#and yes. they continue to be incredibly upset if anyone attempts to spin this back around on them

[thegreatyin]

ya know, as a Silverer, *showing up to work* is actually pretty damn profitable lol

it's one of the strongest midgame options. Just go to Your Activities and you have access to a really damn good grind (that can also pay in bessemer ingots)

my god,,,, tempting them (and me) with their (my) only (one of many) weakness,,,,,,,,,, the yearn for profit

[ignitedbynatsu]

He Makes You Feel Insecure ~ Sting

A/N: Final-fucking-ly. excuse my language. You have no idea how long I’ve been playing with this idea in my head and just not being able to write it out. It was horrible. I hope you like it! I’ll try to post some more stuff the upcoming week but I can’t promise anything since everything is a bit overwhelming lately. Thank you for all the love and support! Don’t hesitate to drop me a request as well or just come and say hi 🥰

Warnings: insecurities (he makes you feel like you’re overdramatic), swearing, wounds

Genre: angst to fluff

Other versions:

Gray ~ Laxus ~ Cobra/Erik ~ Bickslow ~ Gajeel ~ Natsu ~ Jellal ~ Freed ~ Rogue

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

"Is that really all you got, Yukino" you taunted the girl as a smug look was plastered on your face. The celestial mage was panting heavily in front of you. She had come to you a couple of weeks ago to learn how to wield a sword since she felt useless in a battle when she didn't have her keys. You happily agreed to it, seeing it as an opportunity to train more.

She charged at you, holding the diamond sword you made earlier diagonally in front of her face, ready to strike but at the same ready to block any attack that comes her way, just like you taught her.

You swiftly moved away, spinning on your feet in the progress as you slowly formed diamond armour around your body. You wanted to practise closer combat without your sword, which is why you were so focused on your defence. You knew you wouldn't always be able to rely on your sword skills, so this was the perfect moment to practice. 

Nobody doubted for a second the fact that you were an excellent swordswoman,it was the exact reason why Yukino came to you in the first place. But you could get overconfident, resulting in you slacking your moves and getting careless, and that's exactly what happened

Your back was still facing the celestial mage as you took your time, presuming she wouldn't be able to recover that quickly after you swept her feet from underneath her. But you were wrong, resulting in Yukino getting a direct hit on you. Unbeknownst to her, she hit you in your blind spot which was right in between shoulder blades. It was the spot where your armour was the weakest.

You fell forward, immediately forming a dome made out of diamond around you in an attempt to shield you from any following attempts.

 Yukino gasped at your reaction, knowing you only made that move when you were hurt badly "(Y/N)! I am so sorry! I didn't mean to-"

You let the shield crumble down again, making you visible to your friend. Placing a knee on the ground and pushing yourself up, you winced at the burning sensation. "It's fine, I was careless. It's not your fault"

Your reassuring words didn't ease the worry that was swimming through Yukino's mind "I'll go get some stuff to clean it up"

"No, it's fine, I'll go get it myself in a bit." You stopped the girl from running away as you stood up straight in an attempt to show her you were fine "you are progressing really fast"

"It's all thanks to you. Are you sure you don't need me to check up on your wound?" She offered again.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Maybe I'll try roping Sting into pampering me. That way he'd at least has done something useful today" you attempted to joke to make the younger mage feel better, and it was a success as a small chuckled left her lips. "Let's go back shall we"

Once back, the stinging sensation had still not died down. In fact, it only got worse.

"Sting" you whined as you leaned your head against your boyfriend's shoulder.

He chuckled at your childishness as he turned to look at you "yes, my love?"

"I got badly hurt during training with Yukino" you pouted "can you take a look at it?"

A chuckle left his lips once again "sure drama queen, where is it?"

"I'm not being a drama queen" you stepped away from him, the pout was still evident on your face but this time it was paired with your scrunched eyebrows.

"Of course you're not" sarcasm dripping from the words that just left his mouth.

"What do mean by that?" Your lips were now tightly pressed together, forming a straight line. You were now standing directly in front of him with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

"Remember that time you thought Rogue got kidnapped while he just overslept?" Sting explained, but you were quick to defend yourself "in my defence, Rogue had never once overslept."

"Fine, what about that time I twisted my ankle and thought I had broken it for sure" the crease between your eyebrows deepened as he kept listing situations "or that time you thought some guy was harassing Minerva while they were just out on a date?"

"I was just worried" you mumbled as you recalled more encounters where you were indeed overdramatic.

  "All I'm saying is, you tend to enlarge things. That's why I'm pretty sure that it's only a scratch, after all, Yukino just learned how to handle a sword. There's no way she could've hit you, the best swordswoman of our guild, that hard. But if you want I could still look at the wittle wound" he cooed at you, unknowingly worsening your mood.

"No. It's fine. I'm probably just being overdramatic again" the coldness that was latched to your words, send shivers down the guild master's spine, but before he could even muster an apology, you had turned on your heels and left to go home.

That night when Sting came home, he apologized and told you he didn't mean to make you feel that way. However, his words felt shallow, leaving nothing but an empty promise to be better.

The following days, the burning sensation only got worse, but you kept telling yourself that it was nothing. It was probably only a scratch just like Sting said.

Ignoring the pain, you kept going on about your days like normal. You kept making mental notes to not get swallowed by the worry for your guildmates and blow everything out of proportion. You absolutely did not want to be known as the girl who cried wolf.

Nobody seemed to notice, at least, so you thought. The boy in the shadows that liked observing more than talking to people noticed every small change from the moment Sting called you overdramatic.

It's why he wasn't surprised when Sting called him one morning, panic coated every word he spoke "Rogue! (Y/N) isn't waking up! I don't know what happened! Shit! Rogue! Help! What do I do?"

"Get her to the hospital as soon as possible, I'll meet you there" he replied in a much calmer voice. He knew he'd make matters only worse if he'd let his own worry shine through.

Sting had successfully brought you to the hospital in under ten minutes, Rogue shortly arrived after you two.

"I don't know what happened... She seemed fine yesterday…" Sting trailed off as the twin dragon slayers were seated next to your hospital bed.

"Did she really though?" Rogue sighed which earned him a questioning look from the blonde " (Y/N) hasn't been herself for almost a week"

"What do you mean? She seems perfectly normal to me?" Sting's gaze averted from his friend to you as he tried to recall any odd behaviour, but nothing came to mind.

A heavy sigh left the raven-haired mage again "ever since you called her overdramatic, she's been acting more distant, being less expressive. I think you hit a nerve when you said those words"

Sting was quick to defend himself "it can't be that. I apologized that night, and she told me it was nothing, that she didn't care"

"Whatever you say" he mumbled as he noticed your hand twitching.

Sting quickly grasped that same hand and waited patiently for you to open yours, while anticipation filled his. "I'll go get a doctor"

Rogue re-entered with a doctor sooner after, once you were fully awake " Ah, miss (L/N) good to see you awake"

You nodded your head awkwardly before she continued "you had a nasty looking cut between your shoulder blades, were you aware of that?"

"Yes," you mumbled as you fiddled with your finger, afraid to make eye contact with anyone.

The doctor sighed as she put the clipboard down "there was an infection spreading from that wound due to pieces of diamond stuck in it. Had you waited any longer, you would have died. Why didn't you come sooner"

You felt incredibly small as all eyes were looking at you, waiting for you to respond "I didn't think it was that bad. I didn't want to seem overdramatic"

As soon as the last word rolled off your tongue, Sting's eyes grew wide in realization. Rogue was right. "We'll give you a moment"

"(Y/N)" you refused to meet his eyes, even when he grabbed your hand to stop you from fiddling, so he tried again but with a more stern tone this time "(Y/N) look at me"

You did as he requested and wished you could sink into the darkness as Rogue could right there and then. The hurt and disappointment that were swimming in his eyes made your gut wrench as you never intended to upset him "why didn't you say anything?"

"You said that I was being a drama queen and that there was probably nothing to be worried about, so I assumed that it was just that, me being my overdramatic self" you explained, your eyes averting again to your fingers that were now intertwined with Sting.

"I thought I told you I didn't mean that" he frowned at the fact that you didn't even dare to look at him.

"But you were right!" You explained fed up as frustration tears started to form in the corner of your eyes "I am overdramatic. I blow everything out of proportion. I am just a burden that brings unnecessary stress into everyone's lives"

"Okay stop that. First of all, you are not a burden, nobody thinks that so stop it. Second of all, I am really really sorry that I made you doubt yourself. You're not overdramatic, well maybe a little, but it's not a bad thing. It shows how much you care about all of us. I'd rather have you blow things out of proportion than minimalize it and have bad things happen like this" he explained.

"You really think so?" You ask, your watery eyes finally meeting his.

"I know so. I am so sorry for making you feel so insecure about yourself. That was never my intention, please forgive me" he pleaded.

"I forgive you, I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner about the wound" you reply as you kissed his hand.

"It's alright. Now get some rest, my love. I'll be here when you wake up"

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Regeneration Potion (Plat!C!Tommyinnit x Witch!F!Reader)

TW: Mentions of Dream's actions during Tommy's exile INCLUDING his un alive moment. YES I KNOW TUBBO CAN HAVE MORE THAN ONE FRIEND. SHUSH. PLOT.

Reader wears a dress most of the time. Also Tommy is around 17 (I forgot his canon age sorry)

I might make this a series!

☆Tommy P.O.V☆

His hotel was taken over.. His house was practically empty.. He was stared at everywhere he went.. His best friend replaced him instantly without much of a second thought.. His brother was dead, his other brother probably wanted to spill his guts for switching sides... He had... Nothing...

He had died for God's sake! Sure, he didn't expect people to immediately bawl their eyes out at the news, but he didn't expect to be brushed off so damn quick! He didn't expect the person he betrayed his brother for to replace him so quickly! He didn't... he... Was... Tubbo really his friend? He exiled him without checking up on him... He... He moved on so.. quick..

Standing over the giant crater once known as L'manberg, now covered with a thick sheet of glass... He wrapped his arms around himself and gave a sigh. In the distance, he could see Ranboo and Tubbo running around, most likely gathering materials for Sam Nook...

Gritting his teeth tightly, he felt a familiar burning behind his eyes before he stood up from a pile of dirt he claimed as a temporary chair. It took all of his power not to scream in emotional agony as he stormed away from the sight of his old best friend with someone else who he claimed as his new bestfriend.

Don't turn back...

With a few iron ingots and a low durability netherite sword to his name, Tommy walked as quickly as he could away from the memories. The sacrifices. The pain. The lonely feeling...

He had easily walked for a few hours, trying his hardest to find an area completely secluded from everything and everyone.

If they moved on once... They can move on twice..

He wanted to hold on.. He wanted to keep every little memory and object that he found comforting... But now... Everything he looked at caused a sharp pain to jolt through his heart...

He glanced up at the biome around him, only to frown slightly. It was a Dark Forest... But there was many problems..

He knew there were some large mushrooms, but he had never seen massive flowers bigger than a mansion! Everything... Felt weird... Somethings were incredibly varied in sizes! He spun around in awe as he stared at the different sized flowers and mushrooms scattered around him. Then... fear struck into his heart again...

Wilbur... He told him a story about a forest far to the north of L'manberg... Trees bigger than the eye could see, mushrooms taller than a house or smaller than a fingernail, flowers being anywhere from a millimeter tall to miles high into the air, all because of the land was protected by a Witch.

In the story, Wilbur said that only the lost and lonely would find that forest out of desperation to find salvation...

The Forest of the Forgotten...

His lips parted in surprise and he spun around to exit the land, in fear of upsetting the witch... Only to find a silhouette standing against the light a few inches away from him.

A not so manly scream tore from his throat and he hurriedly threw himself backwards, raising his arms above his head as he landed on the ground, "I'm sorry, Dream! I promise not to wander off again! Please don't take my stuff! Please I don't have anything left! Please...! Please!" He begged, tears spilling from his eyes as he scrambled backwards until he hit a tree. Tommy didn't even hear the foot steps wandering closer until a purple light rose into view.

He took a few gasps for air as he slowly lowered his hands. 'Dream's in prison. He's not here. He's not gonna hurt you again..' He carefully rose his gaze, only to see...

A young woman... She looked... Around his age!

She was kneeling on the ground a few feet away from him, just... Watching him. A black pointy hat was balanced on her (h/l) (h/c) hair that was nicely framing her (s/t) face. Her eyes were analyzing his every movement as they surged with purple flames... But they weren't threatening or violent... They were curious but calm..

He stared at her for a solid few seconds before realizing that the soft purple glow was coming from a ball of coloured fire in her hand. Mesmerized by the energy, Tommy hardly noticed when a dull pink glow appeared in his vision, only when the woman made effort to talk, did he notice.

"I... Don't know who Dream is.. But, I'm not here to take your stuff. That's a promise." She smiled softly, and moved her hand that held the pink glow closer to him. It... Was a Regeneration Potion. "Here, you look a little... Uhm... How do I say this nicely... Torn up...?"

Tommy couldn't hold back a frown as he rubbed his eyes free of tears. He forgot that his injuries from Dream hadn't healed yet... And probably wouldn't be healed for a long time. "Thanks... I guess.." He grumbled in an attempt to save whatever dignity he had left.

While he was considered naive, he wasn't stupid. He knew not to trust strangers immediately, so he uncorked the bottle and smelt it as he analyzed the colour to make sure it was really regeneration potion. At first, he wasn't going to drink it, but he quickly remembered that it wasn't like he had anything to lose, so he took a small sip.

It was dangerously sweet, much sweeter than Phil or Techno's potions, but it definitely wasn't awful and it for certain wasn't poison. He rolled his shoulders as he continued to sip at the potion while she stood up.

Dusting her black robe and dark (f/c) dress of any dirt, despite them being already dirty and a bit tattered, the (h/c) woman stood up and continued to clean the dirt off. "It will be getting dark soon... I'm not much of a fighter, so I will not be able to fend for the both of us if need be. Do you have a shelter nearby or would you like to seek refuge with me for the night?"

Did this crazy woman not know the meaning of stranger danger?

☆Your P.O.V☆

No matter how much you threw yourself into your studies, the looming loneliness never seemed to leave you..

Keeping to your daily routine, you begrudgingly lifted yourself out of bed and sat down at your vanity, glaring at your reflection that bared knotted hair and sleepy (e/c) eyes. Your non dominant hand stretched out towards your closet and watched as your irises lit up a bright surging purple, activating your magic. Your dominant hand began to run a brush through your hair while your other hand controlled the magic that was currently being used to sort through the row of clothes in your closet. Once you found an outfit that you deemed adequate, you made a quick gesture with your hand that caused the clothing to float onto your bed.

It didn't take very long to get ready, I mean, come on, you were in a large forest miles away from the closest village! It's not like you were going to be seeing anyone for a few more centuries.

Your house was cozy and rather small, but it housed you and your black cat Salem comfortably. It was nice and quiet where you lived.. Albeit dark and lonely..

The trees often covered the sun and prevented you from knowing what time it was, but you had stopped caring about the date long ago. It never mattered to you anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. Quit meowing. You act like you haven't eaten in a year." You rolled your eyes at the dramatic feline as you prepared your own breakfast first. Salem kept meowing loudly, standing beside her food bowl and swatting it every so often until you used your magic to toss a fish to her. "You done with your whining now? Big baby."

You rolled your eyes as you sat down with your bowl and quickly ate the fruits you had sliced up. Downside to living here, you primarily survived off of fruits and berries because animals rarely wandered into the forest, and if they did, well you kept them for their resources like milk or eggs or wool.

With a small sigh, you got up and washed your bowl, via magic so you didn't have to feel the burning sensation of the water on your skin, as you contemplated what you were going to do today.

Eventually you decided on going to walk through the forest to find more animals or scavenge for more fruits. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you double checked that it was stocked up with healing and regeneration potions just in case, only to throw your shoes on. Waving good bye to your lazy annoying cat, that you still love regardless, you shut the door and walked down the path.

The silence was normal... But god it was deafening when something stepped on a branch or when one of your chickens decided to give a particularly loud squawk, but it did indeed heighten your senses.

Giving a sigh, you rose your hand and a purple pulse flew from your hand then trailed down your body and travelled through the forest. Your magic didn't detect anything out of the ordinary except for once thing near the entrance.

"Ah.. God.. Please don't be a zombie.. I'm not a fighter.." You whispered under your breath before setting off towards the untouched and overgrown entrance of the forest.

Arriving to the main path, you looked over a little bit to see a tall blond male spinning around in absolute awe of the forest.

He then took a sharp breath and spun around, almost immediately coming face to face with you. The loudest scream you had ever heard left the boy and he quickly stumbled backwards until he fell to the ground and hit a tree, "I'm sorry, Dream! I promise not to wander off again! Please don't take my stuff! Please I don't have anything left! Please...! Please!" He practically cried apologies while he curled into a wall.

'What kind of reaction was that?!' You thought curiously as you kneeled down a few feet in front of him. Assuming that the dark had freaked him out, you summoned a ball of fire and held it out, using the time to study the strange boy. His dirty shirt was ripped and torn in several places, his skin was decorated with mud, soot, cuts, bruises and scars and his cheeks were damp with tears. His breath was turning into gasps as his thin frame shook violently.

"Hey... Are you okay?"

He didn't seem to hear as he began murmuring quietly to himself, rocking back and forth a small bit to calm himself down. After a few moments, he lowered his arms and stared blankly at the magic in your palm.

Seeing the injuries on his pale skin, you dug into your bag and pulled out a glowing pink potion before holding it out to him. He didn't seem to notice it until you cleared your throat. "I... Don't know who Dream is.. But, I'm not here to take your stuff. That's a promise." You smiled as politely as possible, and moved your hand that held the potion closer to him. "Here, you look a little... Uhm... How do I say this nicely... Torn up...?"

The male grumbled a bit under his breath but looked genuinely thankful as he took a small sip of the potion. After deeming it wasn't poisoned, he began to take larger drinks of it.

"It will be getting dark soon... I'm not much of a fighter, so I will not be able to fend for the both of us if need be. Do you have a shelter nearby or would you like to seek refuge with me for the night?"

Honestly... The face he made amused you quite a bit...

[coeurdastronaute]

Nerd 15

Previously on Nerd

It hadn’t been a particularly good sleep. Lexa felt like she woke up every hour or so, each time checking to make sure the softly snoring girl beside her was still there, still asleep. Despite her own tossing and turning, Clarke didn’t seem to move much, just curled up tightly into herself, against Lexa’s side. Lexa kind of liked the feeling of the other body in her bed. She kind of liked that she was the person Clarke wanted. 

Sometime after the tenth to twelfth time she woke up, Lexa realized the sun was up, and she couldn’t fight with her body waking any longer. Clarke didn’t move, and the night weighed on her girlfriend. 

With a certain effort, Lexa decided to extract herself from the bed, even though Clarke didn’t seem to notice. It actually appeared as if Clarke was a very sound sleeper, as Lexa moved around the room and bumped the edge of her elbow on her desk and hissed at the contact. But as she stood still, she realized Clarke didn’t budge a bit. 

Lexa scrolled through her phone as she tugged on some fresh clothes, checking over her shoulder quickly to make sure Clarke wasn’t peaking for some weird reason. She didn’t want Clarke to know how curious she was about the party before she arrived, but a part of her was incredibly interested in what might have panned out. 

Like a thief, Lexa tugged on socks and buttoned her pants as she danced through the door in her attempt to remain as quiet as humanly possible. It took her a minute to close to door, watching it slowly inch toward the clasp, and finally it clicked nearly silent. She pushed her hair out of her face and slid into the bathroom, shoving a toothbrush into her mouth as she leaned against the counter and scrolled through the feed of Bellamy Blake’s infamous party. 

As she scrubbed she watched the night happen in glimpses. She watched her girlfriend taking shots. She watched her girlfriend in that bikini. She watched her girlfriend look like she was desperately chasing an escape and numbness and it made Lexa mad for her. Lexa spit and rinsed and brushed and decided it was a good idea to scroll through Bellamy’s posts and she couldn’t understand how Clarke could like such different people. Bellamy Blake held week long parties and won state championships and got scouted. Lexa made movies and played board games and couldn’t figure out how to take a bra off. 

With a final rinse she called her sister, hoping the time difference would mean she was awake, but as she bounded down the steps, she was met with a voicemail and furrowed. She needed research and information. Anya knew about all of this. 

“You’re up early for someone having a sleepover with their girlfriend,” her mother greeted her as she looked up from the newspaper spread out across the kitchen island. Her father looked up over the edge of the sports section before looking back down. 

“I told you we didn’t have to worry,” he muttered, flapping the paper out. Lexa rolled her eyes and took a seat. 

“It wasn’t a sleepover.” 

“Your girlfriend spent the night in your bed. I’d call it a sleepover, and I’d say we’re pretty cold parents for allowing it.” 

“I appreciate it, but nothing was going to happen.” 

“Good, because we discussed how alcohol can alter perception and consent--”

“Yes, yes,” Lexa sighed and reached for an apple as her father droned on yet again, hoping to avoid another sex talk. “I know, Dad.” 

They all remained in a respective silence while working past the moment. It was weird, to want to talk to someone, let alone to have anything to talk about, but Lexa felt this need to figure something out, though she wasn’t sure what it would be. She wished her sister had just picked up the phone. 

“So is Clarke…”

“Still asleep.” 

“Did you have fun at the party?” 

“I wasn’t there long,” Lexa shrugged. “I was at Luna’s working on our submission until late. Gus was there, so I knew people.”

She didn’t mention Michelle from math and her bikini. That felt inappropriate. 

“How’s Clarke doing?” her mother pressed, sipping from her coffee again, warily watching her daughter. 

“She’s… I don’t know. Sad. Mad. Stuck. Overwhelmed.” 

“It was nice that you went to get her. I appreciate you telling us what’s going on instead of trying to sneak around. Anya did that. I can’t tell you how many times I had to pretend not to notice boys sneaking around the yard.” 

