#anyway mortality is too crazy of a concept and too real for me to imagine having any babies after 45.

[genderqueer-karma]

imagine being 50 years old with a toddler… could NOT be me…

(of course this isn’t saying that people who have kids later in life are weird or evil or anything. i just weep at the thought of starting all that shit when your life is probably already stable and calm… yikes…)

[amethystpath-writes]

Can Only Move the Eyes

Original Work

Can Only Move the Eyes

@badthingshappenbingo

Small Description: an immortal sorceress is trying to rid herself of immortality by taking the life of the one she loves.

******

You're strong, the lady's voice said, but not strong enough to counter my powers.

If Tysin could growl, he would have, but he couldn't move. Even his breaths were controlled by the sorceress at his side.

Have you had training? Defense against magic? the sorceress, named Giladiasana- Sana, for short- asked Tysin in his head. He could answer if he wanted, think a response loudly enough that she would hear, but he didn't care to talk to a woman who was about to bleed him dry.

Sana pushed a hard barrier on his mind, causing a sharp sting, one that would have made Tysin take a sharp intake of breath and even hold his head, but all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut. That was meant to happen differently, she whispered in his head.

When Tysin opened his eyes again, he glanced around, head unmoving, but eyes darting about. There was glass everywhere. Mostly bottles full of discoloured liquids. Other pieces of glass- colourful ones- dangled about on strings. Tysin assumed it was sea glass. The sorceress's hut was an alcove by the beach so it made sense.

You're ignoring me. Very nice. Sana purred in his mind and it felt to Tysin like it wrapped around his brain. He felt dizzy despite being entirely still.

Why shouldn't I? he finally replied. You pretended to be a friend and now I'm paralyzed. He laughed mentally and added, But let me guess. I should be grateful that I can move my eyes, right?

The sorceress crossed the room. She left Tysin's field of vision as he was laid down. Still, she reached out to his mind. How powerful was she? Depends, Sana sighed. Would you feel better if I kept your eyes closed while I did this?

In truth, he wasn't sure if not seeing was better or worse. Sure the sorceress' home was somewhat fascinating to look at- even if his vision was limited- but wouldn't it be a taunt when she finally dragged a blade across his arm and he began bleeding out? He'd rather see the sky while he died than a bunch of dried roots, twigs, and strange shapes made of clay.

Why are you doing this? Why me?

Which should I answer first?

Sana entered Tysin's sight again. If he could have, he would have lunged at her from his table. Just answer.

You're angry, she observed first. You don't have to be. I don't intend on killing you. I like you.

Tysin would have scoffed at this, except he couldn't imagine scoffing without his chest huffing, and his chest couldn't move. It was like his mind forgot what scoffing was without actually having the action. Whereas laughing was mostly a sound, scoffing required an attached feeling. He didn't have that feeling. It was odd. He blamed Sana.

As for why you...well it's what I just said. I like you, and I don't want to get rid of you. If you had been someone else, I might have killed you to complete my goal. But... Tysin rolled his eyes. The sorceress needed to stop pretending she had any amount of feeling for him. She was cleaning a damn blade so that she could cut him open. She didn't like him. She was keeping him, like a pet. You knew I was different from the moment you met me. You're observant like that. You knew there was something dangerous about me, but you still befriended me.

And this is how you repay me. Again, he wanted to scoff, but the concept was absent. Will it hurt? he asked instead. When I bleed out, will it hurt?

The cut would hurt, but I'll make sure you don't feel it, she said. Tysin was pissed hearing the genuineness in her voice. He refused to believe she felt any remorse for this. And anyway, I'm not bleeding you out, not fully. I'll have to do this a few times. The worst to happen is you'll feel faint and get a few headaches, but I have herbs to help with the latter.

Tysin didn't reply. He was confused- and angry, but mostly confused. Because she did sound sincere. She did sound like she cared, and like she didn't want to hurt him. But if she didn't want to...then why was she? What do you need me for? Why my blood? What are you using it for? He wanted to ask again, why him? Why not some other man or woman she'd met? Why did it have to be someone she apparently cared about? There were too many questions, and it seemed like there weren't enough answers. What she was doing was heathenish and no explanation could be enough.

I'm selfish, Sana told him. There was a long pause and Tysin's chest rose suddenly as the sorceress' did, too. She must have accidentally projected her own actions onto him. His eyes went wide at the swell of feeling. At the same time his chest had rose, he felt something ripping in his arm.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-

The pain in his arm increased and he screamed, his arm jerking to his chest. The skin on his chest felt warm, and he discovered he had mobility in his neck again as he looked down. Sana's control over him had slipped and he felt the pain she caused. She'd stuck the knife in his arm and it was bleeding now, bleeding through his shirt and settling on his skin.

"Tysin, I didn't- I'm sorry. I meant to numb you, but I- What am I doing?" sana sounded angry with the last question.

She rushingly put a hand on Tysin's shoulder, and he fell still again. His arm stung as it slammed against the table. He would have grunted but Sana had control again. His eyes were stuck in a pained squint. They burned as he couldn't blink.

"I've never-" Sana paced beside the table. Tysin didn't see the knife anymore. Had she dropped it. "I don't want to do this," she stressed. "But it's all I want, too." Was she sniffling? "You can still feel. Shit."

In the next moment, the pain in Tysin's arm was gone, and so was the warmth of his own blood on his chest when he cradled his arm. His eyes could move again, too, and he found himself actually be grateful that she'd decided to let them move unlike the rest of his body.

