent cw #jordan kent #clark kent cw #bi panic headcanons #bi awakening headcanons

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cto10121 · 3 years

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How old are Romeo and Paris, again?: On R&J’s Age Problem

So I was flipping through my Burton Raffel edition and came across this in an otherwise good Introduction:

Count Paris appears to be younger than Romeo, and to my knowledge, no one has ever suggested that his unreciprocated but apparently genuine love for Juliet is in any way immature.

My first gut reaction was to laugh, because of course Paris is not younger than Romeo!!!! He is the parents’ choice, he’s a count, he represents the conventional and socially respectable side of courtship, etc., so naturally he would be played by an older man!!!! Pretty much all productions agree on that…I mean, granted, he does get the “young” epithet as in Lady Capulet’s “young Paris” and “the gallant, young, and noble gentleman” a bit, but y’know, you figure young like 30 is still young, around LC’s age, in fact…and yes, Romeo does call him a “good gentle youth” and then “boy,” when he finally snaps and kills him…but that’s just Romeo being 200% done with Paris’ bullshit so he verbally hits where it hurts…right?

Right?

Okay. So we have to think about the question of ages some more, because this gets really tricky.

So Romeo’s age is not specified, despite the best efforts at the antis for their “problematic!!1!” spiel, nor are the ages of the other characters save Juliet and perhaps Lady Capulet, who did say that she did have Juliet around her age, which would make her 28 (Capulet reads as much older re: his conversation with his relative at the ball). In his first appearance Paris does present himself as eager to press his courtship of Juliet and when Capulet asks him if Thursday was a good day for his and Juliet’s wedding, and he answers with almost cute boyish eagerness: “My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow” (3.4.30). But Paris is also pretty self-possessed; no outbursts or overly strong emotion from him even in his sad lamenting of Juliet’s death. He takes his marriage to Juliet for granted even though he never properly wooed her. His high rank, approval from both Capulets, the Nurse calling him a “man of wax,” and saying “Romeo is a dishclout” compared to him, does point to his being a mature adult, at least twenty-five and up.

As for Romeo, while I still absolutely die at that awful tweet about R&J being a story about a thirteen-year-old and “a man of undeterminable age” (gag)…I’m not going to lie and say that calling him a man is too far-fetched. It is true that R&J do at times read older, and my ten-year-old self even kind of just took them as more mature than they were even though I knew Juliet was thirteen and Romeo couldn’t be more than a couple of years older at the most. Looking back, I think this was because I took them more seriously than the adults of the play, who were portrayed satirically and just…so dumb.

Then there is also the fact that R&J’s love arguably deepens and matures as the play goes along, their love language including the language of commitment, even material language—imagine a teen couple who call each other the modern equivalent of “wife” and “husband” even before they are actually married and calling their sexy times as buying “a mansion of a love.” -.- It really becomes thorny.

So is Romeo older than Paris? I guess I’m too stuck on the French musical canon of Paris being thirty, but it does feel right. Most productions have Romeo at 17 and the musical has him just under 20. Both are fine, though 20 feels a little more “right” somehow. My feeling is that as the play goes along and as circumstances narrow into inevitable tragedy that Shakespeare becomes less concerned about specific ages and more about the universal condition of being in romantic love, which applies at most any age. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just plain forgot that he made Juliet thirteen at some point; that feels more like a point made For the Social Commentary(tm) anyway. It would explain why Romeo feels free to call Paris a “boy” and why that hits so damn hard. I think something similar happened with Hamlet and the still-extant question of Hamlet’s age (Hamlet and Romeo are also the only Shakespearean characters to have been played almost exclusively by women in the Victorian era, which is *sips Coke can* quite interesting).

(On a related note, I think this is also why R&J modern retellings are so difficult to do well (including mine, o heavy burden) and why most of them opt for the metaphor of gang warfare, even if that necessarily elides commentary on wider society and culture. The teens in R&J in some key ways have a lot more freedom than the teens now, at least the men—not that they are not subject to their parents’ censure, but they are allowed to roam the streets, they are armed, even the servants, the Friar himself thinks Romeo is out getting laid, and by all accounts are treated as adult men in the dispensation of justice. Juliet is still under her parents’ thumb, but she is no ignoramus; her mother may be nervous just even talking about marriage, but her nurse has no compulsion to censure her bawdy anecdotes about falling backwards. The modern public education system, as well as the strengthening of legal protections and rights to minors, the banning of child labor and child soldiers, did elongate childhood considerably. We have 30-year-olds who rewatch childhood cartoons and Marvel movies; 13-year-old Juliet talks about wanting to orgasm on her wedding night and buying love mansions. No wonder modern audience get into such a tizzy over ages, stupid antis get away with calling Romeo a pedophile, and people get so shocked at discovering, yet again, Juliet’s canonical age).

#romeo and juliet #shakespeare #cristina metas #i’m in such a meta mood #shakespeare meta #also i’m thinking of my own fantasy retelling and how difficult it was to translate it to even a fantastical modern setting #rj meta #r&j meta

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crushing-on-nico-di-angelo · 4 years

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Seven Nights in Cabin Thirteen

I’m inspired by another post I saw here that I didn’t wish to hijack lol, and OP deactivated or else I’d link their account here. credits to @the-ghost-king for the idea of a demigod therapy/Will being a past drug addict on this post. Yes this is a bad fic. It’s also my first fic ever. Please criticize if you see anything

Will never thought that he would ever appreciate his first monster attack. He was seven years old, and in hindsight his teacher probably only worked there to prey on young demigods (at least, that’s why he suspects the attack happened so early in his life compared to other demigods). But when Lee Fletcher sat him down 4 years later and told him that he was trans and would now be known as Lee instead of his birth name, Will knew that everything happened for a reason.

After many conversations with Lee about how he knew (gods bless that man’s patience) and with an older Athena camper who’s special interest dealt in psychology, Will realized the reason that he always felt disconnected from his mom and sisters in Austin was because he was like Lee. He was a boy.

Telling people wasn’t easy. Of course his older brother had to know; he was the one who introduced Will to this concept. Telling the rest of camp was as easy as telling Chiron, who told Dionysus, who always threatened to turn anyone into a dolphin if they talked shit about any trans kid. Telling his mom... that had to be the hardest part. How was he supposed to tell them? The only similarities they all had were that they were all musically inclined and that they were all girls.

Apparently, Will forgot that Naomi Solace was a musician. The music industry has more queers than an all girl’s school GSA. Her only questions were “Alright, what’s your name then, kiddo?” and “When do you want to set up an appointment with a therapist?” As for his siblings, well, let’s just say the oldest, Frankie, always knew. And it didn’t take long for seven-year-old Mickey to cut her doll-that-somehow-looked-exactly-like-Will’s hair and change his notes from high to low when she accompanied his singing on violin, as part of voice training.

Four years has passed since then and Will can hardly believe it. He’s stealth back at Austin because it’s just easier that way, but since a quarter of the camp knew him since he was seven, he figured there was no point; it isn’t like anyone treated him as though he wasn’t a man-- er, boy-- at camp anyways. So, life went on. He got his period for the first time during the Battle of Manhattan, that was no fun, but luckily Thalia was cool about it and made sure not to tell anyone. He started binding shortly afterwards, got a couple bruises hear and there. Kayla yelled at him for a week for that one, he remembers fondly. Discovered why it’s better to take off your contacts in the shower... that day isn’t such a fond memory. That was the first and last time he ever made himself bleed. Although, he will say that’s what sparked his interest in medicine and what made him the best doctor Camp Half Blood had seen in decades at the mere age of 15 years old. Life at camp was good, if a bit dull. He got used to the routine and the constant influx of damaged campers, the siblings and friends, and the always-perfect Texas Barbecue and Coke.

That is, until the War Between the Camps happened. Lou Ellen woke Will up before sundown that day and told him their plan. They were to hide in the tall grasses and wait for Camp Jupiter to show their ugly faces. Cecil had the genius idea to paint their faces and arms black so they’d blend into the night better, and Will supposes in the hubub of everything they forgot that his hair nearly (”nearly”) glows, even at night. Until Mr. Nico “I’m so smart, I nearly killed myself shadow travelling” di Angelo pointed it out. Whatever, it made sense at the time. They won the war against Gaea, not without sacrifice, and they finally, finally got past all the wars and destruction and health issues that they were able to just hang out and get to know each other as friends.

And boy, was their friendship amazing. Nico had the best taste in music from Will’s eyes, and that’s saying something because Will is a music snob. Nico could be a little stubborn at times, but that’s alright because so was Will (”Gods damn it, Nico, if you don’t take your medication right this second I will-” “You’ll what? Hm? You’ll force it down my throat? Last I checked that was abuse.”). They fit together so perfectly and became fast friends.

It wasn’t always sunshine and lollipops, though. What is, for a demigod? Will relapsed once and passed out right in front of Nico’s cabin. He was crashing from an exciting high that he hadn’t experienced in so long, and he felt so tired and ashamed of himself. Methamphetamine was a goddamned bitch, so while he was coming out of withdrawals, he made Nico promise not to let him leave the cabin for a week were simmering down. He had to make sure something like this never happened again. They Iris Messaged Chiron and explained the situation, and he understood. He made sure to contact the older son of Dionysus who had been Will’s therapist in the past and said what had happened and they agreed on a session for soon after Will got mostly over his cravings.

So now they had a week of downtime together. Awesome.

“Solace, do you need anything? Are you okay?” Nico asked towards the end of the first full day that withdrawals were over.

“I’m-- fuck. I’m fine. I swear.” He responded unconvincingly.