“Really?” 

“We trust you both,” her father explained. “We just appreciate you doing making us have to stretch it so far.” 

“And we like Clarke, so we’re happy to help.” 

“I don’t really know what else to do, you know?” she muttered, wiping her mouth and leaning against the counter, her knee coming up on the stool. “I think I’d be a little upset too if I were in her shoes, so I would want to probably do a bunch of stuff, but also I don’t want her to be upset.” 

Lexa’s father looked at her and then to his wife. She cocked her head and gave him a look, to which he returned a shrug and ushered her to do something. They were stuck as well because no parenting book prepared them for teenagers. And Anya was very different. 

“You can’t do anything,” he finally offered. 

“Tim!” his wife warned. 

“It’s true. You can’t make this better. It’s between Clarke and her mother and her father. But you can be there for her, and try to encourage her to be healthy about grief and pain. You have some experience, I’d say.” 

Lexa looked back at him and clenched her lips, worrying the bottom one as she mulled over his words. 

“And as much as we love what you want to do and be for Clarke, please don’t forget who you are in all of this. You have needs nad you have goals. Someone else’s wellness is not entirely on your shoulders.” 

“I know.” 

“But just be around. That’s all anyone can do. Be of service to others.” 

“Your father’s right though,” her mother continued. “You can’t fix it, just be there. It’s a boring answer.” 

“If Dad were dying would you have an affair?” 

“Jesus, Lexa.” 

“What?” 

“I’d haunt you,” Tim decided before turning back to his paper. “I’d haunt you really hard.”

“I’m done with both of you today,” she decided, tossing her part of the paper in his lap as she walked through the living room. “It’s not even eight and I’m retreating to my office. I hope you’re both proud.” 

The pair shared a smile and shrugged as she disappeared down the hall. 

“You know, just because we gave you one sleepover, I hope you don’t get too comfortable asking. This was an emergency. It’s always okay in an emergency, and you know the difference.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“I have golf in a bit, but this afternoon we could do some driving practice if you wanted?” 

“Sounds good,” Lexa smiled. 

For no reason at all, except maybe utter relief that she didn’t have to deal with the same problems Clarke did, she hugged her dad’s neck lazily over the back of the couch before making her way back upstairs. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The vague memories of the night lingered like the stale taste of terrible vodka and beer, and Clarke smacked her lips, hoping to find any kind of liquid to get rid of the dry mouth. But her eyes felt heavy and glued shut, and her stomach felt like it was currently on the spin cycle, so moving wasn’t entirely feasible. 

It had been dumb. It’d been stupid, even. Possibly as far as moronic, to go to Bellamy’s party, but it was the best alternative and boy did it feel nice to escape. Even the current state she found herself in was a welcomed punishment from feeling fine and being unable to exist in the world. Her current physical ailments felt like finally, the universe was manifesting itself, and she could fix the swirling stomach and cottonmouth. She could fix the spinning and soreness and bruises from God-knew what happened last night. 

There wasn’t much else to be done, she suspected. Fix this moment, this hour, this day, and hope to survive to another one. It all had to end at some point. 

Clarke finally managed to open her eyes, a feat she was certain no other human could have accomplished. She looked around Lexa’s room and gratefully accepted the water bottle and aspirin waiting beside the bed. 

It took until halfway chugged, that she realized she was empty and the room was quiet. So she took a breath and held her stomach, certain she could hold it down. Carefully, she dressed, stealing Lexa’s old track sweats and an older soccer shirt, before making her way down the hall in search of something to fill her stomach. 

“Someone else’s wellness is not entirely on your shoulders.” 

“I know.” 

Clarke paused at the top of the stairs when she heard the family talking. It felt like it was about her. She knew it had to be. It made her want to vomit. 

“But just be around. That’s all anyone can do. Be of service to others.” 

“Your father’s right though. You can’t fix it, just be there. It’s a boring answer.” 

It was hard to be the subject of needing things. Clarke wasn’t someone who needed anyone. She wasn’t someone who wanted or needed to depend on anyone, and yet there was a girl, a girl who was too afraid to make a move, who imagined the world in terms of movie scenes and interpreted her own existence in the great world as a cosmic joke, always waiting for the punchline-- and this girl wanted to fix things. 

“If Dad were dying would you have an affair?” 

“Jesus, Lexa.” 

“What?” 

It hadn’t been a joke, but it made Clarke smile. No one expected that Lexa was serious, and she wanted to know the answer. There was shuffling and moving, and Clarke crept her way back to Lexa’s room. 

She felt even dumber than she thought possible for going to see Bellamy. She wouldn’t do it again. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. The words echoed in her head. She meant it, she was certain. She wouldn’t. 

“You’re awake,” Lexa grinned as she quietly closed the door behind her only to find her girlfriend sitting in her bed. 

“I’m never drinking again.” 

“Mhm, we’ll see.” 

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m sick.” 

“You’re hungover.” 

“You don’t know what it feels like, do you?” Clarke accused, accepting the orange and another bottle of water that was handed to her as her girlfriend joined her in bed. 

“Don’t see much appeal.”

“It always seems like a good idea at the time…” 

Lexa just shrugged and crossed her legs. She ran her thumb along the faded script on the side of Clarke’s knee. 

“I should head home,” she decided softly. “Sleep this off and such.” 

“You could sleep here. I’m just going to work on the car a bit. Maybe go for a run. I have homework to finish.” 

“I have to go home at some point.”

“Maybe.” 

“It was very sweet of you to come get me.” 

“I’m just glad you texted.” 

“I’m not going to be like this, you know?” 

“You can be however you want.” 

It was a sweet sentiment that Clarke didn’t have the mental capacity to sit with, she decided, because she wasn’t ready to decide to be anything. But tomorrow, maybe, she’d think about it. She knew what she didn’t want to be, and that seemed like something, at least. 

“I texted Raven to come get me.”

“If you’re sure.” 

“I needed last night to cleanse myself, I think. I need today to regroup.” 

“You have a very weird process,” Lexa decided. 

Clarke just chuckled and leaned forward, burying her face in Lexa’s thigh and sighing. 

XXXXXXXXXX

For the moment, the very tiny, very quick moment, everything felt like it was caught up, and Lexa allowed herself a few moments of quiet in the garage, because come hell or high water, she was going to finish the car by the last day of school. SATs were done, finally, and something that didn’t need to be explicitly worried about until scores were released in a few weeks. Her prom outfit was already purchased and prepared. Homework and studying were done. Sports were over for the season and conditioning wasn’t set to start for another two months, though she’d start her own soon enough. Her girlfriend was at work and then going off to a cheer competition for the weekend. Luna was putting the finishing touches on their film school application project. And anyone else that might ask Lexa to do anything was promptly ignored.

Two weeks before spring break, and Lexa was feeling high on her on efficiency.  

All in all, Lexa decided that she had at least three days to power through as much as she could with her dad in a final push before sending it off to the paint appointment. 

She hadn’t counted on her sister though, and as her phone blared, interrupting the music playing over the speakers, she smacked her head on the body of the car and slid herself from under it, grumbling the entire time. 

“Don’t you have fancy plans. It’s a Friday night,” she chided the eldest. 

“I’m getting ready, I was just thinking about you.” 

“Gross.”

“Because I ran into a girl that asked about you and I had no idea you had a friend at CMU, let alone a drop dead gorgeous film student.” 

Lexa furrowed and twirled her wrench around before trying to dive back in under the seat and finish installing the seatbelts in the back. It dawned on her then and she snorted. 

“That’s just Costia.” 

“Ohhh, just Costia-- who the fuck is Costia?” 

“I met her when I came to visit last fall remember? You were the one telling me to make a move but I was very drunk, something you did to me as well?” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

“At the party. I posted a picture…” she grunted and twisted. “She found me on Instagram. We talk about movies and I’ve shown her some of my stuff and junk.”

“Interesting.” 

“Why?” 

“Just not many freshman looking to hang out with high school juniors.” 

“I’m clearly advanced.” 

“Clearly,” Anya rolled her eyes over the phone. 

“I’ve been talking to her about film programs and applying--”

“Here? You’re thinking about coming here?” 

“Fuck!” she hissed and sat up, doing her best to suck on the cut that came to her thumb from her maneuvering. “I don’t know.” 

It wasn’t a serious inquiry, Lexa thought to herself. She was set. She had a plan with Luna. They’d had it since they were ten, and there was really on reason to deviate from it. But then a stranger liked her stuff, and this stranger made stuff Lexa liked. And the stranger became a friend who gave her some screenwriting tips and pushed her to get better at it. And the stranger told her the east coast was just as important to film. 

But it didn’t matter. 

There was a plan. 

“You should seriously consider it. It’s a great program I hear. Come out for spring break!” 

“I should stay here.” 

“And do what? Work on that car? Dad already told me he’s sending it out for interior and paint. You’re pretty much done anyway.” 

“Mom and Dad have conferences that week. I was going to watch movies all week with Clarke.”

“Bring her too. Sounds like she needs an escape.” Anya was getting excited, and Lexa was tugged along for the ride. “You can crash in my dorm. Even just for a few days, not the whole week.”

“Mom won’t like me missing so much time to study.” 

“Call it a college visit for a potential school.”

“Luna will lose her mind,” Lexa shook her head and pinched her thumb to try to stop it without a bandaid. 

“Fuck Luna. I’m going to ask Mom if she’d rather you were here, supervised by me, or home alone for a whole week.” 

From the change in volume, Lexa knew she was texting immediately. She sighed. It would be fun to see the school as a potential option. It might even be nice to catch up with Costia. It would even be better to see her sister, who just at the moment, she realized she’d missed since her last visit. 

“Should I ask Clarke if she wants to go?” Lexa finally ventured, returning to her work. 

“Definitely.” 

“Should I really consider your school as an option?” 

“You should.”

She had a plan, Lexa remembered, and there was no point deviating, but she did want to see her sister.

“If they say it’s okay.”

NEXT

[nocturnal-dreams]

Only One Dance

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Pairing: DreamWasTaken x Female Reader

Summary: The sister of King Eret, Y/N, was following her brother to his party and his friend Punz. She was there to help her brother and Punz by earning the trust of their rivals, however, Y/N hadn't been told by Eret that Dream would be attending.

Warnings: none, just fluff

Basically an in-game fic

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Y/N was in her room with her friend Alyssa getting ready for the party that was happening that night. Alyssa was talking about her date while Y/N was fixing her hair. She had Alyssa help to do her corset which was so tight that she was struggling to breathe before she got her F/C dress on. Alyssa had gotten a blue dress. Pulling on her heels, Y/N looked at the mirror when she got butterflies in her stomach as if she was going to throw up. She was so nervous about failing her brother and she didn't know why. Her brother already had a son (even though he was adopted) and almost got married twice. Meanwhile Y/N was still the same she had been for years and she had multiple people trying to take her out, although she had turned them all down knowing that they were just in it to be close to the king, some of them didn't even know her name, just calling her Eret’s sister.

Y/N was pleased with her appearance so she grabbed her fan before leaving. She slowly descended down the stairs behind her friends, careful not to fall and reminding Alyssa to be careful. She spotted a tall man wearing a fancy green suit with a white tie and reading some kind of potion recipe. She knew it was her Dream. Y/N walked up behind him and covered his eyes with her hands.

"If you'd like to surprise me, you'd have to try harder, Y/N," Dream had a smirk on his face, "plus you have the smallest hands I know that would dare even touch me."

"Oh you're no fun," Y/N playfully pouted while Dream stood up and turned around to his king’s sister. Dream’s eyes widened before a grin appeared on his face, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"Not at all, your brother wanted me to fetch you after all," Dream shook his head but was unable to take his eyes off her, "you look beautiful, Y/N."

"Thank you," she spoke with a blush creeping onto her face, "shall we get going, don't want to keep Eret waiting too long, his plan does involve me after all."

"Yes," Dream agreed and held out his arm. Y/N held onto Dream’s arm as he led her out of the room and down the halls in silence before entering the large room which George did all on his own, he had definitely out done himself this time. Dream looked down at Y/N, a ghost smile came to his face as he watched her amazing face. Y/N had thought the room looked incredibly beautiful, "impressed are we?"

"Very," Y/N nodded her head before Dream led her to where the other guests were now dancing. Y/N glancing up at the large staircase where her brother and Punz were talking about something she couldn't make out just by reading their lips. Dream pulled Y/N to the dancefloor, his hand found its way on her waist, her hand on his shoulder and their other hand clasped together as they began to move around, "now, you're only getting one dance out of me. This party isn't for us to mingle, it's so my brother and Punz can get more information out of the citizens to be able to go after Wilbur, that's why I'm here."

Dream chuckled, "I'm sure I can get another dance out of you."

"You'd be lucky," Y/N smiled up at her friend. Dream stared at her bright E/C eyes seeing how much makeup she wore really made them pop. In Dream’s eyes, she was beautiful, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Dream had never fancied anyone really even though how many women were throwing themselves at him. He never cared for any of them. Dream wasn't sure how he felt about Y/N. They were friends, yes. He cared for the girl, yes. But fancy her? He didn't think it was possible. At least not until this moment when he saw her for the first time tonight.

Once the band had ended, Y/N had tried to move but Dream held her in place. Dream smirked at her attempts to get away as Y/N got frustrated, "Dream, I said one dance!"

"And I said that I would get one more out of you," Dream’s smirk only grew as he brought Y/N's body closer, "and I don't plan on letting go until I'm ready to."

"Dream! My brother is gonna be upset," the H/C girl whined making Dream chuckle. She knew he intended to keep to his word, "I'm never agreeing to come to a party with you again, Dream."

"You say that now Y/N," Dream replied smoothly.

Y/N scowled, "I intend on keeping my promise."

"It's not that awful," Dream said spinning them around and then dipping her, his hand catching her back bringing her back up towards him, "I am, for once, enjoying myself."

"Only because I'm being tortured," she groaned.

Dream smirked, "that certainly does help."

Y/N sent Dream a nasty look and he only set her a charming smile. Y/N recalled never seeing the man smile so much. She found it very captivating and wanted him to do it more often. He didn't look like just some boring serious man, she preferred him more like this, he looked like a sweet and nice man.

"I'll go get us some food," Dream tells her before he walks away. Y/N wasn't left alone for long though. Quackity had come up and asked Y/N to dance. She had agreed after thinking if she should or not. She had gone to the ball with Dream to court her under Eret’s rules, and besides, she was with Dream as friends. Quackity was a good dancer, not as smooth as Dream though.

"What are you looking for?" Y/N had asked as Quackity kept looking around.

"Eret, Punz, and Dream," Alexander replied honestly.

"Why are you so afraid of them?" Y/N finally asked.

"I'm not," Quackity scoffed.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "I beg to differ. Did they say something to you?"

Quackity shook his head, "why do you ask?"

"Just asking," Y/N says before Quackity froze at the voice behind him.

"Dancing with my date, Duck?" Dream came back. Quackity turned to face him and froze petrified, kind of wishing he was at the moment.

"Dream," Y/N stepped forward, "do you fancy going on a walk with me? Maybe outside to get some fresh air?"

Dream stiffly nodded before she grabbed the green man’s hand and dragged him out of the ballroom and away from Quackity. The cold night air hit Y/N as she was wearing a dress outside on December 24th. The snow had covered the ground and a light snowfall was hitting their skin. Dream, however, was fuming so much that he didn't notice how cold it was.

"Who does that duck think he is?" Dream muttered out. Y/N looked at him confused but she couldn't get a word in as Dream continued speaking again, "does he not remember what we said to him?"

"You did talk to him!" Y/N hissed, "what did you say!"

Dream looked at her. He didn't have time to think this through, listen to his conscious. He pinned Y/N up to the wall closest to them, catching her off guard earning a gasp from her lips. Y/N looked at the eyes of her friend, not sure what to expect. But what he had said next was something she defiantly didn't expect.

"I had told him that you were mine," Dream spoke before pressing his lips against Y/N's. Y/N found herself kissing him back almost immediately even though she was surprised. She would never have dreamed that Dream fancied her back or had any feelings for anyone. But here he was, kissing her. Dream pulled away and looked down at her, "I don't want to lose you and no one, not even life itself, can take you away from me."

Y/N was at lost for words so she just stared at his eyes.

"Say it," Dream rested his forehead against hers, "say that you're mine. Please Y/N."

Y/N had a small smile on her face as she spoke, "I'm yours."

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Thanks for reading :)

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[despairforme]

His single eye cracked open, slowly, slowly. The first thing that met him was a PANG of pain through his head like someone had just taken a sledge hammer and gone to town. It briefly made him squeeze that eye shut again, and a pained noise escaped him, while he instinctively reached for his head. Nnoitra knew a thing or two about headaches. He had, after all, gotten SHOT in his head at one point. What he remembered the most about that was the moment before the gun fired. He remembered thinking what a freaking rare and awesome weapon that was. He stood by that statement, even if said weapon had literally given him a hole through his head. That made for plenty of good jokes about him being stupid and missing half a brain. The pain he was feeling right now wasn’t the same as it had been when he got shot. The pain was ringing through his entire skull. Another groan. He told his body it was time to attempt to sit up straight, but it woudln’t listen. He managed to keep his eye open this time though, to look around. Where was he? What had happened? He remembered... What was the last thing he remembered? He forced his aching head to cooperate. He had been playing cards with his crew-mates. That was the last image he could clearly bring forth. Yeah, he had been about to lose big time. A per usual. Could he have possibly started a fight because he was about to lose at cards? That did sound like some stupid shith he could pull. But, there was something not quite right here. He hadn’t noticed it before now, but the scent in the air was NOTHING like the smell onbaord the ship. On the ship, there was the very distinct smell that came when men who didn’t care too much about their personal hygine lived together in close-quarters. The scent he was breathing in now was fresh. It smelled like a forest. The air was moist. He could smell dirt and flowers and grass. Was he outside? His curiosity inspired him to try to push his body again, and this time it allowed him to sit upright. The world started spinning, making him dizzy. It was light here, now that he thought about it. Bright, white light was shining down. So he was outdoors then? Had his crewmates finally gotten tired of him, knocked him out and dumped him off on a planet? Was he marooned? If he was, then traditionally, he should be left with a gun with single shot in it. However, when he looked down, his weapon was gone. What the fuck?

He looked around some more, and saw why everything smelled like he was outside. He was surrounded by plants. Plants of different sizes, types, colors. More variety than he had EVER seen in his life ( and Nnoitra had traveled quite a lot ). Close to him there was a large, orange flower that at first glance looked almost like it was on fire. It was giving off the most alluring scent, and Nnoitra almost wanted to plant his face into it and just inhale. On the ground, where he was sitting, there was grass, or at least what appeared to be grass - except it was blue. Above him were white lights, but also plants growing in what he thought he could make out to be a ceiling. Okay - so he wasn’t outside then. That only puzzled him more. Where the fuck was he then? In the distance he could hear the sound of running water, otherwise everything was quiet. No, wait, there might be a buzzing of some insects nearby too. He made yet another attempt to stand, but it just made him feel more dizzy, and he groaned again.

“You should lay still. You are still recovering.” Nnoitra literally JUMPED in his seat, and yeah, that made his head spin. He had not expected anyone to speak to him. The voice had been deep and calm. A man’s voice. When the world stood still before him again, he turned his head in the direction of the voice.

His eyes were glowing. That was the very first thing Nnoitra noticed about him. He had large, yellow eyes that glowed like distant suns. They were regarding him from behind long, purple eyelashes. He had skin the color of steel, and on the top of his baled head there were two small, curved horns, almost like spikes. He must be tall, though it was hard to tell just how tall since Nnoitra was sitting, but he would guess he was even taller than himself. He was wearing a large, black coat that appeared to be made up entirely out of pockets. Was Nnoitra’s gun in one of them? The next striking thing about him, was the CRACK in his head. Maybe Nnoitra noticed it especially because he, himself had a hole through his own. It looked like someone had SMASHED this guy’s skull. The left side of his head looked almost like a broken mirror, except the cracks were filled with what literally looked like gold. It was bright and shiny, and extremely visible against that grey skin. Nnoitra had met a great deal of beings throughout his time, but usually he had a vague idea about what kind of species they were. This time? He had no clue. Whoever this guy was, he had to be something incredibly rare. The pirate side of Nnoitra briefly connected the dots between him being rare and him being worth a lot on the creature-market. That thought was pushed aside. Nnoitra had traded creatures before, but it was always risky because he, himself was an extremely rare ( if not unique ) human-insectoid hybrid. He had to be careful about appearing in the wrong circles. And in any case - there were more pressing matters than him SELLING this guy. Like, for example -

“What ‘da fuck happened?” He asked, his voice just a little pained while he looked over at the stranger. The other didn’t appear hostile, he noted. Not even vary, as if he knew that right now Nnoitra posed little threat to him. He probably wasn’t wrong about that. Even if Nnoitra hadn’t been injured, he didn’t know what kinds of powers this alien possessed. He might be incredibly strong.

There was a pause, before the alien looked away from him, and turned his attention to the nearest plant. He brushed the leaves with a finger, almost similar to how someone would lovingly caress a partner.

“Your ship collided with something. I received the distress signal.” Another pause, or was this more like hesitation? Then he continued - “When arrived, you were the only one I could find. I don’t know if maybe someone was there before me and picked up survivors and simply didn’t see you.”

