#did i reread it out of spite because i keep seeing people be assholes to tillie? yes

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I reread Clementine Book One today, so that means I can officially say that I've read it 10+ times.

I take no real pride in that statement, but here we are.

[emeagirnacamps]

say about the whole "nico + the seven not saving him" discussion pls

i read your tags in my post and i think this is a better place to discuss

probably we agree in everthing about piper, leo, frank and hazel's actions (except the part of piper and leo not knowing nico's life was im risk; i doubt SO MUCH percy wouldn't tell the whole picture to them)

jason yes, i probably was unfair bc of his memory, i only focused on his 'roman leader' side

AND YES, ANNABETH IS SAID TO BE SO FUCKING SMART AND SHE DIDN'T THOUGHT OF A LOGICAL REASON OF WHY NICO WOULDN'T TELL ANYONE THE TRUTH???? DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE

percy is... very difficult. i read accurate reason of why he would be either spiteful or it was just rr's bad writing. Want to hear your opinions

okay, here i go. i will just say my opinions on this, i'm not expecting you to agree with everything nor i want you to. please keep in mind i barely remember the series and have just reread the scene you mentioned. plus this is so long, i fear i will bore you.

the scene is so bad written. it's so funny how bad it is given the fact it is supposed to be a moment where both the readers and the seven get to be troubled and hesitant about what to do. except that we don't feel like that because the situation is showed to us like an emergency: nico has five days to live and he can't get out of it alone.

anyone who disagrees with the idea of saving him will be seem like an asshole. there's no question, because the situation that is presented was something urgent and without other choice besides them going and saving him.

i was surprised with piper being a mediator, i barely remember the stuff she did so reading she trying to calm and reassure hazel that yes, they are going to save her brother was so sweet. frank clearly was just trying to keep hazel from panicking so i will judge him here: he was only a trophy boyfriend in the whole scene. he didn't have an opinion and he just accepted that well, it's time to save hazel's brother then. i kinda can judge piper for the same, but given i hardly have good things to talk about her i will let it slide this time.

it's so funny how everything happens in percy pov and he. barely talks about it. he says he have a "rocky relationship" with nico, but he also affirms they are going to save him — that they have to —, but when he could say anything to make jason and leo to feel less suspicious about the whole thing, he does nothing.

it's interesting to see that since hearing about nico's situation, all annabeth does is analyze what's happening and say the obvious — she points out he is the bait when she is alone with percy and she is the first to make it seems ambiguous ether or not they were going to save him, as it shows here:

“The giants are trying to lure us,” Annabeth said. “They’re assuming we’ll try to rescue him.”

she doesn't say if she agrees or not to go save him. damn that's cold as fuck. in her defense, she is supposed to be more "rational", but she could still keep being neutral and make people think and theorize about the why nico couldn't tell anyone about the two camps instead of just passive watching. actually besides this and the other line about the death slumber, she says nothing in the entire scene.

(which is weird to me. guess i remember a different annabeth then.)

and now we came to the "assholes"! /hj

leo, like annabeth did in private with percy, was just pointing the obvious.

“Uh…” Leo shifted in his chair. “One thing. The giants are expecting us to do this, right? So we’re walking into a trap?”

that's his first line. it's after this that everything went downhill. in a critical approach, i think it should be questioned if they would save him or not before they know if nico is a) alive and b) could get out of the situation on his own. doing it after just seems like leo is being rude and apathetic to another human being life. which i doubt was the point here, given he does have some points to make:

“Don’t get me wrong, Hazel. It’s just that your brother, Nico… he knew about both camps, right?”

“Well, yes,” Hazel said.

“He’s been going back and forth,” Leo said, “and he didn’t tell either side.”

Jason sat forward, his expression grim. “You’re wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.”

Hazel shot to her feet. “I don’t believe this. He’s my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don’t want to help him?”

while we, as a readers, knew about nico's intention and reasons, the characters does not. so if there was a change he was, in fact, a traitor, it would be great to point it out while they have time to discuss it. neither leo (, piper) or jason really knew nico — plus, while jason does says he remembers the guy — some pages ahead —, something we should keep in mind is how much does he actually remembers? and how much does he knew about him?

these two were not good judges of character here, since they didn't really knew nico beyond what others could tell them (and one of them was still working on remembering his past life). they really were the best ones for this, to add this tension, but the timing was bad. it made them look like bad guys even though they had the right to question if that was actually a good move.

hazel also gave them no actual reason as to why they should save nico (besides it being the actual heroic and right thing to do). the only thing she said here is he broke the law of the circle of life for her. and they don't want to help her?

she only made him look worse (/lh) while trying to defend him. it's not like jason or leo were bringing an impossibility to the table — he maybe could be gaea's ally, how would they know? his actions were not adding up and what she said is just a reminder of how far nico can go if he feels like it. were they right? of course not (but now my mind is like wHAT IF THEY WERE– damn being a ficwriter is ridiculous).

and even while bringing this possibility on the table, these two never said what if we don't save him, uh? it can be implied that maybe they didn't wanted to — to me it isn't though —, i guess it depends on the interpretation on who reads it. the thing is, they raised a point that nobody wanted to — or thought about — and the only thing that made they look like assholes was the fact that nico's days were counted. (my mind is so giddy to work on something like that i'm starting to hate this concept /hj)

and what it's the most funny about it for me is that hazel makes a jab at jason a lil later.

Hazel’s arms shook. A silver platter zoomed toward her and hit the wall to her left, splattering scrambled eggs. “You… the great Jason Grace… the praetor I looked up to. You were supposed to be so fair, such a good leader. And now you…” Hazel stomped her foot and stormed out of the mess hall.

my sweet summer child, he is being fair — but it doesn't seems like it because people are biased and are only caring about one life. (i probably sound like a big asshole too lmao, i swear i just being the "cold and analytical" cliche here, i hated this scene when i first read it too). was it really a good option to go in a rescue mission when they were fighting to save the world? one life is really more worth than thousand, millions one? should they really risk everything to save nico just because he is hazel's brother?

a good leader see all the options and try to see the situation from a lot of ways so they can better prepared for whatever is thrown at them. i don't think he is being a bad leader here (you, who is reading this, can totally disagree with me. my opinion won't change.)

now, if the question was only if it was a good choice to save him or not and his life time limit, i would end the post here. but no, there was another thing to put in the equation:

“That’s not much time,” Piper summed up. She put her hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “We’ll find him. At least we know what the lines of the prophecy mean now. ‘Twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to endless death.’ Your brother’s last name: di Angelo. Angelo is Italian for ‘angel.’”

did they even had a choice here? another thing that came way too early in my opinion is how they must save nico because he was part of the prophecy puzzle. of course the majority would go on board with saving him if he is a necessary tool to defeat gaea — this could also be used as an argument, a pretty bad one being honest, since you would only see him as a way to finish your task. but still would be one more way to convince others to save him too.

it doesn't necessarily negates the point that leo and jason made though it does make it clear that ether it is a good or a bad idea doesn't matter — they will need him. they will have to rescue him, because the prophecy says that he is the one who can guide them, so even if they have solid proof that they shouldn't; it doesn't matter.

the prophecy always became true. be it by the way we think it would or be it in the unthinkable way.

to resume: does i agree with the character questions and debates? no, nico is dying and i need and want him alive. jason and leo acted like assholes? depends on how i am judging the scene, if i am being biased: yes. if i am not being biased: a little. does percy and annabeth silence is okay? no, cause it doesn't make sense — even if percy is feeling petty or is simple ooc (or both, because these two arguments can coexist), i still think he should have at least tried to make nico be seem in a better light (even if he failed at it, like hazel). annabeth could still make a neutral point about how he helped in the wars while also didn't help or made it easier in finding percy while theorizing about the reason why nico did that. frank could do better, maybe he could side with leo and jason (surprisingly) and it could be something to work on his relationship with hazel. piper actually was very interesting in this scene, i could feel she somehow empathized with hazel since she also was in a similar situation with her dad in the first book (also she calling jason and leo out for being cold?? amazing, perfect, i loved it, this piper is now part of the characterization i wil use to write her).

i don't even remember what point i was trying to do lmao. all i remember was being too annoyed with people being angry at the seven for this scene. like yeah it's completely okay and valid to be angry, frustrated or uncomfortable with their decisions (or lack of), i just felt like people didn't really understood why the scene was even there in the first place (although very bad done and executed).

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

[1/?] Sorry for venting. I just saw some bad takes that gave me a lot of feelings. Personally, JC stresses me out every time he comes on screen, but I don't mind it when JC fans say fan-typical things like how they like JC because he wears purple, or is grumpy, or they think he's hot, or that they ship x*ch*ng because the cql actors have nice jawlines. They're harmless, fun takes, and while I don't agree with some of them, I see where they're coming from

Hello there anon, vent away as that is what my blog is open for as I love/hate on Jiang Cheng as he is in the plot, as well as all of my beef with what has been done to him for the EN side of the fanbase! I am more than fine listening and engaging with the unsavory "unpopular" discussions of his canon behavior and this goes for anyone of course that needs an open play area. I'll try to engage with what you have sent point by point as succinctly as I can.

[2/?] (some of these are obviously crack, and I am a fan of a few problematic faves). But then there are stans that just have to put other characters down to make JC look good. Like, I think some fans take their freedom of interpretation for granted because most of these takes aren't even labeled 'headcanon,' 'ooc,' or 'crack' anymore. Stans feel that their interpretations are valid, and while they are, valid =/= canon, and they're treating these takes as canon, which becomes popular fanon.

I enjoy Jiang Cheng for what he is, however as I had said it took me another reread to get to my stance of him being the negative mirror to Lan Wangji's positive and my comfort with that for the story once I realized what purpose he served. He is only insofar tragic in regards to his circumstances, but it does not absolve him for what he is at his core (no pun, but I can make a very nice metaphor that even with a piece of Wei Wuxian in him he is still forever unable and unwilling to stand by him equally all while stagnating where as Lan Wangji is able to flourish, grow and mature with nothing of import left from Wei Wuxian in a technical sense). As for ships, I am a little dirty Xicheng whore for fun and can say there is a sense of entertainment for me making it work with two people where one is wildly ignorant and the other wildly rabid. But that is outside of what is established as canon in the work and I always try to keep the two strictly separate due to the skew fanon perpetuates.

3/?] And now, it's not clear what part of the fanon references canon JC or the canon events of mdzs. JC is an asshole; I don't like him as a person, but I do think that he's a complex character motivated by many issues (sup, YeeZY), which makes him fascinating to explore. Unfortunately, erasing his culpability also removes his agency. JC should be allowed to be an asshole character who makes his own decisions even if they're the wrong ones. He has made his own tragedy by constantly casting Wei Wuxian as the villain of his life.

Now thanks to you I will be using YeeZY to forever and now to acknowledge Madam Yu (this is your fault for the new tag). From a standing from storytelling I agree that he is complex in the Jianghu for MDZS. Where in the usual political intrigue of Wuxia, he would be the mustache twirling villain that is outright unforgivable in narration, it is by favor of Wei Wuxian's narration that has an early steeping of empathy for him. And he is not meant to be seen as ultimately sympathetic, the work builds up his hate against Wei Wuxian who tries to rationalize it all several times until he is finally unable to. Jiang Cheng is the antithesis to Lan Wangji and the false bait to get attached to in Wei Wuxian's first life. I will make the note their meeting in Yiling is lukewarm between both as they exchange nothing really in terms of conversation and all pleasantries are left in terms of Jiang Yanli for Wei Wuxian. By this point Wei Wuxian has already switched his yearnings of platonically wanting a part of Jiang Cheng's life, to subconscious romantic inclinations about Lan Wangji and the perceived loss of being in the other's life.

The very point of Jiang Cheng as the deconstruction, is that he has no passion in life despite his apparent exploits because he put a shadow to hang over himself as an excuse to say others think he is not good enough. He has no deeper motivations than pure selfishness by the end of the work and is pure frivolity that he has built up losing the meaning of his sect as a tradition. He had his agency (more than anyone I might add in the work due to his social position) that he used to build his reputation as a passive rich sect leader that has little to do with civilian problems.