"You know what, I'm just going to say it." Sana took a deep breath. "There's a lot to it, but I'll simplify it as much as I can." Another breath. "I'm not just a sorceress, or a witch, or whatever you want to call me. Before that, I was- you'll never believe me..." Sana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm a god. Or was. I was a god before I was made a sorceress on this Earth. And I'm immortal. I know it sounds crazy; I'm not even sure that you believe in the gods, but they do exist. The gods are real and they're the reason that I'm here as I am.

"I wanted to be mortal. I didn't want to be a god anymore, and they called me cowardice for wanting to abandon my powers and control. But I...life isn't worth living if you can't die. Why should I like to create if what I create has an expiration date and I don't? I want to die, Tysin. I don't want to live forever."

What does this-

You can talk. Sana nodded at him.

Tysin let his lips part before licking them. He tested his jaws, opening and closing his mouth and letting his teeth clack together. He ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth and along the skin of his cheek.

Finally, he spoke, "What does any of that have to do with me?" he asked. He didn't say whether or not he believed her outlandish story.

She swallowed. "They punished me," she explained. "They put me on a land of mortals and made me into another immortal, a one-of-a-kind. They made me into a target on this land. Witches were a scary tale created by mortals and the gods made it real, made me into that fictional form. I still want to die, so they surrounded me with death, and made it so that I can still never die."

Tysin gave a blank look. This still had nothing to do with him. She was avoiding the answer.

Sana caught onto his impatience and nodded, getting on with it all. "They have given me a choice. I still value the mortals as my creation. They are precious to me. So..." She sighed like she had done so often today. "I can obtain a mortal life for myself, but only if I kill a mortal I love." Sana walked closer to the table so that she could look Tysin in the eyes. "And I love you, but...I can't kill you. I won't." Her brows pinched together. "But I have to." Sana shook her head.

"You asked if it would hurt and before you asked that, I was still considering following through. I'm selfish, I'll say it again. But when you asked me that...I couldn't let you die. So what I want to do now is..." She grunted in aggravation. "There's so much playing into this. Okay, there are about 5.7 liters of blood in a human's body. And since blood is what allows for life, I must take yours for myself- drink it. What I want to do now, because I won't kill you, is I'll take 5.7 liters of your blood, but over a course of time. I'll take some today, let you recover. Take more another day, recover. And I'll keep doing that until I have enough to equate to one life."

Sana smiled, for the first time today. "Then we can both be mortal and I can love you until we both die. I won't have to be afraid of the person I love dying and therefore having to live on my own without them."

Tysin was almost in shock at the overload. "That...wasn't very simplified."

She gave a huff of a laugh, eyes bright.

"Let me get this straight. You want to take my life so that you can experience death?"

"In a way. I'm not actually taking your life because I won't be killing you, but yes. I am taking your blood so that we can be together."

What makes you think I want to be with you? Who was she to believe he would just be okay with her taking his blood? Sana was out of her mind! Sure she was a sorceress; he believed that in full. But an immortal god? One that needed his blood to overcome a neverending life? No. No, she was crazy.

But, he supposed, this is more up to my own selflessness now.

Sana could find another person to love. Love was limitless and could be presented in many forms. There's motherly love and platonic love. Romantic and admiration. Sana could make a new friend and do this to them instead of Tysin, but it didn't seem okay to do that. This was now a test of Tysin's morals, not the sorceress'. Could he be as selfish as her? Put someone else's life at risk or have them bled out day by day like Sana was proposing she do to him? No. Absolutely not.

"It's okay," Tysin said to the sorceress leaning over him. It wasn't okay. Not at all, but he wouldn't risk someone else's life for his own. Wouldn't make someone else go through being cut open ever day or week or however often it might happen to him. Tysin considered asking Sana to go ahead and kill him, but he knew she wouldn't do that. She loved him so much that she lost control even when she'd first hurt him with the knife. "Do what you must."

******

[lowat-golden-tower]

“I don’t want to feel anymore.”

Patton blinked at that, looking up from his steaming mug of tea. He was sitting at their kitchen table, a connect-the-dots activity book open before him with the current page only half done. It was a lazy Sunday morning, so he was just in his grey cat onesie instead of his usual conservative attire. Normally, Logan would have been dressed in a similar fashion, but today wasn’t a day for comforts and softness.

No, today Logan was going to have something unimportant and highly detrimental removed. Like his appendix, but in a less physical form. He’d already gotten that removed anyway, back when it nearly burst inside of him at the tender age of thirteen.

Now he was in his early twenties and fully ready to expel the emotional detritus. Yet deleting one’s emotions was not nearly so easy as slicing out a useless organ. After all, feelings were a concept, an idea; psychology was an intangible yet proven science. Logan couldn’t just reach inside his head, or his heart, and pick away the excess. This sort of self-surgery required a different approach, unless he wanted to begin experimenting with mind-numbing drugs. Unfortunately, that would defeat the point, as it would proceed to affect all other aspects of his life.

Logan wanted to stop feeling so he could accelerate his efficiency, not impede it. He’d gone over his weaknesses and flaws for long enough to draw a proper conclusion, and could confidently pin the worst of the blame on those fickle feelings. Good or bad, they always nudged him off the best course; the most heinous of distractions, beyond his control.

But there was another way. Before Logan was forced to resign himself to an imperfect state of being, there was one more option available to him. Unassuming as Patton’s appearance and bubbly personality may have been, Logan knew the truth about the other man. Well, not so much a man...

Who knew being roommates with a demon of all things would ever prove advantageous?

It had come up, when he caught Patton returning late one evening, horns arching up from his chestnut curls and a sleek tail coiling near his legs. His skin from fingers to elbows had darkened to a pitch black color, and said fingers had curved themselves into nasty looking claws. Even his teeth had grown sharper, as he shot Logan a sheepish grin after they both stood staring at each other for a solid two minutes.