That was a lot of information. Nnoitra tried to process it. HOW could they have collided with something? If they really had, then chances were there weren’t many survivors. Most of the crewmates were human, and they were just genetically fragile. Nnoitra’s hybrid genes made him a lot more durable, which was most likely what he could thank for being alive. Nnoitra DID have people he’d consider.. Well, not friends, but... Yeah. People he had known a while and who tolerated him ( and who he tolerated in return ). Were all of them dead then? Just like that? People he had been traveling with for years. People he had just been sitting there with, playing cards. Had they been ripped from life at the moment of impact with whatever it was the ship had crashed into? It was so INCREDIBLY rare to actually crash in space. It was fucking ETERNAL after all. One would think there was enough space for a shitty, little space-ship. Nnoitra realized something - there was a chance they had been shot down. They were pirates after all. The distress signal that the ship had sent out was something that happened automatically when it sustained too much damage to be saved. There was no way this man would know what kind of ship had sent out the SOS. If all he had arrived at was a total wreck, then he really had no way of knowing that Nnoitra was a pirate. Nnoitra looked at him. He was still busy with the plant. Nnoitra thought he could see the plant turn slightly towards those glowing eyes, as if it was looking back at him. Freaky.

“So everyone’s dead, except me, huh?” Nnoitra didn’t sound like he was mourning, and neither was he. He wasn’t going to be upset about those guys dying. They wouldn’t have given a shit if HE had died. And, in any case, some of them might still be alive. The alien was looking at him again, probably as a reaction to the coldness in which Nnoitra spoke about his dead crewmates.

“In all likelihood, yes. I’m guessing it’s because you are not fully human. In my experience, humans can hardly survive anything.” Oh, that was a sharp observation. Seemed Nnoitra wasn’t the only one who thought humans were weak. He nodded.

“Yeah, I guess ‘daz why I ain’t dead. I’m surprised ya figured out I ain’t fully human. Most people can’t tell, ‘cause I look like one.” A vague gesture was made towards his general appearance. Nnoitra really did appear fully human ( except for the hole in his head, which he always covered with an eyepatch as well as his hair anyway. Nnoitra DID have the ability to grow an extra set of arms, but he very rarely did so, as it was very painful for him. “I bet it ain’t ‘da same ‘fer ya.” Basically, Nnoitra was asking him - what the fuck are you. A subtle expression of surprise settled upon the other’s face, and he tilted his head just slightly.

“You don’t know what I am?” His voice was partly confused, partly suspicious and partly surprised. Nnoitra furrowed his brows, and looked him up and down as if that would somehow magically make him know what kind of species he was. He really didn’t have any idea. Apparently, he SHOULD know.

“No? I don’t go ‘round studyin�� every fuckin’ species in ‘da universe. Ya know how MANY that is?” He.. Didn’t know how many there were, but since space was infinite, it was safe to assume that the amount of different species of aliens was beyond count. Nnoitra was used to how his rude approach to conversations was off-putting to others, and more often than not, he got himself into trouble thanks to his mouth. The alien didn’t seem annoyed at all though. If anything, he looked reassured and almost calm. 

“You can call me Fowkwer.” The alien introduced himself. That name wasn’t too difficult. Nnoitra often met guys with absolutely freakishly long names that he could never in his life hope to remember. It DID seem appropriate that he should at least manage to remember the name of the dude that had saved him.

“I’m Nnoitra.”

“Welcome aboard my ship, Nnoitra.”

“So this is a ship? I was kinda wonderin’ ‘bout that. It looks more like a jungle.” Which he absolutely loved. This was the nicest ship he had ever been aboard, and all he had been doing was sit in this one spot in the blue grass. He had no idea how large the ship was, but he would guess it was fairly big. This room alone seemed to serve no other purpose than as a storage room for these plants. Then again, it was RARE for one person to operate a large ship. Were there others onboard here, or was Fowkwer the only one? He seemed to be the Captain at least, since he had referred to it as ‘ my ‘ ship. 

“Yes, it’s built that way. I don’t have a guest room, as I rarely have guests onboard. It’s usually just me and the plants.” So he was alone then.

“Yer lucky. Havin’ a whoel space ship ‘ta yerself that looks like a jungle? Fuckin’ livin’ ‘da dream. How much ya chargin’ ‘fer tickets?” It was a half-joke. Nnoitra had learned from his life as a pirate that NOTHING was free, and he was pretty sure the same went for getting your life saved by a glowy-eyed alien whose name was FUCKWHERE. No -- Fowkwer. Well, close enough.

“I wasn’t planning on charging you anything. You have nothing I want. All I ask is that you do not harm my plants. If you do I won’t hesitate to dispose of you.” His tone up until this point had been calm. It was still calm now, but there was an added seriousness and a coldness that hadn’t been there before. As his voice turned colder, Nnoitra thought it looked like his glowing eyes became less luminescent too. As if they too got colder. Nnoitra’s expression was once again one of those where you could almost see the question marks pop up over his head. Okay.. Was he dealing with some kind of... REAL weirdo here? Maybe he had been traveling so long with only his plants as company that he had started to think of them as his friends. Nnoitra had heard stories like that before. People getting lost in space of years and turning bat-shit crazy, talking to their helmets and shit like that. Was this a similar thing? Fowkwer looked serious. 

“Hands off ‘da plants. Got it.” Nnoitra held up his hands, as if to surrender. Seeing as he actually LIKED nature, he had no wish to uproot the plants or whatever. The only thing he did want to do was put his face inside that orange one that smelled like heaven. He had to wonder how Fowkwer would dispose of him. Just how strong was that guy? It didn’t feel good, not knowing whether or not he could overpower someone. And, also, it didn’t feel good to be unarmed. But, he could hardly ask for his gun back, could he? That would be too suspicious. Some of what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face.

“You can have your weapon back. It’s not of any threat to me. I just took it from you to ensure you wouldn’t start wildly shooting around and damage my plants.” Nnoitra’s beloved gun ( he had had it for years, okay? ) was pulled out of one of those deep pockets of the other’s coat. Fowkwer walked over to him, and bent down to return the weapon to him. Now that he was closer, Nnoitra could tell that Fowkwer was definitely taller than him. He had a bigger build too. Broad shoulders and a wide chest, and strong, muscular arms. Nnoitra’s skinny fingers accepted the gun, and he strapped to his belt where he always kept it. The other had said it was no threat to him. Did that mean his skin could withstand a shot then? Honestly it seemed like all the guy cared about was his plants. 

“So yer pretty tough, huh? But that - “ He pointed to the other’s head. He was certain that those golden cracks were actually a scar, and a gnarly one at that. “That looks like it hurt.” Was this his way of finding out Fowkwer’s weaknesses? Oh, absolutely. It wasn’t like he cared here.

“No more than yours. These are just cracks after all.” He touched the golden scar with a hand, and then he gestured to his own eye, as if acting as a mirror for Nnoitra. “You’ve got a hole.” Oh, so he had seen it then? Mah, that was fine. It explained how he could tell he wasn’t human. That was the only reason why Nnoitra kept it hidden.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ don’t recommend gettin’ shot in ‘da head by a BG-2000. Unless yer a badass motherfucker like me.” He grinned, cocking his head back. “I don’t recommend bein’ in a crash either, even if I’m pretty surprised I’m still in one piece.” His head hurt and he felt terribly weak, but that was about it. Considering he had been knocked out upon impact, his injuries seemed minimal.

“You looked far worse when I found you.”

“But ya did some magic-shit ‘n now I’m all good?” There were many different healing methods out there, and the best ones were very expensive. Mah, maybe this guy had some sort of healing plant here or something? Seemed likely.

“Something like that.” One thing that Nnoitra had noted was that Fowkwer had yet to smile. Not all species could, of course, but generally that was the one universal thing that everyone had in common. As long as you had a mouth, you could smile, and Fowkwer had a completely normal mouth, though his lips were a strange shade of purple. He probably just hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Was he suspicious of him still? Maybe.

“Mah, whatever ya did I’m.. Ya know -” He gestured between the two of them, the word ‘ grateful ‘ getting stuck in his throat. Fowkwer arched his brows slightly.

“Thankful?”

“Yeah, that.” A grin. Yeah, he WAS glad to still be alive ( oddly enough, he had never really thought he valued his life all that much ). The next question was - how long would he have to stay here? Actually, he wasn’t in any rush to have that answered. Compared to most of the shitty places he had visited in his life, where he was right now was kinda nice. He doubted Fowkwer would want to have him onboard longer than necessary. Who knew how long it was until they could land on a planet.

[trashyswitch]

Patton, the Cute Little Puppy Baby Bat Fly Fly Baby Dog(s)

Patton LOVES turning himself into Talyn! Why? Because Patton wants to be tiny! And Talyn is tiny!

Roman, Virgil and Logan absolutely appreciate this, and decide to take advantage of it!

Tiny Disclaimer: I will be identifying Talyn as they/them, Patton as him/he, and Palyn as they/them. Though I know that Patton (Thomas) identifies as a man, I wanna make Palyn non-binary, to suit Talyn and to not upset anyone who's incredibly protective and technical about the whole thing. I love, support and respect non-binary folks (I have a couple friends who identify as such), and would hate to accidentally misgender someone.

(Though, I often mix up male and female pronouns as it is...It's a blessing/curse of mine...😂)

Ever since the 'Making Some Changes' video, Patton has loved being able to walk around like Thomas's friends! He loved being Joan and making him laugh, he appreciated being Valerie just for the fun of it, he absolutely LOVED becoming Talyn to become more adorable, and he loved becoming other people he's befriended! Heck, Patton has even become the voices of Steven Universe to make a Steven Universe joke!

After a while, Patton narrowed down which of Thomas's friends were his favorite to become. Soon, he had decided that his favorite person to turn himself into was: Talyn!

Why, you're probably asking? Well you see: It's simple, really: they’re tiny, therefore adorable! Patton is adorable, but missing the short-statured part! So, becoming Talyn made that a lot easier!

Every part of Talyn was very tiny compared to Thomas. Tiny stature, tiny body size, tiny head, tiny voice! The only thing that WASN'T tiny, was their life!

Plus...doing Talyn's Danny Devito impression was ALWAYS fun to make fun of...

Virgil didn't know how he felt about Patton becoming Talyn at first...To be honest, it was a little confusing. If Virgil was looking away and heard Talyn's voice, he'd have to turn around to figure out if Talyn was ACTUALLY there, or if it was just Patton messing around. But eventually, Virgil got used to it and began to have fun with it! He'd treat Talyn Patton like a little child (That was Patton's dream come true!), started making short jokes, and even began putting his sweater on the tiny Patton! Eventually, Virgil would go as far as to ruffle up Patton's different-colored hair!

Sometimes when Patton would turn into Talyn, Patton would show off the many different hairstyles Talyn has sported over the years! The firey red long hair, the bisexual flag-colored hair (plus eyebrows), the green long hair, the yellowish faded short hair, the grey and black short hair, you name it! Patton tried them all out on himself!

Roman absolutely loved it! He loved being able to see Talyn Patton! Roman eventually came up with a name that could describe the tiny Patton: Palyn! Roman would give the tiny Palyn piggyback rides, cuddles, hugs, and even dress them up in adorable outfits and do their make up! The Patton-being-Talyn thing didn't change anything about him! So, it only made their friendship stronger!

Meanwhile, Logan had started out...worried about the idea...What if Patton began to wish he was Talyn, and began associating himself as Talyn forever? Everyone would miss Patton's squared glasses and bigger, more lovable body. But soon, Logan learned that this was more of an appreciation thing, and not an identity thing. So, Logan began appreciating Palyn and treating them the same way he would treat Patton.

One of the days, Patton had turned himself into Talyn and began going through Patton's closet. In the closet, were multiple blue-collared shirts, a single grey shirt for tying around the neck, and Patton's cat hoodie! Palyn decided to grab the hoodie, and put it on their tiny self.

It...is gigantic...It's like wearing a hoodie dress! It fell down to their knees, and the sleeves were SUPER long! Palyn giggled at how silly they looked, and put the hood on with their sleeve-covered hands.

The hood practically drowned their head in grey fabric...

But, Palyn didn't care! They felt happy! They felt drowned in love! Now, Palyn wanted to show it off! So, off they went: running into the living room to where the rest of the sides might've been.

"Hey Palyn!" Roman said before running up the person, picking them up to hug them and spinning around in the hug.

"'Palyn'? You're calling Patton Palyn now?" Virgil asked.

Roman slowed his spinning to a halt and placed them down. "It's a mix of Patton and Talyn! P-a-l-y-n! Palyn!" Roman explained.

"...I approve this name. I believe it suits-" Logan lifted up his glasses to look down at his vocabulary cards. "sssmmooooolll-'smol' Patton, nicely." Logan told them.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Right context, bad grammar. Good try, though." Virgil corrected.

"Strange...What context would you use this in?" Logan asked, having his vocabulary card ready to take notes.

"To start: 'Smol' is not an adjective. It's a 'noun', meaning: 'something that's tiny, cute and squish-able'. The best way you could use it, is through a nickname: Smol bean, which means the same thing, basically." Virgil explained briefly.

Logan nodded as he finished up his note-taking. "Okay. Thank you, Virgil. Now, I will turn my attention to the 'smol bean' that's right beside me." Logan stated. Palyn had started jumping up and down, and clapping its covered hands excitedly as Roman lightly squeezed his cheeks.

"Aren't they the most adorable hooman being you've ever seen?" Roman asked. Logan's eyes widened as he started going through his vocabulary cards again. Realizing that word was missing from his deck, Logan conjured up a new vocabulary card and a pen to write it down.

"hoo-man...how do you spell that?" Logan asked.

"H-o-o-m-a-n." Palyn told him.

Logan followed Palyn's spelling. "Okay, and what does it mean?" Logan asked.

Virgil gave Logan a 'seriously?' face, but still decided to help him out. "It's a version of the word 'human'. Gen Z's decided to turn it into 'hooman', so that they can describe what us humans are, according to dogs and cats.'" Virgil explained. "Here: Patton, can you demonstrate?" Virgil asked, pulling the hood off their head.

To demonstrate, Palyn curled his wrists in front of his chin like a puppy, and began acting like a talking dog. "Hooman? Hooman give me food? Am I good pupper? Pupper good boy? LUV ME HOOMAN!" Palyn demonstrated before hugging Logan from behind the couch.

Patiently, Palyn waited for Logan to say something. Logan didn't know what to say...Well, he did, but...how? Should he just tell him in his normal, monotone voice? Or should he attempt the messy grammar that Palyn used?

"Uuuh...Yes..." Logan started, before patting their head awkwardly. "Palyn is a good boy." Logan replied in an awkward version of his monotone voice.

Suddenly, Palyn gasped and smiled widely as he let go of Logan! "I'm a good boy! I'm a GOOD BOY! ROMAN! ROMAN! I'M A GOOD BOY!" Palyn shouted, spinning circles around the man excitedly. As he sprinted around Roman, Patton's sweater sleeves would fly outwards behind his back. It was a hilarious little feature that came with Palyn.

"You what I think Wittle ol' pawyn might want?" Roman asked, getting Palyn's attention. Palyn quickly stopped his running right in front of Roman, still filled with endless energy. "I think...Palyn needs some spins!" Roman declared, becoming the ultimate babysitter in the group. Roman picked up Palyn from behind, and began spinning them around. Both of Palyn's eyes and mouth widened in excitement as they got spun around like a really quick-spinning carousel! Virgil, in order to avoid getting a pair of legs to the groin, quickly jumped onto the safe couch, which lie out of bounds from the crazy carousel in the room.

"WHEEEEEEEEEE! FASTER ROMAN! FASTER!" Patton shouted happily.

"NO! DON'T go any faster! This is fast enough!" Virgil warned him, quickly becoming the anxious parent in the family.

Roman continued to spin them for a little longer, before slowing down the chilc. He didn't wanna overdo it.

"What do you wanna do next?" Roman asked.

Palyn's face lit up. "Hide and seek with tickles?" Palyn asked.

Roman gasped, and clapped his hands together. "Great idea!" Roman reacted, excitedly.

"Can I join? I wanna be it." Virgil asked.

"Sure!" Roman replied.

"I'd like to be it as well." Logan piped up.

"Of course! The more, the merrier!" Roman replied, before looking back at Patton. "Okay. You can start hiding, while we start counting." Roman reacted with a smirk.

Palyn stared at his lers for a couple seconds before he quickly sprinted away, over-sized hoodie, tiny legs and all.

Roman started the counting up from zero, while Logan and Virgil counted on their fingers along with him."1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10! 11...12-" Roman counted.

By this point, Palyn had successfully found their little hiding spot.

"...13...14...15...16...17...18...19...20! Ready or not, here I come!" Roman called.

Roman began looking around for the little adult. He was fully aware of which way they had ran. But, Roman wanted to make this as teasy and fun as possible! So, he started out by looking throughout the living room for them. After taking a minute or so of looking, all 3 lers moved onto the kitchen.

"I wonder...Where would our adorable Palyn be?" Roman asked, checking under the table as he teased.

Virgil tiptoed towards the sink, and quickly whipped the door open. As anticipated, no one was there. "Not under the sink..." Virgil told the captain out loud.

"He's not in the stove...which is good. We wouldn't want Palyn turning into a roast dinner by the time we're done..." Logan stated, purposefully being a little funny to get Palyn giggling.

Next, the three lers moved onto the bedrooms. For this part, Logan, Roman and Virgil all split up to check their rooms.

Logan went to his own room. Checking under the bed, checking the closet, checking under his desk, even checking in the wash basket! but...Palyn was nowhere to be found.

Roman went to his room as well. He checked in the magical closet, checked his mirror door, even double checked under his huge teddy bear! But...he was nowhere to be seen.

Virgil quickly checked his room too. He checked under his bed covers, checked behind the dressers, and even checked his closet of hoodies-

Wait a second...One of these sweaters is not dark like the others...One of them happens to be a light grey, and...is wearing brown-pants? That's GOTTA be Palyn!

So...Virgil turned himself around, and began to leave the room. "He's not in here." Virgil yelled to his fellow lers.

"He's not in my room either." Roman replied.

"Absent in mine." Logan said.

Before Roman could suggest the next place, Virgil put a finger over his mouth and signaled for them to follow him. Virgil led them into his room, and showed them the...obvious color-change in the closet. For now though, all 3 lers stood at the door frame to discuss their 'problem' out loud.

"Well, I gotta say: He is absolutely no where to be found! And I don't believe Patton would hide himself in his own room...would he?" Roman asked loudly.

Suddenly, a little sound could be heard in the distance...an adorable little giggle, bouncing off the walls back to them.

"Wait...Do you hear that? I think Palyn might be giving us hints to where he is." Logan told them.

"I can hear it too. It's a cute little giggle. It sounds a bit like Talyn's, but with a flare of...Thomas in it..." Virgil described.

"Could it be..." Roman asked, drifting off.

"Palyn?" Everyone said at the same time.

It only took a second for Palyn's giggles to grow louder in volume.

"Maybe we should let the giggles lead us to our hider..." Logan suggested.

"Oooh, good idea!" Roman replied.

So, all three of the lers walked around in the hallway, pretending to listen closely for where the giggles might be coming from.

"Hey Virgil! I think they might be in your room!" Roman declared, winking at him.

Virgil smiled and nodded to Roman, before walking up to the door. "Really? But I already checked here! How in the world could they be hiding in a place I already checked?" Virgil asked out loud.

"Well, perhaps you didn't check hard enough?" Logan suggested.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but winked at Roman to go in. "Move over, my grim, royal poet! I, will check the room." Roman declared, opening the door.

Patton's giggles had started coming on strong again. So, Roman decided to pretend to look absolutely everywhere, except for the one place they were in. The longer he looked around, the louder Palyn's giggling became!

After looking absolutely everywhere, Roman turned around with his fingers together in the shape of a handgun!

"Palyn! Put your hands up where I can see 'em!" Roman yelled, pointing the finger gun at the closet.

Palyn immediately put their hands up upon demand. Palyn began to giggle more now.

"You're under arrest!" Roman ordered. "Officer Logan, Officer Virgil, we've got 'em." Roman ordered. Running up to the 'crime scene', was was his back up officers: Virgil with one finger gun and a shield, and Logan with his finger gun and a walkie-talkie in hand. Palyn, in his giggly state, slowly walked out of the closet and knelt down to their knees. "Palyn, you are under arrest for adorableness in the first degree! How do you plead?" Roman asked, pretending to hold a microphone now.

Patton, through his giggles, attempted to answer. "G-Guihihihilty! Ihihi'm guihihihihiltyhyhy!" Patton replied.

"You've heard it here, folks! They are guilty! Therefore:" Roman acted, before pretending to bang a gavel against a wooden striking block. "I sentence you to 15 minutes of tickles!" Roman ordered. Suddenly, Roman ran up to them with finger claws and a growling sound! Palyn squeaked in excitement and practically flopped onto the ground, happy to take the ticklish 'sentence'. Roman began to shove his hands underneath the grey cat sweater, and began to squeeze, claw, and flutter his fingers all over Palyn's upper body.

Palyn bursted out in high-pitched laughter, and began rolling back and forth to cope with the tickles. Next, Virgil joined Roman on the ground, and began fluttering his fingers on Palyn's ticklish, tiny neck. With the bigger fingers on the tinier neck, Virgil was able to cover more ground all at once.

"EEEEEEEK! VIHIHIHIRGAHAHAHAL! EEEEhehehehehahahahaha! Ihihihihit TIHIHihihickles!" Palyn reacted, flailing the long, grey sleeves absolutely everywhere.

Roman gasped in surprise. "ReAllY?! it TiCkLeS?! I had NO CLUE! Virgil, did you know this?" Roman reacted dramatically.

"No, I didn't! I'm quite surprised! What about you, Logan?" Virgil reacted, being a little dramatic as well.

Logan rolled his eyes, but still decided to go along with it. He made a rather empty gasp, and widened his eyes for a split second. "I'm flabbergasted." Logan replied in a monotone voice as he did jazz hands.

"See!? Even LOGAN is going crazy! I simply cannot believe you're ticklish!" Roman reacted.

Logan, wanting to join in as well, knelt down in front of Palyn's feet and began to tickle their socked feet as well.

"HEHEHEHEHEY! NAHAHAHAT MYHYHY FEEHEHEHEHEHETSIHIHIHIES!" Patton yelled through a quickly increasing laughing fit.