“That’s not what you said last night... no offense, but I’m not fully inclined to believe you when you look like shit.”

“It- It... it’s not something I’d like to talk about, if that’s alright. And... don’t tell Clarisse, please.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, don’t worry. But I would like to know if this is going to be a common occ--” Before he could even finish asking, Will was already shaking his head and responding.

“One-time thing only, I promise. Gods, I’m sorry I showed up here at all.”

“Woah, buddy. That’s not what I was saying at all. You’re my best friend, I’m glad you came here.” Will almost couldn’t believe what Nico was saying. Then again, did Nico have very many friends? Nico himself certainly didn’t seem to think so. “In any case, you don’t have to explain what happened, or what led up to this, or anything like that. I don't need to know. What I do need you to do, however, is take a shower. I’m sorry to say so, but you smell like ass.”

“Yeah well, I’m…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. How do you explain to someone that he still wanted his drugs, and he didn’t want to leave the cabin because he knew he would leave to go find some before he would even think about going to his own cabin at this point.

“You don’t have to leave,” Nico said, perhaps sensing his agitation. “I have a shower in the cabin.”

“What the fuck do you mean you have a shower in the cabin?” The shock of this knowledge get him out of his stuck mind. “How did you get plumbing in here? How did Chiron allow this?”

“I helped design my cabin, and while I may not have all the experience in architecture that Annabeth does, I do know a thing or two. I did meet with Isambard Kingdom Brunel, you know.”

“I did not know. You- Who is Isambard Kingdom Brunel?” Will asked

“Oh, some civil engineer who is like a million years old.” Will scoffed at that.

“You’re one to talk,” he teased. He was never going to let go of the fact that Nico was technically like 80 years old.

“Oh hush, William.” William… never Will, like most people. William… like he was something special, something that deserved three syllables. “Anyways, like I was saying: take a shower. You look like you were up mowing all of camp with a flashlight.”

Knowing Will’s reaction to drugs, that wasn’t unlikely. He stood up. “Lead the way? I’ve never been around your cabin before.”

Nico’s cabin was unlike any others. Using some sort of Doctor Who-like technology, there was a living room, a kitchen, and one room. Surprisingly, the walls were all light or pastel, a stark contrast from Nico’s general (and unintentional) punk-rock appearance. However, the furniture was all a deep black. Nico led him to his room, a minimalistic one with a bed, a desk, and a lamp. Will wondered where all the personalization was, but made no comment.

“Here’s the shower,” Nico pointed to yet another room in this somehow huge cabin. “If you see something amiss or odd… ignore it.” Will didn’t want to think of the implications of that sentence.

He stepped in the shower and oh my gods, watching the dirt and grime wash off him after his 8 hour high-- which he did not want to think about (and not just because the author doesn’t want to taint his search history), it was too embarrassing-- was a wonderful feeling. He was still tired. He didn’t know why, it didn’t used to be this hard. However, he was pretty sure that he tried to clean the entire outside of the hypnos cabin before going over to the Hades cabin to do the same. This was the first and last time Will would ever thank the gods for Nico’s poor sleeping patterns, he had heard him outside and came to get him before he tired himself out more.

He nearly passed out in the shower again but managed to make it out. He looked around the well-stocked bathroom and realized something that he probably should have bothered to notice before: he didn’t have any clothes with him. Fuck. He wrapped a (black) towel around his chest because he didn’t think his body could take anymore binding and prayed to Dionysus that Nico didn’t notice that his chest wasn’t exactly male.

Luckily, the first thing Nico did say was “Is that a tattoo?”

Will looked down at his sun. “Yeah, it is,” he smiled. He remembered the night he did it, it was kind of hard. He ordered a tattoo gun off amazon and had Frankie do it for him shortly after the Battle of Manhattan. Some people might think it’s in honor of his dad, which is fine. It was really for Lee Fletcher, though. His mom totally freaked, for a really long time, but after his C-PTSD diagnoses she realized that whatever works for him works as long as it isn’t drugs or self harm. He knows she wants a future for him that doesn’t involve music, and that’s why she freaked. She thought it would ruin his chances. But it’s right on his shoulder, only visible in tank tops or no shirt.

"It… its to honor the man who taught me I could be myself." Will said after a small pause.

"That's a very lovely sentiment. If he made that much of an impact on you, he must be a very cool person."

"He was." Will knew that Nico heard the was by the way that Nico nodded solemnly. "I uh… I don't wish to be more of a bother, but do you mind if I go to bed now? That shower really helped."

"Yeah, of course. I can take the couch, you know where my bed is-"

"No, absolutely not." Nico sighed softly, as though he expected this. "I can sleep on the couch, in Austin I actually prefer it to my bed."

"That's-- no offense William, but that's weird."

"It feels less lonely to me," Will protested, then let out a huge yawn.

"Alright cowboy-" Will smiled at Nico's nickname for him "-get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Nighty night, Neeks. Love you." he didn't miss the small smile on Nico's face before he walked away. Will has always been very loose with his 'I love you's like that. He figured it's better to say it too much than not enough.

He had found his old stash the night before, the one that Clovis had helped him forget about. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about last nights events. At the time,he told himself that he shouldn't do anything with it, and put it out of his mind for about a week, but eventually his urge to smoke overcame his self-control. He went on a rampage of cleaning and was absolutely certain he looked like a madman. The worst part is, he didn't even know why he did it. It was as though his rehabilitation hadn't even happened, as though this was something that was as natural as getting a cup of coffee in the morning. He was so mad at himself, so embarrassed.

These thoughts occupied his mind until he fell asleep about an hour after his last words to Nico. He slept with no dreams, for the first time in about a month.

word count: 2,245

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elldell1204 · 4 years

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I Sing for Love - Jay Halstead x Reader

fofisstilinski: hi, i would like a jay halstead with prompts 3 - “Can you just shut your mouth?”, 60 - “But I want to hear you sing.”, 63 - “I think I love you.”, please, thanks

Thank you for this! ❤️ I didn’t reblog @darkdisrepair ’s prompt list to be getting them, but they kindly let me use them so definitely go and check them out. Their Upstead fics are like no other! They’re genuinely amazing. 😘 Anyways, I really loved writing this one. I did alter some of the prompts slightly to make them work in the sentence, by the way. Also, I’ve been playing The Last of Us II recently, and this fic was partially inspired by the scene of Ellie playing the guitar in the music store. I’ve linked it down below so you can listen to the song I mean, as it’s really beautiful and thought it’d fit nicely here. I hope you like it, even if it is a little long-winded. Enjoy! 😊

Warning: couple swear words, may make you cry :( sorry!

wc - 2,783

Click here for the song

Admiring the pile of untouched boxes in the otherwise empty corner of the living room, you took a moment to finally let it sink in. ‘I’m moving in with Jay.’ It was a seemingly simple event to anyone else, but for you and your best friend, it was a huge step forward in your hopefully long life together. Because you knew this was it. You had shared your heart, your mind, your soul with Jay Halstead, a feat you had never even come close to achieving with any of your other boyfriends, not that there were many.

It was scarily similar how alike you two were, yet at the same time, you were totally different. You were both quick-witted, divergent thinkers, aware of the true horrors of the world but in different lights. He had first discovered that when his father gave him ‘tough love’ as a child, a trait he vowed never to adopt. Next was when he saw the travesty that is war; tragic losses of friends as their lives are ripped from your hands by beings you could swear weren’t human, the methods of finding information that haunted you in the form of your worst nightmares, the survivor’s guilt that plagued your everyday when you came home to the widows of the men you fought so hard to save, but unfortunately it wasn’t hard enough. It was a miracle he was able to pull himself out of that hole, and still, he hasn’t fully. But with your help and Hailey’s, he’s surviving. Knowing him now, you weren’t surprised that Jay went into the police force after his active duty. Some say that Chicago is a warzone in itself, but he knew that he could endure this one. After all, the heart he possesses wouldn’t have allowed him to do something with his life that didn’t help others. One of the many reasons why you loved him. Every day he sees the scum of the world, but when he manages to help someone, it reminds him of why he does it. And he knows when he comes home to you, he’s safe. You both know that. Because you have each other, and you protect one another, physically and mentally.

You weren’t on the front lines like Jay was, but still you saw the suffering and agony the world withstands. You were an ASA, a dream you had since you were a child. From the age of three you were better at arguments than any other child on the playground, something your dad used to tease you lovingly for your whole childhood. He told you to “chase your dreams until they become reality, because you would never forgive yourself if you didn’t”. You had asked him why he seemed so forlorn when he said the last part, sat on your bed one night after he’d read you your story. That was when he told you about his dream of becoming a singer, an almost unachievable dream, but one he worked so damn hard for. You asked what happened, and he relayed how his mother became troubled with drinking and drugs after his father left, and so he, being the eldest child, had to work to provide for the family, and so his dream stayed a dream.

You remember saying “But, Daddy, you can still be a singer. I can be your audience.”, and you can still see the smile that spread across his face at your words, the expression being etched into your memory ever since. That was the night he decided to make you his protégé, teaching you how to play guitar and singing with you. This went on for years, and by the time you were thirteen, you were both playing along together, serenading and smiling without a care in the world.

But it wasn’t long before your world crashed down around you. You were seventeen when you got the call, walking out of school one afternoon, with the biggest of your problems being a boring geography assignment, when your mother told you to get to the hospital instead of going straight home. She wouldn’t – more like couldn’t – tell you why over the phone, and as you rushed to Lakeshore Memorial Hospital, your mind was racing with possibilities.