Most people would have been scared out of their wits, and rightly so. Humans always feared what they didn’t understand to begin with, and all those dangerous features Patton had mysteriously obtained did nothing to fool his natural fight or flight reflex. It would have been perfectly normal and accepted for Logan to shout, or jump back, or try to run and hide. Yet he didn’t. Logan never had fit the “norms” of just about anything, be it societal aspects or otherwise.

“I can explain,” Patton had hurried out in a hushed, anxious tone, after Logan failed to speak first.

That familiar earnestness shook Logan from his initial stupor and he blinked, response slow and belated. “I would love to hear it.”

That had led to a long night of too much coffee and a lot of extrapolation on something Logan had always believed was mere superstition and myth. It took some serious convincing by Patton and himself to accept he was not hallucinating or simply experiencing a lucid dream. Patton’s horns and tail felt real. He performed feats no human should have been capable of. The coffee pot was drained several times, and by morning Logan was forced to accept his roommate had been an otherworldly being all along.

In the end, it wasn’t too big a pill to swallow. Patton’s personality didn’t change, he still performed all the duties he’d promised to take on as a responsible roommate, and he continued to try and keep Logan out of any demonic matters. He appreciated that.

Some might have seen him as crazy, or reckless. Why, Patton was a demon. A creature born in the bowels of Hell. Who was to say he wouldn’t try slitting Logan’s throat in his sleep, or draining the very soul from his body? Well, Patton hadn’t done anything of the sort before Logan knew he was a demon. Unless it was to conceal his secret, he had no reason to act so violently now. But Patton was trusting, for a demon. Somehow, he knew Logan didn’t plan on telling a soul. Perhaps for the simple fact no one would believe him, and he had zero proof.

Besides, he liked Patton. The man- demon?- was a good roommate, and a kind and generous person. Possibly a much better person than Logan himself. He had not a clue what Patton did on his outings as a demon, but he just couldn’t picture it being all that bad. Maybe he was a misunderstood soul of his kind. Perhaps he was an outlier, or an outcast. He just... didn’t fit the commonly accepted description of pure, evil hell spawn.

Which brought them to this moment. For months now, Logan hadn’t deigned to bring up Patton’s... uniqueness. He had no rhyme or reason to before, but now... now Logan was taking it upon himself to break that unspoken agreement of letting bygones be bygones.

He required Patton’s assistance.

“What... do ya mean, Logan?” There was the softest hint of a Southern twang to Patton’s accent that always seemed to tug gently at Logan’s heartstrings.

Logan sighed and adjusted his glasses a bit; more out of nervous habit than any actual need to do so. “Patton,” he clasped his hands together before him, “I have come to the conclusion my feelings and emotions are merely obstacles; detrimental to my efforts and goals. I wish to be rid of them.” “Oh.” There was a pause while Patton seemed to think this over, licking at his lips. Was that anxiety, flickering across his face? Logan couldn’t really comprehend why it would be there. “That’s... uh. That’s... somethin’, Lolo.” Even his chuckle was anxious, awkward. “Sounds like yer emotionoping pretty hard there. Do you need a hug?”

“On the contrary, Patton. I believe you know precisely why I’m coming to you in particular about this conundrum of mine. And it isn’t for a hug.” Logan stared Patton down and almost felt a twinge of guilt at how his roommate actually shrank away from his cool gaze. His icy blue eyes were rather notorious for freezing straight through to a person’s soul, or so the rumors were around the college campus. Could he help it if he had a stern look about him? He was merely a responsible, mature adult. Besides, as stated prior, Patton was a demon. He hardly had anything to fear from Logan of all people. “Feelings and emotions are hardly something I can just will away. It’s not like burning calories to lose weight or getting a haircut. I require... assistance.” It was here Logan’s voice took on a pleading tone, loathe as he was to admit that to himself. It was undeniably there.

Patton was fidgeting now, his own blue eyes dancing everywhere except Logan’s face. Unlike Logan’s, Patton’s eyes were more of a soft, powdery blue, like a clear summer sky. They were warm and overflowing with affection. Right now, however, they were filled with concern. A frown was tugging at the corner of Patton’s mouth. “...Logan, I don’t...”

“Please.” Oh, it hurt him to beg, but Logan had nowhere else to turn. “You’re the only one who can do something. I know you can. You have powers, abilities... I’m sure you’re capable of feats I could never even imagine. You have to help me. I’ll give you whatever I want. That’s how these deals work, isn’t it?”

“Logan-”

“What do you need? My soul? Surely taking it would solve the problem all on its own-”

“Logan!” The harshness in Patton’s tone silenced Logan’s next words, making his teeth clack together as his mouth firmly closed in shock. Now it was Patton’s turn to stare him down, at last, with an almost protective fire in his eyes. “Yeh can’t jus’ say that!” The emotion in his voice was thickening Patton’s accent. “Yer soul is a part of you, ‘s important, how could yeh jus’ throw it away so easily?”

Logan couldn’t help but bristle. “Why do you care?” he sniffed. “Isn’t taking souls your thing? I thought that’s what demons were after, besides tricking man into sin. I’m practically handing you mine on a silver platter, why would you...”

“‘s not always like that!” Patton snapped, actually snapped at Logan, and well that was a new experience. He huffed, sitting back some in his chair, clearly attempting to rein in his temper. He was practically pouting. “Sometimes... sometimes we don’t want a soul. ‘r a certain soul. Sometimes... we don’t wanna hurt anyone at all.” Now his voice was quiet, hinted with despondence, and he wasn’t looking at Logan anymore. As if he felt ashamed. “...I don’t want yer soul, Logan.”