Logan placed his hands on his cheeks like Kevin in Home Alone, and gasped again. "Wow. Your little footsies are ticklish too? What a surprise." Logan reacted in an empty voice.

Somehow, Logan's mostly dead reactions seemed to make Palyn laugh even more! Perhaps dramatic irony is Palyn's favorite type of humor? Who knows?

"Who's a tickwish wittle chiwd? YOU are! WHO'S de most ticku-ticku-tickwish chiwd in de whole mind pawace? YOU are! Yes, YOU are!" Roman teased in a baby voice.

"THEHE TEHEHEHEHEHEASIHIHIHING! IHIHIHIT'S KIHIHIHIHILLIHIHING MEHEHEHEHE!" Patton shouted.

"Oh! What's this? the teasing is killing you? My goodness! We have to save them! But, how?" Roman reacted dramatically.

"Wait, you're telling me you DON'T know CPR?" Logan asked, pretending along with him.

"Well, do YOU?" Roman asked right back.

"Um-........well no..." Logan admitted.

"Move over, idiots. I know how to do CPR. It's rather easy, really. All you have to do is liiiiift up the hoodie..." Virgil explained as he began lifting the hoodie up to expose Palyn's tummy. Palyn immediately began to giggle in their sleeves. They knew EXACTLY what was coming next. "And...give them a raspberry! Like this:" Virgil explained, before blowing a great big raspberry into Patton's stomach.

Patton let out a loud, high-pitched squeal, before dissolving into endless laughter once again!

"Now, remember: longer raspberries tend to do more to help. So, the longer, the better! Like this!" Virgil explained before blowing an even BIGGER raspberry! Patton squealed once again, and dissolved into even MORE laughter! Virgil's CPR raspberries seemed to go on for another couple minutes. And you could tell, that Palyn was enjoying every second of it!

"IHIHIHI'M AHAHAHALIHIHIHIHIVE! IHIHI'M AHAHALIHIVE!" Patton shouted through their loud laughter.

"Virgil, look! They're alive! You saved them!" Roman reacted happily as he hugged Virgil. Virgil smiled at Palyn, and picked them up bridal style.

"Hey Palyn, would you like to watch a movie and cuddle?" Virgil asked.

"Yes please!" Palyn replied.

"Alright, let's go." Virgil said before carrying Palyn out of his room. Roman and Logan followed suit, and helped them choose a movie to watch.

Pretty soon, all 4 sides had covered themselves in blankets, and let the movie Bambi play on their TV. The truth was, Palyn felt very comfortable. Patton loved being tiny. He loved being cuddled, tickled, loved, and being silly! That was one of the reasons Patton liked turning himself into Talyn. They were allowed to be adorable AND be tiny at the same time.

However: tiny or not, adorable or not, Patton still felt forever loved by his family. The proof was all there, and Palyn loved it.

Fun fact: Most of the nicknames Thomas and his sides come up with, have backstories and deeper meanings.

Example; Nerdy Wolverine: Wolverine's first name is Logan.

Grim, Royal Poet: Grim = another word for Emo. Royal poet represented the well-documented Roman Poet by the name of Virgil, who wrote a violent, suspenseful poem called Aeneid. The poem was one day published by Caesar Augustus, the ruler of the Roman Empire. Cool, huh?!

Funny thing is, Thomas came across this name by accident! What a coincidence!! 😃

[cjxkpopxwriting]

JIKOOK SINDAY DRABBLE

Author’s note: My girl @softjiminsworld just had a birthday on the 15th. So... she requested a Jikook Sinday Drabble and I’m a little late because life sucks, but here you go sugar! 💜

Warnings/Preface: If you don’t like Jikook/Kookmin or whatever you wanna call them, that’s fine. Just don’t bring the hate to my blog. Love comes in all shapes and sizes and we will probably never know if they’re a thing unless they want. This is PURELY FICTION and I’m making no assumptions about their lives. Please be warned, this is smut, so if you’re not about that, don’t read on. You’ve been warned. On that note, heed the symbols!: 🔥💕 because they gotta be a little sweet behind all the spicy!

Post writing note: There isn’t a whole lot of graphic smut. It’s talked about lightly, compared to other smut I’ve seen, and I hope that doesn’t upset anyone. There’s a blow job. Though it’s... a sort of first time type of thing? Jungkook is... soft for Jimin. And Jimin is territorial. And there’s some sweet Jikook stuff at the end. It was shorter than intended... but I hope you like it!

- - -

He was staring and he knew it. But how was one not supposed to look at the divine creation that was Park Jimin when he was like this? Practicing for the MMA performances had been a bit stressful right after coming off of vacation. Not that it had been that much of a vacation, and not that they were out of shape. The hustle and bustle and drag of their old schedule right before break came snapping back with a painful sting like a rubber band pulled back too far. Even he, the king of pain endurance, was almost to his limit.

This was a good distraction.

Jin had dropped a bowl of ramen in his lap as he sat cross legged on the rehearsal room floor, obediently watching as his hyung spun and flipped and twisted and rolled in the most beautiful ways. His limbs moved like water, eyes closing when he really got into it, the cloth he held flowing behind him merely an extension of his body. How he wished he had his good camera. His phone would have to do.

The sound of the camera dedicating a soft moment to memory shattered it despite Jungkook willing it not to, and Jimin glanced up, smile breaking the serious expression when he realized it was his dear Kookie who had taken a photo. “Jungkook-Ah! I forgot you were here for... well I’m not even sure how long I’ve been in here? What time is it? And when did you get ramen?” Jungkook was already gathering a bite of the saucy noodles for Jimin when he sank to his knees on the floor in front of Jungkook, pillowy lips parted expectantly. “Jin-Hyung brought them because I didn’t come when he called. He even scolded me. I’m surprised you didn’t hear...”

Jimin hummed as he chewed, slurping at the end which made Jungkook giggle and reach out with his sleeve to wipe at the older man’s chin. It had happened on repeat, moments like this, so many times over the last year, and he knew their fans had their speculations about their relationship. Up until this moment he had wondered to himself as well, but when their eyes met? He felt every bit of his resolve that it all meant nothing, that Jimin was only taking care of him, shatter.

His thumb had plucked the soft cushion of Jimin’s lower lip as he swiped over it, and his brain caught the bounce back in slow motion. Jimin’s pupils shrank to a pinpoint nearly as Jungkook lifted his eyes to his, and in that moment everything seemed to stand still. Jimin reached for his bowl and he let him have it, supposing perhaps the man had decided he wanted his serving for himself. Instead, it was sat aside, near the door, as Jimin’s bare feet padded across the cushioned floor to lock it. What came after Jungkook never could’ve prepared for.

The blur that was Park Jimin hit his chest like a bag of cement, and the press of eager lips that followed it made sure Jungkook felt like he’d been punched free of every ounce of air he had contained before. But oh how it soothed afterwards? The softness of Jimin’s lips contrasted the burn of need that had built up for years when Jungkook parted his lips to voice his confusion. The sound, however, left as a soft moan and it was swallowed up as Jimin slid over his thighs to straddle him.

There was the sensation of fingers in his hair that distracted from the rush of blood to his groin as he all but surrendered to the kiss, brain finally recomposing and catching up to what was happening. He was kissing Jimin. Well... he was now. Fisting the material of Jimin’s shirt, he tugged it off and over Jimin’s limbs and head and threw it, a needy sound leaving him as those delicate fingers became white hot daggers dragging lines up his abs under his shirt and making him shiver like they were cold.

“Kookie, tell me to stop if you want me to...”

It was a warning, or permission to back out, but he had never left something undone and at this point he was sure he didn’t want to. Nipping at Jimin’s bottom lip in an answer, he ducked out of the material in the next moment to allow Jimin to strip him of his sweatshirt. “Don’t stop.” Was that his voice? He sounded more like Yoongi than himself just then and he was sure it had a lot to do with desire. How long had he felt like this? And Jimin? How long had they denied this?

“I want you so bad, Kookie. Please let me have you...” Saying no wasn’t an option, but fear of never being on this side of... anything near this made him gasp softly. “Jiminssi, I’ve... I’ve never...” The older man nods softly, biting his own lip until there is an obvious dent. “That’s ok... I’ll... I’ll just touch you. And we can... figure everything else out. Do you want me to touch you?” The pathetic whimper and nod that left Jungkook right after made him flush darkly, the pink spreading from his ears all the way to under his pecs. “Yes... please.”

His own hand wasn’t unknown... but the second Jimin broke through the flimsy barrier that was made up of his jeans and boxers, he knew nothing could compare to this. To be touched and explored by another was so foreign yet... he wanted nothing else. Surrendering to the other, he leaned back against the mirror, feeling Jimin shift. The soft nip and suction of lips at his neck and chest dragged a ragged sound from his chest as his hands searched for something to grab. A fistful of hair would do.

And Jimin loved it.

He purred against Jungkook’s ear, his fist now firm and sure as it tightened and pumped. His wrist was rolling slightly, adding a different degree of sensation that made Jungkook squirm. Wiggling down the mirror, he connected their lips again, hips lightly lifting off the floor and into Jimin’s hand as the other watched Jungkook begin to unravel. So many pieces of the younger male had been witnessed but he had never ever seen this.

And it was a masterpiece.

Bunny teeth were slightly concealed by his upper lip as it stretched across them in restraint. Bottom lip jutted out as he moaned, the sound breathy and melodic and almost familiar to Jimin’s ears, like he was singing. “That’s it baby... let me show you what I’ve been wanting to see...” Jungkook answers with a breathless whimper, hand sliding behind him to brace on the cool surface of the mirror, hips rocking up again. Jimin is knelt between his parted thighs, now, tugging his pants lower, and Jungkook swears the room starts to spin.

The heat and the wet from Jimin’s mouth are all over the throbbing surface of his cock, swallowing him up and he can’t breathe. “Oh... oh! Hyung... I... Jiminssi...” How could Jimin had reduced the Maknae into a whimpering, damp eyed mess covered in a pink flush on the floor this easy? His tough exterior had all but melted into a submissive mess on the rehearsal room floor and Jimin was drunk off of it. His eyes fluttered closed as Jungkook lifted his hips too sharply, pressing into the back of his throat.

Exhaling carefully to control the urge to vomit, he made the trip himself so Jungkook didn’t have to, swallowing him up on the descent. It seemed to make Jungkook fall apart a little more, the intensity of being swallowed whole too much for the younger man. “I’m gonna... Hyung you need to... I can’t... please... oh! Fuck!” Jimin didn’t move despite Jungkook’s feeble efforts to move him off before he found himself pumping white hot shots of his release down the back of Jimin’s throat.

Everything felt similar to watching frosting drip down the sides of a cake... or ice cream melting under the sun. His head was thrown back, body jerking in random and slightly embarrassing ways as he realized Jimin had promptly swallowed everything he’d let go of. The proof was shown a second later when Jimin exposed his tongue and teeth and then scooped Jungkook up for another kiss. Limbs feeling rather boneless, Jungkook panted, and grappled with getting up off the floor. “Damn... I... are you ok?”

Jimin laughed again, the light noise a stark contrast from the animalistic sound Jungkook had made moments earlier. “Jungkook-Ah I’m fine... I wanted you to... I promise... come here. God you look so good right now... are you ok?” His hands wandered through his red tipped hair, shoving it back in handfuls as he attempted to find words. “That was incredible... I.... what about you?” The moment seemed to quiet for a moment and Jimin slid into Jungkook’s lap, once more, his fingers resuming the tender stroking.

“We have the rest of the night to practice. You can... find a way to pay me back later, hmm?” Jungkook’s tone dipped when the satoori came, matching Jimin’s as he nodded. “Later? Yeah... we can... continue this. I just... when did you... how long?” He had tasted himself on Jimin’s lips, eyes still focused on them before he forced them up to the others eyes. “Kookie... since the first day... I’ve known I felt differently about you. I just... it took time to get here I guess? It’s not going to be easy... but after the fans started noticing and making theories and gushing about our treatment of each other, I began examining...” “me too...” “Yeah?” Jimin looked at Jungkook fondly, and he blushed, hiding his face in his neck.

“I’m so sorry. This should’ve been more romantic! And thought out!” Jungkook laughed. “Since when do we ever do anything the normal way?! It’s... it’s our thing. You are me.” Jimin nodded. “And I am you. Jungkook-Ah... I want this. For forever.” Jungkook found himself blushing now, lips pursed as he forced his body up to sit eye to eye with Jimin, taking the moment in. “Forever sounds good... we can start there.” Jimin was giggling now, kissing Jungkook’s jaw. “Why do you always have to one up me? Why? Why can’t I win?”

Scoffing at his words, Jungkook shook his head. “You can’t! It’s impossible. Others have tried and failed. I’m the Maknae. The golden one. The master. The lack of all trades! I’m the international play boy!” Jimin snorted, only to whine and attempt to escape when he was easily rolled and pinned. “You’re my international playboy now, though, right?” He added when Jungkook found his gaze. “And you’re my calico cat. Now... let’s see about me returning the favor...”

[villlainarc]

Sic Semper Ad Astra

Thus Always To The Stars

Summary: In which Crowley falls, but not before leaving behind stars in the sky and love in his angel’s heart.

Pairings: Ineffable Husbands (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Warnings: unhappy ending (but it also takes place before the source material so the promise of a happy ending is there), minor amnesia at the end (but it is neither truly addressed nor does it have any lasting impact on the story), potentially upsetting alterations to the way god is normally perceived (aka i mess with religion a bit both so the story can work and for my own sanity), aaand let me know if i missed anything else

Word Count: 5388

A/N: an extraordinarily late gift for a friend, and my first leap into writing something for the good omens fandom (which, fair warning, will not be a common occurrence. at all.)

ao3

_________________________

Once upon a time, before the Earth with its land, sea, and sky, there were stars. Really, stars came before most things—they were, after all, the creation formed out of the very first elements in existence. They were hydrogen and helium, tied together with trace amounts of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and iron, reacting to emit an intense heat. If you looked at them from afar though, you’d see only light, pure and brilliant.

This is what Raphael knew stars to be. It wasn’t really that he didn’t care what they were made of (though that was still true), it was more that the elements had yet to be named. For you see, before the stars and the galaxies and before even hydrogen and helium, there were angels who had more important things to do than waste their time coming up with names for the things they created.

Perhaps Raphael should have cared more for the details and names of his creations—names do hold power after all, and this was true even at the beginning of time—but he did have only six days to, with the rest of the angels, aid in the creation of an entire universe.

So you could say that he was a tad preoccupied.

In the end though, that didn’t matter. Names would come later: after the stars lit the heavens and the oceans filled with water, after the wind began to whip through the trees and Adam took his first breath. For now, Raphael was content with spinning light into stars and placing those glowing orbs into the emptiness of space.

It was while he was in a galaxy that would later come to be known as Alpha Centauri, flying the final beam of light around a star that Raphael first met Aziraphale. The other angel had somehow made his way into space and was now hovering a few feet away from Raphael and his star, gravity be damned (gravity hadn’t been named yet either, though it did exist—even, for the time being, in space). In all likeliness, Raphael wouldn’t have noticed Aziraphale for hours more if the angel hadn’t called out a chipper, “Hello! What might you be doing all the way out here?”

Raphael’s head whipped towards the voice, the star going temporarily ignored. He blinked at the new arrival, startled. Scientifically speaking, Aziraphale’s voice shouldn’t have reached Raphael. Space is a vacuum, and as such, sound isn’t able to travel in it. But angels aren’t exactly scientifically viable themselves, so rules don’t apply to them in quite the same way (if they ever did at all). That wasn’t the reason Raphael was so startled, though. Actually, he didn’t know that sound wasn’t supposed to travel in space in the first place. No, the reason Aziraphale had startled him was far more simple: Raphael was supposed to be alone out here. As far as he knew, he was the only one who was allowed to be out in space, forming stars or otherwise. He’d been just about to say so when he looked at Aziraphale—really looked at him.

Contrary to popular belief among some Christians, homosexuality has never been frowned upon by God. In fact, She has always considered it to be just as natural and beautiful as the love between a man and a woman. This may not seem relevant, but when Raphael saw Aziraphale floating in space, soft hair forming a halo around his head and backed by a void dotted with glittering lights that he’d placed there himself, it suddenly became so.

(Neither love nor attraction had been coined as such yet—only partially due to the fact that neither had been felt in the three prior days of the universe’s existence—but Raphael understood that he did feel something distinctly homosexual stirring as he watched this newcomer sit serenely in midair.)

Raphael had to fight to keep his jaw from going entirely slack as he stared at the angel for just a moment longer. Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain some semblance of dignity as he said, “I could ask you the same thing. I am supposed to be out here, but I sincerely doubt you are.”

“Well,” Aziraphale began, oblivious to Raphael’s slight (slight meaning very obvious to anyone that wasn’t Aziraphale) gay panic, “I’m not supposed to be anything yet, I don’t think. I’m a principality, you see, and with no humans having been formed for me to protect… I don’t believe I’m supposed to be anywhere.”

“Oh,” Raphael said, having only half-listened to Aziraphale’s explanation but having fully decided that gravity was completely unnecessary in space if ethereally floating angels were going to exist without it before waving it away. “You know, I really don’t think—”

“Ah! Where are my manners,” Aziraphale said, having known about manners for a few hours now (though he’d forgotten what they had said concerning interruptions), “I haven’t introduced myself!”

“You also didn’t let me finish what I was going to say, but—”

“Oh dear, that’s a part of ‘manners’ too, isn’t it?”

Raphael merely nodded, deciding not to point out that the angel had interrupted him again. It was best not to upset such a magnificent being, in Raphael’s opinion.

“I apologize, my dear.” (Pet names weren’t an official creation yet, but that didn’t stop them from causing the person on the receiving end of them to become hopelessly flustered.) “Now, let me try that again. My name is Aziraphale, and what should I call you?”

“Raphael,” Raphael said, pretending he hadn’t been affected by the pet name that had so clearly affected him (the term “blush” hadn’t been coined yet, but that’s what Raphael was doing, and it was painfully obvious to—yet again—everyone but Aziraphale).

“Well then, Raphael, what are you doing out here?”

“Right!” Raphael said, snapping himself out of whatever trance-like state seeing Aziraphale had put him in. “I’m an archangel, you see, and I’m the one who God tasked with creating the stars.”

“What are stars?” Aziraphale asked, cocking his head to one side as he floated ever nearer.

“Stars,” Raphael said, “Stars are these things.” He gestured towards the glowing sphere he’d abandoned a few moments ago before motioning for Aziraphale to come slightly closer. “They’re made of light and space stuff, see?”

“Mm,” Aziraphale hummed, unfurling his wings for the first time since Raphael had seen him in order to examine the star more closely. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Raphael preened ever-so-slightly at the praise, a small smile gracing his face as he watched the angel continue to flit about.

“I do have a question about it though.”

“Oh?” Raphael frowned slightly, having not been expecting questions about his creation.

“What purpose does it serve? The star that’s closest to the human’s planet—”

“That would be the sun, and the planet’s Earth,” Raphael supplied, turning Aziraphale’s interruptions back onto him (this odd sort of justice still didn’t equate to good manners).

“Yes, the sun,” Aziraphale agreed. “The sun’s purpose is to sustain life on Earth, and Earth is the only planet God is putting life on, is it not?”

Raphael nodded, still unsure where Aziraphale was going with this.

“Well, if that’s the case, then why are stars needed out here? If they aren’t needed to sustain life, then why did She send you to create them?”

Raphael blinked. He hadn’t thought about this before. He’d been told to create more stars, and so he had. What did it matter if he wasn’t aware of their purpose? So Raphael merely shrugged, saying, “I assumed they were to encourage the spread of life to other planets, but I never really thought to question it. Why do you ask?”

“I think that everything we’ve been told to create is here for a reason, don’t you? It just seems odd to me that this would be an exception.”

“I guess,” Raphael agreed tentatively. “What are you getting at?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, drawing out the word, “what if the stars weren’t an exception? What if their purpose is to be beautiful? What if they exist as a sort of beacon of hope for humanity, as a source of light even when their planet is cloaked in darkness? Think about it, Raphael. It would make sense, wouldn’t it? For there to be something with no purpose, just to give hope to humans in times where things seemed darkest? To give them light without pretense? Wouldn’t it be wonderful of the Almighty to do that for the humans? Don’t you think it’s just magnificent that She sent you to create something that’s sole purpose is to give hope?”

This time, Raphael’s jaw drops (he closes it again quickly, but it had dropped all the same). He never would have imagined the Almighty creating something purely to provide hope and beauty. Aziraphale was truly flipping his entire world upside down, but Raphael didn’t think he minded all that much. The way the other angel seemed to think about things held just as much beauty as the stars he claimed to be the epitome of it, and it all made Raphael want to know more about him.

Aziraphale was still watching him expectantly though, so Raphael nodded quickly. “I— yes. Yes, I do think it’s rather… magnificent, as you put it.”

The angel’s answering smile shone brighter than any star Crowley had ever created. “Oh, this is simply incredible. I’m so glad to have met you and your stars, my dear.”

“No,” Raphael frowned, waving the sentiment away. “You’re giving me too much credit. It’s you I should be thanking, really. You were the one who showed me the beauty in all of this, after all.”

“I suppose so. Even still, it is you creating that beauty, is it not? Without you, I wouldn’t have discovered the magic in this universe.” Aziraphale’s smile grew. “I’d say that makes us a pretty good team now, doesn’t it?”

“Uh. Ngk,” Raphael responded eloquently. “I guess so?”

Aziraphale let out a laugh like a silver bell.

When it became clear the other angel was content to simply watch him and wasn’t going to add anything else to the conversation at the moment, Raphael said reluctantly, “I think you should head back to Earth soon. I don’t want you to get in trouble somehow for being out here.”

“Is this your way of asking me to leave?”

Aziraphale’s tone had been teasing, but Raphael’s eyes went wide in horror at his own words anyway. “No! No, absolutely not. I truly have enjoyed your company, Aziraphale. I just don’t think anyone is really supposed to be out here. From what I hear, this place—space, I believe it’s called—is going to be deadly to humans. Angels too, most likely. I don’t want you to be hurt because I kept you here.”