Your dad had collapsed at work, luckily not severely injured, but after running further tests, it was discovered he had stage four lung cancer, and there was nothing they could do. You barely left the hospital the next few weeks, sitting by your father’s bedside as he drifted in and out of consciousness, coughing one minute and throwing up the next. He managed to stay awake a few hours a day at the start, holding your hand and telling you he loved you, retelling stories from his childhood and yours. But when his lungs got weaker, he asked you to bring in your guitar and sing to him, seeing as he couldn’t do it himself. “Music makes me almost as happy as you do, my darling.”

So you did. You sang until your voice was hoarse, until you fell asleep mid-verse, until your fingers and thumbs were blistered. Your mother sat like a mannequin in the chair on the other side of his bed, holding his hand, treasuring the feeling. The feeling of the man you lost too soon.

“If I ever were to lose you, I’d surely lose myself. Everything that I’ve found here, I’ve not found by myself.” You sang, tears pricking at your eyes. You looked up, gazing over at the weak form of your father. If it wasn’t for the machine hooked up to him that was beeping quietly but steadily, you may have thought he was already gone. He was that debilitated, with his limbs laid straight, outlining his body, his eyes closed and his lips, that seemed paler than ever before, the only landmark in the vast ocean of ghastly white that had replaced the face once full of life and laughter.

You laid your guitar back in its case before moving closer to him, intertwining your fingers with his, scared at how cold they felt already. You looked over at your mother. She was silently crying, her eyes rimmed red and streaks traced down her cheeks, and she nodded her head at you.

You sniffed, letting the tears that stung your eyes fall as you stood, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your father’s forehead.

“It’s okay, Dad.” You whispered. “You can go now. Go be at peace. I love you.”

And after a deep breath, you turned to the doctor that stood at the doorway. “You can take him off life support now.”

You let the tear flow down your cheek for a few seconds before you wiped it away. You shook your head, trying to get rid of the sadness. You had a job to do.

You had officially moved in with Jay a few weeks ago now, but due to your busy lives, the only things you had unpacked were the bare necessities, most of which were already dotted around your shared apartment.

It still sounds weird to refer to Jay’s apartment as your own. You practically lived here before he asked you, anyways, seeing as yours was a lot smaller, in a worse neighbourhood and had a lot of noisy neighbours. It was practically the complete opposite to Jay’s, his being a two-bedroom condo with sweet Mrs Elizabeth Bailey next door who you often helped out by carrying her groceries or fixing a dodgy cupboard door. She was like a great aunt to you both, inviting you round for dinner or baking you some cookies every so often. Many a time had she told you about her late husband, Tommy, and their stories from their lives together. Both you and Jay loved to hear the tales of their adventures, and you were saddened that you never got to meet him. One night, you sat close together on Lizzie’s couch, Jay’s arm wrapped around your waist as you leant into his chest, admiring a photo album she had passed to you as she recalled the memories linked to each image from her armchair. She had surprised you when she suddenly said, “You two remind me of Tommy and I; hopelessly in love.” You looked up and smiled at her, a twinkle in her eye as she remembered her husband, and you felt Jay pull you just that little bit closer.

It was also that night, when you both returned to his apartment, that he asked you to move in with him.

And now you were rummaging through your stuff that was packed into boxes, pretty much half of your life stuffed neatly into them. Looking through each one, you realised how little each of the material items mattered to you now that you knew Jay. Apart from the photos of friends and family, the odd keepsake you’d collected over the years and meaningful gifts from various birthdays and Christmases, it was all just junk. At least you thought so until you spotted your guitar case tucked away into the corner.

You took a deep breath before reaching over and picking it up, getting to your feet as you carried the case over to the couch. You sat down slowly, your heartrate picking up even with your meticulously controlled breaths. You gently laid it down in front of you and opened it, lifting the lid like it would shatter if you went too fast. You hadn’t opened it in years, not since you closed it at the hospital on that horrible day. A droplet landed on the smooth mahogany, one that came from your eyes. It took you a while before you wiped it away, unsure if you were strong enough to touch the instrument without breaking down before it.

‘Pull yourself together, Y/N, it’s been ten years’ you thought. And despite telling yourself that you had mostly moved past your father’s death, trying to see the light from it instead of the darkness, you still had moments where you were majorly overcome with grief. But you knew you could do this. You had to. He would have wanted you to.

So you picked it up. You examined it, not that there would be any new marks or scratches with it being shut off from the world for a decade, and then laid it on your knee like a baby, your hands assuming the positions that were like second nature to you, like another language. And you strummed the strings. They were horribly out of tune, so you let out a sodden laugh at the sound before tuning it to perfection.

Now all you had to do was play. You had time before Jay got home, so that wasn’t stopping you. What was is the thought of playing the guitar your dad bought you, the guitar your dad taught you to play, the guitar that you played to him and with him as you sang together. You knew he wouldn’t want you to stop playing, but you couldn’t bear the thought of playing it without him there to listen.

So you closed your eyes and imagined he was there with you, listening and smiling, as your fingers found the first chord on the neck of the guitar and you played it. Then the next. And the next. And you were doing it. You were playing the song. Now all you had to do was sing. You saw your dad’s smile and you knew you could do it.

“If I ever were to lose you,

I’d surely lose myself.”

Then suddenly there was a loud smash of glass on the floor behind you and you jumped, spinning around violently to see Jay stood in the doorway over some shattered glass.

“What the hell, Jay?! You scared the shit outta me.” You shouted, a hand over your racing heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I just wanted to hear you sing.” He smiled sympathetically, walking a little further in to lean against the chest of drawers in the corner.

“Shut your mouth. Like hell you did. You just wanted something to make fun of me for.” You huffed, frowning, as you moved to put away your guitar. You could feel the unjustifiable anger bubbling deep inside you at him hearing you, allowing yourself to be so careless as to let him in the first place.

“What? No, of course not. It was really beautiful, and I’ve never really heard you sing before.” He said cautiously as he came to sit beside you on the couch, taking a hold of your hands to stop you putting away the guitar. He could tell you were annoyed, and though he wasn’t sure why, he knew to tread carefully, as he seemingly had hit a nerve.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do it around other people, at least not since I was younger.” You said softly, feeling guilty for shouting at him.

“With your dad?” He asked. He knew all about the story with your father, minus the part where you sang to him before he died. You couldn’t bring yourself to relive that if you didn’t have to. But now you did have to. You couldn’t let Jay be in the dark about it any longer. All he had ever been was supporting and caring to you, and you felt ready to let him in fully.

“Yeah.” You whispered, not trusting your voice. You shuffled in closer to him, and he let go of your left hand to wrap his arm around you, and then you took a deep breath. “I, erm, haven’t played my guitar since the day my dad died. He asked me to play it to him whilst he was in hospital, because he couldn’t do it himself like before he got sick. And on his last day, I played him that song you just heard; it was one of his favourites. Not that he was conscious. He’d been knocked out cold with meds for days by then. After, we said goodbye and took him off life support. And I could never bring myself to play my guitar since.”

Silence followed, allowing him to process and you to recover. He kept rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, showing you support without using his words.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But wouldn’t he want you to keep playing? For him?”

“He would, that’s why I’m trying now.” You pulled away slightly and smiled at him. “He’d have liked you, y’know? He really would.”

“I’m sure the feeling would be mutual.” He returned your smile.

Every day he reminded you of the wonderful man he is; caring, funny, kind, smart. But he also showed you he loved you, that he trusted you. And so you did the same.

You sat up, retrieving your guitar and laying it on your lap once more. You glanced over to him and smiled.

“This was also one of his favourites.” You told him, and then you started to play.

“Talking away,

I don’t know what,

I’m to say I’ll say it anyway,

Todays another day to find you.

Shying away,

I’ll be coming for your love okay.

Take on me,

Take me on.

I’ll be gone,

In a day or two.

Needless to say,

I'm odds and ends,

But I'll be stumbling away,

Slowly learning that life is okay.

Say after me,

It's no better to be safe than sorry.

Take on me,

Take me on,

I'll be gone,

In a day or two,

In a day or two.”

When you finished, you sighed deeply, a half-sad, half-loving smile spreading across your face as you turned towards Jay. He was sat in an awestruck daze, smiling back at you as you put your guitar away in the case. When you sat back up, he shifted closer to you, gently taking your cheek in his palm as he gazed into your eyes, running his thumb softly over your cheek.

“I think I love you.” He murmurs.

You scoff jokingly and roll your eyes teasingly. “Well, you better bloody love me, Halstead. We’ve moved in together.”

He chuckles, and you can feel his warm breath brush over your cheek.

“I do. I love you. And I’ll keep saying it, even when you’re sick of hearing it.”

“I’ll never get sick of hearing it, Jay, because I love you too.” You whispered, smirking as you leaned in to kiss him. He met your lips with his, kissing you lovingly, assuring that you knew you were it for him, as he was it for you.

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagines #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead fluff #Chicago PD #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead fanfiction

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rametarin · 3 years

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A learning experience.

When I was a teenaged boy, I bought a music CD. It was The Ringmaster, by ICP. Why did I buy an ICP CD? Because I was a middleschooler and it was 1997.

I only ever listened to it with a CD player with headphones. But, because my parents were assholes and as a child, my younger brother (4 and a half years younger than me) was a spoiled brat that ran amuk doing whatever he wanted, he eventually wanted to listen to it and I was told to share. Because I can’t have shit to myself at that age, I’m just the +1 in a package deal.