Logan stared, perplexed and dumbfounded, utterly at a loss. Of all the scenarios his request could have led to, this wasn’t one he’d anticipated. What demon didn’t want a mortal soul? Was that concept truly a work of fiction and pop culture? He’d never been religious himself, but there must have been some grain of truth to those sermons. Why else would they exist? He stammered, for once, flummoxed and metaphorically grasping at straws. “But... but I don’t understand. If you don’t want my soul, what else do I have to give you? I... have nothing, besides my intellect, or my wit, or...” He smoothed down his tie, taking on the anxiety he’d witnessed in Patton earlier. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t offer those things, they were precisely the reason he was making this deal to begin with.

Patton shook his head. “Yer more’an all’a that, Lolo.” There was a subtle quirk to his lips now, as he looked back to Logan. That fondness had returned to his eyes. “Yeah, yer smart. An’ clever- cleverer than I’ll ever be. But... yer also kind,” his tone softened, “an’ carin’. Thoughtful. Yeh try ta help others, even if yeh probably won’t get anythin’ from’em back. Yeh work so hard at everythin’ yeh do, yer self-disciplin’s amazin’, an’ yeh make the very best quiche I’ve ever tasted.” Patton chuckled. “Heck, I didn’t even know what a quiche was until you. ‘s a real chew.”

“A chew?”

“Bless you.” Patton grinned cheekily and Logan’s mouth pinched into a disapproving frown.

“But... none of those things are particularly useful, or... or valuable.” Logan remained crestfallen. “Surely you want none of those....”

“Yer right. I don’t.” Patton shook his head again and stood. Honestly, he looked far too ridiculous for their current conversation in that cat onesie of his. “I don’t wanna take anythin’ from yeh, Lolo. I really don’t.”

“But then... you can’t just give me what I want for nothing. That... that’s not how a trade works. That’s not how you work... is it?”

Patton sighed. “No, yer right. I can’t jus’... do somethin’ fer ya, fulfill a desire, without gettin’ somethin’ back.”

Logan ducked his head. “Then... I truly am at a loss. I have nothing to give, even if you could remove my emotions for me.” His thoughts swirled as if caught up in a mental storm. It ripped and tore its way across his mind, calling him the fool and mocking him for thinking it would be so easy. That he would have anything of true value to offer the demon. What was left for him now? The drugs he’d been avoiding, the ones which would prove to be a double-edged sword for certain-

“Logan.”

The sound of Patton saying his name brought Logan’s gaze back up. His roommate had drawn closer, concern shining brightly in blue eyes. A hand reached out to touch his cheek and sent a jolt of warmth through him, making his hair stand on end and shooting a tingle all the way down to his toes. He suppressed a shiver as Patton’s thumb brushed along the swell of his cheek.

“Logan. I...” Patton bit his lip and looked away, as if uncertain about his next words. “...I don’t want to take yer emotions from you.” His accent had simmered back down now. “But... if ‘s really what you want, I... can make you an offer.”

Logan perked up at this. He thought Patton had claimed wanting nothing from him, but perhaps the demon had changed his mind. He reached up to grasp the hand on his cheek and gave it a squeeze, subtly urging Patton to continue. “Anything, Patton. I will provide you with anything I am able, if it means I’ll be rid of these awful emotions. Please.”

Patton bit the inside of his cheek and then sighed, finally caving in. “...here’s the deal. I won’t take your emotions away right now.” When Logan attempted to immediately protest, Patton shushed him with a finger to his lips. “But- but! I will take them away, if... if I can’t convince you that they’re good, an’ important, an’ make you change your mind. I will. That’s what you can give me in exchange, Logan. A chance. An’ if I succeed... you drop this whole idea. Forever. Deal?”

Logan sputtered softly as Patton pulled his finger away. He wasn’t sure what scrambled his composure more; that gesture, or the offer itself. Patton wanted to... show him emotions were important? That he needed, could even want, his feelings? He didn’t really need to ask why- Patton was a giant bleeding heart. He always tried to help everyone (which was why it came as such a shock the man was actually a demon). He also wore his heart upon his sleeve; he was a very emotional man- er, demon. It was completely understandable that he’d find issue with Logan’s stance on the matter and try to “fix” it. Still, he’d thought the offer of his soul or, or anything he held of value, would outweigh those notions. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes, Lolo.” A smile quirked at Patton’s lips. “But... if yeh don’t, I won’t take yer emotions away. I won’t. No hard... feelin’s.” He winked.

Logan wanted to let loose a particularly frustrated, disgruntled noise, but he managed to regain his scattered composure. He huffed, smoothing down his shirt and fiddling with his glasses again, but it was all procrastination. He was staving off the inevitable. Because of course he was going to say yes. This was his only chance to achieve his goal, and if he had to jump through a few hoops, so be it. Well... in all actuality, it would be Patton jumping through the hoops. He sighed. “...one chance to change my mind. One.” He paused, thinking it over a moment. “...what length of time constitutes as ‘one’?”

Patton was beaming at him, and in the onesie it was utterly adorable. Ugh. Thoughts like that were precisely the reason he needed to be rid of his emotions. They clouded his judgment on top of everything else. “How about... one year?”

“A year-”

“One year! Ta convince you that you need yer emotions, that they’re good fer you, that they’re an important part of yer life. And in one year’s time, if yeh still feel tha same, I’ll... I’ll take’em away. No strings attached. Promise.” Patton met Logan’s eyes, on purpose, and any shreds of doubt Logan had about trusting a demon were disintegrated.