“Are you trying to save me then? Oh, Raphael, that’s so kind of you!”

“I. Uh. Yes, thank you. I do my best.” Raphael told himself his face was not turning a brilliant shade of red, though that was an abject lie. Were it not for the cold vacuum of outer space, his face would very likely appear to be lit with real tongues of fire. “I can take you back, if you’d like,” Raphael heard himself offer. “I just have to finish lighting this star, and we can go back together.” Raphael paused, gathering light in his hands once more and, not wanting to sound too desperate to spend more time with Aziraphale, added, “So you don’t get lost, of course. That’s all.” The reassurance was far more for Raphael’s benefit than the other angel’s.

“I suppose I can wait, in that case. I’ve never watched a star being created before, I don’t think I’ll mind sticking around a little while longer.” Aziraphale turned an impossibly soft smile onto Raphael, who looked very deliberately in the opposite direction and didn’t answer.

Despite his attempt at stoicism, Raphael found a fond smile creeping across his own face as well. That smile stayed stubbornly in place as he sprinkled a handful of stardust over the galaxy, bringing the creation of Alpha Centauri to completion. And though he tried to stifle it, Raphael’s smile remained persistent even after he and Aziraphale returned to Earth.

With the memory of the angel who’d asked questions as pretty as he was etched into his heart, Raphael’s smile wouldn’t fade for a very long time indeed.

_________________________

Once upon a time, there was an archangel who brought the cosmos into being and once upon a time, there was a principality who became fascinated with him. The principality’s name was Aziraphale, and he most certainly had not been created to obsess over questions he was never supposed to have asked and angels he had never been supposed to meet, but obsess he did.

Since the universe had been created a few days before, Aziraphale’s curious mind had been constantly occupied with questions about it (angels hadn’t been created to be curious or to question the Almighty, but Aziraphale had never matched the idea of what angels were supposed to be). He wanted to know about the stars and the moon, the sun and the sky. He picked flowers if they caught his eye, and he asked questions about them as he breathed in their sweet perfume. Aziraphale gazed into the depths of the ocean, and he found that he wanted to learn about each wave that crashed to the shore, each creature that swam in its depths, and each drop of water that made it up.

But most importantly, he wanted to know why. Why were the stars and the moon only visible during the night when they were some of the most beautiful things in the world? _Why_did the sun—something that was created with the purpose to give life to all those who lived beneath its rays—have the potential to be so deadly? Why was the sky blue, why did roses have thorns, why did waves crash into the shore, and why was it all so beautiful?

(Aziraphale had his assumptions, naturally, but that could never and would never beat truly knowing.)

In any case though, his questions didn’t matter. It wasn’t as though they would be frowned upon, and it couldn’t be so bad that he wanted to know things. The pursuit of knowledge could hardly be considered evil.

(Right?)

(Wrong.)

Aziraphale, though, had no way of knowing either way. For you see, asking questions shouldn’t be considered evil. It wouldn’t be as time went on, but it was at the beginning. The Almighty would grow out of Her insecurities, and questions would become welcome once more. All beings are flawed, after all, and God Herself is no exception. The only difference between Her and us is that She was endowed with divine grace—that, and a great deal more time.

But this is getting far, far ahead of the story and is beside the point even if it weren’t. The Almighty doesn’t come to fully understand Her powers until much too late, for you can’t exactly raise an angel. Again, though: beside the point. This is not God’s story, so all you need to know is that questioning anything the Almighty did was, in the beginning, considered evil.

Aziraphale didn’t ask the ‘why’ of those most important questions, though. He never would have imagined that his very nature could have been considered twisted and wrong, so he’d never thought to dwell on the idea.

(Perhaps he should have.)

Even when he heard word of angels falling, Aziraphale didn’t think to question his own perceived ‘goodness.’

(Perhaps there are a lot of things that he should have done.)

It was only while he was being ushered along with the rest of the angels towards God only knew where to watch the spectacle of a lifetime that Aziraphale began to ask the right questions.

“Has anyone seen Raphael?” he asked someone walking beside him. They shrugged in reply, and a feeling of unease bloomed in Aziraphale’s chest.

“Do you know where Raphael is?” he said to another angel a few moments later. They shook their head, seeming not to know the answer either, and Aziraphale’s heart began to pound.

He wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly grown so nervous about his friend’s well-being. It wasn’t as though Raphael had ever done anything wrong. He was an angel in every sense of the word, and yet Aziraphale still felt his breaths growing more shallow by the second.

Just before his part of the crowd was about to enter what could only be called an arena, Aziraphale found a face he recognized at long last. It was not Raphael, but perhaps Gabriel would know more than Aziraphale did.

“Gabriel, you don’t happen to know where Raphael is, do you? It’s silly, but I can’t seem to find him and my chest has begun to seize up, which I can assure you is not a particularly pleasant feeling.”

“Aziraphale! Oh, it’s good to see you.” Gabriel’s height caused him to look down upon Aziraphale to talk to him, and that did nothing to ease his nerves. Still, he allowed Gabriel to continue. “Hadn’t you heard, though? Raphael is one of the angels who’s going to fall.”

“What?” Aziraphale let out a tiny laugh through which doubt ran so deep that could almost be considered a scoff. “Why would he fall?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’m not privy to that sort of information, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale frowned. He wasn’t sure if angels could sense lies, but what Gabriel had said certainly sounded like one.

Perhaps it was because of this frown that Gabriel added, “And even if I did know, it’s not like I’d be allowed to tell you.” He laughed good-naturedly, though it held no mirth. “I guess we’ll never know some things, hm?”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, unconvinced.

“Well,” Gabriel concluded, clapping Aziraphale on the shoulders, “we should both head inside now, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale nodded, at a loss for words. For an angel so clever and with an endless stream of questions, having his words seemingly ripped from him was jarring. He shot Gabriel a smile to appease him, then entered the arena-like structure.

Still following the crowd, Aziraphale found himself being herded into a row comprised solely of stone benches a few feet from the ground. He sat, smoothing his robes in an effort to maintain some semblance of control over the situation he was in.

Heartbreak is one of the most painful things a human being can experience. It feels like fire ripping through you, like the most painful of burns scorching you from the inside out, like anger, like tearing, like blazing, searing heat.

Or it feels like ice covering every inch of you, like a numbness you can’t possibly explain, like pain, like breaking, like overwhelming, crushing cold.

Or it feels like a light going out or the shattering of glass or the last note of a song or like drowning beneath the waves of a storm-ravaged sea or the final word of a story you never wanted to end or like a black hole that steals all things good from the world.

And sometimes, it feels like nothing at all.

As of the day Raphael and the other angels fell, heartbreak hadn’t yet been invented, nor had it been experienced by any of God’s creations.

(They were lucky, in those days. Impossibly lucky.)

Though he wasn’t aware of what it was or understand what he was feeling, Aziraphale would be the very first of God’s creations to have his heart broken.

For him, it would feel like nothing a human could possibly comprehend. Angels feel so much more intensely than humans, so it would only follow that their broken hearts feel that much more like the end of the world. There’s no way the pain of it could ever be adequately described, but if you must imagine something, imagine having everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more (infinite love and happiness, sunlit days and moonlit nights, breezes and clouds whenever you wanted, dramatic reunions on rain-soaked streets, winters full of soft, fluffy snow that makes the world feel just a shade brighter, endless praise and fame and money and success (or if you’d prefer, a tight-knit family and the most wonderful friends you could ever wish for and comfort and warmth): all yours because you made it so) then imagine it was all physically ripped away from you in the same brutal way a heart would be ripped from a chest.

It feels exactly like that, only thousands of millions of times worse.

(Needless to say, Aziraphale was in for a treat.)

As he sat waiting for something—anything—to happen, Aziraphale fell back into his pool of questions. Why was Raphael going to fall? Why were any of the angels going to? God made both angels and humans in Her image, so why were they imperfect? Why was the world so cruel and unfair to someone Aziraphale cared for, why, why, why?

He didn’t know any of the answers, and worse, he didn’t know where to find them either.

He didn’t know why it was that when he spotted Raphael in the line of angels about to fall his heart leapt and his chest filled to the bursting with confetti butterflies, he didn’t know why his face felt warm when the soon-to-be-fallen angel flashed a smile at him. Aziraphale couldn’t seem to figure out why he was filled with so much grief on Raphael’s behalf and he couldn’t fathom why it was that he troubled himself so with the fate of an angel that he’d met only once (love works in strange ways among angels, but Aziraphale wouldn’t discover that until a certain someone’s little miracle involving a church, a bomb, and a bag of books caused him to finally look at him in the same way he had all those centuries ago).

No matter the answers to these questions though, Aziraphale still kept his eyes trained on Raphael, searching for any sort of clue written in the contours of his face. Raphael, in turn, switched his focus from the whispers of an angel next to him to answering Aziraphale’s questioning gaze.

Aziraphale was certain the dramatic movements of Raphael’s eyebrows were trying to convey some sort of message, but it was completely lost in translation. Seeming to realize this, Raphael merely shook his head, a soft smile lighting his face. He didn’t speak—Aziraphale wasn’t far from the ground, sure, but the arena was still far too large and full of far too much chatter for him to be able to properly hear anything—but Raphael seemed to be trying to say _some_thing _some_how (this was the first instance lip reading had to be employed, and while Aziraphale didn’t know the name for it, he was fortunate enough to be rather skilled in the practice nonetheless) and as though through magic, Aziraphale could tell what it was.

Raphael’s message wasn’t a long one (a long message would have been virtually impossible to translate, this being the very first use of lip reading and all), but it was filled with more gravitas in it than a few words had any right to be.

“We will meet again,” Raphael mouthed. “Someday, we will. I promise.” He then appeared to form words that looked to Aziraphale like “I love you,” but he didn’t think that was right and chose to disregard it. The first bit was a heavy enough weight for him to bear.

Raphael whispered that same phrase—the one that looked like “I love you”—again before the ground dropped from beneath him without warning, preamble, or fanfare.

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Then his eyes closed, and his memories faded into nothing.

(He was fine, of course. Aziraphale would wake up in a few minutes and be told he had been created to replace an angel that had recently fallen. He would believe this lie, because why would he not?)

_________________________

Raphael had promised they would meet again (which was a promise he would make good on, and not only because angels simply don’t lie), but that wouldn’t be for a long, long while (the universe had only existed for a handful of days at that point though, so time was still very subjective and a long, long while may not seem long at all in hindsight). Aziraphale, however, wouldn’t remember that he knew Raphael for even longer still, and he wouldn’t find out the true reason Raphael fell for eons upon eons more—it wouldn’t be until after Armageddon (the first one, at least) that he learned the truth. He would learn, though. That much had always been written in the stars.

But, long, long before Aziraphale and Raphael would meet again though, even longer still before Aziraphale remembered that he knew Raphael, and eons upon eons more before Aziraphale learned the whole truth, there was a conversation.

“You sent for me?”

“Ah, yes, Raphael. Please, have a seat. There’s something I feel we, as archangels, should discuss.”

“What is it?”

“You look concerned, my friend, but there is no need to be. I assure you, everything is well. Or, at least, it will be.”

“That sounds awfully ominous.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean for it to. Neither of us will be affected by this, of course, so there’s no reason at all you should be worried.”

“I’m sure there’s no need for such theatrics, Gabriel. Just tell me why you wanted to see me.”

“Ah, of course. I’m sure you’ve heard word of what Lucifer has been saying, right?”

“About how he believes that he’s more worthy of ruling over the universe than—”

“Yes, about how he believes that he’s more worthy of ruling over the universe than the Almighty. Well, in any case, She is planning on doing something about that.”

…

“…Are you going to tell me what She’s going to do or are you expecting me to make a guess?”

“No need to be snippy, Raphael. I’ll tell you.”

“Well, go on then.”

“Don’t rush me, Raphael. The pause is for dramatic effect because what She’s planning to do is quite dramatic. And before you say anything, yes, I’m getting there.”

…

“…Are y—”

“So the Almighty! Has let slip that Lucifer might not be… around here much longer.”

“…And that means?”

“You’ve heard of Hell, right?”

“You mean the place deep within the Earth that the Almighty created as a—”

“Yes, the place deep within the Earth that the Almighty created as a direct opposite to Heaven.”

“I’ve heard of the place, yeah. What about it?”

“Well supposedly, from what I’ve heard, that’s where Lucifer is going to be sent. He’ll be cast out of Heaven, disgraced, dishonored, and with a name so besmirched he will never bother us again!”

“Huh.”

“And a few other angels will be sent with him, of course. Others that he’s drawn to his cause, those that have questioned Her too much, or were too prideful, or lusted for more power, you know.”

“I’m sorry, what was that middle one?”

“Being too prideful? You know, like—”

“I know what being too prideful is, Gabriel. I meant the other middle one.”

“Oh, yeah. There have been a few angels that questioned Her actions too much, like Azazel, Aziraphale—”

“Aziraphale? You can’t mean— Is he meant to be cast out with Lucifer and the others?”

“Yes, he is. Is that a problem?”

“I— no, not really, it’s just…”

“I’d choose your next words _very carefully _if I were you.”

“…Yeah, so it’s just that Aziraphale hasn’t questioned Her actions nearly as much as I have. Are you sure he’s meant to fall?”

“Hm, falling, I like that. We should use that instead of ‘cast out.’ Sounds a bit pretentious, if you ask me.”

“You’ve just completely missed the point.”

“Right. Well, if he’s supposed to fall, then, yes, I’d assume you are too.”

“You know, that’s not _actually _what I—”

“Huh. I thought you were better than this, Raphael.”

“Hang on, Gabriel, I—”

“I’ll have to arrange this with the Almighty, of course—”

“Gabriel—”

“—she’ll have to be alerted of this new development, and who better to alert her than m—”

“Wait!”

“Hm?”

“It… it’s, uh, completely my fault that Aziraphale asked questions in the first place. If I hadn’t met him, he wouldn’t have questioned anything.”

“So… what are you saying, Raphael?”

“I’m saying that if I fall, Aziraphale shouldn’t have to. With me out of the picture, he won’t question the Almighty anymore. He shouldn’t fall, I should.”

“I… huh. That makes sense, doesn’t it? His memory of you will have to be erased though, of course, so your influence is no longer hanging ove—”

“Yes, yeah, that’s fine. Was that all?”

“You know, I’m very disappointed in you, Raphael. You’re an archangel, you should be better than this. No angel should question the almighty, obviously, but—”

“Wonderful, I’ll be on my way then. Nice chat we’ve had.”

“Tsk, tsk. With the amount of disrespect for authority you show, I’m surprised I didn’t realize you didn’t belong here way earlier. Honestly, I should have known the whole Aziraphale debacle was your fault. He always was such a good angel.”

“Mhm. How ignorant of you.”

“I wish I could say I’ll miss you, but I’m afraid I’ll never miss a disgrace such as yourself.”

“Mhm. Yes, how could I have betrayed you like that.”

“Right? It’s positively despicable.”

“Mhm. Well, I’d better be off then. Nice knowing you, Gabriel.”

“I can’t say the same. Good talk, though.”

“The best.”

It was a conversation full of lies and other assorted deception, but a conversation that sealed the fates of both Raphael and Aziraphale nonetheless. It was a conversation that saved one angel and doomed another, but it was a conversation that Raphael would never regret having.

_________________________

As Raphael fell, he turned his gaze skyward, towards the stars he’d played a role in creating mere days earlier. He reached a hand towards them unconsciously, grasping for a world he no longer belonged to.

In later years, he would claim that he hadn’t fallen, not really, but instead had sauntered vaguely downwards. This was, of course, untrue. Raphael had fallen the same way all the other angels had: in a rush of blinding pain and eyes squeezed shut, face turned towards the last glimpse of Heaven they’d ever see. If you looked at it through that lens, Raphael was far from special.

It was, however, true that Raphael had metaphorically sauntered vaguely downwards. He didn’t fall in the same way the other angels had in that his fall had a certain sense of grace to it. He’d sauntered vaguely downwards in the sense that he’d left Heaven with a smirk in place up until the moment the ground dropped out from beneath him, and he’d sauntered in the fact that he remained confident in his choice to fall even as he took his very last angelic breath.

Sauntering vaguely downwards implies a sort of confidence in oneself, in one’s choices. Raphael had that in spades. For as long as his consciousness remained trapped in existence, Raphael would not wish—not even once—that he hadn’t chosen to fall in his angel’s place.

So in that sense, perhaps it was true that Raphael had not so much fallen as sauntered vaguely downwards.

And perhaps one day, when Raphael was no longer Raphael but Crowley instead, his angel would look up at the stars and remember the now-demon who had created them before falling in his place. Perhaps Aziraphale would remember too the love that had begun to grow between them, and perhaps he would understand why Crowley had made his sacrifice.

But that day was not the one Aziraphale was living because, as far as he knew, Raphael—or, as he was now known, Crowley—had never existed at all. All Aziraphale remembered of him was held in the stars Crowley had created once upon a time and in the way those stars lit up tears that fell from the angel’s eyes for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

_________________________

find other stuff i’ve written under #writings from the stars

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Crayola. (G. Way x Reader)

For: @thrill_kill on Wattpad

Request: can you make one where the reader is new to a school and gerard is like the “punk boy” of the school, and they have to work together on something, and it can either smut or fluff (whatever you’re comfortable with tbh)

Note: Kinda put my own, unconventional spin on the whole ‘high school bad boy’ character. Because let’s face it, not all bad boys are hard-faced, emotionless, brooding males with eyes the colour of rich chocolate and lips so puffy you wanna kiss them forever and ever and a body so perfect that you just-

wait, what was my point, again?

Oh, yes! Not your typical bad boy. A bit different. Hope you like. x

 -----

The nice part about switching schools? It was a chance to start over, re-invent yourself and begin an entirely new chapter.

The bad part? For some undetermined, totally unwarranted reason, virtually every class you attended housed a bothersome teacher who insisted on subjecting you to the worst form of public humiliation known to mankind – standing up in front of the classroom for the customary ‘new kid’ introduction.

Now, you’d gotten through most of the day virtually unscathed, since the kids in your first couple classes were thoughtful enough to completely ignore you during the introductory speech – something that you thanked your lucky stars for – and all in all seemed like pretty chilled people. They hadn't immediately made you feel like you didn’t belong by cross-examining you, or staring at you like you were some kind of alien species, at least.

And then you got to Chemistry class.

That feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Yeah. That. Right from the second your feet crossed the threshold and entered the classroom.

You did the obvious thing, of course – kept your gaze lowered as you walked and focused it anywhere that wasn’t someone’s face when you stood up front. All was going well, until you slipped up and accidently locked gazes with someone.

And it wasn’t just anyone.

It was clear that he was the resident bad boy; leather jacket, combat boots, all black everything… well, all black everything except his hair. Red. Quite possibly the brightest red you’d ever seen; a shade that could only be accurately compared to a Crayola marker.

But his hair was not the thing that caught your attention the most, oh no – the thing that captivated you was the fact that when you looked over at him… he had already been looking at you.

He had already been looking at you, and he was smirking.

You weren’t an incredible shy person, per se, but the way he was gazing at you brought about knots in your stomach and made the blood rush to your cheeks, and you had no choice but to look away as quickly as you could.

With your focus now off of the mysterious, really cute guy, you realised that the teacher had stopped talking and was staring at you expectantly. It was clear that he had said something that probably required some sort of a response (or at least an acknowledgment) and you mentally cursed at yourself for letting Crayola distract you.

“Excuse me?” you said, awkwardly shifting your feet on the tiles.

“I said that we’re glad to have you join us, and I hope you’ll be happy in this class,” the teacher – Mr Owens – repeated with a friendly smile.

“Oh, thank you,” you muttered, mustering up a grin of your own.

Mr Owens extended a hand towards the back of the class. “There’s an empty seat second row from the back, next to Gerard.”

Moving your gaze in the direction that he pointed out, you searched for who your bench partner was and – oh.

Crayola.

Nice one, universe.

For some reason, your hands were trembling slightly as you made your way to the back of the class, and you frowned down at them, clutching the notebook you were holding in an attempt to get the shaking to stop.

You’d been so focused on calming yourself down that you hadn’t realised that you’d long since arrived at the bench, and Crayola was watching you with a tilted head and an amused look on his face.

“Hi,” he said, snapping you out of your trance.

Your head rose instantaneously at the sound of his voice, which was much softer and friendlier than you’d expected it to be. Somehow finding your own voice, you got a reply out.

“Hi.”

“I’m Gerard,” he introduced, placing an open hand on his chest and once again tossing you a smirk, “But you knew that.”

With an awkward laugh, you sat yourself down on the stool, slinging your backpack onto the bench-top. “(Y/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N),” he said smoothly, darting his tongue out and letting it run over his lips. Lips – which you noticed – that were almost as red as his hair.

You gave him a genuine smile, suddenly feeling not as anxious about being new as you had earlier. “Yeah, you too.”

Mr Owens went around the class, then, handing out procedure booklets for the experiment you would be conducting that lesson.

“The person next to you will be your lab partner for the rest of the year, and there’s no switching seats from here on out,” the teacher explained as he went along, “So I hope you chose wisely.”

He approached your bench, slowly handing booklets to you and your new partner. He took a moment to stop and look at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head once before looking at Gerard briefly, expression changing.

Gerard glared back at him and yanked the booklet from his hand, giving him the finger as he turned and walked away.

Confused, you turned to the redhead, pointing after Owens. “What was that about?”

“He hates me,” Gerard stated simply, pursing his lips and shrugging, “Thinks I’m a, quote, ‘bad seed’.” He made animated faces as he impersonated the teacher, getting a giggle from you.

Proud of himself for getting you to laugh, Gerard turned his entire body to face you. “I’m actually surprised that he put you next to me. Assigning a hot girl as my lab partner is not something I woulda expected from Richard.”