I didn’t like him getting in on everything I was trying to do to distinguish myself or insert himself into the middle of, because it just meant he’d be a little asshole, aggressively try and take it over, and he’d get it, so long as ma and pa backed him up. So he had every incentive to be all up in my business and anything I did. As a result, I learned to be boring and only do what I liked when nobody was watching.

But one day, my younger brother went into my room, got into my CD collection, took the CD player, and went to a my father’s girlfriend’s party. Where he started singing the lyrics out loud. Boy, wasn’t he a cool kid. 9 year old boy screaming out “adult rap” lyrics and obscenities like a big boy.

Dad got mad. At me. I was punished with lack of computer/internet access for a month.

I told him, straight up: “So let me get this straight: He goes into my room, without my knowledge or permission, takes my property, without my knowledge or permission, you pick him up and don’t bother to even discover what he’s listening to, HE starts singing the lyrics in the middle of her party out loud, and HE gets no punishment, while I am the one that gets grounded. I didn’t even GO to that damned party.”

I was punished for owning a music album with nasty lyrics. Not for singing it, not for playing it too loud, just possessing something vulgar and being a thirteen/fourteen year old boy.

And it wasn’t like my father was some sort of orthodox religious man, either. He was a fucking sailor and was used to vulgarities. He was a liberal person. He did so much fucking bullshit as a teenager that ‘listening to music with naughty lyrics’ in my teens is such weaksauce NOTHING that it was bewildering how much he refused to understand about this.

Dad realized he fucked up a bit and didn’t try to enforce the restrictions. But to be honest, I was mad enough if you can taste axe-murderer vibes off of somebody, I was radiating them like I was the Elephant’s Foot of Chernobyl. If I hadn’t already written both my parents off as unnecessarily abusive pieces of shit and spoilers that would take every opportunity to be petty before I’d even turned 10 years old, I’d have been more disappointed and angry. But punishing me for my younger brother being a little asshole thief and loudmouth at a party I didn’t even attend was the last fucking straw.

There’s a reason I never bothered to leave the house as a teenager. Every thing I did or didn’t do resulted in a big performance of outrage by my fat bitch of a mother and an arbitrary month+ long penalty of grounding and friendlessness. So, fuck it. You can’t prevent me from doing anything I’m already choosing not to do anyway, you sadistic fuck.

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corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

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C’s (1/?) Destiel Rec List:

That gets less and less coherent as it goes.

So here is a rec list by order in which I read them and not by preference. They’re like, All Destiel, because that’s how Post-November C rolls:

First on the list is The Courtship of Combat by bendingsignpost 18k

I KNOW it’s not Thee fic by bendingsignpost that everyone is talking about. I know. BUT, I dearly enjoyed it. It’s the first in a series and it’s A/B/O. (I know. I know. Don’t @ me. Or do.) It’s pre-relationship and the characters are definitely themed toward early-Destiel if you catch my drift. Omega!Dean’s hand is being fought over. This wouldn’t matter to Castiel except he totally told Michael that the reason he wouldn’t marry anyone is because he’s head over heels for the Winchester Omega that he doesn’t even have a real recollection of ever meeting. It’s like the perfect balance of a meet-cute and meet-ugly. I just LOVE bendingsignpost’s Castiel voice. It’s such a great characterization.

I’M GONNA SCREAM THE SECOND ON THE LIST IS ANOTHER A/B/O?!? I swear I don’t read that much A/B/O, but this is another exception because it’s Biological Imperatives (Or Not) by tiamatv 29k

Tiamatv is one of my favorite writers. If you’re unfamiliar with their work, I’m gonna rec more of it to you. No worries. THIS lovely piece of work is a Beta/Beta narrative that focuses on how hilarious A/B/O tropes are from an outsider perspective, but doesn’t do it in a way that feels insulting to the classical tropes. It’s just people living their lives where these situations happen not often but enough that they know how to deal with it. Dean and Cas have several first dates trying to figure out what’s happening between the two of them. Castiel is thee love of my life in this piece. And Dean’s headspace makes for a witty narrative.

If you know me at all, you know this next one HAD to be a regency and it’s Of Lords and Letters by MalMuses 14k

Dean is the master of the Winchester estate after his father passes. Unfortunately for the estate (but much to Dean’s pleasure), he can’t run it personally because he’s at war. Not that he likes war all that much, but it’s what he knows. War he knows. Sam is a conniving but well-meaning little brother and puts him in contact with Mister Castiel Shurley. (I KNOW. I KNOW. I allow Castiel Shurley in recent fics only if Chuck is cast as an asshole, and he is :)) But seriously, it’s SO Regency. There’s letters, pining, propriety, and men in period suits. What more could you ask for?

Y’all probably gonna immediately peg who I am as a person when I say Always Together, Eternally Apart by EmiliaOagi 27k is probably one of my top ten Destiel fics.

Here’s the thing—Ladyhawke is probably my second favorite movie in the entire world beat only by The Princess Bride. (Seriously, if y’all wanna bribe me with anything, it will always be that.) NOT ONLY does EmiliaOagi beautifully incorporate the source material, but once more Dean Winchester is SO Dean Winchester it hurts. This piece is from Sam’s perspective, and his running inner monologue is both insightful and entertaining. If you’re unfamiliar with the plot of Ladyhawke, I refuse to spoil it for you. Some things must be experienced, and this is one of them. Either by reading this lovely work or by viewing the original film, you’ll understand the legend that so captivates me.

OH ANOTHER DELICIOUS ONE and it’s like in that vein of Retired Hunters But Not Yet Together Destiel is Welcome to Pine Shores! by andimeantittosting (Saylee) 20k

It’s always fun reading Dean character studies, and this is definitely one of them. So the long and short of it is PINING FOR DAYS (this was written for Pinefest) and Dean trying to set up Cas with other people because he thinks Cas might want more. Oh, and did I mention they’ve been running this motel for like thirteen years? And they share a bed? *Tropes Intensify*

There is also Dean Winchester and the Patron Saint of Blind Dates by goldenraeofsun 18k which I think some of y’all are familiar with.

Sort of what it says on the tin, to be honest, folks. Dean’s friends set him up with some blind dates and the bartender—Castiel—grips his Purple Nurple tight and raises him from perdition. (And no, it’s not a euphemism.) The dates are sort of outrageously in character and interestingly enough this is a Sam/Ruby fic too! I sort of liked how it played out in this piece. If you’re worried about the Sam/Ruby dynamic, fear not! They were both former addicts and have since been clean for (a year or two? I don’t recall the time frame.) Dean has a love/hate sort of relationship with an emphasis on hate with Ruby since she’s the one who got Sam into drugs (allegory for the demon blood) but she’s also the one to try to go clean first. I just thought that was an interesting take, and one I would’ve linked to have seen the show pursue to be honest, but Supernatural has to keep the hot ladies dead or villains or both haha ;)) I digress. It’s a smaller read but the subject matter is pretty heavy. From former religious cults to the former addicts, please keep in mind if mentions of these things make you uncomfortable. It’s definitely the one whose subject matter stuck out the most to me. So apologize if I’ve missed mentioning anything specific for y’all in the previous recs or this one.

WAIT THIS NAME LOOKS FAMILIAR!??! IT’S andimeantittosting (Saylee) BACK AT IT AGAIN BUT THIS TIME WITH The Winchester Affair 34k !!

SAYLEE YOU HAD TO MAKE IT ONTO THIS LIST TWICE. Another Regency, except this time Castiel is long time friends (with benefits *eyebrow wiggles*) with Dean. He’s in love with him, obviously, so this means that an asshole named Zachariah that we all know and loathe comes around planning to frame his poor sister (Hael) with stealing Mary Winchester’s brooch if Castiel doesn’t find some damning evidence on the Winchesters for him. DRAMA AHOY!!! This is a very harlequin/regency novel. It’s actually based off of a novel called Ware the Marquess as is the wont of the Destiel Harlequin Challenge. Very good challenge to check out; very excellent fic to read. And the author so nice we listed them twice. ;) SIDE NOTE: This is totally one of those Regency ones where It Simply Isn’t Done, if you know what I mean. Like, no one is outright slurring or something that I can recall (and it isn’t tagged so I doubt there is), but it Isn’t Done, But They Love Each Other Very Much.

So you guys know Scoobynatural is my comfort episode, right? Well, one of my favorite things that I’ve delightfully discovered is the trope of building off of Cas’ one-liner about being effin’ married, so have The Nikkah by Maxine (WinchesterPooja) 28k!

Reads like a Case-fic as there’s an entire sub-plot happening with Sam. So this story happens well within the canon despite being canon-divergent. This one does end happy!! There’s a view episode like fics I might rec that end in canon-fashion with Dean repression and I love the pining and all but sometimes I need sweet fandom closure. Long and short of it: Djinn culture? Djinn queen? Fake-relationships? Sam dealing with nightmares? This baby can fit SO MUCH ACTION into a fic.

Okay, so you know the fic with the Bee Movie allegory? (It’ll come up on this reclist.) This has the same vibe, except for the relationship is out of order and Dean is Diagnosed with If I Do It This Way It’s Okay. Yeah, it’s Command Me to Be Well by prosopopeya 28k

Human Cas, back from the dead, post-finale, and Dean is trying to figure out how to get his happy ending. I’ve seen this one make the rounds on fic rec’ing so I think it’s a bit familiar, but I enjoyed it. Even though—as my bookmark says—I usually don’t go in for hurt/comforts with heavy on the hurt because my poor heart can’t take it. This is one of my few exceptions. This one has a healthy dose of Castiel standing up for himself with the bittersweet tang of him literally willing to do so much for Dean. But it’s a Dean perspective, so it really deals with a lot of his inner thoughts.