It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose, after all. He was offering up nothing but a delay to obtain his desire, whereas Patton would be working a full year to try and achieve his own goal. It didn’t make much sense to Logan, but as the saying went, one really shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Right? What other opportunities did he have? It was this, or nothing. He had no choice but to accept. “...very well. I’ll take your deal. Please do not be upset when, in a year, we come back to this very point and all of your efforts proved to be for naught.” He extended his hand, posture the picture of business.

Patton was still beaming, though, unperturbed and confident. He eagerly shook Logan’s hand with a bit of an excited giggle. “Oh, the next twelve months are gonna be so much fun!”

[softambrollins]

First, congratulations on 500 followers. You deserve it. I love you Ambrollins posts. I have a couple fic ideas. Since Seth didn't go on the Australian tour how about some fluff with him and Dean missing each other. Facetiming or skyping with each other. Maybe Roman teasing Seth about missing Dean. :-)

need you so much closer (dean/seth) - 2.2k. - fluff, pining, first kiss, getting together (ao3 link)

This is disgustingly fluffy, so sorry if it makes your teeth rot!

It's only been a month and that's hard to wrap his mind around. It feels like they've already been doing this — all of this — together for years.

The thing is, Dean's a creature of habit. Even though he learned long ago that he shouldn't get too used to anything, because it could be taken away from him at any moment. Being alone is obviously not a foreign concept to him, but he's always had trouble adjusting to sudden changes, especially now when it involves him and Seth. Because somehow, even after everything that's happened, they still just fit together so easily and seamlessly.

So, it's kind of messing with his head a bit. Because Seth's been a constant presence in his life for the last few weeks and now he's half a world away. And it's got him all off-kilter and out-of-sorts.

*

He wakes up from a fitful night's sleep and his head feels like he's been in a car crash. He'd only got like four hours, maximum, but he figures there's no point in trying for any more. He gets out of bed and looks at his phone. Usually, there'd be a message there, laying out their schedule for the day, and they'd figure out where and when they'd meet up — but obviously there isn't now. Because Seth's not here.

He's sure Roman's already in the middle of his work-out for the day. Fucking morning people. He can't even stomach the idea of being near a gym before 10am in the fucking morning. Crazy bastards.

So, he has breakfast by himself, like the sad sack he is. He wonders if people can tell that he's missing something that now feels vital to his very being. He wonders if they can deduce that the chair opposite him is meant for his…Seth. He still doesn't know how to begin to describe what this new relationship between them is in any simple terms. His former best friend? His former mortal enemy? Officially, he's his tag team partner, he supposes. But that doesn't come close to encompassing all of what they are and have been to each other over the many years that their lives have been inextricably intertwined.

His other half, his brain supplies helpfully. He scoffs at the thought. People don't need other people to complete them. That's bullshit.

It doesn't explain why even with a couple coffees in him and supposedly more awake and in better spirits than before, all he can think about is that around now is when they'd start arguing about the most inane subject imaginable while Seth absently steals forkfuls of pancakes off his plate.

He abandons his breakfast early and just starts walking down the street in a random direction, almost hoping he gets lost.

It occurs to him that he's never once gotten lost in a strange city on a strange continent when Seth's been by his side. Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered if he did anyway. He'd always be right where he wanted to be.

*

He's exhausted when he gets back to the hotel late that night, but instead of instantly passing out, he reaches for his phone and calls Seth's number without thinking about it.

"Dean?" Seth answers. He sounds a bit surprised, but in a pleasant sort of way, and fuck — he even sounds far away. Maybe he's imagining it, or maybe he's not. His voice doesn't sound like it usually does; it's still not right.

"Hey, man, how's it going?" He probably sounds deranged; it's always like that after a long night spent in the ring, in front of the crowds, the leftover adrenaline still slowly draining away, too much blood still pumping to his head.

"It's — uh, it's going okay. How're things over there?" Seth says, his voice betraying only a tiny amount of concern.

"Good," Dean tells him. "Really good. I just walked around for a long time today — I don't even know where the hell I ended up, but it was cool. Really cool. And tonight was fucking great. But it's just — it's fucking weird walking out there alone, man."

Seth laughs and it's a soft, garbled sound, almost like he's moved the phone away from his mouth. God, he missed what that sounds like up close. God, he's probably actually losing his fucking mind.

"Well, at least you have no one to trip over," Seth says, deadpan.

Dean laughs at that, too. "That's exactly what Roman said. The cheeky fucker."

They both laugh then.

"Anyway, what are you up to?" Dean says when they're quiet again. "What time is it there anyway — Shit —" He didn't even bother to check, because he's a complete idiot. Fucking time zones, goddamn —

"It's all good, man," Seth reassures him. "I was just feeding the dogs. It's been a pretty chill morning."

"Oh, that's good then," Dean says.

"Yeah, I guess," Seth says, but in an odd tone.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, man — it's just weird being back home sometimes. All alone in a big house. Almost like it's too quiet, you know? I couldn't get to sleep last night for hours — It's weird without people, like, talking in the corridors and slamming doors and all the cars and noise and stuff in the streets —"

Dean nods unthinkingly. "Yeah," he agrees. "I get it. And I didn't get that much sleep last night either."

"Oh, I should probably let you go then —"

"No," Dean cuts him off, probably too quickly. "No, it's okay — Just tell me what's going on over there."

"Like, right now?" Seth says, sounding uncertain.

"Yeah, like what are your dogs up to?"