4/?] And I think a JC, somehow, that realizes that he did something wrong and is working hard to change for the better and gain self-actualization to become that UWU best jiujiu the stans want him to be, who is ready to talk (not yell at) with WWX, apologize to him, and create a better, healthier relationship with him is a much more powerful reconciliation and happy ending than 'everyone is wrong and mean and they all apologize to JC, which magically gets rid of all his issues'.

He is forced out of culpability in reconciliation because simply put, his audience do not like the reality that relationships fray and dissolve with no further resolution other than we as adults both need to move on for safety and good health. It is not acceptable in real life and fiction is allowed to place that also in it's thematic relationships. He has a small, small spark of recognition at the end of the main story, however he himself seems to choose to ignore it, as change is hard and he has never taken to that well as was foreshadowed with his dogs and the idea of sharing a space with Wei Wuxian. To write this is an awful lot of work into his psyche which is not a nice place, he is a terrible being and downplaying that to make a sugar sweet person does not work instantaneously. He is the one responsible for the entire fallout with Wei Wuxian and he hysterically realizes that even as he tries to continue to blame Wei Wuxian.

The issue that I have with his current stan culture, is that they already view him as something he is not. They play at bicycle with all of the other protagonists that have positive traits that they strip as they see fit; Good affirming loving to children adult Lan Wangji, Self-sacrificing ultimately did it all for love and care Wei Wuxian, Hard exterior but softened to who they consider an annoyance Wen Qing, Loyal as partners in their exploits on the field and always have each others back Wen Ning. They even take Jin Guangyao's persona of playing damsel and using that as a positive to soften up Jiang Cheng into something he has never been for anyone for ships.

[5/5] Also, making WWX/WN/LWJ apologize just makes them look better than JC. Like, stans supposedly love JC, so they ahouldn't be lazy and work hard to give him actual character development. Again, I'm sorry for spamming your ask. It just really baffles me about where they get these 'hot' takes (All I'm going to say is that JC was ungrateful, and WN had a reason verbally dismantle him).

They see this, but, they will spin it in any way to excuse Jiang Cheng due to the story itself showing that he was in the wrong to everyone he flung accusations at and his hate. No one but him is at fault for his spite as he had gotten his revenge on the ones that had ruined Lotus Pier and killed his parents. His own resentment pitted him against good and well meaning people that he refused to help as he mimicked his mother's words about raising their heads higher out of goodness instead of keeping low and staying self-centered. There is the underlying criticism of taking individual arrogance as self-care at the cost of others. Each point that Wen Ning makes is exactly what Jiang Cheng himself knows as he hated Wei Wuxian for being something he could not be or even wanted to be. Jiang Cheng wants kindness but does not understand that kindness to others needs to be selfless and accept the hurt that can come with that in life. He encompasses the fall from the path of buddhist lifestyle, "The Three Poisons" to Wangxian's "Without Envy" at the stories end.

[6/5] P.S. I'm not saying I want reconciliation fics, but I just feel that if stans want JC to have a happy ending, then I think that he should actively work for it. I think it would be interesting to see what force of nature would push him through a character development because throwing a therapist at him would result in a murder.

"I'm not saying I want reconciliation fics, but I just feel that if stans want JC to have a happy ending, then I think that he should actively work for it."

They do not think he has to work for it, they say his tragedy is enough, while heaping accusations against Wei Wuxian and saying his own are not enough to absolve him. Something Wei Wuxian has never denied and told all present they are allowed to forever hate him for what he had done in the past, but that they need to find a way to live in a life that is always moving on. He learned that grudges do nothing once they are absolved and it leaves you with hate with nothing else to do with it once that object is gone. In terms of reconciliation, I do not ever think that either want anything other than a distant peaceful out of each other's life set up. Jiang Cheng does not need Wei Wuxian in his life to be satisfied and never has since he used him as the handicap to hide behind to stay angry and miserable. Being without that fallback opens the world far more for him to change than him ever interacting like an old friend with Wei Wuxian ever again, if he ever had the guts to do that.

[winterhawk-olympic-bang]

Writer’s Workshop: How To End Your Story

How To End Your Story

Guest Poster: Flawedamythyst

We’re in the final furlong before the deadline for the first draft now, so it feels like a good time to talk about endings, and how to bring your story together to create a satisfactory one.

Have a read and then head over to the Discord Server where we have a channel for you to take part in a discussion based on the post, with chances to share your own ideas too.

How To End Your Story

There are traditionally six types of endings for a story:

Resolved ending - one with no lingering questions or loose ends. (Most murder mysteries and romances fall into this category.)

Unresolved ending - the kind of ending that leaves the reader with more questions than answers. (Usually for books that are part of a series. A lot of the HP books have endings like this.)

Expanded ending - expands the world of the story beyond the events of the narrative itself, with a time jump forward or a change in PoV.

Unexpected ending - a twist ending that the reader doesn’t see coming, but that should seem inevitable in hindsight.

Ambiguous ending - one that’s open to interpretation. Unlike an unresolved one, it leaves things to be interpreted by the reader so they have to decide themselves how it goes.

Tied ending - that brings the story full circle, and ends exactly where it began. Often the case for ‘Hero’s Journey’ type stories, where the hero ends up back home at the end.

You can read more about them here: https://boords.com/storytelling/how-to-end-a-story or here: https://www.masterclass.com/articles/ways-to-end-your-story but also in multiple other articles online just by Googling ‘Six Ways To End A Story’. 

But, of course, they don’t really tell you how to work out which one your story needs, or how to write one of them without falling into any of the traps that ends with an unsatisfying ending.

Motivation

Of course, often the hardest bit with an ending is actually getting there. Losing motivation is so easy, especially when you’re writing something super-long. I know lots of people get motivation by posting as they go and using comments/kudos as a spur, or even just by talking about it on Tumblr or other places and letting other people’s excitement buoy them up, but a Bang event like WHOB doesn’t allow for that. 

I’m going to talk a bit about ways to motivate yourself when you’re having to keep things secret from all but a handful of people, but bear in mind that this is something that really is very individual. Everyone writes for different reasons, and so everyone’s path to staying motivated is different.

For me, I think it comes down to focusing on why am I writing this story to start with? Any time I feel myself flagging, I think back to that reason and re-capture the original feeling I had about it. Often there’s a couple of different reasons. 

For example, when I was writing Look What The Cat Dragged In, my motivations when I wrote the first line were:

I want all of fandom to share with me the image of the Winter Soldier waking Clint up to threaten him while gently cradling a kitten in his hands, and 

I was writing it as a present for @kangofu-cb​. 

So, if I flagged at all, I was able to either reread that moment with Bucky holding the kitten and think ‘wow, I really do thing people will enjoy this mental image’, or I was able to think ‘I want my friend to have a nice thing’, and that helped me drive on and push through.

A lot of my personal motivations come down to ‘I want to share this scene/witty one-liner/visual of Clint pole dancing while dressed as Captain America with people’, so often just rereading what I’ve already done is really motivating for me, plus it also gives me the chance to see just how much I’ve already done, and what I would be dooming to be unfinished if I just walked away without pushing through.

You might well have different motivations though, which are equally valid. Maybe you started a fic for this event because you wanted to get a shiny badge, or to do something that your friends were doing, or you wanted to prove to yourself that you could write something longer than usual or outside of your usual wheelhouse. It may feel harder now than it did when you had that first idea, but that doesn’t change why you wanted to do it, and it’s actually easier now than it was when you started, because you’ve already done some of it.

And, if none of those motivations work for you, there’s always spite. ‘Oh, my brain gremlins think I can’t finish this? Fuck those guys, I’m going to prove those assholes so very, very wrong’ is completely how I powered through to finish my first ever novel-length fic, a million years and several fandoms ago. 

Resolution vs Ending

So, let’s move on to the ending itself. 

There are two parts to writing an ending: there’s the plot resolution and how that all gets tied up, and there’s the actual ending of the fic - the last scene, and the last place the reader sees the characters.

Sometimes the resolution happens only at the very end of a story and so those are the same thing, but I tend to think that makes things feel a bit abrupt. Especially for fics, which tend to be more character-driven than mainstream media and so need a wind down on how the characters react to the end of the plot for the reader. (This isn’t always true, of course, some plots do tie up neatly in the final scene. Every story is different and you’re the person best placed to judge what’s needed in your fic.)

So when you’re thinking about the ending, think about both parts. ‘How does this plot resolve itself?’ and ‘where do I want to leave these characters in the readers’ mind’s eye?’

Plotting a Story Resolution

You may well have already got a resolution worked out as part of your planning, but what if that ending doesn’t seem to fit any more, or you realise just as you get to it that you forgot to think about an ending at all and have no idea where to go?

First of all, don’t panic! If the rest of the story is there, you’ll be able to pull together the strands to create the best ending. Trust the bones of your story.

When I’m facing a blank page and no real idea of how I’m getting from the Depths of Despair moment to the happy ending, the first thing I do is reread the whole story in case that sparks a fantastic, fully-formed idea to appear on how to tie it all up. Mostly that doesn’t work, which is always disappointing, but it’s still a good place to start, because you have the whole run of the fic fresh in your head to plan from.

The next thing I do is make a list of all the things that I know definitely need to happen for the plot to be done. These don’t need to be in any particular order at this point and they don’t need to link up, you just need a list of what needs to go into the framework, however minor. ‘Clint wears Bucky’s hoodie and Bucky is smitten’ is a totally valid plot point to include, or even ‘include mention of recurring joke about muffins’. If you know something needs to be resolved but you don’t know how yet, just putting ‘resolve plot point with badgers’ is fine. Hopefully once you’ve started thinking through all the different bits, you’ll work out what’s going to happen to the badgers, and it’ll make sure you know it needs to be included somewhere.

If you have a beta/cheer reader who can help, it’s also super helpful to ask them what they would expect from the ending based on what they’ve read so far, or what elements from earlier in the story they think will be coming back/will turn out to be foreshadowing. Sometimes you’ll find you’ve written the clues to your ending into the earlier bits without really noticing, and you can throw them down on the list to be included as well.

Once you have everything you know needs to be included, you can shift them around into a rough order you think they need to go in, and start filling in the gaps. For example, if ‘Clint gets injured’ is there, you can add in ‘Bucky tends to his wounds’ as the obvious next step and maybe that would be a good time to throw in a muffin joke, and then Clint might need to borrow a hoodie if his shirt has blood on it, so you can tick those bits off as well.

It gets easier to see where the gaps are once you have it written out, even if it’s only things that you already knew would need to happen. Having it down in black and white helps your brain to move pieces around like a jigsaw puzzle, and start extrapolating on what comes in the gaps between.

Make The Ending Fit The Story

Think about what kind of story it’s been so far, and make sure that the ending you come up with fits in with it. 

You’ll know the general feeling that you wanted for the fic when you started writing, so that will give you a solid idea on how the ending needs to go. (Often for me this feeling is ‘schmoopy and loved up’, because I’m a softie. A lot of what I’m doing when I’m writing a fic is just clearing out of the way any obstacles that are going to get in the way of my characters being schmoopy and loved up. When there’s nothing left in the way, that’s when I know it’s the end of the story.)

You also need to keep the tone and pacing of your fic the same, and make sure that your ending matches up so it all feels like it fits together. This includes keeping the pace the same as it had been, no matter how tempting it is to rush through so you can get the thing finished already, or slow right down so you can add in a few thousand more words. 

Along with sticking to the tone you’ve set for the fic, try not to genre-shift - if you’ve written an action-packed zombie apocalypse fic, resolving the plot with domestic schmoop isn’t a great idea. The reader is invested in the style of story that you’ve written so far, so pulling the rug out on them will only give them whiplash, a vague sense of dissatisfaction or a persistent nagging feeling that zombies are about to attack. 

Unless you’ve written a domestic schmoop zombie AU of course, in which case I would read the hell out of it. ‘Curtain!fic but sometimes the undead interrupt’ sounds like a lot of fun.

And finally, make sure you maintain your characterisation. If the ending you want involves your character doing something wildly out-of-character, then that’s not the right ending. (I like to call this an Endgame!Steve ending. No, I’m not over that.) Even if your audience is invested in your story enough to overlook the incongruence, they will be having to overlook it rather than feeling fully invested in the journey you’ve created.