His shameless flirting caught you off guard, and you had to pretend to busy yourself with removing stationery from your backpack so that he couldn’t see your red face.

“Why does he think you’re a bad seed?” you asked, shifting the attention from yourself to him, “I mean, there must be a reason?”

Gerard ran his tongue along his teeth and shrugged, picking up one of your pens and twirling it around his fingers. “Personally, I think it’s just because I wear all black and dye my hair and have the whole ‘punk rock, bad boy’ aesthetic going on. That’s my theory.”

He creased his brow and looked up thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “But, I mean it could also be because I bubble-wrapped his car last year. Or because that one time he caught me smoking, I put the cigarette out on his tie. Oh, actually, it’s definitely because I hooked up with his daughter. But in my defence,” he arched his brows and raised his hands, “None of that was my fault. Technically.”

Cocking one brow, you smiled lazily. “Lemme guess? He interfered in your business, and you were just returning the favour?”

“Exactly!” Gerard’s eyes lit up and he smiled widely at you, before biting his bottom lip and reaching forward to ‘boop’ your nose. “I like you.”

“Alright!” Mr Owens called out, gathering the attention of the entire class, “Let’s do a quick walkthrough.”

You listened to the teacher drone on about customary lab safety precautions, laughing quietly every time Gerard would mumble a backhanded comment, and once Mr Owens had finished running through the experiment, you began setting up the necessary equipment.

“It’s a fairly simple experiment,” you commented, slipping on your safety goggles and skimming over the procedure booklet once more, “Just testing for precipitates.”

“Precipitation?” Gerard cocked his head and frowned. “Like, rain?”

Choking on the air in your throat as you tried to supress your laughter, you shook your head. “No, precipitates. In science, that’s the solid stuff that gathers at the bottom of the test tube when you mix certain solutions together.”

Gerard’s confusion quickly dissipated and was replaced with a sly smirk. “I know what precipitates are. I mean, hello, I’m in AP Chem. I just wanted to see if you’re hotter when you talk science. My conclusion: you are.”

Finding a surge of confidence all of a sudden, you squinted your eyes and looked at Gerard. “Ya know, if you spent as much time actually doing the experiment as you are spending flirting with me, we probably woulda finished already.”

“Would you consider it, though?” he raised one brow, starting to decant some ammonium hydroxide into one of the test tubes.

“Consider what?”

“Going on a date with me?”

Before your brain could even begin to process the question and formulate a response, the sight of the test tube overflowing caught your eye, and you gasped.

“Gerard, the tube!”

“What? OH SHIT!”

The redhead scrambled to find some paper towels to clean up with and in the process of hopping off of the stool somehow managed to knock over the bromothymol blue, staining the white bench a dark blue colour.

The commotion caught the attention of everyone else in the room, especially Mr Owens, who looked on disapprovingly.

“What happened?”

Gerard, irritated at himself for spilling the chemicals and upset over the fact that some spilled on his jacket, snapped back a reply. “What does it look like, genius? The chemicals spilt.”

Owens folded his arms. “They spilt or you spilled them?”

“Suck my dick, Richard.”

~

“I can’t believe I’m in here. I didn’t even do anything wrong…”

Gerard, lounging comfortable in his usual seat with his legs propped up on the desk in front of him, looked at you in excitement. “Welcome, princess! Is this your first time?”

Grinding your teeth, you glared at the redhead. “Yes, and it’s all your fault!”

“Hey, that teacher DESERVED to be cussed out, okay?” Gerard scoffed, jutting a thumb over his shoulder.

“No, he really didn’t!” you argued, voice high. Letting out a loud groan, you dropped your head in your hands. “I had plans for after school and you just ruined it, you fucking Crayola!”

Gerard’s brows arched in surprise. “Oh, so we’re already on a nicknaming basis? Awesome.”

He laughed as you made an impolite hand gesture, and shifted his chair closer to yours.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?” you hissed impatiently, pissed off beyond belief.

“Will you go out with me?”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. “Are you kidding me? After you got me thrown into detention? No fucking way.”

Gerard stayed silent and thought for a second. “So you’re saying that if I hadn’t gotten you thrown in here, you would have said yes?”

You stared at him, unblinking, for a long while before eventually answering. “I guess now we’ll never know, huh, Crayola?”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Crayons aren't my type.”

Another goddamned smirk.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll turn you into a Crayola, too. Just you wait.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

 Taglist:

@darknessdancing

@raversam

@username-number-01834

@moosesmoose

@underscoredarcy

@justawriterinprogress

@anotherwriterinprogress

[chelleaslin]

Rare Pair Month Day 31- Valentines Day

@mlrarepairmonth

“Alya, this is it, this is the year.” Marinette sternly said as she took a deep breath and marched towards Adrien, her hands holding a Valentines card behind her back. Adrien was surrounded by a group of girls all fighting for his attention as they shoved gifts of all sorts at him, he smiled politely at all the girls but anyone could tell he was uncomfortable. He looked around for help from anyone, luckily his green eyes landed on a familiar figure approaching him.

“Hey Marinette!” He called out smiling, waving the girl over. Marinettes heart soared as he greeted her until she noticed the group of girls around him all sending her death glares. She awkwardly waved back at the boy before spinning on her heel and marching right back to Alya.

“Alya, this is not my year.” She sighed sadly as she hung her head in shame. Alya sent her a sympathetic smile, throwing her arm around her shorter best friend.

“It’s okay, the day just began you’ve got plenty of changes.” She encouraged her as she guided her inside. Marinette sent her a soft thankful smile as they headed into class.

The day passed with multiple attempts to confess to Adrien but each and every one of them was a bust. By the time the final bell rung, Marinette was physically and emotionally exhausted. She endured a day full of faliure while also watching many girl sussessful confess to him, sure he kindly rejected them but it still made Marinettes head hurt.

“I’m done with romance.” Marinette yawned as her and Alya walked out of school. Alya snorted as she rolled her brown eyes at her friend.

“Sure you are, Mari.” Alya laughed as she hugged Marinette. “Love ya girl, I’ll call you after my date.” She then turned and started jogging to catch up to Nino. Marinette sighed sadly once again, she watch her two friends intertwine their fingers as they walked hand in hand. She felt a small twang of jealously, she hated Valentine’s Day, it did nothing but remind her how single she really was. She pulled her backpack further up her back before turning towards the Bakery and walking home.

“Hello, honey!” Her Papa chirped as soon as she walked in. She sent him a soft smile while mumbling back a greeting. If he noticed her off mood, he made no attempt to mention it. “How was Valentine’s Day? Any boys I have to fight off?” He joked as he pulled out a baguette. Marinette knew he was only trying to make her laugh and didn’t mean any harm by the question but she couldn’t help but feel upset about his joke.

“Actually Papa, I-“ She was cut off by her Mother waving a red envelope in front of her face.

“She got a letter delivered here.” Sabine sang as she continued to wave the letter around. Marinettes heart started to race, someone wrote her a Valentine letter? Was it Adrien? She all but snatched the letter from her Mothers hand before running upstairs to her room for some privacy.

Once the hatch to her room was firmly shut Marinette opened her bag to let Tikki out.

“Oh a Valentines letter, how exciting!” The Kwami chirped as she flew in circles around her chosen.

“I know Tikki I hope it’s from Adrien.” Marinette replied as she threw her school bag on the ground and sat at her desk. She held the letter out in front of her, finally getting to inspect it.

The envelope was a red with light pink heart on the front, there was also a Jagged stone sticker on the back, sealing it shut. She brushed her fingers softly over the black permanent marker on the front before frowning.

The hand writing was a beautiful neat cursive, nothing like Adrien’s large sloppy hand writing. Even though this was her first ever Valentine she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She groanned in annoyence that her hopes had been crushed once again, she threw the envelope on her desk.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked curiously, why wasn’t see opening it.

“It’s not from Adrien.” Marinette muttered glumly, she glanced at Tikki, shocked to see the Kwami glaring at her. “What?” Marinette asked as she said up straighter, not liking the judgmental look she was receiving.

“Someone spend time, effort and money on you, YOU, for Valentine’s Day! you’re the person they had to build up the effort to write and send this too. Your the person how they wanted to spend the day of love with and YOU’RE telling me that you’re not even going to bother opening it just because it’s not from Adrien?” The tiny god was absolutely fuming as she angrily ranted at her chosen.

Marinette felt an over whelming sense of shame as she guilty avoided eye contact with Tikki. What was she thinking? was she really going to ignore her first ever Valentine because it wasn’t from Adrien, sure she loved him but they weren’t a couple, he didn’t even know about her feelings and here she was dismissing a stranger that actually had feelings for her.

She picked up the envelope and opened it, revealing a simple folded piece of paper. She unfolded the letter and begain to read.

Dear, Marinette Dupin-Cheng

I’m going to start this letter by telling you about how much of a coward I am. I didn’t have the guts to give this too you in person , so I got my sister to put it in your mailbox.

I wanted to give this to you with flower or chocolate but I know that your heart belongs to another so I couldn’t face you. I keep trying to tell myself that it didn’t mater that you didn’t return my feelings, that I should express my love for you without expecting love in return but it is a lot harder to stay humble than I originally thought...

You just blow me away with every small fact I learn about you. You’re incredibly brave, kind and funny you’re extremely talented which you already knew but yet you’re so down to Earth.

You’re friends with so many rich and famous people but are as humble as anyone common person. How can you been so ordinary extraordinary? It blows my mind, you blow my mind.

I just love you so much Marinette, inside and out, you are the most beautiful soul I have known in all my lives.

-Just another face on the street.

“Marinette?” Tikki’s voice broke her from her trance.

“Yes, Tikki?” She sobbed out, surprising herself. She tenderly reach a hand to her cheeks, feeling a warm wetness. When did she start to cry? “I have to find however wrote this?” She whispered to more herself than her Kwami. She reread over the note, her secret admirer said their sister delivered the letter, implying that their sister knew her address and most likely knew her. It wasn’t much but it was a start, she needed to know who this letter was from.

“Tikki, I need a notepad, pen and my yearbooks.”

[averagedoctor]

Breakups and beginnings

11th doctor x reader

Pronouns: gender neutral

Word count: 2,462 (I didn’t realize I had written so much wow)

TWs: crying?, breakup?

Tagging: @evyiione

Summary: While out trying to clear your head of a recent breakup, a odd man sits down next to you.

A/N: I got broken up with a few weeks ago which is where the inspiration for this came from. This also took forever to write and isn’t really edited so yeah there’s that

Wiping your eyes, you took a shaky breath in. You never thought that this was actually going to happen. You looked away from the person in front of you and sniffled. Tears still dripped down your face and you tried once again to get rid of them. It didn’t work. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you turned around and left, walking home, not looking back. You couldn’t believe that this was real. You didn't want to think that this was real. Except, it was, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. So, instead, you walked home, crying.

Reaching your stoop, you realized just how biting cold it was outside. Funny, it didn’t even register to you since you were so wrapped up in your thoughts. Unlocking your door, you headed to the bathroom to assess the damage. Your eyes were swollen, nose raw, and cheeks incredibly flushed and red. Splashing water on your face, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to them and tears welled in your eyes once again. It was so surreal and yet you had just experienced it. Breathing in, you backed up and slid down the bathroom wall, burying your face in your hands and sobs. Truly, painfully, sobbing. You hadn’t cried like that in a long time and it felt like an old friend. You wished it didn’t feel that way.

After an hour or so, you collected yourself. You hadn’t felt so drained and lonely in such a long time. Immediately, your thoughts rushed to texting them, they always made you feel better, until the wave of reality crashed down on your, forcing you to remember that you no longer had that lifeline. Closing your eyes, you breathed deep, attempting to hold more sobs at bay. You couldn’t stay in your house anymore, so, against your better judgement, you left. Whisking your coat on and stuffing your phone in your pocket (even though there wouldn’t be anyone texting you) you headed out. To where, you weren’t sure. All you knew is that you had to leave. Just leave. The last conversation you had with them played through your mind as you walked the bitter streets. Streetlights were the only thing that illuminate your path.

“I’m sorry.”

That was the one sentence you couldn’t shake. You hated how sincere they sounded. “I’m sorry.” If they were so sorry, then why did they do this to you? Why did they figure hurting you was so much better? It wasn’t like it mattered anymore but you wanted to know so badly. A tear fell down your cheek and you quickly got rid of it, continuing to hurry forward.

Eventually, you reached an empty park. It was nearly pitch black and the sky was full of stars. You were a little shocked that you were here, considering that it was so far from where you live, but you figured you were too wrapped up in your thoughts to process anything. You took a seat on the nearest bench you could find. The cold metal bit at your legs and you shivered against it, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. Looking off into the distance, you let the numbness consume you. You couldn’t even find the energy to cry, all you could do was sit on that freezing bench and watch the trees dance in front of your vision as the dark twisted their shapes.

You couldn’t say how long you had been there before, suddenly, a man had sat down on the bench next to you. Fear immediately filled your body. It was the middle of the night and there was a strange man next to you and you had no idea what his agenda was. Still, you couldn’t help your head turning and looking at him. He had brown hair that swept over one side of his face. His clothes were interesting for this time of night, but he could have just come from a party. He was wearing a red bow tie, white button down, a light brown tweed jacket, and some color of dress pants that your eyes couldn’t pick up in the dim light. You didn’t say a word and you could feel the blood draining from your face. He looked shocked at your reaction.

“Oh, hello! I didn’t mean to scare you, you just looked upset and I wanted to see if you were okay. I should have thought about the time of night it was, really. Honest mistake, I forget about it sometimes. Well then, are you alright?” He rambled off, looking at you with expectant eyes. Your fear ebbed. He seemed harmless enough, just a nice guy looking out for another person. Nearly anybody else would have seen you and hurried on by or not even been outside at all.

“I…” You paused, trying to decide whether to lie or not, “I’m not alright.” You admitted at last, hanging your head. The man gave you a sympathetic frown. “It’s really no big deal though. You didn’t have to stop to talk to me. I’ll be fine. You should go, enjoy your night.” You said, looking at your lap, still.

“I stopped by because you seemed sad. I can’t stand seeing anybody sad.” He left it at that and it was up to you to say something now.

“Well, okay.” You opened your mouth to continue speaking but paused, looking at the man for a quick second. Even thinking about saying the words and admitting it was real was causing your throat to close up. “Um.” You coughed, a blush forming on your cheeks. Your eyesight turned to the trees in front of you. “My partner. They left me.” You stammered out, tears pricking at your eyes. Shifting, you swiped your hand at them. “It’s… it’s dumb. I knew, I knew, and yet… I’m still surprised and, and hurt and yeah. That’s my night.” You huffed out in a laugh, mirroring self deprecating. “Sorry. That was pathetic of me.” You laced your fingers together, worrying with the skin.

“I’m so sorry.” He said with such sincerity that it hurt your heart. Who knew a stranger could be so nice.

“Yeah, but nothing can be done, so…” You trailed off, going to stare at his shoes now, trying to decipher their color in the dark. “What’s, uh, what’s your name?”

“The Doctor or just Doctor.”

“Y/N.” You replied with a curt nod. It was an odd name but somehow it fit him. You couldn’t have imagined him having any other name. Maybe John, but that was besides the point.

“Thank you.” You blurted out suddenly. “My night has been going horribly. I have no one to talk to and everything was just building inside. I thought I was going to explode. I didn’t realize how much I needed to say the truth out loud until you. So, thanks.” You finished lamely, now holding eye contact with him.

“Of course. I try to be helpful like that. Plus, people like to talk to me. I guess I have one of those faces.” He joked with an easy smile. Putting your hands on your knees, you pushed yourself to stand.

“I should be going.” You excused, pointing behind you.

“Would you want a lift home? It’s cold.” He reasoned, standing up as well. You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t trust a stranger like that, but you were now noticing the cold and couldn’t bear the walk back home.

“Alright.” You caved, sticking your hands in your jacket pocket. The man lit up at your response.

“This way.” He motioned, striding in front of you, and the two of you walked out of the park.

About a block away, there lay a tall object blocking the horizon, a bright light at the top of it a beacon. The Doctor headed straight towards it and you trailed behind, cautious. He stopped right at the doors, waving you to come over.

“This… this doesn’t look like a  car.” You joked, nervously. It was some decades old blue police box. You hadn’t even ever seen one in person before and didn’t think any existed anymore.

“Oh, it’s better than a car.” He winked, tapping the wood lighting with a finger. “You can go in, it’s perfectly safe.” He assured you, heading to push open the door.

“I don’t think we could both fit in there. I should just walk.” You said quickly. You thought you could trust this man, but this was getting weird now.

“It’s terribly cold. Please, just step in for a second, I think you’ll be surprised.” The Doctor pleaded, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine.” You said, curtly. You couldn’t think of any way to excuse yourself out of this situation so you figured you would be better off stepping in.

As he pushed open the door, you shut your eyes and stumbled in, your hand a guide on the wooden wall. The wood that turned to a cool metal as you entered. Your eyes snapped open with the texture change and you found yourself in a much larger space than you ever could have imagined. It was all gleaming metal with a control console in the center of it all. Stairs were fanned around the room, leading off to who knows where.

“Oh my god.” Was all you could breathe out, spinning around slowly so you could take in all that was around you. The Doctor stood by with a pleased smile on his face, leaning on a  stair rail in front of you.

“I know.” He said, hopping up to the control panel. “So, care to go someplace other than home?”

“Huh?” You tilted your head, walking over to him. “What do you mean? What happened to going home?” A light blush formed on his cheeks and his eyes darted everywhere but your face.

“Well, this is my ship, the TARDIS. She can travel through space and time and I thought, maybe, you’d like a distraction… I can drop you at home, if you want.”

“Space… and time?”

“Yes, anywhere. Maybe not the 652nd sector, but anywhere else.” You scoffed and rested a hand on the cool metal of the console.

“What about a star being born?” The Doctor’s eyes lit up happily and he whizzed off, yanking levers here and there, and soon enough the TARDIS was bucking and shaking. You gripped tight to anything near you in hopes to stay somewhat upright. Then, just as soon as it had started, it stopped. The Doctor skipped along to the doors and guesterued at you to come over. Regaining your balance, you shakily walked over to the doors.

“Are you ready?” He asked, hands tensing on the handles. You nodded in reply.

He flung open the doors with a flourish, beaming at the sight before you. It was stunning. He had brought you just as it was starting to form and so many beautiful things were happening before you at once. Tears filled your eyes and you blinked them away, shocked. You had never cried at anything beautiful before.

You and the Doctor stood there for the whole process, you gaping in awe the entire time, and the Doctor watching with a pleased smile on his face.

“Why a star being born?” He questioned you when it was over, the two of you walking back to the main area.

You shrugged, thinking. “New beginning, I guess.” He patted you on the shoulder and went to go set the coordinates to home. With a quick jostle, you were back on Earth, back at your home.

“Is this what you always do?” You were sitting on the stairs leading up to the center.

“Yes.” He replied, taking a seat next to you.

“Alone?”

“Sometimes. I try not to be.”

“Where are the people you’re with then?” That question only earned you silence and the Doctor averting his gaze.

“Sorry.” You said hastily, wanting to recover for your blunder.

“It’s fine.” He assured, looking back at you and giving you a tight smile.

“Thank you, for everything. I really needed that tonight.” You stood up, giving the man a smile, your first real one of the night. “I should be going now, though, for real.” You laughed, anxiously. You were never good at being the one to initiate the goodbye. Just like… no. You weren’t going to think about them right now. They weren’t going to ruin this for you. “Goodnight, Doctor.” You waved to him, walking over to the doors to leave. Cracking open one, you were just getting ready to step out into the cold night when you heard noises behind you and turned around. It was the Doctor, standing at the base of the stairs now, shifting his weight, and adjusting his bowtie.

“Actually, Y/N, would you want to come travel with me?” He rubbed his hands together nervously. Your eyes softened and you frowned.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. I have a life that I need to take charge of.”

“Yes, of course.” He nodded multiple times, lowering his hands. In a moment of pure impulse, you rushed over to this near stranger and gave him a hug.

“Be safe.” You whispered to him before fleeing out into the cold. Your walk home was monumentally better now that you could replay all that you had seen tonight in your mind. You hardly even thought about them until you got into bed that night. That’s when the tears broke free and flowed from your eyes. Even new stars and strange, wonderful, men couldn’t stop the aching loneliness you now felt without them in your life. Hopefully the star would be enough to show you that things can begin again and be more beautiful than they were before.

The Doctor sat down slowly on the stairs. He found that his breath was stolen from his lungs and it took a minute before he could breathe normally again. It’s always the good ones, the best ones, that got away. All the possible futures shattered in the instant they decided to leave. He understood, of course, that you were in a spot where going off with him would be a lot like being tied down and back in that relationship you had just been thrust from. He knew, but that didn’t mean it pained him any less. He put his head between his legs as some tears fell through the cracks and tried to think about how much happier he had made you tonight and how you would carry this with you for the rest of the life. Surprisingly, it helped him feel a tiny bit better and soon enough he was pulling himself up off those steps and shooting himself straight into another adventure, another world.

[sophygurl]

Did my what’s coming up on TV quarterly-ish organizational project and re-did my shows I watch page. Figured it would be a good time to make an update post on my media consumption of late.

I’m still embroiled in the Big Brother season. It’s been a pretty terrible season truth be told, and I’d have noped out except for there being one houseguest left in there that I adore and want to support, and of course the fan community I have (a chat room I’ve been in for a decade now and also a twitter list of fans, update sites, and BB alum I enjoy interacting with). We’ve still got a ways to go, and I am not watching the live feeds much this season, but still watching the shows (mostly to chat with my friends about) and keeping up with the feeds via twitter to see what’s happening and watching the few small clips of that one hg i still enjoy. 