"Oh," Seth says, and then he starts relaying all the mischief his pets are currently getting into. He just talks and talks about the most random stuff and Dean hums in acknowledgment every few minutes and he's sure Seth has better shit to do but he sounds completely fine with it, happy even, and when it feels like he's genuinely about to pass out on him, Dean tells him goodnight and hangs up.

He takes his jeans off and brushes his teeth before he gets back into bed.

Seth sends him a video of himself playing with his dogs a couple minutes later and he finds himself smiling in earnest for the first time all day.

He falls asleep pretty much as soon as his head hits the pillow.

*

He meets Roman for lunch and he keeps eyeing him with a suspicious look on his face the whole time.

"What?" he eventually demands. "Is something on my face?"

"Yeah," Roman says, nodding seriously. "You actually look like someone didn't piss in your coffee this morning. It's a miracle."

"Shut the fuck up," Dean tells him, with all sincerity.

"Really, though, man. What happened? You were the grumpiest I've ever seen you yesterday. And that's saying something — Like, for real —"

"Okay, you don't need to elaborate," Dean says testily. "I got it."

"I mean, I'd say you got laid last night, but that's pretty much impossible, I'd think —"

"What?" Dean asks, narrowing his eyes at him, almost offended. "Why would that be impossible?"

"Well, because Seth's back in Iowa," Roman says, like it's an obvious conclusion to arrive at.

Dean almost chokes on his food.

"What the fuck, man?" he says, when his air passages are clear again.

Roman looks like he's holding in the most hysterical laughter of his life.

"You're an asshole," Dean tells him definitively.

"Did you talk to him?" Roman asks, casually taking a sip of his drink.

Dean rolls his eyes, and then lets out a long sigh. "Fine, okay, I did."

"Did you tell him how much you miss him?" Roman says, clearly revelling in his misery now.

Dean has to tightly clench his fists on the table for a moment before someone gets punched in their perfectly square jaw.

"We talked," Dean grits out. "It was a completely normal conversation that did not involve any sappy, sentimental bullshit. Are you happy now?"

"I don't know," Roman asks. "Are you?"

Dean has to firmly restrain himself from throwing a fry into his hair.

*

He's just gotten out of the showers after the next show when he finds his phone's buzzing. He sits down on the locker room bench and there's a weird feeling in his chest when he realises it's Seth.

"Hey, man," Dean answers, trying really hard to sound less strung-out than the night before.

"So, Roman called me," Seth starts, as innocuously as possible.

Dean immediately groans and thinks about actually dying.

"He says you're having a — crisis?" Seth asks, confused.

"It's nothing," Dean tells him. "It's just strange — not having you here. I know it's fucking crazy. It's only been, like, a month — but fuck, it feels like longer than that. Maybe it's because you weren't there for so long before — sometimes when I really needed you."

And fuck, Seth is definitely going to think he's out of his fucking mind now. Maybe he can blame the jetlag and the disorientation and the lack of sleep — yeah, that'd probably work —

Seth just grows really silent on the other end. "Wow, I — I didn't know, man. I mean — I thought it was just me."

"What?" Dean asks disbelievingly.

"I mean — I keep having funny thoughts about stuff and I want to tell you about it, but you're not there."

"I know," Dean says. "I keep turning to look at you when someone says or does something really stupid, and you're not there either. Who else am I supposed to judge our idiot coworkers with, Seth?"

Seth laughs at his despairing tone, but it's helpless rather than teasing. "This is stupid," he says, summing it all up perfectly.

"Yeah, I know. Really stupid." I just miss being around you, he wants to say, desperately, but God, how pathetic would that sound.

Seth sighs audibly. "When are you gonna be back?"

"Soon. In a couple days."

"Why does that feel like a lifetime from now?" Seth says, his voice small and more vulnerable than Dean's ever heard it before.

"I don't know," Dean replies, truthfully.

*

He's determined to enjoy their last show Down Under, and not just for Roman's benefit, no matter how much he thinks it is.

The tour's been great and he can't wait to come back someday with Seth. And just that thought makes him feel oddly warm inside, because he's actually imagining it — imagining a future, with Seth by his side. And that's always felt like a dangerous thing to do.

He doesn't want to lose this, though. He doesn't think he can survive losing it again. Losing him. Fuck. He's pretty sure he'd do anything in his power to keep this for as long as he can.

It's all he's thinking about when he walks down the ramp, one half of the tag team titles around his waist, ready to enter the fray, have the fight of his life, like he does every night — like they do every night, together.

Seth's not there with him, at least not physically, but it's almost like he can still feel him. Standing right next to him. Where he was always meant to be.

*

Seth's waiting for him when he gets off the plane. He'd slept a lot on the way over, he'd listened to a playlist Seth had made him for the long flight back, he'd scrolled through some of the more ridiculous selfies Seth had sent him over the weekend (and Seth hates selfies, so something about that makes it more special), and he feels — well-rested, energised, reinvigorated. Ready for anything. Truly at ease for the first time since he said goodbye to Seth about a week ago.

They just stare at each other for a few long moments, Dean with a ghost of a smile on his lips, Seth with an expectant look on his face — before Dean just reaches out and pulls him close into his arms.

Seth closes his eyes, buries his face into his shoulder contently, and it feels like his body was meant to fit right here, pressed flush against his own, Dean feeling Seth's heartbeat against his own chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Dean runs a hand up into his hair and breathes in the smell and the aura and the very essence of him. He's never felt anything more real in his life.

When they finally pull away, Dean starts rummaging in his backpack for something while Seth looks on quizzically.

"Dean, what —"

"I got you something," he says, placing a small, stuffed koala into Seth's hands.