Chekov’s Gun

The most satisfying endings are the ones that tie up most, if not all, of the loose ends, and provide an emotional pay-off equivalent to the build-up. If you’ve been talking about something big that might or might not happen, and then it doesn’t, it’s narratively frustrating. In the same way, if you drop something big in that doesn’t really fit with what went before, it’s going to make the story feel unbalanced. 

Obviously that doesn’t mean you can’t have a surprise or twist ending but even if the reader is surprised by something happening, they still want to feel like they’re reading the same story. They need to look back with hindsight of knowing the twist and see how it fits in, and not how it stands out.

A good rule to follow is the Chekov’s Gun rule: If there’s a gun on the table in the first act, someone needs to shoot it in the second act. If you’ve been teasing something, make sure the pay-off is there.

And, of course, if someone’s going to be firing a gun at the end, go back and make sure it gets mentioned earlier in the story. It doesn’t need to be a heavy-handed anvil, but if you can drop in casual hints about guns earlier in the story, the whole thing feels more cohesive and thought out. No one needs to know that you only put those hints in after you’d finished the whole thing.

Loose Ends

Something I always like to do when I’m plotting exactly how the ending is going to go, is to go back through the whole fic and make a list of anything that feels like it could be a loose end if it didn’t get resolved. (If I’m having a problem working out my ending, often this happens at the same time as writing down all my ending plot points, as I described above.)

Some of those are obvious, like ‘Bucky and Clint need to kiss’, but some are less so. Did Clint think about how much he just wants to be done with all the drama so he can snuggle with his dog? Maybe throw in some Lucky cuddles somewhere in the finale so he gets the emotional pay-off. Has Bucky mentioned really want to punch a bad guy in particular in the face? Give him a chance to smack that asshole around a bit. Has there been a minor relationship drama along the way, like someone leaving their socks lying around? Have them either make a point of putting them away, or the other person just rolling their eyes and accepting it as a part of being with them.

It’s also important to think about where your secondary characters are going to end up, and if it feels like they’ve had an arc that needs resolving. Has there been another pairing with a bit of screen time or some background drama? Give them a chance to make out/make up. Has the bad guy done something that affected one of the other Avengers? Let them have a slice of revenge along the way.

For example, in my plan for Be All You Can Be, one of the original characters I introduced as other soldiers doing Basic Training, Havelka, didn’t turn up again after he’d been kicked back a level to another training unit. When I reread that, it became clear that he needed to prove himself somehow or his arc would be a depressing downward slope partially instigated by Clint and Bucky, so I brought him back at the end to do some First Aid and gave him a line or two to point to how his future was going to go, so the reader knew he was going to be okay.

You don’t have to completely resolve everything of course, and sometimes it is nice to leave a couple of things up to the reader’s imagination, but it’s nice for the reader if there’s a sense of things being tied up in a little bow. 

Ending

So, you’ve resolved your plot, how are you going to handle the actual final ending? 

Depending on how your story has gone, you might not need much after the resolution, or you may need several epilogue-y type scenes just to make sure everything is wrapped up.

Take a moment to think about what feeling you want the reader to take away from the fic. If it’s a romance, do you want to end with a warm fuzz of ‘aw cute’? If it’s been an angsty dig down into Clint or Bucky’s mental health issues, do you want a sense of optimism or catharsis? If there’s been a lot of action and drama, do you want a bit of peace and quiet for your characters to signal it’s all over with?

The best way to end any story is with a sense of hope, even if you’ve not gone for a completely happy ending, or have left yourself open for a sequel with some unresolved plot points. You want the reader to feel at least in some way uplifted. After all, regardless of whatever else has gone before, that’s the emotion they’ll have when they get faced with the Kudos button and the Comment box, so you need them in a good mood, right?

When you know what kind of feeling you want your ending to have, that will give you a major clue as to what the characters should be doing in the final scene.

One thing that can work well is bringing back something from the first scene or two and twisting it to be part of the ending. For example, at the beginning of Be All You Can Be Clint uses the song Make A Man Out Of You from Mulan as a way to torture Bucky, and then at the end, they watch the movie together while snuggling.

You do have to be careful not to be too heavy handed with that, and it doesn’t work in every fic, but I do like the feeling of ‘things coming full circle’ that you can get from doing it.

Afterglow vs. Too Much Ending

I always think that good stories come with a certain amount of ‘afterglow’: Just a scene or two to round things out and give a pointer towards the future. 

For example, in general, I don’t like stories that end with a first kiss, which is one of several reasons I usually find Hollywood romcoms unsatisfying. It feels like too much of a beginning, and leaves too many questions open about how things are actually going to go for the couple in question. As part of a complete ending, it feels more satisfying to have an ‘epilogue’-y type scene afterwards that will give you a sense of how things went from there, even if it’s just a couple of paragraphs about them planning their first date.

I’m sure we can all think of other times we’ve read or watched something and had a moment of ‘oh, was that it?’ after the last sentence/when the credits rolled. Abrupt endings without a bit of afterglow can leave the reader blinking a little and wondering where their damn cuddles are.

That said, you also don’t want to go too far in the opposite direction. If the plot is over, there’s no need to keep going with multiple scenes of fluff or porn that doesn’t really add anything. We don’t need to see their whole lives mapped out, and it can get fairly dull once the tension of the plot is over. Ask yourself if the three chapters of them having sex on every flat surface in their apartment is actually necessary, or if some of them can be cut and used as one-shot sequel/missing scene fics. 

In general if it’s not adding to either the narrative or emotional arcs, try to cap it at a scene or two. Just enough to feel like you’ve had a bit of post-climactic afterglow, but not so much that it’s starting to drag.

In Conclusion…

Ending a fic is, in so many ways, the most satisfying part of writing. You got right the way through your plot to the end! You did all the writing! Your characters made it through to their happy/sad/ambiguous endings! You deserve all the gold stars!

You just want your reader to feel the same way, by making sure the ending fits with what came before, ties up all the ends that need tying up, and leaves them with a deep glow of whatever feeling you want the overall story to convey.

And then you just need to do the editing, but that’s a workshop for another day...

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: None

A/N:  Enter Marcus Pike, stage right

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer​ , @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse​ , @the-feckless-wonder​ , @pascalisthepunkest​ , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501​ , @fioccodineveautunnale​  , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ , @lilkermit14​ , @tortles   [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]

Part 6 – Step Forward, Step Back, Find Your Partner Quick

Helen tried her best to console a distraught Rosemary as Officer Garcia spoke to several of his colleagues in the hallway.  Her screams had startled the director, who was already on edge due to the break-in and if the circumstances had been different, the look of surprise and horror on the officer’s face would have reduced Helen to peals of laughter.  But all the situation did was add worry to her shoulders.

For nearly two hours, the officers questioned Rosemary about the break-in, about the missing piece, and they kept asking if the museum had any enemies. As much as she wanted to say Fred Breyers out of pure spite, Rosemary kept her mouth shut – sure some people weren’t always pleased with some of their program or exhibit topics, but nothing that would result in the theft of an artifact or the physical beating of a staff member.  The two women were exhausted by the time the three cops left the building.  Rosemary laid on the couch in her office, a wet cloth over her eyes as the lingering headache from the attack ramped up under this new stress.

“Rose, are you going to be okay?”  Helen’s voice was soft, but unable to keep the worried tone at bay.

“I honestly don’t know.  That statue was the only thing missing.  I don’t know if I’m upset because I promised Robert we’d care for it or mad as hell that accepting that ugly ass hunk of bronze led to all of this and possibly hurt the museum’s reputation.”  She sighed heavily, the now cool cloth doing little to help her.  She slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the sofa’s edge.

“I wouldn’t worry about our reputation.  I’m already working with Marquetta on a press release to get ahead of the game.  Louis over at the Caller always does right by us, I’ll give him the scoop first and he’ll spin it in our favor.”  Helen leaned back.  “I’ll also call major donors today to inform them of the situation.”

“I’m sorry, Helen.  I never thought this would have happened!”  The younger woman groaned heavily as she tried to stand, but the director held out her hand to keep her from getting up.  The body stilled.

“Did Francois’ report show anything differently than what Robert had given you?”  Before Robert’s health worsened, Rosemary contacted an old friend of hers to appraise the piece as Helen wanted a second opinion for the insurance company.  The in-depth discussion about the findings with Helen was moved back first by Robert’s death and then the attack.  “Are we still looking at the same value?”

“I reread it the day before the attack to prep for the meeting that never obviously happened, and he seems to agree with the assessment Robert gave us. The statue was processed into the collections several months ago and I put in Robert’s information, but never got around to putting in Francois’ report.”

“Well, so long as the original value was imputed into the report, it’ll give us something for the insurance company.”

“Are we going to report it lost?  What if they recover it?”

“Rose, I don’t mean to sound mean, but I doubt these officers are going to find the piece.  Whoever has it is probably long gone by now.”  Helen glanced over at her.  “Unless a miracle happens.”

“Well good thing I believe in manifestation and miracles.”  For the first time in what seemed like a long while, Rosemary smiled as her old humor began to shine through.  The director smiled back, unable to let the infectious comment not affect her.

“We’ll see.”

---***---

Two Weeks Later

“Pike!  Get in here!” Carmichael’s voice carried through the small cluster of offices their department occupied.  “Pike!”

“I’m coming!  Damn, give me a second!”  Pike grumbled as he scurried from his office and across to hers.  She wasn’t a loud person, so the excited shout she gave had everyone around her curious.  As Pike entered the room, he could see his partner standing behind her desk, doing a little hop-dance.  He raised an eyebrow.

“You need to look at this!”  She pointed at the computer, her smile so big it nearly took over her face. He stopped because she was giggling, Carmichael never giggled.  Whatever this was, it had to been good.  Pike came around the desk and bent down to see what she was looking at and when his eyes landed on the screen, his eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped.

“This is one of them, isn’t it?”  Carmichael asked, her voice quivering in excitement.  He ran out of the office to the command center for the cold cases, his presence startling his crew.  He looked over at the evidence board and ripped off a picture hanging in the middle before rifling through one of the boxes to find the corresponding file. He ran back to the office.

The picture in his hand was faded with time, that grainy look of age that pictures older pictures were taking on, but despite those flaws, the sculpture in the photo matched the one in the new alert in the NSAF database.  The Cornucopia had always been breathtaking.

And it’s been missing since 1993.

The agents glanced over the dossier, reviewing the piece to try and discover how this priceless Russian artifact made its way to what looks like a small museum in Western Michigan.  Neither had reviewed the original case file closely and both felt their jaws dropping as they read further and further into its history:

A rare example of the early Ukrainian Avant Garde art movement, The Cornucopia was created by Artem Chumak, a well-known artist from Odessa. Commissioned by the then-governor of the country as a gift to Czar Nicolas II in 1907, the piece was designed to showcase the entirety of the Ukraine in a single moment.  Because the country was known for its agriculture, Chumak chose to use the image of the cornucopia as his inspiration.

The piece is made of bronze and inlaid with the following precious gemstones:

               Siberian diamond

               Ural sapphire

               Ural ruby

               Ural jade

               Russian emerald

               Russian opal

               Ukrainian pearl

Upon the fall of the Russian empire in 1917, Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna Romanov took the piece along with several others from the royal art collection when she fled Russia.  She remained owner of the piece until 1920, when she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg.

In turn, the Grand Duke loaned the piece to the National Museum of History and Art and it remained with the museum until the outbreak of World War II. The ducal family took the piece back, along with several others to protect the collection from the advancement of the Nazis.

Unfortunately, the move did little good and much of the museum’s collection, including the pieces stored in the ducal family home, were taken by the Nazis, with intention of destroying them as part of the Germanization of the annexed country.

The pieces remained missing until 1949, when a team from the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program (a.k.a. the Monument Men), recovered the stolen collections in a cellar in Hamburg and returned them to their respective homes.  The Cornucopia was returned to the museum and was on display until the ducal family attempted to sell the piece in 1965.  The sale failed and the family remained owners until the piece was loaned to the Luxembourg-American Cultural Museum in the U.S. in 1992.

In 1993, the piece was stolen from the museum and reported to the FBI’s Art Theft Squad days later.  The piece has yet to be recovered despite the best attempts of the team.