It’s an interesting thing when being part of a fandom starts to feel like a chore. Like, yes, you do this for entertainment purposes and could stop at any point when it stops being fun for you - but you do also create a community around you and half the fun is that community interaction and it’s harder to let go of that. Because you can’t generally pack that whole community up and take them to another show or experience with you. 

Another fan experience that was a let-down this summer was Veronica Mars. I won’t post any spoilers in case there is anyone out there yet who wants to watch S4 unspoiled and has yet to find out what happened, but suffice to say I am not pleased. 

I did enjoy most of the series right up until the ending. I know a lot of people are upset about other things that happened, but I can defend or at least explain most of that based on what the show and the characters have always been. But that ending. Wow. I am still recovering. And not at all interested in a season 5 or really anything else that Rob Thomas might want to work on in the future. He’s really ruined any fan goodwill he had in my eyes. 

Other TV shows I’ve been enjoying this summer: 

The 100 delivered another fascinating season. I know the show is problematic in a number of ways, but it still has such wonderful characters with incredible arcs of growth and struggle and learning to overcome together. The plots get wilder and wilder, but whatever, I’m along for the ride. 

Agents of Shield was ... interesting. I don’t even know what to say about it anymore, tbh.

American Princess on Lifetime was a surprisingly fun new show - a NY socialite runs off on her wedding day and ends up at a Ren Faire, where she meets new friends and decides to stay and create a new life for herself. It’s charming, sweet, romantic, funny, and fun for any found family fans. 

BH90210′s pilot episode cracked me tf up. I kind of can’t believe the cast is going along with this satirical version of playing themselves trying to get a reboot of the original show going. It’s soapy and campy and so delightfully weird, while also being nostalgic. Can’t wait to see what they do with it. (Also I miss Luke Perry enormously)

Elementary has one episode left and I will be very sad when the story is complete, but happy for everyone involved for having been part of such a unique spin on Sherlock Holmes in such a successful way.

Euphoria season one was an intense emotional process, watching teens and their families struggle with addiction, violence, abusive relationships, sexual discoveries, gender navigation, mental illness, and so much more. Also just a visually stunning show. 

Grand Hotel is a fun soapy new show that I am enjoying very much. Classic soap tropes, a largely Latinx cast, a lesbian main character, and lots of eye candy.

Jane the Virgin put out a wonderful final season and series finale. I laughed. I cried. I was very satisfied. 

Killjoys has started up it’s final season. I’m loving it, but I also wanna cling to it and scream “no! don’t go!” 

Pandora is a new show on the CW, which is interesting. Futuristic space academy featuring a clone, a mind reader, an augmented human, an alien from a planet we were recently at war with, and Pandora herself who has some kinda mystery surrounding her and the recent death of her parents. Lots of political intrigue and conspiracy, with episodic plots that the young adults uncover together each week, and just about every sci-fi trope you could think of being covered. 

Trinkets on Netflix was a cute lil show about teenage girls in a shoplifting support group. It was a really genuine look at the highs and lows of female friendship at that age. 

In other TV watching news, I finally got all of the Northern Exposure DVDs and am doing a long-awaited re-watch of my all-time favorite show. I’m on the second season. 

In addition to completing that DVD collection, I also completed collecting all of the Realm of the Eldering books (yay birthday money!) and am doing my re-read of those. It’s going to take me a long time, because my re-reading gets done while attempting to fall asleep and also when I wake up trying to get back to sleep, so depending on how the insomnia is going, it could be anywhere from a couple of paragraphs to maybe 50 pages tops per night and RotE is a looooot of books. I’m still on the first novel now. 

That also means, I am taking a little break from my otherwise-continual Raven Cycle re-reading lol. 

Other stuff I’ve been reading - started the Wayward Children series by Seanan McGuire, finished Tamora Pierce’s Emelan series (although I think she’s writing one more of those yet), and got caught up on Patricia Brigg’s Mercyverse series. Then, since I’m caught up on all the series I’m reading (other than Wayward Children since I just started it), I went and put a crapton of new books on my library hold list - some of which are the first books in series themselves. So here we go! 

And of course, I’ve been playing lots of Sims. Love love loving the Island Living expansion pack. The mermaids are so much fun, as is swimming and boating in the ocean, other beach activities, and just living in a more communal setting (people show up to help put out fires, bring food over randomly, fix things that are broken, etc.). I definitely won’t tire of the stuff in this pack before the next new pack comes out, which I imagine will be sometime late this fall or early winter, if they go according to the usual schedule. 

Guess that’s all for now. Might do some more specific VMars meta at some point, once I get my thoughts and feelings more collected. IDK. This post is so all over the place I’m not sure if I’m gonna tag it with any specific fandom or media. 

[team-free-fanfic]

Pining and Paintings

Destiel roommate au in which Cas is a painter who's a little unstable and Dean is a huge dork

Warnings: pining, mental health issues, fluff

Requested: N/A

Dean Winchester never expected to fall in love with his best friend, and he certainly didn't expect to be waiting in his car outside the apartment they shared with a bouquet of flowers.

Dean met Cas in fourth grade. He was the new kid and Cas was the weird kid, so he immediately gravitated towards him. Initially, they'd gotten along perfectly, but in ninth grade, Dean went through a period where he hated being around Cas. He told himself it wasn't because of Castiel's new boyfriend, Balthazar, but he couldn't ignore the feeling in his chest. Eventually, they broke up and Dean came back, and they ended high school side-by-side. Dean graduated from the University of Kansas with a degree in mechanics, and he patiently waited for Cas to come back from Chicago with his doctorate in something useless. He did.

Flash forward six months later and they were sharing a high rise apartment in Kansas City, and doing everything as a couple aside from, of course, labeling it.

Dean got out of his car, grabbed the flowers, and went inside, walking with as much ease and confidence as he could manage.

Apartment G13 was flooded with loud music when Dean opened the door. Castiel immediately crossed the floor and hushed him. He pushed the door shut, leaning close enough to smell. His hair was askew and streaked with yellow paint. "What's going on?" Dean asked.

"Working," Cas replied, "what time is it?"

Cas took Dean's arm and looked at his watch, at the same time, Dean said, "6:30."

Cas pushed at his hair, "Already?"

Dean nodded, "Did you get out of your pajamas today?"

Dean knew before Cas answered that he hadn't. "I've been too busy." He noticed the flowers then and said with a smile, "Hot date?" Dean's mouth felt dry and his face went hot, but Cas had turned away before Dean spoke. Dean put his keys down and went to the kitchen, laying the bouquet on the counter. "I'm painting about Balthazar."

Dean groaned, "Again?"

"Well, he is the one who broke it, Dean." Cas told him, turning back to him.

"Broke what?" Dean asked.

Cas made a gesture with his hands, but didn't elaborate, and then Dean watched him walk toward the corner of the dining room that Castiel used as a studio. The canvas in front of the window was yellow and red, splotched with black and tender blue.

"Cas," Dean murmured. The sincerity of his voice drew Castiel's eye. "Time to take a break."

Castiel watched him carefully, eyes scanning his face and then dipping somewhere below his chin. "Okay," Cas said, wiping his hands on the oversized KU shirt Dean had gotten him two Christmases ago. Despite the ferocity Castiel painted with, and the way Cas had wiped his hands, the shirt was relatively clean. (Save for a coffee stain Cas would freak over if he noticed.) "Okay," Cas repeated, "what do you want to do?"

Dean's hands started sweating and he had to swallow air to keep from saying something he wasn't ready for. "Tell me about your day." Dean said.

Castiel laughed, "What?"

Dean gave him a look, "What did you do today?"

"I worked," Castiel deadpanned. He carried his jar of dirty paintbrushes out of the corner and into the kitchen, sauntering past Dean as he went. Dean stopped himself from reaching out. Somedays he could get away with it, but most of the time it would be too hard to explain away. Castiel turned on the water in the sink and took out a brush. Dean pulled himself up on to the counter and watched. "Were there any cool cars today?" Cas asked throwing a glance over his shoulder at Dean. The sparkle of just-too-much was in his eye, and it kept Dean from smiling.

"'76 stingray," Dean said.

Castiel laughed, "Mr. Faris came again?"

"He's convinced there's a rattle," Dean shook his head. Castiel snorted and continued cleaning the brushes, one by one.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, and when Cas had finished with the brushes, he stood in front of Dean, almost between his knees. Dean swallowed and Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright?"

Dean said, "Yeah."

"Your face is red," Castiel pointed out, head tilting. "Do you feel okay?" Dean nodded, but before he could really answer, Cas was pushing closer and laying his palm flat on Dean's forehead.

"Cas," Dean choked out, voice catching. Cas dropped his eyes to meet Dean's and took back his hand, placing it by Dean's thigh on the counter.

"Yes, Dean?"

"I like you," Dean said.

Castiel stared at him for a second and relaxed into a noise that was half-laugh, half-scoff. "Well I would hope so, we've been best friends since elementary school." No, Dean wanted to say, not like that, but he just nodded. Castiel smiled and turned away, disappearing down the hallway before Dean could stop him.

Dean braced his hands on the counter and leaned his head against the edge. He pulled his eyes shut so tightly that he saw spots and muttered, "God, I'm a dumbass." He squeezed the edge of the counter where his hands were laying, and used it as a lifeline. "'Cause I can't just say, "Hey, Cas, I'm in love with you.""

"Oh..."

Dean jerked his head up, face stricken and mouth agape. Cas was standing in the hallway, coat dangling over his left arm. "I, um, it's not, uh," Dean stammered, head spinning. This definitely wasn't going as planned.

Cas blinked and raised an eyebrow, leveling Dean with the same no-nonsense, I-smell-shit stare he'd had since grade school. He didn't look upset per se, just confused and... well, confused was probably the most accurate word Dean could form. "Dean?"

He realized he was staring, mouth open, so he snapped his mouth shut and straightened immediately. "I, um, didn't mean it," he supplied weakly. Cas tilted his head. "I-I mean, hah, I did mean it, I mean, I said it. So, obviously, but, um." Dean had to stop, swallow, and remind himself to breathe. Cas was staring at him questioning his behavior, no doubt. "I didn't, um..."

Cas pulled on his tan trench coat and put his hands on his hips. "Dean."

"I, uh, Cas," Dean gave a worthless attempt at a smile and then sighed. "I, um, I love you man."

Castiel watched him fidget for a second and then he said, "Yeah, I know."

Dean took a slight step back and said, "What?"

"I know," Castiel repeated brushing one hand over his right lapel, "I'm not dumb."

"I know that."

"I'm actually incredibly smart."

"Yeah, I'm aware," Dean huffed, crossing his arms.

"I have a doctorate," Castiel teased, sly smile tugging at his mouth.

"Cas," Dean moaned impatiently.

"You aren't a dumbass." Castiel said suddenly, "You're the third most intelligent person I've ever met." Dean glared at him. "Behind the great Stephen Hawking and myself, of course."

"Oh, of course," Dean grumbled dramatically.

Cas almost giggled which was a noise Dean hadn't heard since middle school. "You're not a dumbass."

"You said that already," Dean said hotly.

Castiel walked closer and gripped Dean's arm. He looked deeply at him and then said, "Dean, you're not." Dean wasn't going to be the one to break eye contact. He squeezed Dean's bicep and offered a gentle look that was so characteristically Cas that it made Dean's chest constrict.

"Yeah, okay," Dean said softly. Castiel let go of his arm and gave him a smile. Dean grabbed Castiel's sleeve as he started to turn and then asked, "Hey, Cas, how'd you know?"

Castiel eyed his face and then bumped Dean's chin with his thumb. "You're not exactly quiet about it."

Dean felt his face turn red. Like actually felt it. "What?" Dean asked brokenly, mind supplying a number of unhelpful scenarios Castiel could be referring to. He looked away from Cas and squeezed his hands into tight fists. He was all but shaking and Castiel's hand on his face definitely wasn't helping him calm down.

"Your conversations with Sam," Castiel replied slowly, "or Charlie? Or really anyone who's tried to ask you out since sophomore year?"

Dean looked at him again, face still bright and hot. He studied the crease between Castiel's eyebrows, and the crooked bridge of his nose - thanks to a fight with his brother a few years back. "Cas," Dean sighed, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Castiel asked removing his hand from Dean's face and making an indecipherable gesture with it.

"I guess I just should've told you sooner." Dean shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away from Cas once more.

"Or first," Castiel said offhandedly, "You really should've told me first." Dean almost gasped and narrowed his eyes in Castiel's direction. "I would have appreciated that."

"You...?"

Cas lifted a shoulder and swayed into Dean's personal space. "It would have made lots of things easier," he said as if he were confiding in Dean.

Dean blinked and tried to tell himself he wasn't imagining the gleam of longing in Castiel's eyes. "It would?" He asked dumbly. Castiel laughed gently, it was soft and raspy - like most things Cas said. He nodded, and pressed his hands onto Dean's shoulders. Dipping forward, he pressed a feather light kiss on Dean's cheek. Dean just stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Castiel smiled at him as he pulled away and started to leave, turning down the hallway. "Hey, wait," Dean said grabbing the fabric in the middle of Castiel's coat - he halted immediately - "you can't leave right now."

Castiel tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing, "Why?"

"Cas, man, I've been going out of my mind for years now trying to figure out how to tell you, and you just spring on me that you've known?"

"I don't understand, are you upset with me?"

Dean palmed his forehead, "No, I'm not," he sighed. "Cas, how long have you known?"

"Most of our lives."

"I haven't even known that long. When did you really figure it out?"

"When I came home for Christmas my third year of college and you still hadn't gotten a girlfriend," he answered truthfully, hands coming up in a motion that practically spelled, 'duh.'

Dean cleared his throat, "So for a while now?" Castiel nodded. "Well then, uh, why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want you to get upset," Castiel told him. "You have a very... interesting view of masculinity. I didn't want to encroach upon that."

"Cas, dude, what the fuck?"

"I wasn't going to mention it."

Dean looked at him closely, and then waved his hand. "Come here." Castiel obliged. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?"

"Yes," Castiel said speculatively, one eyebrow arched.

Dean nodded, took a breath, and pressed his mouth against Castiel's. He had been in love with Cas since freshman year - probably sooner actually - and it all lead up to this. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, imitating plenty of teenage girls worldwide, and let Dean figure out what to do next. He settled on holding Castiel's hips, but that felt wrong. Too distant. He'd been waiting for this kiss for at least nine years, and goddamn it, he was going to make the most of it. He pressed one hand flat in the center of Castiel's back and let the other slide down to the waistband of Castiel's jeans, bringing them closer. Cas seemed to melt under Dean's hands, turning into someone completely different. Gone was the rigid man he had fallen in love with, replaced instead by someone who radiated heat and health and genuine satisfaction.

Dean turned them so Cas was pushed up against the counter, and, in return, Castiel twisted his fingers into Dean's hair. Cas pulled his mouth back for a second to breathe and smiled at Dean, mouth painted pink. That goddamn smile. Jesus Christ, it was going to make a believer of Dean. Dean made the mistake of telling Cas, and he laughed outright - in Dean's face, actually.

"Sorry," Cas heaved when he had finished laughing, "it's just that that was cute."

Dean's face burned red again, and Cas leaned forward and kissed him. Dean didn't hold a grudge, he held Castiel's face with one hand and leaned on the counter with the other. Cas ran his hands across Dean's middle, locking his arms around him, and let Dean lift him so he was sitting on the counter. Then Castiel's hands were in his hair again, and God, that really did it for him. Dean pulled himself back slightly and looked up at Castiel.

"I've been waiting a long time," Dean murmured.

Castiel nodded, "Me too."

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly and said, "What do you mean?"

"Dean," Cas said, hands running through Dean's hair repetitively, "I fell in love with you in sixth grade."

"What?"

"You took Lisa Braeden to the spring formal," Castiel said, looking just over Dean's shoulder. Like he was staring at the memory. Dean wondered if he was. "I assumed we would go together, but you asked her." Dean rubbed Castiel's thighs, Cas grabbed his hands and held them there. "I had to go because I was class representative, but when I saw you two together I got a stomach ache and my dad had to come pick me up."

"I didn't know that."

"Because I didn't want you to," Cas said. He shook his head, "In eighth grade when you dated Bella Talbot," Dean nodded, "I decided to get back at you." Castiel refused to meet Dean's eyes. "So I asked Balthazar to help me." Dean took a deep breath, Cas hadn't ever told him any of this. "He told me he'd go out with me to make you jealous, but I had to play along; do what he wanted." Castiel closed his eyes, "I did for a while, but he wasn't you, so it wasn't worth it anymore."

"That's why you broke up?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded and then looked back at Dean, smiling sheepishly. "Do you hate me?"

"No, Cas," Dean said with a shake of his head. He pressed a tender kiss to Castiel's jaw, peppered with scruff. "I love you too much for that."

Castiel smiled and kissed Dean again. They stayed in that night, moving from room to room, never separating for too long. They slept in the same bed, wrapped around each other - but that was hardly new. When Dean woke up the next morning, he was alone and he almost thought he had dreamed the whole night up, but he stumbled into the living room and saw Cas and knew he hadn't.

Castiel was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, painting on a canvas he'd laid on the ground in front of him. He was wearing one of Dean's shirts but wasn't wearing pants, and Dean felt his stomach twist. "Cas?" Dean asked. Castiel tilted his head back and grinned at Dean upside down.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel said, "there's coffee in the kitchen."

"Are we going to talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about?" Castiel asked the painting on the floor. "You love me, and I love you."

Dean filled his coffee mug and took a sip, "Very good points." He got ready for work, kissed Cas goodbye, and when he came home, he admired Castiel's new painting: a pair of kind, green eyes.

[embulalia]

Negligence

Chapter 1/5: In Which Will Graham Receives Much Needed Medical Treatment

Summary: After being dismissed entirely by Dr Sutcliffe, Will seeks out a second opinion regarding his degrading health—without Hannibal present. He receives a diagnosis. Hannibal receives a reality check. An AU where Will's encephalitis is treated before Hannibal has the chance to put him behind bars.

[A/N: A fix it AU of sorts, with an “Abigail lives, Murder Family gallivants into the sunset to partake in Highly Questionable But Sweet Domesticity” endgame—and an “it gets worse before it gets better” middle. Written for @softwillgraham​‘s birthday.]

[Ao3 link] 

“We didn’t find anything abnormal,” said Dr Sutcliffe to Will as they stood in his office, his stomach filling with acid and his headache raging on.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal,” said Dr Sutcliffe to Will as he lay in bed restlessly, feeling as if he was going to dissolve and be absorbed into the bedsheets.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal,” said Dr Sutcliffe to Will as he woke from a daze in the middle of the street with no idea how he got there, his feet sore and his head spinning.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal,” said Dr Sutcliffe to Will as he snapped out of a nightmare in a puddle of sweat and urine, horrified that his dreams had become bad enough to revoke his bladder control.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal,” said Dr Sutcliffe to Will as he quietly scheduled an appointment with a second neurologist, this one in Virginia, without telling anyone about it.

“This is one of the most advanced cases of encephalitis I have seen in a long time,” said this second neurologist as she compared Will’s blood work, MRI scans, and listed symptoms with an incredulous expression. “Why didn’t you see anyone sooner?”

“I did,” Will said quietly, trying to absorb several realizations at once.

“They must have been an incredibly negligent neurologist,” she said with a frown.

“I’m starting to realize that,” Will muttered.

He would continue to realize it as the full extent of his condition’s severity became clear to him. He was hospitalized immediately, and swept along in a rigorous treatment cycle that knocked him out for weeks. He did not tell Dr Lecter where he had gone. He did not tell Jack where he had gone. He didn’t even tell Alana (although he did ask her to watch his dogs during his absence). He sent a brief email to his employer at the Academy, informing her of his sick leave, and retreated into the safety of seclusion as he recovered.

All of his difficulties, all of the pain and fear and misery, were all because his brain was so severely inflamed that he had to be put into a medically induced coma to manage it. “Is there any way this could have been missed?” he asked his neurologist one day.

“If even the most basic of testing was done, no certified neurologist would miss this diagnosis,” she informed him as she checked his chart. He did not tell her that this was nowhere near as reassuring as she thought it would be.

How do you come to terms with the fact that someone you liked, someone you trusted, someone you were genuinely attracted to, intentionally lied to you about your health and worsened your condition? It’s a question he has been asking himself for weeks, and even now, as he sits in the front seat of his car, he has no good answer. It’s such a ridiculous betrayal that he has no idea what to think about it. What would drive Dr Lecter to do something like that? What could he possibly stand to gain?

Will exhales shakily as he turns off the engine. He had arrived at his home almost ten minutes ago, and then just sat idling in the driveway. After his discharge that morning, a feeling of unease had settled over him that persists even now. He still has no idea what happened, nor does he have a clue as to what will happen from here. He opens the car door and steps out onto the pavement. Life goes on, and he will have to go on with it, one way or another.

Reuniting with the dogs eases his worries for a few minutes. It’s difficult to be upset when seven bundles of energetic fluff are licking and sniffling and nudging him, reminding him that love does still exist in this world. But as soon as they have settled, he’s back to thinking.

He doesn’t know very much about what happened, or why. He isn’t even entirely sure what he’s feeling. But he’s angry, he knows that much. Furious, even.

He emails Jack to let him know that his time off has ended. Jack sends back some well wishes and asks if he will be able to return to casework right away, that they have been needing him while he was gone. Will doesn’t respond.

He emails Alana to let her know that his time away has ended. She sends back some friendly concern, a few dog pictures she took while watching them, and asks what was wrong. He says that they can talk about it later.

He emails Abigail to let her know that he would like to see her again soon. She texts him to say that no one uses email anymore. Then she asks if he’s okay. He tells her that he is.

He says nothing to Dr Lecter.