This one is,,,, in a similar vein as Command Me to Be Well. I guess I was in a mood. Baby, Come On Home by woodenducks 9k.

IT’S SEASON NINE WITH A SIDE OF PINE. What more could you ask for angst? Human Cas in Rexford trying to make a life for himself when all he wants is to go home. But he’s also trying to figure out what home even is for him. There’s a lot of drama between Dean and Cas, because of course Dean wants him there. But blah blah angels and blah blah whatever excuse the writers wanted so we couldn’t have human Cas and Dean in the bunker. We KNOW obviously the only thing keeping canon Dean from snapping was the fact that Cas was not human around him. *heavy eyeroll*. Anyways, this is a heartbreaking read from Castiel’s perspective.

One of my favorite Rescue Cas from the Empty fics is (they'll never break) the shape we take by auroralynches (teresavampa) 9k.

There’s this super cool concept of how Castiel experiences his regrets within the Empty and how Dean navigates through them to get to Castiel. I really enjoyed it, and of course the greatest love story ever told has got to have SOME theatrics and sentiments that are definitely reflected in this fic. My point is, I really love when Empty Rescue fics include analyzing Castiel’s regrets, and this one does so but from Dean’s perspective. As in Dean is viewing Castiel’s memories and trying to perceive his regrets.

Sooooo Epistolary by tiamatv 9k eh?

I love love LOVEEEEEE epistolary fics. I love them. I’ll always read them. And I totally told you I loved tiamatv. This is probably another one for the top ten fics just because it plays into my things. Love letters, music, and misunderstandings, oh my!!

HERE’S A VERY SEXY TERRIBLE LIFE ----> Ties that Bind Us by TheTwistedWillow 13k

Okay, so BASICALLY what if It’s A Terrible Life happened in like, circa-season 13 and Castiel was thrown in with Dean Smith and Sam Wesson. Literally all that I wanted in this fic. I do mean it’s sexy, by the way. I can’t even begin to explain this fic beyond it’s Castiel’s perspective, and he has some awareness that something is off. And being inside Castiel’s head when he’s not Castiel gets me every time.

OKAY I KNOW THIS IS THE THIRD A/B/O FIC ON THIS LIST I KNOW I KNOW The Mills School for Distinguished Girls by SillyBlue 13k IS WORTH IT THOUGH?!?!

Alpha Dean Winchester is going off to war. In the meantime, his family still doesn’t know about his marriage to Omega Castiel (in fact, they still think Castiel is a Beta.) Male Omegas are very rare in this universe, and it is addressed along with the fact that just because Castiel might look different on the outside doesn’t make him any different than the girls. Which I thought was a thought-provoking interpretation. There’s prejudices here—a lot of them against women and omegas—and a temporary character death which actually moved me to tears. I bookmarked this saying bring the tissues; bring the tissues.

THE BEE MOVIE FIC THE BEE MOVIE FIC THE BEE MOVI— according to all known laws of life by sobsicles 29k sobsicles I owe you a great slice of pie.

Sobsicles, my beloved, my bestie <3 (am I allowed to say that? I mean it affectionately. Well and truly.) You REALLY got in my head with this one. This is literally such an insane read that I read it twice in a row. Yeah, whoops. Cas is back from the empty and Dean is an asshole about it because feelings are hard. Here is what I bookmarked this fic with: “Dean Winchester has issues. He gets through them. Like a Bull in a China Shop, but he gets through them. The metaphor works.” And that is EXACTLY what happens. Dean is such an asshole and I LOVE IT. 14yr me would cry at the concept of reading this but 14yr me is a tasteless bitch. This is where it’s at. Dean has so much he’s mentally working through and Cas won’t take no shit and Sam is tired. It’s great. I love it. I know we rec sobsicles left and right over here (and I know there’s a new one I haven’t read yet) but this one is really my favorite. And I know some people feel uncertain when fics/authors get popular in a fandom, so if this isn’t for you that’s okay!! But well and truly this is just one of those in the top ten Destiel fics of my heart.

Baby Jack during the Widower Arc truther here like Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim by Sickandtiredofyou 14k

I’ve seen this one rec’d before but not enough. Like this one SHOULD be talked about. Because I am a Baby Jack Truther, and putting a baby in the widower arc is my literal weakness. Dean goes crib shopping. He paints the nursery. He does that season 2&3 thing he does where he wrecks something so that he has to rebuild it. He’s mourning. He’s crying. Sam is afraid to hold a baby. There’s a lot of emotions and they’re raw. Promise there’s a happy ending, but be ready to cry first.

Another sam pov because i love my little brother Letters to Nowhere by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales) 28k

AWWW YES. So this is another Empty Rescue fic. This one plays up the Orpheus and Eurydice lore, but in a surprising twist this is Sam’s POV!! Sam doesn’t know the full story, and we as the audience aren’t granted omnipresence for this fic either. It’s just point blank is his emotions. Him worrying for Dean, missing Cas, and wanting a happy ending for all of them. It’s sort of epistolary with how Sam is texting Castiel’s phone, but in general it is Sam Winchester wanting to save both of his brothers. So despite it being Destiel, the Destiel is almost the background ship since this story is Sam’s story and how Sam witnesses their story. It’s pretty meta in that sense, in that he’s aware there’s this grand story going on and we as an audience know there’s this grand love story happening, but we’re reading Sam’s story.

One of those i mentioned where its like an episode and they just end with tension between them >:((( but SO enjoyable and very much like an actual MotW Soul Searching by Lottiethroughthelookingglass 13k

It is in a screenplay format, but I didn’t mind that. It’s definitely a fun read! I thought the characterizations were pretty grand all-in-all. No get together though in this one if you’re looking for Destiel. Sorry. But it does make its way on to the list because we deserved a body swap episode and never got it.

This is like the third fic by tia and im not sorry and it’s Filoplume by tiamatv 8k !!!!

Its SOULMATES BAYBEEEE!!! But it’s not destined Soulmates. It’s like… soul compatibility, but only AFTER you’ve forged the bond. Self-Made Soulmates as it were. Very achingly and lovingly sentimental. Like, I think I’ve read this one four times in one week? It’s the shortest rec on this list (and while I definitely have shorter works bookmarked, I wanted this rec list to be longer ones for some reason I guess) but it feels longer. Maybe because every paragraph is like a gut punch. egGH. It’s another Empty Rescue by-the-by and Dean’s soulmark (given to him by Cas after Castiel’s Despair Confession) helps get him into the Empty.

OHOHOH LEVERAGE AU!!?! The Jericho Job by giantteenwolforgy 20k

The first in a series and I am SO EXCITED FOR MORE. I absolutely adore Leverage, so seeing this was like clearing my skin with care products I’ve never used. The characterizations are amazingly well done and vivid. They feel so unbelievably real and it makes me an eager beaver to get to the meat of them connecting as a team and family, but the slow burn is well worth it.

Yes, yes, Dean needs him, and need = love for Dean’s vocab but what does dEAN WANT and what does want mean to Dean? Find out in if you try sometimes, well you just might find by JenTheSweetie 9k

I’ve always been a huge fan of metas that dissect Dean’s differeniation of need vs want, and this whole work was like one of those metas. It’s a Cas POV of him trying to figure out how to read this man that he knows so well. It pulls out the angst and it makes me ache, but promises there IS a happy ending and Dean WANTS it.

Shush you know you want Goodbye Stranger meets Detroit: Become Human you knOW YOU WANT IT Digital Heartbeat by Chancy_Lurking 14k

MHM IT’S SO GOOD. Talk about good characterization. This work is almost a time piece? There’s a few skips in the timeline but you get the good parts and what’s needed for a full narrative. Castiel is an android sent by Cyberlife to the Men of Letters for aiding in hunting. He’s—of course—assigned to the brothers Winchester.

Shush delicious content right here mwah Heartstring Promenade by SaltyWords (agent4hire22) 17k

Another Empty Rescue?!? Yeah, yeah it is. Dean is sort of reckless. And by that, I mean a lot. But it’s fine. All happy endings, and smutty endings too. ;))

This is one of two 36-questions inspired fics I’ve got bookmarked, but the sex in this one hits my preferences too perfectly so it gets the spot and this list is getting too long to include all of my bookmarks to include both of them anyways but Seek to Know You Better by ahurston 32k mhmmmmmm

This fic is very personal to me. I couldn’t explain even if you asked me to. It might be the Florida Citrus Tree expressionism in Cas’ thoughts, but idk it's such a mystery (the way you know me) by fleeceframe 20k has got it on the list.

Cas loses his memories for a short period of time. Dean and Sam introduce Castiel to Cas, and Dean and Cas have a heart to heart. <3

A vERY interesting premise in a fool's kind of careless by Paclipas 9k

Dean is SUPER off his game when he can’t tell the difference between Cas and Not-Cas over the summer. Canon-fic.

A FIC FROM 2018?!?! WITH TIME TRAVEL??!? Ye ye it is Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord 24k

Dean of 2018, married to Castiel, swaps places with his newly dragged from Hell 2008 self. Time shenanigans and Bobby Frickin’ Singer ensue.

This one is ONE I AM OBSESSED WITH ACTUALLY And Neither Do You by callsigntango 45k like if it's not the one everyone starts talking about :((( is SO GROSS how callsigntango describes the empty and i lOOOVEEEE ITTTTT. Also plays into a Florida myth I totally forgot about so high-key freaked me out. Hahah.