Pike looked at Carmichael and they grinned at each other.  While it being reported as missing didn’t mean that they had found it, it did mean that this cold case was heating up.

“Do you think we found our key?”  He didn’t want to sound hopeful, but he had to admit he was optimistic that they were much closer to solving this case.  The evidence they had been sifting through meticulously was painting a picture, but like a jigsaw puzzle, they were still missing pieces that brought it all together.

“I think we have.”  Carmichael replied.  They grinned at each other.

“Whose turn is it to go and do the interview?”  

“Mine, but could you do it?  Marty is out of town on business this week and I can’t leave Dinah alone.”  She rarely asked to trade like this, but Pike held up his hands in understanding.  They smiled, grateful they were partnered up, their work relationship had always been a smooth one.

“Sure, what could possibly happen in Michigan?”

They laughed as they started to walk to the command center.

---***---

Rosemary and Banana walked into the house, both exhausted from the day, the museum’s annual fall field trip event a cacophony of noise and excitement. The program had been exactly what Rosemary needed – something that distracted her from everything that had happened over the last month.  Her stomach hurt all day from her laughter as young kids swarmed the museum in their Halloween costumes.

As she hung up her coat, she caught something out of the corner of her eye on the kitchen table.  Walking over, Rosemary immediately recognized Fern’s loopy handwriting.

Hey sweetie, probate hasn’t cleared yet, but I heard word it should within the month.  Not to jinx it, but welcome to Saugatuck – its’ about time!  I’m also including some keys to Robert’s safety deposit boxes for safekeeping.  You can’t open them until the probate has cleared, so don’t get ahead of yourself! Love you, ae-in.  Always.  -F

“Oh, thank god.”  She huffed as she opened the bulky envelope, dumping out various keys and paperwork, including the deed to the house and the store.  She had an underlying fear that something would happen, and Robert’s wishes would have been overturned and she would get nothing.  “Looks like we’re here for the time being, Baba!”

Rosemary read through the papers and picked up her phone to call Fern. For the next hour, the two women chatted about the changes, what she needed to do to register ownership with the state, and more.  After they said their good-byes, Rosemary pulled her jacket on and patted Banana on the head as she left the house.  It was dark now, but she knew the path through the cemetery and trudged up the hill towards Robert’s grave with no problem.

“You know, I’m certain you chose this spot for some reason or another, but I think it’s to punish me for not getting enough exercise.”  She groused at the polished granite, wondering how she made this walk as often as she did, and it still robbed her of her breath. She was out of shape.  

Robert’s cheeky grin beamed from the porcelain cameo embedded into the stone.  She had never seen anything like it, but he had told her it was common among Eastern European communities.  He described how they used this horribly unflattering photo for his aunt Ionna’s cameo and that he vowed he’d choose his own rather than leave it to his relatives to decide.

She sat down on the damp ground and settle in.  She was still visiting the cemetery daily and while she didn’t cry as much as she had in the beginning, her throat always felt painful after she left.  Wrapping the coat around her tightly she sighed.

“You missed our field trip day.  I know you loved volunteering for it and the kids who remembered you from last year asked where you were.”  She smiled. “I told them you were attending as a ghost and that they couldn’t see you.  I think they believed me.

“I don’t know what strings you pulled up on that cloud of yours, but Fern thinks the probate will clear next month.  I’m glad, this whole process has been a pain and thank you for not making me go through it.  I’d give up and just die if Fern weren’t in charge.  My landlord was mad I’m breaking my lease, but I know you’re excited, you always hated that place.”  She sighed as a wave of sadness washed over her.

“I miss you.”  Her voice crackled with tears.  “I miss you so much, Robert!  I hate that you’re gone.  I hate that! I hate this!  And I failed you!  They still haven’t found the statue and I contacted the FBI and I haven’t heard anything, and I don’t know what to do!”

She cried harder, her ribs hurting as if the pain she experienced weeks ago was still fresh.  She gripped her sides as she continued to sob.   She was tired and everything that had happen in the month and a half since Robert died was catching up with her.  Rosemary sat in the cold evening for hours and let her sadness out.  When she finally left, the exhaustion she felt forced her straight to bed when she arrived at the house.  In a bit of mercy, she slept a dreamless sleep for once.

---***---

“Good morning.”  The deep voice caused Marquetta to turn from the display case she was working on.  A tall man with brown hair and a kind smile stood at the front desk.  She watched as Bob ambled over to welcome him.  She couldn’t hear their conversation after that, but she kept a subtle watch on the interaction as the two men talked.  The stranger smiled again and walked past her towards the stairs and she watched up trudge up each step until he was out of sight.

“You aren’t being very subtle.”  Bob’s voice sounded behind her and Marquetta jumped at the noise.  She felt herself grow hot, grateful her dark skin hid the blush rushing across her cheeks.  She turned to look at Bob, who was grinning at her.

“Who was that?”  She tried to keep her voice steady.

“Some FBI agent wanting to talk to Rosemary.”

“FBI?”  Marquette frowned before her eyebrows shot up.  “FBI!  Oh my god! They’re here!”

“Don’t shout.  It’s rude.”

“No, Bob!  Rosemary reported that statue that got stolen to the FBI!  That means they know about it!  They’re here for that!”

“Does that mean they’ll find the men who hurt her?”  He sounded hopeful at the idea.  Even if he thought her manners were lacking, Bob was deeply upset that Rosemary had been hurt the way she had been.  If this young agent can help find her attackers, he was all for it.

“I bet they do if they find the statue.”  The two stopped talking when Rosemary and Banana entered the building. She looked up and felt awkward when she realized they were staring at her.

“Um, is something wrong?”  She sounded unsure of herself and Bob got angry, realizing that these men didn’t just rob the museum of this ugly statue, it robbed Rosemary of her self-assurance.

“Never, Rose.  There is an agent from the FBI in your office.  Marquetta says you contacted them.”  She startled, not believing that her reporting the stolen item would bring them to her front door.  They were just a small history museum in Michigan, not the Detroit Institute of Art or the Smithsonian.  She figured she’d get an email or a call, but never a real agent.

“They’re here?  Really?” Her eyes lit up when Bob nodded. She started to laugh because she didn’t know what else to do.  Marquetta walked over to hug her and the physical contact help to ground her.

“He’s good looking, too.”  Marquetta whispered in her ear.  Rosemary pulled back at the comment. “Like really good looking.  His butt is cute.”

The two women giggled at the comment and hugged again.  Picking up the leash she dropped, the curator and her furry companion went towards the stairs, hope beginning to bubble in her chest. Maybe she hadn’t failed Robert after all, she thought.  When she reached the third floor, she stopped to catch her breath before walking down to her office.

When she stepped into the doorway, she saw him standing there, looking at her walls.  She couldn’t see his face, but everything about his presence radiated kindness – something she hadn’t expected from an FBI agent.  When he turned to look at her as she cleared her throat, his face lit up in a smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.  For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike.”  He held out his hand to her.  She took it with her customary firm grip.

“I’m Rosemary Carter.  Welcome to Fort Jamison.”

[louiserandom]

Play Games with Me

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: E

A/N: Commission for the amazing @rookie-d​💙💗 thank you so much! *hugs* 

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi and fic commission info in the header!

Tobirama SenJERK has never had sex in his life, Madara types, as always brimming with spite when it comes to his least favorite person in town. Maybe on the planet.

Rereading the comment and satisfied that there aren’t any typos or any hint whatsoever at some kind of hidden affection (which isn’t there, never was and never will be, Madara reminds himself firmly), he hits ‘Comment.’

“Take that, you dumbass,” Madara mutters under his breath, and really, this could be classified as childish, were he not completely in the right to take vicious revenge upon the fucking asshole who dared refer to Madara as ‘so idiotic it’s pitifully adorable’ on his last stream. Hah! Like Tobirama isn’t the less intelligent one of the two of them; Madara has watched enough of his Uncharted 4 gameplay to note that Tobirama took twelve seconds longer than him to figure out arguably the most difficult puzzle in the game. And although Madara’s sub count doesn’t quite reflect his superior intellect compared to Senju’sーnot that he’s checked in a whileーit’s likely a testament to the viewers’ total lack of taste, if anything else.

(Two thousand, nine hundred and thirty four viewer’s, to be precise, according to this morning’s stats and minus the handful of Madara’s fake accounts that he created just in case to keep up with his chief competitor. Admittedly, it might be a tad annoying.)

A notification pipes up.

Hm, I wonder how you’d know that, MaddyGamerboy? Are you stalking me? I must admit, I’m flattered.

Madara sputters at the reply. At yet another butchering of his perfectly adequate nickname. The fucking nerve of the guyーand people fucking wonder why Madara hates his guts?

(Madara knows it doesn’t really help his case that he’s touched himself to fantasies of the younger Senju more times than he’d care to count, but hate-fucking a thing isn’t it? Hate-masturbation must be too, he supposes. Not the healthiest outlet for negative feelings, but it makes him feel good enough.)

(Heavenly, to be precise.)

I AM NOT, YOU SELF-OBSESSED DUMBASS, Madara types, simultaneously taking care of the half-a-dozen typos that appear of their own accord.

No.

Deep breath. Stop fingers from shaking. Think about something witty to say.

Pff, he writes, for lack of any better word to express his indignant huff, like I give a shit about you. You’re dumb.

It did sound much better in his head, but Madara has spent over a minute writing the comment already, and he doesn’t want to appear as if he’s thinking too hard on it.

He posts his answer, not dwelling too match on the number of likes on Tobirama’s comment far outnumbering the hundred Madara’s garnered. Again, Tobirama’s audience is clearly not the best judge of character.

“FUCK. YOU. SIDEWAYS, SENJU!” Madara shouts at the reply that follows, consisting only of the words:

Thanks for the sub btw.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Madara hisses. “Like eight fucking fake accounts do anything to boost your stats, I don’t even like all your videos from each one of them, you ass!”

I DID NOT SUB DONT BELIEVE HIM

I’m happy to have another loyal fan ;)

HE IS FUCKING LYEING!!!

With seemingly every single person in the comments raving about how it’s about time MadGamer69 and admitted he admires FlyingThunderGod’s skill, Madara has to consciously restrain himself from smashing his laptop against the wall.

“You can just tell him you like him, you know.”

Madara startles, almost stumbling to the floor when Hashirama returns with their drinks and quickly put-together snacks, always the one to rummage through Madara’s kitchen because Madara hardly cares what edible and inedible things existed there or what to do with themーthat’s Izuna’s job.

“I do not,” Madara snarls, as Hashirama flops next to him on the couch, “like that stupid clusterfuck you call a brother!”

“Madara!” Hashirama whines, with that ever-present pout on his face. “Be civil.”

“Yeah, when he returns the favor,” Madara glowers, grabbing a milkshake from Hashirama’s hand. “Did you forget that he fucking started it? Do I need to quote his “pitifully adorable how so much stupidity can fit in such a short man” again?” Madara can’t help flailing his arms a little, though far too conscious of this habit now since the Tobirama has started pointing it out. He makes up for it with what he hopes is a deadly enough glare. “Did no one in your family bother to teach him manners? Did you?”

Hashirama only sighs. “And did you forget,” he asks, “how before that you abused my invitation over to our place to hide his Golden Youtube Gamer Tablet?”

Madara groans. “It’s called a Gold Play Button. Idiot.”

“Now you’re insulting me,” Hashirama grumbles, “and who cares? The point is, you’d be upset too if he hid yours.”

“Youtubers care,” Madara says, “and also, that’s irrelevant, that was revenge for him making fun of my perfectly adequate gameplay.”

“To be fair, you were dying quite a lot in that playthrough...”

“He took twelve seconds longer to figure out that puzzle in the game!” Madara growls.

Hashirama rolls his eyes. “Well, of course, because that Yellow Flash guy was flirting and distracting him in the chat.”

Madara blanches. "That good-for-nothing pipsqueak was what?”

“See,” Hashirama drawls, “you are jealous. Why would you be jealous?”

“I-I’m not!”