He does not read the twelve emails Dr Lecter sent him while he was in the hospital, although he does glance through the subject lines: “Reminder About My 24 Hour Cancellation Policy”, “Following Up About Our Appointment for Tomorrow”, “If You Have Begun to Use a Different Email Address I Would Appreciate an Update”, “Jack Informed Me You Are On Sick Leave”, “Following Up re: Sick Leave”, “I Tried to Bring You Soup but You Were Not Home”, “Please Inform Me When You Are in Better Sorts.” Will is tempted to read growing desperation into them. But he knows better than that. Dr Lecter would not worry for his wellbeing, no. He actively made it worse.

He plays with his dogs and thinks. He thinks about what the doctors had told him. That he had been having seizures for weeks, that many of his experiences of losing time were likely connected to those seizures. That his somnambulism could have gotten him killed quite easily. That the inflammation could potentially have caused serious damage to his brain had it gone untreated for much longer. That he was incredibly lucky to have responded as well to treatment as he did. That there was absolutely no way that any neurologist could have missed this.

Absolutely no way.

He dreams of Hannibal—a recurring theme as of late. Hannibal holding him underwater, overpowering his desperate flailing. Smiling down at him, his face distorted by the surface of the water. Will is drowning, and Hannibal will not help him.

But he wakes up still in his bed instead of out in the street. He is sweaty, but not enough to leave puddles. His head does not ache. He feels better than he has in months.

His students are thrilled to see him when he walks into class that morning. They applaud his arrival, making him blush furiously and stammer. They pester him with questions about where he has been and if he is feeling better now, questions to which he gives exclusively brief, clipped answers before insisting that they begin the lecture. Jack appears in the doorway about halfway through, but to Will’s absolute shock, he waits until the end of the class period to pull him aside.

“Thank you for not interrupting,” Will says, apologetically waving away the students that attempt to come speak to him.

“I was curious what you would be talking about on your first day back,” Jack tells him, resting his hands on his hips in his typical, dominating stance. “Thought it might be some clue as to where you’d gone.”

Will raises his brows and shakes his head. “No, just… following the curriculum.” He blinks, then registers the implication. He frowns. “I told you where I was.”

“No, you contacted the dean suddenly to say that you needed two weeks off for ‘sick leave,’ then sent me one email saying you were back,” Jack says, something almost accusatory in his tone. “Alana said you hadn’t told her much more than that either.”

“I-I was sick,” Will balks. He had assumed that the first thing Jack would do would be attempting to recruit him for another case; this is far from the greeting he had been preparing for. “I didn’t lie to you guys.”

“Then why weren’t you at home? She told me you had her dogsitting,” Jack steps slightly closer to Will, fixing him with an arresting stare. “If you needed time off from this job that badly, you could have just told me, Will.”

“I wasn’t at home because I was in the HOSPITAL, Jack!” Will hisses, not bothering to point out that even if he had asked for time off, Jack would have been unlikely to give him that break. “I had encephalitis, okay? That’s what was causing all those hallucinations. Extremely advanced, severe encephalitis.”

A certain satisfaction washes over Will as Jack steps back again, shock clear on his face. “Are you serious?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m serious.” Will huffs through his nose and folds his arms over his chest, leaning against his desk. The lecture hall has emptied out now, to his relief. “They said it was one of the most advanced cases they had ever seen.”

“But... you’re okay now?” Jack asks.

Will shrugs, looking down at the carpeted floor. “I think so,” he says carefully, “But… I’m trying to take it slow. Readjust carefully.” A bitter smile spreads across his face. “I got very used to living life with a melting brain.”

Jack furrows his brow. “So you aren’t hallucinating anymore?”

Will shakes his head. “Not as far as I know.”

“Well, that’s great,” Jack says, smiling. “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe that’ll make your job a little easier on you.”

Unlikely, thinks Will. “Maybe,” says Will.

“Have you spoken to Dr Lecter yet?” Jack asks, and Will stiffens. He grits his teeth. “I think he was quite worried about you, you know,” Jack adds, not noticing Will’s distress, “He said something about wanting to bring you warm soup, but finding your house empty? I’m surprised you didn’t tell him where you were.”

“Jack,” Will says, his voice strained, “I don’t want to talk to Dr Lecter ever again.” He pronounces the name as if it tastes like garbage in his mouth. “It’s his fault.”

“What’s his fault? That you got sick?” Jack questions, confusion plain on his face.

“That I got THAT sick, yes,” Will says, digging his fingers into his arms. “He lied to me about it. Said I was fine when I wasn’t.”

Jack looks at him for a moment. And for that moment, Will imagines that this conversation will go the way he wants it to. That Jack will be shocked, and then furious. That he will suggest they storm right over to Lecter’s practice and arrest him for endangering his patients.

The fantasy is shattered by a disbelieving little chuckle.

“Will, come on now,” Jack says, shaking his head, “You know that’s not true.”

Will feels as if the floor beneath his feet has given way. He gapes at Jack, actually meeting his gaze for once because he needs to check for any sign that this is a cruel joke. The only thing he can read on his boss’s face is amusement, the dismissive sort that he saw back when he tried to argue against the name of the Evil Minds Museum.

“I-It IS true, Jack,” Will says, straightening up, “There is absolutely no way he didn’t know about it!”

“What makes you so sure of that, Will?” Jack asks, and Will is certain that he almost rolled his eyes.

“My n-neurologist TOLD me!” he cries, “They said that my case was s-so advanced that there was no way it could have been missed!”

Jack shakes his head again. “How do you diagnose encephalitis?” he asks.

“They ran bloodwork and took an MRI of my head,” Will explains, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, “The results were so incredibly obvious that they had me sent directly to the ER from there.”

Jack sighs. “Will, have you ever heard of a psychiatrist doing either of those things? Why would Hannibal run diagnostic tests on you?”

Will could cry from the relief. There’s the point of confusion, there’s the reason he isn’t being listened to. He can still make Jack understand. “Th-that’s the thing! He took me to a neurologist himself! They ran the tests on me there, and then told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me—!”

“Oh my god, Will, listen to yourself,” Jack cuts him off, gesturing for him to stop. “He took you to a neurologist because he was worried about you, and he happened to have picked a bad one. That’s not a crime.”

And the floor gives way once again. Will’s heart sinks. “You don’t understand, he was there while they ran the tests,” he tries to explain, but his resolve is withering. “I went to the second neurologist not even a week later; there’s no way I could go from having no visible brain swelling to swelling so severe that—”

“Will, I don’t want to hear any more about this,” Jack says harshly, “You’re accusing Hannibal of malicious malpractice, which I know he would never commit. You sound completely paranoid. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. Of course no one would side with him when holding his word against Hannibal’s. He exhales shakily and rubs his eyes under his glasses, dislodging them and setting them askew. “I’m better than I was,” he says in a quiet, tense voice.

“Maybe we’ll wait a few days before bringing you back into the field,” Jack says, probably thinking that’s an incredibly lenient and generous allowance. “And you really should go talk to Hannibal. He was worried about you.”

As Jack walks away, Will sighs and sinks down in the chair behind the desk. He needs to clear out of here within the next five minutes so the next professor can have it, which gives him a few moments to regather himself. His head still does not ache, but he doesn’t feel particularly okay.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and notices a notification about a new email. Another one from Hannibal. “Abigail Told Me You’re Feeling Better,” says the subject line. He deletes it without opening it.

~

Hannibal is not used to feeling snubbed. People do not blow him off, not without sending extravagant apologies and extensive explanations for what held them up. It’s basic courtesy to inform someone when you will be unable to make a meeting you scheduled with them. And Hannibal takes care to surround himself with the sort of people who would provide him with that basic courtesy.

And yet, he finds himself staring at his email inbox, awaiting a response that refuses to come. He checks his sent folder one more time, just to make sure that his message went through. It certainly did. So did the countless others he has sent—to Will’s normal email, to his school email, to several email addresses belonging to William Grahams he has never met—just in case Will neglected to inform him of an address change.

By all accounts, this should simply annoy him. He should write Will off as not worth bothering with, perhaps tuck his name into his rolodex, and move on with his life. But that does not feel like an appropriate reaction to this, for reasons he cannot fathom.

He phones Abigail, because he is not sure what else to do. She sounds slightly out of breath when she picks up.

“Abigail? Are you doing something?” he asks, momentarily distracted from his distress.

“Yeah, I’m packing up my stuff,” she says, “They’re talking about releasing me, remember?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, tapping his fingers on the polished surface of his desk, “Have you given any further thought to my offer?”

She sighs, and he can easily picture her rolling her eyes. “Yes, Hannibal, I have,” she says, “And it’s still an ‘I’m not sure.’” She pauses, and he lets her take her time to before continuing her thought. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, I’m just… not sure that’s what I want yet.”

“Well, don’t hesitate to tell me if you do come to a decision,” he tells her warmly, “There is always a space for you in my home.”

“I know, I know,” she says, warmth clear in her own voice. Then, she clears her throat. “But that’s not what you phoned about, right?”

“Yes, you’re correct,” he says, and he is about to explain his true intentions, but she beats him to it.

“Is it about Will?”

“Oh, clever girl,” he says, chuckling.

“Not really. Anyone could’ve guessed that.”

He doesn’t think that’s true, but does not press her on it. “I just wanted to make sure that Will did not use an unusual email address to contact you,” he says, refreshing his inbox one more time. “He still has not responded to me.”

“No, it was just his normal one I’m pretty sure,” she says, “I did text him though. Maybe you should try that.”

“I have left him voicemails on both his cellphone and his work phone. I cannot imagine him responding to me in text if he would not phone me.”

“It was just a suggestion.” She pauses again. “Do you have any idea why he’s ignoring you?”

Hannibal lets out the smallest of sighs. He has given that matter quite a bit of thought and has found it difficult to come up with reasonable explanations. Assumedly, Will’s sick leave is somehow connected to his encephalitis. In fact, after he had missed his third consecutive appointment, Hannibal began to wonder if he had been gravely injured as a result of his sleepwalking, or if he had seized at an inopportune moment. But then he heard from both Jack and Alana that they had been told he was away on a nonspecific sick leave, and his worst worries were assuaged. That left behind confusion, which has only grown worse as Will refuses to acknowledge him.

“I’m afraid not,” he says, the tapping of his fingers gaining speed. “I would appreciate it very much if you would tell him that I am worried about him.”

“Sure, I can do that,” she says.

“Who are you talking to, Abigail?” asks a familiar voice from the background.

“Hannibal,” she says, her voice changing tones as she speaks away from the receiver. It returns to normal when she explains, “Sorry, Alana is here helping me pack.”

“Not a problem at all,” he assures. “Please do tell her that I appreciate her helping you.”

“I can ask her about Will for you if you want,” Abigail offers.

Hannibal’s heart jumps at the thought, but he purses his lips and says, “I think it would be better if I spoke to her about that myself.”

“Do you want me to put her on?”

“Actually, yes, if she wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate that very much.”

“Okay,” Abigail chirps, and then he hears only the sound of movement for a few moments.

“Hey, Hannibal,” Alana says after the phone has changed hands. “What did you want to know about Will? I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet, so I don’t have much to tell you.”

“Straight to the point, I see?” he remarks.

“Well, we are in the middle of something,” Alana reminds him, “Not that I mind talking to you, because I don’t. But I think we probably shouldn’t waste too much time.”

“That is certainly reasonable.” He picks up a pen from his desk and twiddles it between his fingers, leaning back in his chair. “I wanted to ask you if Will had used an unusual email address to contact you.”

“No, he didn’t. Why?” she asks, confused.

“Because he has yet to respond to any of my attempts at contacting him,” Hannibal says with a sigh, watching light glint off the pen’s metal body as he fiddles with it.

The confusion in her tone becomes more pronounced. “What? Really? Why would he not?”

“I was hoping you might be able to help me figure that out.”

She hums thoughtfully. “I suppose I could try to get ahold of him tomorrow? He should be in teaching as far as I know.” A thought seems to occur to her suddenly, and she adds, “Why don’t you ask Jack? He might have seen Will today.”

Hannibal frowns and sits up a little straighter. “You mean to tell me that he went in to work today?” he asks.

“As far as I know, yes,” Alana says, “He cares about his students, so I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t have.”

“I see,” he says, setting the pen back down. He finds himself hurt by the implication. Will cares about his students, and so he would return to them at first opportunity. He refreshes his inbox yet again.

“I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow,” Alana promises.

“Thank you, Alana,” Hannibal sighs, and they both hang up.

[spookgeist]

💥and 🔫 for Circe in the Guardian Ask meme! (if it hasn't been done already)

🔫“Can your fellow Guardians Trust you completely?”  

Yes! Circe is quite the trustworthy girl, her anxiety gets in the way a lot when it comes to saving herself, but she would do anything to save another life. Pretty much the only ulterior motives she has are to get everyone to want to be plant moms and plant dads. She says what she thinks, she doesn’t tell people’s secrets, the only person she’ll ever break down is herself. She has a compassion for Eliksni that a lot of people don’t understand, but she mostly goes on mission solo or with like-minded Guardians so that hasn’t posed a problem yet! 

💥 How easily did/does manipulating your light come to you? 

Not easily at all at first, but now it’s become an extension of herself. Here! Have a fic about her first time getting it right, featuring Banshee and a little bit of Cayde being Cayde. (This is longer than I indended, bless you if you finish reading it.) 

Bloom 

“Circe, please, just try one more time for me. I know you can do this…”

She couldn’t get Zavala’s voice out of her head. The disappointment had been thick in his voice despite his attempts to hide it—-and worse than that was the way they had looked at her… Circe buried her face in her hands, trying not to remember her sad little Ghost’s gaze.

Poor Ganymede… He had contacted Zavala without telling her, asking him to help her find her light. She was so embarrassed when she found out, so mad at Ganymede. She felt like he had betrayed her trust, but deep down she knew he was out of ideas to help her and didn’t exactly have anyone else to talk to about it.

Zavala, kind as he was, had agreed to it, and the three of them had worked for hours while the rest of the Tower was out enjoying the Dawning festivities. Circe felt bad enough taking up any of Zavala’s time, even more so during the holidays, so with each failed attempt at producing Light her chest tightened more and more until she couldn’t think straight. She was a failure and she knew it.

“I’m sorry I can’t do this!” She had yelled before running out of the room, tears burned trails down her cheeks.  

She had run to her favorite tree in the courtyard, climbing up its ancient trunk and settling deep in the branches where no one could find her—-not that anyone had come looking. One one hand, she was glad Ganymede and Zavala had left her alone, but as she watched the other Guardians down below something tugged at her heart. She hadn’t realized how lonely she was until that moment.

She had tried to produce Light again and again to distract herself, but as the hours passed that empty feeling had come back to her chest. Fresh tears pricked at her eyes and she dropped her head to her knees, a shuddering sigh coming out of her.

This is pointless…

“Hey, kid…” Someone called up, startling her.

She peered down at the ground, but there were so many Guardians around she couldn’t spot the source of the sound. She caught a glimpse of Master Rahool walking but, but it hadn’t sounded like his voice, and she was absolutely certain he wasn’t the type of person to go out of his way to interact with anyone.

“Behind you.” The voice came again.

She twisted around to see an Exo vendor staring up at her from his place at his stall, his blue optics glowing like the twinkling decorations hung all about the Tower. She was surprised he had seen her, but she knew Exos had incredible hearing and eyesight.

“Why don’t you come down from up there, it’s getting late.” His voice was gentle, but his hands rested on a large gun she didn’t know the name of.

She always overheard the other Guardians talking about their favorite weapons, calling them by name. It was just one more thing that made her feel out of place. She could hardly remember her own name half the time.

“Please, just leave me alone.” She mewled, turning her back to him again and hugging her knees tighter against her chest.

“No, listen, I’m not—” She heard him sigh. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything, but you’ve been up there a long time trying to get your Light going and I think I can help you.”

She chewed her lip, glancing at him over her shoulder. He seemed nice, she didn’t think he was the type of person to pick on others, or at least, she hoped now. After some careful deliberation she swung her legs over the tree and jumped. She was willing to try anything at this point. All she wanted was to feel like she wasn’t a disappointment to Ganymede and the Vanguard. As she approached the Gunsmith she suddenly felt very shy, she wasn’t very good at interacting with new people.

“Y-you can help me?” Her eyes flickered between him and the ground as she stumbled over her words. “Are you a Guardian?”

He laughed, a low rumble that surprised her.

“No, I’m not a Guardian,” He came out from behind the counter to stand beside her. “But if I know anything it’s the awful feeling of not being able to remember something that should be built into your code.”

He walked past her towards a mostly-hidden corner.

“Come with me.”

She obeyed and followed him to a bench against a wall covered in ivy. Circe knew she would have been awestruck by the sheer size of it were she not so weighed down with this awful heaviness in her heart. She clenched and unclenched her fists, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.  

“Okay, now, what’s the problem?” He asked after staring at her for a while, most likely summing her up.

“The problem?” Her brows knit together in frustration and she stared at the ground. “If I knew that don’t you think I would have been able to fix it by now?” She mumbled, instantly regretting her rudeness.

He folded his arms across his chest and settled back against the wall.

“Look kid, you might not realize you know the problem, but you do. Just think about it for a—”

“Heeeeey Banshee!!” A voice called from back towards the shop “Where’d ya go?”

Another set of glowing blue optics peeked around the corner. Circe’s companion stiffened as the eyes fell on them and an body emerged from the darkness.

“Oh there you are.” The other Exo sauntered towards them, his stride like that of a cowboy from the Golden Age. Circe had seen him before in the Vanguard hall, but she didn’t know his name.  “How is it that you suddenly develop a social life every time I want to talk to you, huh?”

“Shop’s closed, Cayde.” Her new friend, Banshee said flatly. “I’ll be back open tomorrow, come back then.”

“Oh ho ho, a lady, eh?” Cayde sung, leaning closer to get a better look at Circe. “Look Banshee, she’s cute, but she looks pretty upset. You might want to pick a new one.”

Circe glared up at him, discovering his eyes were only a few inches away from her own.

“Cayde, do you really want me to give you a new number for your name?” Banshee growled at him and Cayde took a few steps back.

“It was a joke, a joke.” He held up his hands defensively, a look of realization suddenly jolting through him as he scanned Circe’s face.

“Oh!” He cried out suddenly, pointing at Circe. “I thought I recognized you! You’re the Lightless Titan!”

A sob choked it’s way out of Circe, her shoulders sagging. Banshee stood quickly, putting his hands on the shoulders of the other Exo and spinning him around.

“Come on, get out of here.” He pushed Cayde away from him.  

“I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to make her cry!” His voice faded the further away as he retreated. “I’m sorry! Banshee, tell her I’m sorry!”

Banshee waved dismissively at him before sitting beside her again.

“Just ignore him, he’s sort of,” He looked back to her, his optics leaving the spot Cayde’s form had appeared from, “You know, an idiot.”

He watched as her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. He felt bad for the kid, he understood the anxiety gripping her.  

“There’s something wrong with me, I shouldn’t have been Chosen. Cayde might be an idiot, but he’s right.” She kept her eyes firmly rooted to her clenched fists.

“I don’t think he is, I think you just haven’t found your reason to fight yet.” He said gently, peering over at her, unsure what to do to help her. “And look, if you can’t find your Light I have plenty of weapons I can give you to fight with instead.”

“But I don’t want to.” Her voice was small and wavery, but she finally looked at him. “I don’t want to fight, I had to hurt those Eliksni and I didn’t want to. I don’t like violence, or war, or guns, or any of this.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she spoke. The breath catching in her throat causing her words to take on a strange cadence.  “I’m not like the rest of them, I don’t think this is fun. I don’t want to do it. I don’t know why Ganymede picked me,” She sobbed, “I don’t b-belong here.”

“You’re wrong.” He put an arm around her. Banshee didn’t particularly enjoy physical contact, but he felt bad for the kid. “Your Ghost chose you because he knew who you were, he picked you because you were you. He searched out through the entire galaxy to find you, and only you.”

She shrugged against him, her tears making small tapping sounds as they fell on her light armor.

“Everyone has their own reasons for fighting,” He continued, hoping he was starting to get somewhere, “Maybe yours isn’t aggressive, sure, but that’s fine. Maybe your reason to fight is to protect.”

“To protect?” She sat up and looked at him with watery eyes.

“Yeah, is there anyone specific in this Tower that you want to protect?” He dropped his arm back to his side. 

Circe thought of Ganymede. He had protected her so many times already, putting himself in danger just to help her. She had denied his pleas for them to go back to Old Russia terrified her. He was so small, he could get hurt so easily, and he was all she had.

“Yes.” She sniffed. “I do.”

“Okay, good.” Banshee shifted in his seat to face her, the metal of his knees knocked into the metal of her knee guards and sent an unpleasant sensation through his legs. “Now, I want you to close your eyes and think about whoever that is.”

Circe nodded and did as she was told. She hadn’t been with her little Ghost for very long, but she already cared for him more than she could express. Her guts twisted as she thought about how she had yelled at him and run away earlier. She felt like she had let him down, especially since she knew he had talked Zavala into helping because he was trying to protect her too. In that moment of clarity she realized Ganymede wasn’t just her partner in all this, but friend, and her family too.

“Tell me Titan, when you think of them, of that person you want to protect, what do you feel?” Banshee’s voice drew her from her thoughts.

“Well—” She paused, thinking of a way to put into words the swell she felt in her chest. “Maybe a sort of love? They are my most precious friend…”

“Good.” He took her hands and held them cupped together between them. “Keep your eyes closed, but try to concentrate that feeling right here. Try to make that feeling into material.”

“But I—”

“Don’t think about how,” He said firmly, “Just do it.”

Circe drew in a long breathe and felt the warmth surge again in her chest—-it was hot, like the sun. She felt it bubble up inside her and spill down her arms, a strange brightness filled her vision and she opened her eyes. Swirling about in her cupped hands were a few golden petals, sparking as they touched her fingers. They weren’t much, but the sight of them caused a sort of joy to flow through her, for she knew this Light would one day bloom into something much greater than herself.

“Good job, kid.” Banshee squeezed her hands lightly. “You found your own way.”