Seth just stares at it and then back at Dean.

"Your dogs can play with it, too, if you want —" Dean says, sheepishly, eyes looking at the floor, passing his fingers through his hair.

"You're such a sap," Seth tells him, looking at him with fondness practically overflowing from his big, dark eyes.

Before he can refute his words, Seth is reaching up and kissing him, briefly and chastely, on the mouth.

And then it's hard to talk about anything at all.

"Thanks," Seth tells him, breathlessly, staring him right in the eyes.

Dean just smiles at him before reaching out and taking his hand in his own and then they head towards the doors together.

[prixmiumarchive]

So, Shadowhunters is good, then? I've thought about watching it but have also thought that it looked like it was kind of over dramatic.

***VERY PERSONAL SHADOWHUNTERS DISCOURSE TO FOLLOW***

Cut for length and to avoid annoying people.

My tl;dr answer is: yes, with caveats, a lot of baggage, and a “it is a Freeform show” disclaimer. So, good music, pretty people, pretty lighting, engaging character chemistry… All there. Melodramatic? Maybe, but really, what were you signing up for?

I got into Shadowhunters because my friend @thethirteenthhouse showed me an episode, and I’m still only like five episodes in with her? I enjoy it, though. At the time that she first showed it to me, I hadn’t really made the full connection that it was another attempt at making a film adaptation of The Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Cla(i)re.

I realized pretty quickly, though, because they resolve the City of Bones stuff pretty quickly, which was the name of the first TMI book which I had been very, very dimly aware of in high school I guess. I had been put off TMI and Cassandra Cla(i)re (hereafter CC) not by its own content but because of the controversy surrounding CC’s presence in Harry Potter fandom.

I have only recently started to work my way through the Harry Potter series. My parents are not really ax-crazy conservatives, but they occasionally listen to said breed of conservatives, so when I was in the Harry Potter generation, I was denied access to Harry Potter because my parents didn’t want me opening my mind to Dark Magic or something. I mean, we can get into that, but it’s really another story, and I love my parents, and they’re very not-bad-as-parents-go-if-you’re-anything-but-a-heterosexual-vanilla-delight-of-a-human. Anyway, so, Harry Potter is pretty new to me as a person, though I did go through my childhood with a kind of indirect exposure to it. I just didn’t really get to delve in? My parents let up on most of those such edicts after a while, and I did read a few (the first three?) Harry Potter books when I was really into reading in high school. However, I wasn’t really engaging with anyone about it, because I was kind of embarrassed that I was so ‘behind’ compared to my peers who had basically learned to read on Harry Potter. Then, I got sucked into PJO (the first few books of that).

But even though I, personally, was not a Potter kid, my childhood best friend definitely was. She and I had overlapping interests and diverging interests, and she LOVED Harry Potter with no parental chagrin. We used to sit side by side on an office chair and scroll through fansites related to things we liked (GeoCities! Angelfire! Wow.) and eventually got turned onto fanfiction.net as being a thing and other, more restrictive and selective and focused groups and fic archives that existed in the days of yore.

I’m explaining all of that to say that I was actually aware of the Draco Trilogy before all of it was published and when it was popular without a real whiff of controversy having been brought to anyone’s (or at least my childhood best friend’s) attention. If you don’t know about the whole Draco Trilogy mess and want me to do a short fact-finding mission, send me another ask, but I’ll wait in interest of expediency. TVtropes and fanlore websites both have links and information if you just search for “the Draco Trilogy.”

I read excerpts of the Draco Trilogy that had particularly pithy dialogue, funny, or sexy overtones that my childhood best friend wanted to share. I also seem to think that we read a fair bit of Draco/Hermione fic in this manner, which I do not know if CC ever wrote but which I bring up because I was sorely disappointed to find out that Draco/Hermione dynamic that I imagined based on these fics (inspired, in part, by a certain fanon-hopeful interpretation of Draco popularized, at least, if not completely and solely originated by CC) was totally not what I got the impression of as an undercurrent from the films. Basically, the fact that Draco was not as CC imagined him which I had developed a conception of through being-in-internet-fandom-if-not-very-into-Harry-Potter was a major disappointment and probably one of the reasons that HP was not high up on my list of Things To Make Happen when my teenage rebellious ingenuity was at its fullest swing to read Parentally Discouraged Books. And, you see, THAT IS THE THING about CC, The Mortal Instruments, why I kind of like Shadowhunters, and why I will probably never stomach delving further behind the curtain than the Shadowhunters TV series itself, though I know there are loads of people who have done so in ignorance/innocence.

This is a serious case of “I can enjoy a thing while being super-critical of, like, everything about it on a meta level.”

Co-opting some descriptive terms from things I’ve read about the Draco Trilogy, a short summary of its impact on its fandom at the time was, apparently, that it was a fanfiction of such phenomenon that some people began to prefer the Draco Trilogy to the direction canon itself was going. And, as fanfiction power goes, that is like the Holy Grail. It is the Goal when canon is in any way disappointing you and your fellow fans. It’s incredible, it’s impressive, and I’m still sitting here impressed that no matter what hellfire CC has had rained down upon her that there was something in her work that resonated with people to a point that there are many willing to forgive unrepentant and repeated acts of plagiarism and bullying in order to resolve the cognitive dissonance of really loving something that was written by and born from a generally jerkish person.

I say that, consciously, as a person who accepts Moffat Who for the most part in spite of all of the Discourse in that direction, too.