“Madara, you are so far in denial, that as your best friend,” Hashirama says firmly, slapping a hand over Madara’s mouth before he can muster another protest, “I cannot stand by and watch you suffer. Anymore, that is, because this has reached a breaking point. So, please, for me, I am begging you, just try politely asking if maybe Tobirama would like to accompany you for coffee somewhere tomorrow? Maybe brunch? I mean, come on, I know you guys don’t hate each other anymore. Seriously, you guys seem like you enjoy arguments, and hey, who am I to judge how people express affection?”

“Affection?!” Madara shrieks, shoving Hashirama’s hand away.

“And please stop pretending you don’t have printed out screenshots of my brother’s videos hidden under your mattress because Izunaー”

“Is a fucking snooping rat!” Madara hisses.

Hashirama sighs. “If it helps you feel better, maybe Tobirama might possibly not feel extreme dislike towards you but actually the opposite,” he says, smiling nervously as Madara blanches.

Because... what?

He blinks, running Hashirama’s words through his mind again.

“And how would you know that?” he asks, suspicious. “I swear if you dared tell him anything about my possibly nonexistent feelingsー”

“Possibly?” Excitement starts bubbling in Hashirama’s eyes. “That’s progress!”

“Definitely nonexistent feelings, dammit!”

Hashirama, the asshole Madara calls best friend for some reason, giggles. “Don’t worry, I didn’t. I promise, stop glaring or I will start pouting,” he threatens, and Madara schools his expression back into a light scowl to avoid the infamous Senju pout.

Like a curse, memories of said pout curling Tobirama’s lips spring to mind, and Madara has to physically shake his head to banish those thoughts.

“Listen, the fact that we’re not as... aggressive as we used to be,” Madara says, “doesn’t mean we suddenly like each other.”

“Madara, you insist on coming along every time we hang out,” Hashirama points out.

“I like hanging out with you.”

“Yet every time we do,” Hashirama presses on, “you’re hyperfocused on bickering with Tobirama instead of talking about wholesome stuff with me. Did you even notice that I brought Mito with me the past few times and it was literally a double date?”

“Was not!” Madara shoves at Hashirama with his shoulder and stands up to pace, because there goes the tell-tale sweating of his hands, the fluttering in his chest and stomach and the memoriesーof him and Tobirama secretly filming the other on camera when they do stupid shit, their almost daily Best Playground Insult Contest that’s been memed half to death on Twitter, the one time they got separated from Hashirama and Izuna in Disneyland because they’d got caught in their arguments so much it devolved into discussing their favorite games and an actual conversation that had Madara’s insides tingling.

No.

No, no, no. If anything, they were just gradually becoming something not unlike friends. And Madara’s occasional fantasies behind closed doors were nothing but a means to a pleasant end.

Not. Feelings.

No matter how much he’s grown attached to the site of messy, white-gray hair that he knows is soft to the touch from all the times he’s tugged on it to irritate him. No matter how piercing Tobirama’s unique red eyes may look. No matter how objectively hot his recent workout routine video wasーand Madara knows he’d only watched it so many times because he wants to improve his own routine, right?

Right?

Madara groans. “Why are emotions so fucking confusing!” He slumps onto the floor and wraps his arms around his knees, hitting his head over and over again on his kneecaps because, “I don’t even know what I want from him, okay?”

There’s a brief silence before Hashirama joins him and keeps him from abusing his head further. “How about,” Hashirama suggests, rubbing a comforting hand on his back, “you just ask? Listen, he’s my brother. And you’re my best friend. You two fighting less and at least making an effort to get to know each other better?” Hashirama brings out the puppy dog eyes. “That would mean the world for me.”

Madara glances at him before looking away again, focusing on a random photo of the wall. One featuring Tobirama right after his university graduation with a wide smile on his face. Quite the adorable face, too, and the unprompted thought makes Madara want to descend into oblivion. Preferably forever.

“That’s difficult,” he says lamely.

“But not impossible,” Hashirama says, “and hey, it’s better than waiting for the Yellow Flash guy to actually make a move on Tobi and start occupying all of his time. He’s a really big fan.”

“Fuck Minato,” Madara scoffs, “the guy just showed up and is just shamelessly emulating Tobirama’s style. That’s dumb.”

“Dumber than you claim Tobi is?” Hashirama prompts.

Madara thinks about it. “You know what? Yes.”

“As I saidーprogress!”

Madara can never go through with his impulses to punch his well-meaning best friend, and so grabs the nearest pillow from the couch and smashes it into Hashirama’s face to shut him up.

Tobirama returns home only to find Hashirama and Madara standing by the front door, frowning as they watched something that sounded like a tsunami of some kind.

“Listen, it’s gotta be one of those black holes or something twisting that vortex. Look how stuff disappears right into it!” is his brother talking, and Tobirama is already heaving a frustrated sigh.

Please don’t tell me you think there’s a black hole on Earth.

“There’s no black holes on Earth, idiot! The nearest one is way off, like near Pluto or something,” Madara says.

Ah. Even better. Tobirama chuckles under his breath, crosses his arms and leans against the wall, observing the two idiots he knows and loves.

He mentally kicks himself.

Well, one of them, he loves. Of course he loves his brother.

The other is... complicated.

“And besides, that could just be the Loch Ness monster or a cthulhu or something. See how dark the water is?”

“Or maybe,” Tobirama says, making them both jump, “it’s a natural phenomenon that’s a tad too difficult for both your brain cells to comprehend? I’m happy to explain though.”

“I’m happy to see you fuck yourself,” Madara greets him his usual way, scowling despite the exceptionally conspicuous blush painting his cheeks.

The contrast never fails to make Tobirama’s heart beat faster. He hates himself for it.

“Mm, Madara,” Tobirama teases, “not in front of my brother.”

As expected, Madara starts spluttering, and Tobirama is left wondering again how he avoids making a total fool of himself in each and every one of his videos. It seems Madara saves most of his flailing for the comment section.

“You,” Madara snarls, pointing Tobirama’s way, “are an asshole, Senju, but spending time with the better part of society might do you some good. So see you at brunch tomorrow and do not be late.”

And with that, Madara gives Hashirama a cursory wave and stalks off, leaving Tobirama frozen on the spot.

Did Madara just?..

Tobirama blinks, swallowing heavily as he feels his throat running dry and his heart rate pick up.

No fucking way.

He must have imagined it. Through his stupor of trying to figure out what the hell just took place, Tobirama vaguely registers Hashirama’s facepalm.

“Sorry for that,” Tobirama hears his brother speak through the rush in his ears. “He meant, uh, will you please join him for brunch? Tomorrow at 11 am, Eggspectation?”

Tobirama blinks harder.

“I,” he starts, “I don’t... Did you blackmail Madara into asking me out?”

Hashirama looks scandalized. “What? No!”

“Did Madara just ask me out?”

“Well, yes, Tobi.” Hashirama chuckles nervously. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Tobirama glares. “The idiot’s wake up text to me today was literally a collection of trashy limerick poems about how much I suck. Sorry if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You,” Hashirama says, wincing as a long-suffering expression settles on his face, “you guys send wake up texts to each other?”

A moment of awkward silence hangs in the air.

“Sometimes,” Tobirama says, defensive, although the damage is already done.

“And you’re still not going out? Tobirama, you do realize he’s in love with you, right?”

“Don’t say things like that, Anija!” Tobirama snaps, hoping the dim lighting in the corridor conceals the blush he can feel heating up his cheeks. Fuck. Now he’s turning Madara. “Yet, I mean.”

“I’ll save the celebrations until after your date then!” Hashirama sing-songs like the idiot he is.

Tobirama resigns to his fate. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ll thank me for this.”

“If it goes well,” Tobirama glowers though it’s ineffective, really, against his brother’s bubbling positivity, and the sheer awe still coursing through him from Madara asking him out on a fucking date is actually enough to make Tobirama want to hug him. He refrains. "Now, thanks, Anija, but I have work things to attend to.”

“Sure! Just don’t forget, 11ー”

“Eleven eggs and uh, no expectations, got it.”

“Wait, Tobi, noー”

With no time to waste, naturally, Tobirama bolts into their apartment and straight to his room to choose an appropriate outfit. And to mentally prepare himself for something he’s almost given up hoping for.

Tobirama cannotーwill notーmess this up.

Tobirama makes sure to arrive about ten minutes early. Not because he’s worried or nervous, of course; maybe just a little, but mostly just to get his bearings beforeーfinallyーa date with Madara goddamn Uchiha.

Madara, who’s been Tobirama’s stupid crush since high school, and just as in love with gaming as he is, only that didn’t turn out to be such a great bonding point between them, as Tobirama had hopedーbefore he actually got to know his Anija’s best friend.

Madara, who seemed to dislike Tobirama at first sight and only grew to hate him more over the years as they both found more joy in arguing than they did in talking.

Madara, who, despite this, blushes every rare time Tobirama genuinely smiles at him or drops a suggestive joke, who has an arguably unhealthy obsession with Tobirama’s ass which he always ogles when he thinks no one is looking.

Madara, whose plastered ass Tobirama had to drag home the other week, amid drunken speeches about capitalist injustice, some wacky conspiracy behind the disappearance of the dodo bird and... something quite interesting.

 “Listen, Senju,” Madara was slurring against Tobirama’s shoulder, as the latter cursed every single nonexistent god that Hashirama had chosen that fucking day to go on a road trip with Mito, Toka and Izuna, leaving Tobirama in charge of this walking trash fire of a man. “Listen. Tobira... Tobi. Tobirama. You’re so hot.”

The words almost made Tobirama stumble.

“What, Uchiha?”

“And cute... So pretty, too, I wish you could see that...” Madara went on babbling. “I think you do. But still. Wish you could see me like I do. I mean see you. Like I do...”

“Tobira, you’re just, you’re unfair...”

“I hate you and I like you then I love you and I hate you again, why you’reー” A hiccup. “How do you exist...”

“I just want to hold hands and just... walk and talk and be together and...”

Tobirama watched in ever mounting confusion as Madara leaned completely into him, humming as he hugged Tobirama tightly and said,

“Is that too fucking much to ask...”

Tobirama stood, shell-shocked, with Madara whispering impossible nonsense in his arms, wondering if he was in a dream.

 The next day saw Madara returning to his usual self insulting Tobirama at every goddamn opportunity, which left Tobirama... confused.

Confused, and conflicted, and sleepless for the rest of the night, thoughts held captive by the utter idiot whose ultimate goal seems to be to ruin Tobirama’s life.

It’s maddening.

Of course, he’d suspected that Madara’s flailing and constant blushing interspersed with screams and insults (the most creative ones, reserved only for Tobirama, it seemed) were signs of not so much dislike, as the complete opposite. Of course, Tobirama had tried flirting with Madara, just bordering right there on the edge of suggestive, only for his advances to be seen as patronizing or condescending. And hearing Madara speak to him this way, in a drunken stupor no less, when he’d probably have no causeーor abilityーto lie is...

Maddening. Annoying. Exhilarating. A tantalizing opportunity. Maybe a glimmer of hope.

And of course, Tobirama told his brother; they never really had any secrets between them. And of fucking course Hashirama had a hand in convincing Madara to change his usual behavior, which is nice and all, but doesn’t help the nerves wracking through Tobirama’s body, nor the crippling fear that he’s going to somehow screw this up.

But no. Deep breath. Exhale. And remember Anija’s advice.

Tobirama takes the last turn before he’s faced with their meeting place, surprised to find Madara already there.

Even though he’s usually always late. Sitting inside by the window, looking out onto the street with a slight frown, Madara keeps worrying his bottom lip and, apparently, trying to break a spoon.

It paints an endearing picture. Tobirama sighs, feeling a smile tugging at his lips.

This man...

Tobirama comes in, approaching him slowly, allowing himself a few moments to watch Madara needlessly fix his wild mane of hair, appraise his reflection in the spoon, try out several fake-looking smiles before settling on a scowl and going back to his nervous tics again. With another sigh, Tobirama takes the few steps left to his date, repeating Hashirama’s advice over and over in his head.

Just be yourselfーand have fun!

Just a few minutes into their date, it becomes obvious that Madara didn’t get the same advice from Hashirama.

Or just didn’t get the advice, period.

With their orders made and beverages served, they’re left to wallow in a less than comfortable silence, broken only by Madara’s... uncharacteristic attempts at conversation.