#spn #spn fics #destiel #destiel fics #destiel fan fic #fic rec #fan fic #rec list #a fan fic rec list #feel free to judge me <3 #or talk to me about these fics ???#they're great #let's start a book club and scream about writers

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zmwrites · 4 years

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tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose?

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft.

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her.

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado, @radiowrites, @pigeon-hold, @sleepyowlwrites, @akindofmagictoo, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

#tag games #about me

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alexiessan · 4 years

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Never alone - Chapter Five - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Thank you everyone for your feedbacks!

It makes me really happy to see that you like this story and motivates me to write.

Which is why you get two chapters this week!

Getting to know each other turned out to be pretty easy. Not only did the soulmate magic made them be at ease for each other, but Marinette made it a game out of it. The first game was a classic twenty questions, where they each got twenty questions to ask each other.

Robin was grateful that his soulmate didn’t ask for any too personal questions. She asked him if he had siblings but didn’t ask how many nor for their name. She asked for his favorite color, his favorite meal, his favorite kind of music. She asked for his pass time and favorite TV shows.

For each question they asked, the other would also answer. And thus, he told her how much he loved animals, that he had a dog, a cat, and a cow, and he was a vegetarian ever since he adopted said cow. He told her that he loved to read and to draw, and promised to show her one of his drawings after she nicely asked.

Then, she turned the game into two truths and a lie. And this one made him smile as he had done some crazy things as Robin which made it hard for her to figure out which one was the lie.

Then again, he was also surprised by some of the things she had done.

There was more to Marinette than it first appeared.

They stayed on the roof until five in the morning, only stopping because the blue-eyed girl was starting to fall asleep mid-sentence. So he took her in his arms and took her back to the window of her hotel room where they promised in a whisper to meet at the same time that night.

After four hours of talking, Robin was satisfied as he felt like he knew Marinette better than some people he had known for longer.

That’s probably what happens when you actually put effort into knowing someone, he mused as he got home.

Right as he got out of his uniform and prepared himself to go to bed to catch at least an hour of sleep, he remembered that he had to do a little bit of research about his soulmate.

Not to stalk her or to know everything about her by checking her background. But the feeling that he had seen her before didn’t disappear at all that night, and he wouldn’t be at peace until he knew why.

So he went to the Batcave, empty at this hour of the night, or rather, this early in the morning. As he sat at the computer and typed Marinette’s full name, he discovered that there was already a file on her.

This meant that his family had made some research about her prior to their meeting.

Upon opening the file, he cursed himself for not connecting the dots.

Back when Hawkmoth started to terrorize the city of Paris and Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared to fight against him, Batman had Red Robin investigating the matter.

He wanted to know who was behind the masks of the heroes and the villain, especially since the duo of heroes seemed to be made of children.

While magic was involved in the matter, it didn’t mix well with technology, so Tim had tried to run a facial recognition for the heroes, hoping the magic wouldn’t work on technology.

Unfortunately, Hawkmoth was the kind of guy to act from the shadows and there wasn’t any picture of him anywhere on the internet.

It took a good week, as Paris had millions of people, but they eventually got a result.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug and Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir.

Both were only thirteen when they first began their job as superheroes, and no adult was ever seen by their side.

It was also obvious that none of them had any training and were only trusting their instincts. Odds were that they were literally thrown into the superhero business without their consent and, most likely, without any proper explanation.

Damian remembered that he had rarely seen his father and his brothers so mad about something that didn’t have anything to do with the Joker. Batman had then called the Justice League of Europe himself, demanding to know why children were playing superheroes when it was their job, but was then asked nicely to mind his own business back in America and that Paris was not under Batman’s jurisdiction.

There was nothing they could do to help the two heroes, but they had been keeping tabs on the situation in Paris.

That explained why Marinette was not as awkward as she should have been with the “my soulmate has a secret identity” issue. She knew better than to ask personal questions since she herself had a secret identity to protect.

Damian sighed, massaging his temples. He didn’t want to keep too many secrets from Marinette. While he knew there were some things he wouldn’t talk about for some time — his childhood — and he wouldn’t reveal his identity before long, he still didn’t feel like keeping the fact that he knew her identity would be a good way to start any kind of relationship with her.

He would have to tell her when he’ll see her tonight.

Looking at the time on the computer, the youngest Wayne sighed.

So much for catching some sleep.

And he still had to have a conversation with his father.

Despite having only an hour of sleep that night, Marinette managed to wake up at six sharp, even before Alya.

Never before has she been in such a good mood after waking up so early and with only an hour of sleep.

It was a good thing that she got up before her friend too, as she had to figure out how to put contacts on.

“So, I get it that it went well last night?”

Marinette looked up from the little box of contacts, from which she was reading the instructions. She smiled at Tikki, who was looking at her with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, it went well. Sorry I didn’t take you with me.”

Tikki shrugged.

“It was probably better that way. He’s not a civilian, one small error from me and he would have you figured out.”

“We talked for hours. I was at peace with him, it felt like I knew him already and after we talked, it feels like I’ve known him way longer.”

The tiny god smiled.

“That’s part of the soulmate magic. You’ll always feel at ease with each other and the most time you spend together right after your meeting, the more you’ll feel like it. Do you know if your bond is a platonic or a romantic one?”

The designer winced as she poked her eye trying to put the contact on.

“That’s harder than it seems.” She tried once more before answering, “Well, I think Robin is very attractive.”

Which was exactly what told you if your bond is romantic or not. The bond didn’t make you instantly love your soulmate, no, those feelings would develop at your own pace, but instant attraction was the key to know whether a bond is platonic or not.

You’re attracted to your soulmate? The bond is romantic.

You’re not attracted to your soulmate? The bond is platonic.

It’s as simple as that.

“It’s a romantic one, then! I’m so happy for you Marinette!”

“Thank you, Tikki.” the designer smiled.

They were silent then, Tikki enjoying a cookie and the black-haired girl still trying to put the contact on.

It took approximately ten tries before she finally put it on, and just as Alya was knocking on the bathroom’s door.

“Are you almost done?”

The baker’s daughter opened the door with the brightest smile she couldn’t manage.

“It’s all yours!”

The journalist giggled.

“Well, aren’t you happy?”

“I’m always happy, Alya! Come on, now. Go take a shower and change, I can’t wait for today’s visit!”

When Damian came home from school that day, he went straight to bed to take a good nap before dinner. He had done his homework during the day so he could have the evening entirely free. If he wanted to announce to his family that he met his soulmate during dinner, it would be after he was well-rested.

No way was he dealing with that when he was half asleep.

It’s Titus who woke him up twenty minutes before dinner, barking behind his door, probably wanting to be let out outside.

He took the dog outside, playing with him and petting him for a while before Alfred came to tell him that dinner was ready.

After washing his hands, he joined his father and his brothers at the table, wondering how he should bring up the topic of meeting his soulmate.

Turned out, he didn’t have to worry as Dick brought it up himself.

“So, Damian, don’t you have something to share with the family?”

It was enough to silence them all.

Jason raised a brow.

“Something’s wrong, demon spawn?”

The green-eyed boy sighed, putting his fork down.

“Nothing’s wrong, Todd. It’s just…” he turned to look at his father. “I met my soulmate last night. As Robin.”

It was silent once again until Jason let out a low whistle.

“Damn, that’s news. Wonder how she is.”

“She’s such a cutie!” exclaimed Dick.

Bruce cleared his voice.

“I see. It’s a little problematic that you met her under your alias, but… Congratulations, Damian.”

“So that’s why you came back at five in the morning.” mused Tim.

“Come on, tell us about her little D.”

The youngest sighed. They would meet her eventually, so it was better to give them the information they were seeking.

“She’s a French student here on a trip for your Career Program, father.”

“She’s from the winning class that will be interning next week, then?”

Damian nodded.

“I’ve run a background check on each of them. Ladybug and Chat Noir are among them.”

Tim frowned. “Will Paris be alright with them away?”

“They must have a plan to keep Paris safe, they wouldn’t leave just like that.”

Damian took a deep breath.

“About that… My soulmate’s name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Dick’s, Tim’s and Bruce’s eyes visibly widened and Jason let out a snort.

“Figured your soulmate would be a hero.”

“At least, that means she’s understanding about your identity, right?” asked Dick.

The young heir nodded.

“I see. Will you tell her that you know about her identity?” asked his father.

“I will. If I want us to start on the right foot, it’s the best thing to do. She understands that I have to keep my identity a secret, but it’s another thing to know hers and to keep it a secret.”

Bruce nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“You’ve grown, Damian.”

Damian could feel his ears go red from his father’s praise.

“I know that you can’t keep your identity a secret from her forever but… I trust you to wait until you completely trust her before you do tell her, and telling us beforehand, as once she knows about you, it won’t be hard for her to figure out ours.”

“Of course, father.”

Dinner then went as usual, until they all stood up after finishing and his father came to him, giving him an unexpected and somewhat awkward hug.

“I’m happy for you.”

As he saw his brothers smile at him from behind his father, Damian thought that, maybe, from now on, he could talk a little more to his family.

One step at a time, though.

They agreed with his father that he wouldn’t be patrolling for the next two weeks so he could get to spend time with the tiny French girl for the duration of her trip.

It was the first time that Damian didn’t protest about sitting out of patrol.

Marinette was in Gotham for only two weeks, and he wanted to get to know her as much as possible during those two weeks.

So when he took her to the roof at one sharp after giving her his cape to hide her from sight, he told her that they could meet earlier if she wanted.

They agreed to meet at eleven from now on, as her roommate tended to fall asleep around ten, luckily for them.

Before they got in another conversation to learn more about each other, he had to bring up a delicate issue.