The issue with CC’s Draco Triology was certainly not its plotting, its craftsmanship (in terms of its parts making a whole), its characterization, or anything else that would make it a bad fic. I have yet to revisit the texts, though I have procured them as a funny and fanlore matter of interest for my Harry Potter reading log blog @100privetdrive (which tumblr doesn’t wanna link right now), as someone who knows the controversy, and I never read them in full, but I am led to believe that there are many fans who would still like to revisit the texts but feel bad about doing so because they are tainted with plagiarism and a lot of ugliness that followed. CC’s dedication to her work certainly led her to produce a completed trilogy of interconnected longfics, not to mention her one-shots that she produced for the Harry Potter fandom during her stay. Most of them have vanished into the realm of myth when she retreated from fandom life upon getting her book deal (and upon ducking away from those who were out with pitchforks in the fandom at the time), but the Draco Trilogy was of such renown that it has (for now) escaped permanent erasure from record in spite of CC’s attempts.

What I’m telling you is that people like(d) the Draco Trilogy.

CC’s characterizations of the Harry Potter cast were not necessarily consistent with canon, but they were consistent within what she imagined at the time could be or wished was. It is certainly not the case that her fanfiction and the story she quilted together was devoid of original thought or emotional investment in her characters and what she was writing. The problem was, someone discovered that she was essentially lifting word-for-word passages from some quality-but-then-out-of-print fantasy books for sizeable portions of plot-heavy parts of her story, in addition to much of her pithy, interesting dialogue being straight-lifted from popular television of the time such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Honestly, for the latter, few people would call her out for that. She did credit that she borrowed some dialogue from shows she liked, and when trying to defend herself against accusations of plagiarism, she mentioned a kind of in-joke, intertextual referential humor she shared with her fandom friends. Basically, she was doing the same thing as all those incorrect[series]quotes tumblrs that are pretty popular right now, and she did admit it. The issue was what she would not admit when someone found her out and the bullying and war and response that followed.

There is far better documentation on this situation than I can give you, because the entire thing about this drama is interesting hearsay for my part. Again, if you ask, I’ll go on a brief fishing expedition for you, but it will involve a series of search terms you could just as easily google yourself. If any of my recollection is fuzzy, it is because it is solely recollection of things I’ve read about and become aware of as a fandom resident for more-than-the-past-decade.

Getting back to Shadowhunters, the thing about it is, I never really wanted to like anything CC had anything to do with for a long time for all of these reasons. I didn’t really feel good about supporting someone who made the transition from fan-to-creator in a way that felt a lot like she didn’t care who she hurt in the process. I also felt, a little, like it was a betrayal of the spirit of transformative and fandom work to completely remove oneself from the process (by deleting as much as you could of your fandom contributions) when you achieved success. I know of a lot of active fandom writers who don’t do that if and when they become published. However, those people also don’t plagiarize their own work.

Again, this is a-thing-I-read-about because I have not read the Draco Trilogy in anything close to full or ANY of TMI series except screencaps of pages I’ve seen on tumblr. That said, Jace Wayland is CC’s Draco. Clary Fray is CC’s Ginny Weasley. Alec Lightwood is CC’s Harry Potter.

So here is my complicated relationship with kind of liking and getting into the Shadowhunters tv series at this particular juncture in time, space, and my personal history and observation of fandom: I think it is really cool when works influence and can relate to each other. TMI is a far better example of this than 50 Shades, no doubt. However, there is the load of baggage surrounding CC’s success, unapologetic or deflective attitude toward anything she ever does wrong, and so on. But, then again, Shadowhunters is based on her work. Another recent example that might be similar is the CW’s The 100.

The 100 is another show that I genuinely like-what-I-have-seen-of, though I’m behind the point when some people got mad and wrote it off. It is also based on a YA lit book of the same title. However, its similarities with the book diverge sharply after the first few episodes, and it, as an adaptation, is doing its own thing, unrepentantly. I have been told that Shadowhunters is also doing this, and I think that it is an aesthetically pleasing show. It also has interesting concepts at play in its worldbuilding which I will say to my mind are unique in spite of the myriad parallels to a darker-teenier-edgier Harry Potter that will never go away. I also appreciate that the Shadowhunters showrunners are said to care about how their representation of LGBT people plays. It is not an exclusively-white show. It has pretty music. I like the actors’ enthusiasm for the characters they play and the journeys they seem to be taking. I think parabatai is a pretty neat concept. It’s pretty standard as far as what runes themselves are, but the rune usage and tattoos are pretty cool.

There are a lot of things to like about this show. There are a lot of things about them that, without evidence, I am sure are the brain children of CC. I wish that I could just full on and without equivocation go “kudos” to someone who made such an incredible transformative leap from one fandom into her own worldbuilding. However, the divorce of Shadowhunters/TMI/pretty much any of CC’s work feels incomplete and disingenuous on a certain level, no matter how much I am simply enjoying a tv show with-my-criticisms. I feel that a denial of is direct relationship to fanfiction, fandom itself, Harry Potter, and CC’s own past is just an effort to flatten out cognitive dissonance that comes from liking-what-is-intriguing-about-it that simply doesn’t come that easily.

I am enjoying the show in part because it seems really interesting on some kind of fandom-sociological level. I also like it for all the good-things I mentioned above. I like it because my some of my friends love it with an untainted and genuine enthusiasm. However, I’ve got to say, that I actually find watching the Shadowhunters series with my friend feels non-icky in a way that pledging any kind of allegiance to CC’s little empire that actually benefited it in any way does not.

I enjoy Shadowhunters as, basically, the biggest budget AU fanfic I have ever seen, but I think that on some level it has its own soul, too. But I’d be a lot more willing to credit the cast and crew and the Harry Potter fandom of the early-00s with that than I would CC on her own.