“Are you enjoying the tea?” Madara asks Tobirama with all of the softness of a brick wall.

Tobirama isn’t used to the man being eloquent, much less polite, and he has yet to have at least one conversation with Madara that doesn’t devolve into a pissing contest. So theoretically, Tobirama should be enjoying this.

But it only seems wrong. Annoying. Not them.

He tries to recall if, maybe, their first meeting was an adequate exchange? Tobirama thinks to the day Hashirama first introduced them. Only flashes of spilled milkshakes and jibes at intelligence run through his mind, and of course that was the very first time he’d called Madara an idiot pipsqueak, receiving quite the lame ‘stuck-up dandelion’ in turn.

Unsurprising.

“Yes,” Tobirama says, taking another sip as he eyes Madara struggling on the other side of the table. Struggling to do what is the question: either sit straight, or assume a more relaxed posture, or reach towards his own drink, or avoid eye contact, even though he keeps glancing his way when he thinks Tobirama won’t notice. Tobirama does, every time, and that just makes the whole ordeal more awkward. “Nice weather,” Tobirama says, with about as much enthusiasm.

If Madara wants to play this stupid game, Tobirama will indulge. Just to see how long it takes for Madara to break and return to his blustering status quo.

“Yeah...” Madara clears his throat, eye twitching as he manages to hold Tobirama’s gaze for a commendable three seconds this time. “Hate the sun. I meanーI mean I love the sun. Ugh. It just, uh. Burns.”

It’s both saddening and funny to see Madara visibly deflate.

“Skin too sensitive, huh?” Tobirama starts small. “Just like your ego?”

Madara’s jaw clenches and his nervous look shifts into a glare before he looks away again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm himself down before he flashes an unnaturally cheery smile.

“Heh, nice,” Madara grits through his teeth, “nice joke, Senju.”

Tobirama raises his eyebrow as Madara flinches at his own words.

“I’m glad you appreciate my sense of humor,” Tobirama says, barely reining in a smirk.

“Sure! You’reーyou’re funny.”

“And?”

“And what?” Madara frowns, confused.

“And what else am I?” Tobirama demands, feigning thoughtfulness. “A recent assessment of yours was that I look and act like a self-obsessed dumbass, I think.”

“No-no,” Madara blurts out, looking much a cornered animal, “I think you... you are... you look not at all so terrible today?” he finishes with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

Tobirama wants to scream from the agony.

No. This won’t do, otherwise he might as well leave.

“Can you just call me a stuck-up asshole like you always do or recite one of those horrible limerick disses?” he demands.

Madara actually yelps. “What? No! I mean, wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re acting weird.”

“We’re on a date, if you were too stupーpreoccupied to get my invitation, Senju,” Madara says, jaw still clenched as he doubtless refrains from swearing, “and I’m being civil!”

That’s the advice he must have gotten from Anija, Tobirama thinks.

What a tragedy.

“Madara,” Tobirama implores, leaning his eyebrows on the table and meeting Uchiha’s gaze, “have you considered thatーI prefer it when you aren’t?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, thank fuck!” Madara slams his hands on the table, heaving a massive sigh as Tobirama laughs in relief. “I was ready to fucking die, you piece of shit! How does your brother stay so fucking kind all the time, it’s fucking torture!”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “It’s a talent, naturally. Just like your talent at embarrassing yourself and mine at being awesome.”

“You’ve got it a little backwards, Senju,” Madara sneers, “but it’s excusable, given your level of intellect.”

“Twice as high as yours?” Tobirama parries.

“Twice as little.”

“That’s more like it,” Tobirama says, grinning despite himself, “I thought you were a decoy or something. You’ve told me to fuck off every single day since we first met and this was getting worrisome.”

Madara’s laugh is sudden, melodic, sending those irritating tingling sensations through Tobirama’s body. He makes an effort to appear outwardly calm.

“Maybe because you managed to piss me the fuck off every day that I’ve known you,” Madara scoffs, “but you’re all right sometimes. I guess.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance even as he keeps nervously fixing and running his fingers through his hair.

A stupid, tantalizing habit. Tobirama imagines carding his own hands through the messy locks, tugging Madara’s head back toー

He forcefully aborts the thought process before he’s faced with a problem of the harder kind. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll try to strangle each other when we game together.”

“We’re playing today?” Madara asks.

Tobirama tilts his head to the side.

“You haven’t planned one gaming session after our date?”

“Um,” Madara says, blinking rapidly, “why should I be the one with the plan?”

“Because you’re the one who invited me,” Tobirama deadpans. And anyway, Madara is always the one to egg Tobirama on to gaming, which would usually only ever lead to semi-playful brawls and their fighting making Hashirama cry.

And without Anija there to assault them with his antics, Tobirama wonders what their play-fighting might lead to... and promptly shuts off those thoughts again. Control, dammit.

Madara opens his mouth, then closes it, sighs explosively and says, “All right, fair enough. But you’re the strategy pro here. And my thing is RPGs.” He smirks. “I can improvise.”

And Madara does, in fact, improvise, leading Tobirama on what he hopes is a satisfying daylong adventure. It’s strange, walking by themselves around Konoha without anyone else with them (not that they’ve taken to ignoring Hashirama and Mito anyway on their most recent group outings), free to talk about and do anything they want. Strange and perfect, the way Tobirama switches between poorly concealed bashfulness and his usual confidence, as their jokes and jibes at each other, every little prank they pull never fails to make them both laugh.

It’s perfect.

Just like Tobirama’s smile is, directed at him without any pretenses as they set off to explore the lush, gigantic forest surrounding the city, rumored to be home to mythical, many-tailed creatures. And that’s followed by their forays into an abandoned chemistry lab; the scares they get in the woods from intermittent growls coming from the shadows are nothing compared to the horror Madara feels when Tobirama insists on touching broken vials and experimental equipment, and going through doors with dilapidated ‘DANGER. CHEMICAL HAZARD’ signs.

“If we’re infected by some deadly and insidious poison,” Madara whispers as they explore the lab’s tunnels, “I’m going to fucking kill you before it does. Painfully.”

“It’s for science,” Tobirama says. “And trust me. We’re safe. I got a degree in this.”

“Youtube is practically your full-time job at this point. What the fuck else do you need?”

“The satisfaction of discovering something cool?”

“And deadly.”

"Unlikely.”

Madara groans, cursing his life, as well as his inability to say no to hisーapparentlyーnew boyfriend.

The boyfriend who’s just discovered another hidden pathway to a deeper level and has scurried off towards it like an excited five-year-old. Despite himself, despite his intent to keep complaining, Madara can’t hold back the grin tugging at his lips.

Still perfect.

Just like their lunch date which turns into a picnic by the Naka river, where Madara remembers meeting Hashirama way back when. Just like the first time Tobirama grasps his hand, fingers gently massaging it as he laughs at Madara stuttering to a stop from whatever rant he’d been on, heart in his throat and mind suddenly focused on whether his palms are too sweaty or not.

His mind goes blank. Eyes focus only on the man in front of him, whom he yearns to strangle just as often as he craves to tackle him onto any surface and ruin him completely. And it should feel wrong, it should be, only Madara hasn’t quite felt so right about anything in a long time, and with every minute they spend with their familiar bickering, just with a layer of something more behind it this time, it becomes harder and harder to deny how good being near Tobirama makes him feel. Happy. Complete.

Madara winces. Oh, gods. He’s waxing poetic now.

All worries about that fly out the window when Tobirama, without so much as a word of warning, leans in and draws Madara by his collar into a kiss.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t spring up to awaken alone in his bed like he always does, after dreams like these.

And, unsurprisingly, it turns out to be Madara’s best kiss to date.

Maybe he’s exaggerating, if just because he’s been craving this so damn much. Tobirama’s lips are hot, gentle, and welcoming against his, a curious tongue darting out to coax Madara’s lips open and deepen the kiss. The delightful drag of his tongue, his hands, rough and demanding on Madara’s chest, waist, thighsーit’s not long before he’s dizzy with it, barely holding back moans of pleasure for fear of sounding too desperate.

“Fuck,” Madara gasps as they pull away for breath, lips still touching as their eyes stay locked and he’s treated to Tobirama’s downright ravenous gaze. “That wasー”

Tobirama cuts him off with another kiss, then another, and it’s not long before they find themselves tangled in a mess of limbs and loose clothing. The hard ground presses against Madara’s back as Tobirama settles on top of him, ravaging Madara’s mouth with a passion that soon has his pants feeling too tight.

Fuck.

He groans, hips thrusting of their own accord and feeling Tobirama's own erection through the fabric.

Madara makes an immense effort to pull away, stifling a whine at the loss of contact.

“Bed,” he says, mortified at his own crudeness far too late after the word comes out. “Fuck, I meantー”

“Yes,” Tobirama growls, capturing Madara’s lips in another open-mouthed kiss before he hauls him up to start gathering their things. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours? Izuna,” Madara rasps, head too clouded to explain more in-depth, but Tobirama seems to understand.

“Anija shouldn’t be back for a while,” Tobirama says, a devastating grin on his face, “lots of time for us to play.”

Gods.

Madara scrambles to his feet fast enough to stumble, and for once, Tobirama has nothing to say about his clumsiness.

They all but crash through the front door, not even bothering to lock it as they rush through a cursory check to make sure Hashirama is out like he said he’d be.

“Fuck, thank the gods,” Tobirama sighs in relief before dragging Madara back into liplock.

Madara can’t hold back a moan this time, heat ratcheting up between them as he wraps his hands around Tobirama’s neck, pulling him closer as they stumble to the couch. Madara ends up straddling him just so that their cocks brush through too-rough clothing, kiss growing urgent and sloppy, as wandering hands touching every inch of uncovered skin.

Clothes fall away, leaving them both shirtless, and Madara needs a few moments to take in the miles of pale skin, so soft to the touch, toned muscles rippling as Tobirama squirms under him, gasps and groans escaping his lips in answer to every one of Madara’s touches. He leans in to mouth Tobirama’s neck, sucking bruising kisses onto the soft skin there pleasure flaring at the base of his stomach each time Tobirama moans and arches against him.

“You’re so sensitive,” Madara whispers, with a hint of incredulity. “That’s... fuck.”

“Yeah,” Tobirama rasps, eyes unfocused, “because... just get on with it.”

“If I knew this is what it took to finally get you to shut up,” Madara chuckles, “I would have tried this a long time ago.”

If he weren’t so sure Tobirama genuinely despised him. Butー

“I fucking wished you would!” Tobirama snaps, though the irritation rings hollow with the breathless tone.

Madara blinks in shock.

“You did?” Madara asks, moving lower to lap at Tobirama’s nipple, sucking the hardened nub into his mouth and eliciting another delicious whimper. “You thought about this? About my hands on you, touching you?”

“Yes!” The desperation in his tone only adds to Madara’s mounting confidence, one that he so rarely ever feels in Tobirama’s presence.

“My mouth on your cock,” he continues, heart hammering against his ribs as he trails kisses lower and lower, “would you like that? While I finger you, getting you ready to take me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tobirama’s hips jerk, making them both moan at the friction.

“Off,” Madara grunts, tugging at Tobirama’s pants with one hand as the other works the belt off his own. They scramble, a bit awkwardly, until they’re both naked and sprawled on top of each other, and Madara all but drools at the sight of Tobirama’s cock, hard and straining, beads of precum already leaking from the tip.

Perfect.

It’s tempting to just let go but Madara decides to take his time. Strokes Tobirama’s sides and chest, fingers his nipples, kisses every inch of skin he can reach, sucking bruises and biting slightly. He marvels at every little keen and groan he wrings from Tobirama, relishing how needy he grows with each second, how he moans Madara’s name, curses him and urges Madara to touch him, sliding his dick against his and huffing when Madara doesn’t do anything about it, before finally devolving into pleading.

Just what Madara’s been waiting for.

“Madara, please,” Tobirama’s whines, a soft, desperate sound that makes Madara groan in turn.

“Please what?” he asks, knowing he’s being a tease and enjoying the hell out of it.