“I need to tell you something.”

Marinette smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but compare this smile to the sun.

“What is it?”

He winced before taking a deep breath.

“Back when Hawkmoth appeared in Paris, we couldn’t believe that the superheroes were just two children so we investigate a bit to help. The JLE rejected our offer though… Anyway, we did some facial recognition for Ladybug and Chat Noir and… Well, to put it simply, I know that you’re Ladybug, and I thought it would be better to tell you I knew than to keep this piece of information from you.”

The fashion designer stared at him, completely silent. He stayed silent too, giving her all the time she needed to process what he just told her.

“I see.”

He could see her having trouble breathing, on the verge of a panic attack.

He hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t need to worry, except for us, no one knows and we won’t tell anyone.”

Marinette took a few breaths before looking at him.

“Sorry. It’s the first time someone figured out my identity and I’m trying not to freak out. I’ve always been told how important it is that no one knows about me being Ladybug that I can’t help but panic.”

“Understandable. But, no one knows about you being Ladybug?”

The teenage girl shook her head no.

It made Robin mad. That girl had so many great responsibilities on her shoulder, and no adult to guide her or to vent to when it became too much.

“What kind of person just drop a miraculous to a child anyway?” he asked not too kindly.

Marinette flinched.

“The guardian… He just chose people that were the most compatible with the miraculous… And children are less likely to use the miraculous for evil so…”

“It doesn’t excuse anything. You were just a child without any guidance. You shouldn’t have the responsibility of Paris’ safety on your shoulders.”

The girl shrugged.

“There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“I could always introduce this guardian to my sword.”

“He’s not here anymore.”

As he was about to answer to that, mad that she was now completely alone except for her partner in all this business, she raised a hand.

“But let’s not talk about it. You know about me. That’s one secret I don’t have to keep and honestly, it’s like a weight off my shoulders, even if it’s not ideal that you know.”

She stopped to take a deep breath, now completely calm. She raised her head, looking at him in the eyes and giving him a shy smile.

“I won’t ask for your identity, don’t worry. We’ll cross that bridge when you’re ready, okay?”

He nodded, grateful that she didn’t ask for his identity in exchange for hers.

“Now, I remember you told me that you loved dogs. I have some very cute pictures to show you!”

Her smile was so bright and contagious that he couldn’t but smile a little too, as he got closer to her to watch her phone over her shoulder.

Tag list:

@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @mikantsume @dast218

#maribat #ml x dc #miraculous x dc #daminette #maridami #damian x marinette

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dragons-bones · 4 years

Text

FFXIV Write Entry #12: Nock, Draw, Loose

Prompt: tooth and nail | Master Post | On AO3

I don’t know a damn thing about archery, so this is probably riddled with errors, but that’s a worry for editing.

When Rereha Reha, at seventeen, threw up her hands, cussed out the Thaumaturge’s Guild, and ran off to Gridania, there were three people who were utterly unsurprised by this: Dancing Heron, her best friend since before either of them can remember; Synnove Greywolfe, her other best friend for seven years; and Janchette Vainchelon, her archery instructor.

(Well, there were four: Rerenasu Kukunasu, her father, but he was disqualified on the technicality that he was surprised it took her that long to realize just how unhappy she was. His little sunbeam was so very good at egging on Synnove’s rebellion from her mother, but did rather more poorly when it came to bucking off Shushuha’s expectations.)

Janchette was, perhaps, one of the finest archers of her generation—or she would have been perceived as such, had she been born to Wildwoods of the Twelveswood, and not a family of Duskwights living on the nebulous scrubland border of the Shroud and Thanalan. She had learned her craft providing for her family, and then working as a mercenary until creaking joints forced her retirement. Unlike some of her merc peers, however, she had been foresighted enough to save the majority of her coin, and she had enjoyed her old family home, now rather more well-to-do than the rough cabin of her girlhood, until a few friends had written to her on behalf of an acquaintance of theirs, whose daughter was keen to learn the bow.

Instructing a rich Ul’dahn merchant’s daughter would probably end up as a fruitless endeavor, but it was coin, and it would break the monotony, and so Janchette had answered Radiant Opal and Towering Sentinel’s letter, and made her way to Ul’dah.

Little Miss Rereha was all of thirteen when Janchette met her and exactly what the elezen had expected: pink hair pulled into a bun secured with a jeweled hairstick, the dark skin of her face soft and blemish free from a regimented care routine, hands lacking calluses, and wearing a pretty sky blue frock embroidered with mariposa lilies and acacia flowers. She had been starry-eyed and bouncing on her toes; apparently, she had recently learned about the Autumn War in her studies with her tutor, and had been particularly enchanted by the recorded stories of archers using their bows as makeshift lyres and harps, weaving battlesong to turn the tide of battle.

Janchette had not expected this flight of fancy to last long, not when the young lady would discover how much worked was required. Miss Rereha, at least, was well-mannered and courteous for all her exuberance, so while the engagement would be short, it would not be as unpleasant as it could.

Her first surprise, though she did not show it, was when Rereha arrived at the rented archery range in sensible breeches and short-sleeved shirt, hair pulled back into a single plait, and a plain though well-made yew box, perfectly sized for a lalafell.

Her second surprise was that Rereha breathed not a word of complaint when they spent the entirety of their first lesson on teaching her how to draw her bow.

“The draw is the foundation for all of archery,” Janchette had explained. She had needed to sit on the ground to properly help Rereha adjust her feet, her posture, the grip of her tiny fingers on the string. “There are plenty of tricks and feats of dexterity a master archer can perform, but if she doesn’t know how to get a proper draw, she’s liable to hurt herself rather than an enemy.”

At the end of the lesson, Rereha’s right arm shook, the muscles in the limb and her shoulder and back twitching from exertion, but she had successfully managed to get a full draw on her bow.

“Very good!” Janchette had exclaimed, genuine in her delight, and Rereha had beamed. “Now, until our next lesson, I want you to practice that draw whenever you can; don’t dry loose, just relax your arm and the bow again. Take a hot bath when you get home and put on some liniment if you need to; you’re working muscles that aren’t used to being worked, and taking care of your body is as important as taking care of your bow.”

And during the second lesson, it had been clear that Rereha had been practicing: her arm still had a barely perceptible tremble, but the draw and hold had been rock steady.

Janchette had admitted to herself she might have underestimated this story-loving chit.

The real test had come when Janchette had allowed to Rereha to live fire. She had had to find a box for Rereha to stand on so she could properly center the target in her sight, but as always, Rereha didn’t complain, even as her cheeks puffed in frustration.

“More lalafell in Ul’dah than anywhere in Eorzea and everything’s still hyur height,” she had grumbled as her teacher made sympathetic noises.

Rereha’s first attempts at firing had been an unmitigated disaster: the arrows only made it a few fulms down the range, if that. It was obvious Rereha’s frustration had been growing, but Janchette put her foot down.

“Don’t worry about aim,” the Duskwight had said. “I don’t care if your shot goes wide. Keep firing.”

They had to stop and collect the arrows littering the floor, but at the end of that lesson, Rereha pulled, and breathed, and—

—her arrow had embedded in the wooden wall behind the target, a full fulm wide of the outer ring.

Both Rereha and Janchette had whooped with excitement, and then Rereha had yelped and lowered her arms

“I think I pulled too hard,” she had whined, flexing her fingers and rotating her draw arm.

“And now you know not to do that again,” Janchette had said, even as she had grinned. “Well done, little miss.”

The day Rereha had landed her first bullseye, Janchette had taken the little girl to her favorite tavern to celebrate, where they had served (and still did) the best marmot stew in Thanalan, spiced to eye-watering perfection. Rereha had wolfed down three bowls, happily sopping up the remaining liquid with fresh, hot bread, all what chattering about her music lessons, interspersed with questions about the jobs Janchette had taken as a merc. And, for the first time, Janchette had answered them.

Eventually, Rereha didn’t need formal lessons, but she always arranged for time on the shooting range a few times a sennight. Janchette wandered back to her house in the scrubland, but would blow back into Ul’dah on a whim to drag her former student to the range and teach her some ridiculous new way to get a draw on a bow not made for a lalafell. The not-quite-a-lady would still babble happily about her music lessons, ask questions about archery, but bitched about thaumaturgy and her mother’s desire for her to join the Order of Nald’thal.

“Like, okay, yeah, the giant explosions are pretty cool. Fire good,” Rereha had said during one such training session, drawing back a Gridanian longbow without fuss and adding to the cluster of arrows at the bullseye. “And it’s stupidly easy for me to do, sure, okay, natural talent blah blah blah, but gods, Synnove is the bookworm, not me. And five of the Coco brothers are there, Thal take them.”

Janchette had hummed, providing no commentary, but over bowls of marmot stew after, as had become their tradition, she shared what stories she had of the archers of the God’s Quiver, and an old man who wandered the land but had been recently spotted in the Twelveswood for the first time in decades, a bow on his back but a harp in his arms.

The Wildwoods of Gridania could choke for all she cared, but they were some of the best. And even she had heard of Jehantel; even if he gave up no secrets of archery, Rereha would prefer the songs, anyway.

So, when word reached of her one of Ul’dah’s most notorious socialites scampering off to the Black Shroud with only a single pack of clothing, a quiver on her back, and a bow in hand, Janchette raised a toast to her erstwhile student.

Rereha would do just fine.

#ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv #oc: rereha reha #oc: janchette vainchelon #dt's writing

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #376

“when the wind bends the branch to softly touch me / when the band plays your song / i feel strong enough to keep dreaming”

If your s/o smoked pot/did drugs would you care? Yes, but for pot that's only because it's illegal here. I also find smoking to be a turn-off, but I'd be able to look past that if it was for actual health reasons. Do people ever call you by your last name? No. Has the last person you dated/fell in love with ever seen you cry? Yes. Where are you going on your next vacation (or where do you WANT to go)? I've got none planned, nor do I know where I'd want to prioritize. Like there's South Africa, but I first need to get healthier before I could handle the heat and trudging through sand. I want to go to Yellowstone National Park to spread Teddy's ashes there (seeking permission of course), but again, I need to be in better shape before I go on a venture of photographing there, as well. I need to be healthier to do a lot of the things I want to... Do you own anything bought in another country? No. Who do you text the most? Sara. Four things you wish you had? Better health (including mental), financial stability, a job, and motivation to indulge more in my artistic hobbies. What was the last thing you cried about? Stress regarding this dog we're stuck with. What is your favorite Elvis song? Probably "You're The Devil In Disguise." Do you think you could be the next American Idol? Ha, absolutely not. Do you prefer reading fiction or non-fiction? Fiction, by a long shot. Does anybody send you money in the mail for your birthday? No. My grampa used to, but he's been dead a couple years. Who is one person you met and automatically didn’t like? I was not a fan of a doctor I once saw for my tremors. She was very rude and just threw the idea of me having Parkinson's or something at what, 17 years old or whatever? My psychiatrist knows her as well and knows she's a whackjob. Heard her name and was essentially like "ew" lmao. What monster would you be most afraid to have in your closet? A male one with a knife, I guess. I really hate knives. And men scare me anyway. Which Adam Sandler movie do you like the most? I don't know, he's in too many to possibly think of one right off the top of my head. Who was one of your first celebrity crushes? Jesse McCartney was my first true love, haha. Have you ever been hit on through text messages? Yes. Do you have to do any yard work? No. Have you ever mowed the lawn? No. Do you get an allowance? No. Did you ever know your great grandparents? I think I knew one? There was this woman from my childhood I knew as "GG" for "great grandma," but I have no recollection of who she was related to or even if she was directly related to me. I remember that I really really liked her, though. Do you like the taste of Tums? It's the texture I really don't like. The candy-like Tums though, y'know, not the chalky ones, I like more than someone should like medicine, haha. How about Pepto Bismol? Omfg no. Do you have a fast or slow metabolism? I have a slow metabolism, but thank Christ it's not as bad as when I was on Abilify. That stupid fucking medicine was the reason I gained so much weight that I haven't been able to lose. What’s your favorite onomatopoeia? (Crash, bang, zoom, meow) I dunno. Do you eat ramen? There's only one specific kind of ramen I've had that I like: Yakisoba's spicy chicken one. Sweet or regular pickles? Regular. I don't like sweet pickles. What kind of dreams do you have most often? Since my nightmares started, violent ones. I'm usually trying to defend myself or lashing out at someone myself. What do you do for personal growth? I try to be a deep thinker, for one. This can way too easily lead to overthinking, but I appreciate that I think it at least helps me learn from my mistakes and work towards making me a better person. I need to start challenging my anxiety more, as that would definitely be massive growth... If you could read anyone’s mind, who would be the first person you’d read? Jason's, only because all I want to know is if he thinks I was emotionally abusive after the breakup or not. But I also don't want to know. Do you have a makeup item or style trick that you feel improves your look significantly and that you feel like you couldn’t go without now that you have it? No. What’s your favourite cereal? Probably Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but I like a lot of cereals. Do you prefer red wine or white wine? I don't like wine. Way too bitter. Do you read Reddit? If so, how often and what subreddits do you like? I don't, but I've thought about lurking on a reptile husbandry one or something like that. Might learn some stuff. But at the same time, there are so many conflicting and very strong opinions amongst hobbyists to the point of awful toxicity that I'd rather not read. Have you recently broken up with a significant other or even just a friend? No. Have you ever eaten at a restaurant and left without paying? God no. When was the last time you played a board game? What did you play? Probably Scrabble back when Sara visited. Do you primarily use cash or card for your purchases? Why? Cash, because I don't have a debit or credit card. Do you believe sex should be mandatory in an ongoing dating relationship? Um, no? Some people don't care for it, and that's completely fine. Have you ever recorded yourself doing a cover of a song? No. Any secrets you’d never tell anyone? No matter how close they are to you? Yes. Do you like deviled eggs? NO. FUCK that yolk shit. What career are you most interested in? I still think my first career goal, a paleontologist, would be most interesting and exciting. Like just IMAGINE discovering a new dinosaur. And it's such a job of passion - you have to be so, SO careful and invest so much time in slowly recovering it from millions of years of rock and sand and time. I can only imagine the feeling of accomplishment when an excavation is complete. Have you ever seen a rooster? Yeah? What do you think about religion? Honestly, I personally wish it had never been a thing. It's brought with it so much hatred and bigotry, but I do acknowledge at the same time it's brought great comfort and hope to some people, and that's wonderful. But just all things considered, I feel it's done more harm than good. What’s your favorite sweetheart name (baby, honey, angel, dumpling) Probably "lovely." Has a little kid ever fallen asleep on your lap before? Yes, back when I babysat my neighbor's kid once. Have you ever thrown a grenade? Yikes, no. Have you ever talked face to face with someone famous before? No. Have you ever owned a rocking horse? I don't think so? If you could meet anyone in the world who would it be? HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM Have you ever wished you were dead? Yes. Is it awkward when people start talking all deep around you? No, I actually like deep convos. Have you ever played the old school Pac Man arcade game? Possibly? Ever played Mario Karts on Nintendo 64? No. Have you ever been scuba diving? No. Can you surf/boogie board? No. Do you like Chinese food, Mexican food, or American food better? American. What’s your favorite thing to order from Taco Bell? Cheese quesadilla and fiesta potatos. Sometimes I get the cinnabon delight thingies, but I avoid 'em with how unhealthy they are. Do you like hot, cold, or lukewarm showers? Pretty hot. Do you like to swing? I LOVED swinging as a kid. I haven't done it in a very long time now. How about jumping on a trampoline? I loved that as a kiddo, too. I haven't done that in years. What are you favorite color eyes? Sapphire blue or like an emerald green. Do you have long arm hair? Nah, at least I don't think so. What third generation console is your favorite? PS3, Xbox 360, or Wii? I loved my PS3. I'm still so bummed mine broke. How often do you like to have sex? I'm not sexually active, but even when I was, I didn't care. Do you have a facial expression you seem to pull a lot? What is it? Not really. I think I look stoic most of the time. Do you always listen to music when you’re online? No; I usually have a let's play or something like that on that I can split my screen and watch while doing something else. If so, what are you currently listening to? I'm listening to "Love Goes On And On" by Lindsey Stirling and Amy Lee right now. Do you ever forget how to do really simple things? Like what? Yes, like how to control the laundry machine and other things like that. There's just so many options that I never, ever remember what to set it to, no matter how many times Mom shows me. That's how my memory is with most things these days, really... Were you born with naturally straight teeth? No; I needed braces. If you were the opposite gender, what name would you like to be called? Uhhh maybe Severin. Do you prefer original or sour Skittles? I love both, but sour wins. What about chocolate or peanut M&M’s? I also enjoy both, but the original are better. Your favourite band: Do you prefer their old or new stuff? That's like... impossible to answer, lol. I just love everything. Do you check to make sure your ear phones are going in the right ear? No. Do you secretly still listen to Ace of Base? I have no idea who that is. Have you ever broken someone else’s bone? No, thank goodness. I'd feel awful. Is it stupid to think you can write a book at thirteen? No?????????? There are incredibly talented writers out there at young ages. Hell, I remember as a kid, I wanted to be the youngest published author way before that age. Are you ever embarrassed about what you dream about? There've been some I wouldn't share. Have you ever had sex with someone as a favor? No, and I never would. Does your mom let you date? I'm 25, my dude. She let me when I felt ready, though. If you had the last person you kissed’s Facebook password, would you go snooping through their stuff? Why or why not? She doesn't have one, but hypothetically, fuck no. Because that's none of my damn business, and it still wouldn't be even if we were still dating. Have you ever fainted? If so, when was the last time? If not have you ever come close? I've fainted once when I was a teen and have come close many other times. Ever take a keyboarding class? Do you type using the skills you learned in class, or how you used to before you took the class? Yeah; it was mandatory for I think one year in middle school. I type how I was taught in there. Do you find your best friend’s significant other/crush attractive? She doesn't have an s/o, and idk who her "real" crush is, as much as she'd love Frieza to be real, haha. What do you do with your clothes that don’t fit anymore or just don’t want? Donate them. Do you cut out coupons? My mom will keep some fast food ones she gets in the mail sometimes. Did you ever breathe in helium and talk funny afterwards? I think I did once at a birthday party, but I'm unsure. Would you ever open your own business? If so, what kind of business could you imagine yourself having? I want to be a freelance photographer so, so badly. I want to specialize in nature and wildlife, but having a boudoir studio would be great to help keep me afloat, plus I adore the art of boudoir. I've shot it once for an old friend, and by god, I loved how empowered it made her feel, especially as a plus-sized woman. She adored the pictures, and I'd just love to help other clients feel like they're gorgeous in their unique body, too. Last type of candy you ate? I had a donut from Starbuck's yesterday. Did you decorate your house for Halloween? If so, how many decorations? Did you go all out, or just put up a few things? Mom and I don't really decorate anymore. :/

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''love goes on and on (feat. amy lee)'' by lindsey stirling

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