Tobirama musters a pretty non-intimidating glare. “Just... fuck.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that what you want?” Madara raises an eyebrow, making sure to wet his lips, letting his tongue gently graze the head of Tobirama’s cock. “I can bottom. I don’t mind.”

“Fuck!” Tobirama squeezes his eyes shut, heavy breathing interspersed with desperate whines. “Just... suck me off. Please. Now.”

“That’s it, Tobirama,” Madara drags out the syllables of his name, a smirk tugging at his lips, “when you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?”

He wraps his lipsーfinallyーaround the head, licking at the salty fluid gathered there, ears ringing from the heady feel of Tobirama’s cock against his mouth, his hands tangling in Madara’s hair, the sounds slipping from Tobirama’s lips that are borderline fucking obscene. Madara takes a breath to brace himself and takes Tobirama a few inches deeper. His length is hot, stiff, and heavy in his mouth as Madara presses the flat of his tongue against the underside, sucking hard, wringing another delectable whimper. Tobirama’s thrusts up, cock hitting the back of his throat, and Madara chokes for a moment, his own dick jerking at the sensation.

“Madara,” Tobirama breathes, “Madara, gods, you feel amazing.”

The words send another rush of pleasure through him, and Madara takes himself in hand to release some of the unbearable tension, stroking himself slowly as he relaxes his throat and sinks down to take Tobirama to the base.

Tobirama’s moan is a sweet, drawn-out melody. One that Madara enjoys making louder and louder as he starts moving, setting a fast-paced rhythm, uncaring for how debauched he may look, drool leaking out of his mouth and coating Tobirama’s cock, throat constricting around it as he takes him deep, lets him stay there, tongue gliding along his shaft. Tobirama soon devolves into barely coherent pleading, until ‘please’, and ‘more’, and Madara’s name are the only words coming out of his mouth.

It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming, far too much. Madara gives up stroking himself, the pleasure ramping up far too quickly, too soon, though Tobirama isn’t doing much better. Madara draws his lips up along his length, lapping up more precum gathered at the head, even as Tobirama’s hips jerk again and the hand in Madara’s hair tightens, urging him back down.

“Madara, please,” Tobirama keens, “I need...”

Madara has a pretty good idea of what he needs. He swirls his tongue over the head, descending again until his nose is pressed against Tobirama’s stomach. Madara swallows around him once, twice, a third time before he feels Tobirama nudging at his shoulder in a warning he doesn’t pay heed to, starting to bob his head again, wrapping his fingers around the base of Tobirama’s cock, using both his mouth and hand to bring him to completion.

“Fuck, Madara, Iー”

Madara lets out a muffled groan once he feels cum spilling against his tongue, swallowing rapidly as Tobirama’s cock pulses, again and again, through an orgasm that has him writhing and and trembling underneath him, hands tightening in Madara’s hair enough to hurt with the kind of tantalizing pain that only adds to the pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good,” Tobirama pants, watching Madara through white lashes, eyes dark and hazy as another shudder runs through him, “fuckーI want...”

Madara releases him with a wet pop. “Want what, Tobirama?” he whispers, voice too hoarse for him to speak properly.

Tobirama grips his shoulders in lieu of an answer, directing Madara to turn around so his back is pressed against his chest.

Then Tobirama’s hand wraps around his cock andーoh.

Madara has pretty much forgotten about his own pleasure, too focused on not coming too soon and making sure Tobirama was enjoying himself.

“My turn,” Tobirama murmurs against his ear, tone still breathless but with a commanding edge to it now that makes Madara shiver, “and lemmeーlet me hear you, Madara.”

Gods. He groans just from the sound of Tobirama’s voice. The feel of his teeth nibbling at his earlobe, his hand setting a quick, harsh rhythm that builds up the pleasure to impossible degrees. Tobirama’s heated skin pressed against his back, his thighs, the fingers of his other hand carding through his hair with a gentleness that contrasts with his harshness before.

It’s too much.

“Go on, Madara.”

Tobirama’s fingers swiping at the precome gathering at the head of Madara’s cock, smearing it over his shaft. His voice, a muffled whisper coaxing Madara to let go, to come for him, to say Tobirama’s nameー

“Just like that, Madara,” Tobirama grunts, “louder for me, come on.”

Madara thrusts into his grip, all but fucking into Tobirama’s fist at this point, moans his name as the heat grows unbearable the closer he gets to release.

“To-bi-rama...” He comes with a broken groan slipping from his lips as cum spills all over his stomach and Tobirama’s hand, each pulse coming stronger than the last, leaving him dizzy and boneless in Tobirama’s arms for however long it takes for his orgasm to abate.

Feels like forever. Probably a lot less. Time does seem to slow down, though, both of them collapsing against each other onto the cushions, breathing raggedly and curling into each other as Madara turns to bury his head in the crook of Tobirama’s neck.

It still seems unreal. Too perfect. So right.

They lie there for a minutes, coming down from the high, limbs tangled and lazy kisses exchanged here and there. Tobirama looks so peaceful, like Madara’s never seen him before: eyes half-lidded, hair messier than ever, sticking in every direction, skin still flushed and marked, all over, with hickeys and teeth marks, the mere sight of which has Madara’s dick stirring in interest, recent orgasm or no.

“You know,” Madara says, hands running over Tobirama’s chest, barely grazing his still sensitive nipples and making him shiver, “if this is the game you want to play, I’m really not against binging it. The rest of the dayーweekend, if you want.” Madara presses a kiss to Tobirama’s neck. “Make the playthrough as thorough as possible.” To his collarbone. “Unlock all achievements and, uh,” Madara trails his hand along Tobirama’s chest to his groin, past his length and to his ass, "explore every location.”

“If that was some thinly veiled euphemism,” Tobirama says, barely holding in laughter, “for you wanting to fuck me sideways...” Madara holds Tobirama’s gaze as his fingers hover just over Tobirama’s hole. “Then Madara, for fuck’s sake, stop trying to be subtle and get to work.”

Madara barks out a laugh.

“Whatever you say, Tobirama.”

Madara dips his voice low and deep, like he’s noticed Tobirama loves, and relishes the whimper it earns him. Relishes the way Tobirama arches against him, looking for friction, how delectable he looks, ready and responsive, so eager for Madara’s touch.

He knows then and there that if it’s up to him, Madara will do anything to make this last.

[darklingichor]

Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

Buckle in kids, this one has my analytical muscles flexing!

I always said that I absorbed some of this epic through osmosis. GWTW is my mom's favorite book and one of her favorite movies. I remember wandering in and out of the living room at least once a year while she watched it. I would listen with half an ear as I played in the other room. A movie so long as to have an intermission just couldn't keep my attention as a kid. Of course I knew the story, just like I knew the story of a lot of fairy tales that I'd never actually had read to me. I didn't actually sit down and watch the movie in it's entirety until I was in my 20's. I liked it. It was well made, the acting was great and the story for all it's wince worthy moments and the surface polishing of such an ugly period in american history, was compelling.

I've never been able to get through the actual book. The reasons are going to sound a little silly. When I was younger, I thought : Why read it? I know the story. Tara is a plantation pre civil war, Scarlett lives at Tara, she's spoiled, she marries out of spite, gets widowed, Atlanta burns, she and her family become poor after the war, "As God is my witness, I shall never be hungry again" she works hard, almost loses Tara, she marries for money, saves Tara, works hard, is widowed again, marries again, rocky relationship, a child passes, "Frankly my dear, I don't give damn", end credits. In between she pines over a guy she can't have, and manages to be all around an unpleasant person in general. Done and done.  I was probably too young to read it then anyway.

When I got older and realized that a book could be complex with horrible things in it. I thought I should read it. But, every copy of the book I seemed to find had tiny tiny print and no paragraph breaks (the later being a a typical writing characteristic in the past). Even with my glasses I have a hard time reading a book in that format. I skip lines, reread lines, I always end up,with a,pounding headache. No matter how good the story it's hard to get into when you can't physically read it. I had the same problem with Little Women. I eventually got through it but it was difficult.

Well, now there's audible. For once, I didn't have a book I was chomping at the bit to listen to and I thought: Why not? I listened to other books I couldn't get into for whatever reason. So, one credit and 48 hours (spread out over the last three weeks) later. I made it through.

Let me say, this novel is rich in language, as in it is well written and has much to analyze. But every time the n-word was said I flinched. Every time a black person was infatlized, or threatened, I felt angry, I was pissed off by the caricatures and happy slave narritive. Everything I have read about the author points to her evolving her views on black people after her novel, which is good. However, it doesn't make the characterization of black people any easier to read. There are racist things in the book, writing about a bunch of well to do people in the antebellum south, I'm not sure how an author could avoid it without Clorox-ing history, which honestly, she did enough of with her mythical view of the way enslaved people were treated and felt. It was a narrative I often heard in school, in the PNW, in the 90's.

The story went that depending on where someone fit into the hierarchy of slaves, some were well treated and loved. Because of this, when emancipation came, some slaves were afraid to be, or didn't want to be free. This of course served the purpose of making an awful period in US history seem softer than it was. "Sure it was bad, but it wasn't that bad."

As I studied more, this viewpoint was replaced with a "Nope, this was just bad, as in monumentally criminally bad."

I think Mitchell, when she wrote the book, thought she was being accurate, but considering she learned her history from veterens of The Confederacy, it is not surprising that she was wrong.

Because of the one dimensional way that black people were written, it's hard for me to really dig into the symbolism of their characters. I'm only marganially good at this, as you will soon see.

I will say this: I liked the book for many of the same reasons my mom gave me for loving it. For it's descriptions and it's style, for it's symbolism. I like it for it's depiction of a culture in flux, of the impact of war for those on the home front, of the all too human condition that one never sees one's self as the bad guy. I do not like it for the characters. Rhett is an asshole, Ashley has a lot in common with a wet towel, only less interesting. Melanie is okay but can at times, give one a toothache. Scarlett is a brat. The glorifying of a time when people owned other people is disturbing, full stop.

It was those parts that made me profoundly uncomfortable and I had to remind myself over and over that this was a novel about civil war Georgia and the rich people that inhabited it before, during, and directly after. This was how those people would think, talk and behave. It was wrong then, it's wrong now.

Now, I'm going to look at the symbolism in this book because I found it facinating.

Gone with the wind is far more complex than I thought when I was a kid or after I watched the movie. The collective consciousness holds Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara's romance to be the heart of the story... But it's not. Scarlett herself is the heart of the story. Honestly, Rhett driffs in and out when Scarlett needs either a dose of levity, a hard dose of truth, or a leg up on a hard fight. He doesn't rescue her, he helps her get the tools, and shows her the path to rescue herself.

Scarlett is an odd character. She has so many good points and bad points that she is nearly neutral. She's self-centered, but will fiercely care for and look after those she considers family, or as she calls them "my own". She will, on the surface ( for as the book says, it was all surface with her) resent every step taken, dollar spent, or moment given but she will keep doing it. She's opportunistic and ruthless with it, but she doesn't do it for the hell of it, she does it when backed into a corner. She's inpatient with her children, but her actions show that she loves them. She wants to do right by the social customs she was raised with and that the South cling to even after the war, but she's far too practical to pay them any more than lip service unless they fit her purposes.

Katie Scarlett O'Hara *is* rural Georgia. The colors that are always used to describe the land and Tara are red, green, black and white. In Scarlett we have described, red lips, green eyes ("without a hint of hazel"), white skin and black hair. She often wears these colors as well. Scarlett grows and changes along with Georgia and in fact, the reader is treated to the change of Georgia in a way that makes it more important than the changes of the characters. There are long stretches of discription of Georgia, especially Clayton County where Tara is. Long passages of the feelings of Georgia's people, before, during and after the war. Scarlett's life story from age 16 to age 28 are placed in between, and I have to think that the composition of the book was deliberate (I've never read any literary analysis GWTW, this is just me rambling). 

Scarlett is told by her father, early in the book, that an Irishman's land is like his mother. Gerald O'Hara, an Irish immigrant, goes on to tell her that this kinship to the land is the same for anyone with a drop of Irish blood. In Scarlett, this goes further, for not only is the land her mother, she is,truly it's daughter.

Since she only swims in the shallow depths of her mind, she is unaware of her deeper waters. She does have them, she just pays no attention to what lives there. Weirdly, what lives there is what truly moves her. Early in the book the reader is told that although she didn't know it, she loved Tara, she was at peace there.

Nature is neutral,nature doesn't care about wars, politics or customs. At her core Scarlett doesn't care about these things either. Throughout the book the reader is told, that Scarlett doesn't care about anything that didn't directly affect her. This is true, and she is called out  fairly often by other characters for being self-centered. However, her selfishness has a different feel than say, Bella Swan, Veruca Salt, or various other literary brats.

Scarlett feels less like one only,out to further her own interests and more like one who is trying to maintain her niche in her environment. For a living thing to thrive, their environment must support them. When an environment changes, the living thing either adapts or dies. Scarlett adapted.

Unable to convince Ashley Wilkes to break his engagement to Melanie Hamilton, being more obvious about her feelings for him than she thought, facing shame and questions to her reputation that would devastate her social standing and also possibly damage her family, she took swift action. She married Charles Hamilton, Melanie's brother. Why? It would shut up those who thought her in love with Ashley, thus saving her reputation. Plus, she figured it would hurt those she saw,as a threat to her. Like a river wearing a path around a tree, she avoided the obstical and continued on.

So if Scarlett is Georgia what about our other big characters?

Rhett is change, and time, like Scarlett he's nearly morally neutral.

Ashley is the past, he's the southern gentleman that the culture out grew.

Melanie a sheltering force. She reads as sweet and proper, but is always supporting Scarlett, even when her choices do not line up with the social system.

So, let's look at each of these characters in relation to our green-eyed force of nature.

I’m going to start with Ashley. Scarlett is fixated on him from the beginning. One can make many arguments as to why. He’s the only man not falling all over himself to get her attention, he very much represents the white knight to her, having “fallen in love” with him when he rode up to Tara after being away from Twelve Oaks, the reason as old as time, because she can’t have him, and her father says he’s not a good match for her. All of these are true, but to look at it from the symbolism angle:

Scarlett is Georgia,. The land and the plantation culture, she’s comfortable in her world at the start of the book. She doesn’t care at all about the war. It’s something that’s happening around her, something she is dreadfully bored by. Ashley represents that comfort, being with him means keeping things the same, staying the girl who only has to worry herself with parties, and being a plantation wife. Life would be slow and easy.

Time goes on, when everything goes wrong and Tara falls into poverty, Scarlett adapts. This girl who only a few years before married a man to save face, had never expected to work, now has to bust her tail trying to keep everyone fed. She wants Ashley, still, because she desperately wants to go back to that past, to where things were simple, to where hunger was not an issue.

The problem is that, Scarlett views Ashley through a haze of sentimentality, and Ashley is, himself, the embodiment of rose tinted nostalgia. He is not like Scarlett, longing for that time, but functioning in reality. He cannot exist outside of it; he’s not wishing for a time when all he had to do was talk books and philosophy with Melanie, he is of that time and he can do nothing when its gone.

Ashley Wilkes is an embroidered cloth of the antebellum south. He's the neat picture that faces outward, the pleasent part that the one weilding the needle wanted people to see. What is hidden is the web of threads criss-crossing each other, the nests of string, the knots and the things those messy parts tell of. The pricked fingers, the broken threads, the bent needles, stitches that were undone, tangles. The work and the pain that went into making that pretty picture look effortless. In short, he's what Scarlett and others at the start of the book thought of their culture and society. The work of the slaves was just simply there, what mattered was the result. Scarlett, like the society at large, had to let that go, face what it was. Not a shining example to return to, but an impractical relic of the past.

Rhett on the other hand sort of drifts in and out of the awareness of the main characters, He is always sort of there. He sees the writing on the wall, knows that many of the social conventions are on their way out and nudges Scarlett in the direction she wants to go in anyway.

After Charles dies, and Scarlett is in mourning, tradition dictating that she wear black, Rhett buys her a green hat and tells her he will take it away if she has it dyed.

When Tara is about to be lost, and Rhett refuses to give her money, Scarlett, without shame and with ruthless practicality, steals and marries her sister Suellen's suitor.

Why? Because she knew that Suellen would not have used any of the money she might have come into to save Tara.

Scarlett then takes over her new husband's business. She has a talent for it, and does well. Rhett encourages this unconventional behavior by lending her money to buy a sawmill which she runs.

This loan is interesting because it has a condition. He loans her the money as long as it isn't used to help Ashley.

This could be seen as an opportunity that would only really work if not given over to the conventions of the past. This plays out some what when it turns out that Ashley really sucks at doing... Well anything useful, really.

When Rhett and Scarlett eventually marry, he is proud to have a smart wife.

Rhett, as change, sees that Scarlett can and should break free from the social expectations that hem her in, when she does, she tends to do well. They are prosperous. What gets her in trouble is her constent looking back, pineing for Ashley, for the past that never was what it seemed, and the lost future that never would have been what she thought. Case in point, Scarlett and Rhett have Bonnie, who Rhett adores, Scarlett seems contented in her marriage. Then what happens? Ashley tells Scarlett that he is jealous of Rhett. And Scarlett promptly demands that she and Rhett sleep in separate rooms.

Later, we continue to go all soap opera when Scarlett and Ashley share an embrace and Ashley's sister, India, spreads a rumour of an affair. Melanie kicks her out of her house, but Rhett has heard. Enticements of the past impeding the progress to the future.

Rhett is near his breaking point with Scarlett and her focus on Ashley. He forces himself on her. Change trying to force itself on the culture through a vile and violent act. That is not a way to move forward, however.

Scarlett becomes pregnant, argues with a fed up Rhett, and falls down the stairs, losing the baby. Scarlett doesn't want anything to do with Rhett after this happens, understandably.  A lot of change made in violence is resented and rejected. This leaves Rhett at a loss.

When Bonnie dies (it could be argued that she represents a new south, one that is not held back by convention, but is ultimately killed by the strong hold that those conventions had on the culture) Rhett is broken. And just when Scarlett is willing to embrace change, Rhett decides to leave, to find his own version of south that Ashley had been clinging to. This could be interpreted a couple of different ways. It could be seen as, that change  is brought about by time and acceptence, and that the lack of the latter means that the former will not be effective and pass you by. Or, and this is the interpretation that I prefer, the fact that time, in regards to culture, repeats. Every generation has experienced this. You spend your youth laughing at the way things were done “back in the day” maybe even proclaiming that when you’re older, you won’t talk about “Kids these days…” but then one day you find that everything that was familiar to you has become outdated and you don’t understand, and therefore don’t like what is happening now and you find yourself wishing for the time when you were so sure and you understood everything. Ashley represents a past after a major upheavel, Rhett, is simply the march of time that every now and again will turn around and walk backwards to see where he’s been. Now, one could argue that Rhett is going to end up like Ashley, afterall, he’s looking for his past again. But I feel that Rhett is retreating into the past because of the trauma he experience in losing Bonnie and giving up on Scarlett. It’s a respite, rather than a permanate state of mind, like it is with Ashley. Ashley’s mind was always in the more idealized place, no matter the circumstsnce. It was the war that rattled his viewpoint of the world. Rhett is grounded in reality, he just wants to go home. Ashley is a rerun of an old tv show, Rhett is a nostaligia inspired reboot.

And Melanie. Ahh, Melly, silk wrapped iron, she is.

If this book has one "good guy" it's Melanie. If Ashley is pulling Scarlett (Georgia) back and Rhett is marching her forward, Melanie is a sheltering force, and  Scarlett's counter point. Melanie has a streanth of her own and it is a perfect compainon to Scarlett's straightforward determination. While listening to this book, the phrase "speak softly and carry a big stick" kept coming to mind when it came to Melly. There are times that a soft spoken assurance, a politely worded insistence can be more powerful than anything else and Melanie shows that. The two prop each other up. When Scarlett kills the Yankee that invaded Tara, she helped bury the body. When Scarlett is demanding and short-tempered in regards to work being done around Tara during the lean times, Melly backs her up, but sweetens the tone. It takes a quiet fortitude to keep the peace in a way that still allows for getting things done and  Melanie enables Scarlett to do just that. She knows the ins and outs of society rules and can weave her way through them with more ease than Scarlett. As such, she recognizes when Scarlett has to bend or break those rules to ensure the family's survival and knows just the right way to phrase it to give her sister in law enough wiggle room to keep her on society's good graces.

She Dances with Rhett for the cause even while in mourning? Melly insists she's doing it out of memory of Charlie. She does more than sit and home and be a widow? Melly points out that Scarlett is young and should be allowed some leeway.

Ashley's sister spreads a roumor about Scarlett and Ashley while the former is married to Rhett? Melly banishes her from the house.

When Melanie dies, Scarlett realizes how much she has meant to her and I would argue that it is her sisterhood and partnership with Melanie that is central to the story, rather than Scarlett's relationship with Rhett.

Each of these main characters are either rejected or leave just as Scarlett's deeper motives and thoughts float to the surface where she pays attention to them.

Melly dies when Scarlett is finally ready to stand on her own, because the social rules are being phased out, she doesn't need Melanie's gentle protection any more. With the phasing out of those rules, Ashley  is outdated and unappealing and finally, Rhett and time move on, now that they have had their effect. And what is left standing is a changed Scarlett O'Hara in a changed world.

[crowned-ladybug]

(Same anon here) I'm really happy u liked my idea :D I love finding people with the same/similar ideas I have :> also I love your writing and I like the scenario you mentioned about Joseph and Caesar, that could lead to some angst and fluff :0

Hi I am So Sorry that this is so late, I’m not even gonna list the reasons why, I’m just. so sorry.

It’s so nice finding other ppl who enjoy the same hcs I do and getting to Talk About Them!!!

As for the plot idea - part of me wishes I could make this a proper fic but alas, I already have too much on my plate and no time/energy to write most days. It still ran away with me a bit tho so under the read more it goes!

So this is still back on Air Supplena and Caesar and Joseph are just. hanging out. Caesar is trying to Read but emphasis on Trying actually bc he’s been rereading the same damn line for the past two minutes just not comprehending any of it bc Joseph won’t stop messing with his goddamn clackers and Making Noise and it’s Distracting and Annoying and Caesar is getting real fed up with it

(Maybe if he actually Said something in a civil manner then Joseph would’ve stopped doing that and let him read instead of leaving Caesar to fume without saying Anything just expecting things to change on their own but I digress)

So eventually Caesar groans: “Jesus Christ, why do you have to be so Annoying, just Stay Quiet Already,” and he reaches over and yanks the clackers out of Joseph’s hand. “I’m taking these. There.”

And he’d be ready to just go back to reading with the clackers dropped on his lap and Joseph finally Quiet bc for all Caesar cares he can stalk off to sulk elsewhere as long as he’s Quiet about it

Joseph is not quiet about anything

The clackers, as already established, are his stim toy. His favourite at that. He’s had the dang things for a while now and they’re Perfect and he uses them so often that they’ve become His Thing and since he can use them for fighting also he doesn’t have to feel weird about having them on hand all the time

And he’s grown up with almost every adult besides Erina and Speedwagon, as well as a lot of not-adults, telling him that everything he does bc of his ADHD is weird or wrong or stupid. He’s been yelled at to stay still in school so many times and had his stim/fidget toys taken and told off for stimming (and poor volume control, and memory issues, and infodumping, and so many other things that are just Natural to him) and told to just grow up and stop acting so childish and embarrassing and annoying, that everything he ever does to make himself comfortable and happy is actually gross and immature and should be stopped-

And now Caesar just told him the same thing and it hits differently from all the other times he’s called him annoying, and he took his fuckin clackers too and he’s acting like it’s just Okay to Do and-

Joseph sees red.

Caesar has no time to react before they’re both on the floor and all he can do is try to dodge and block Joseph’s fists as he yells at him to give him his fuckin clackers back. And it’s scary beyond just. fighting someone who’s v strong and knows how to punch (bc ofc so does Caesar), it’s scary bc Joseph is v obviously Genuinely Upset?? This isn’t an impromptu wrestling match on the floor over something dumb and petty that they’ll call truce over in just a bit and go back to teasing each other. No, Caesar has somehow Fucked Up even if he doesn’t realise How nor how to Fix It

This all goes down in the span of seconds btw before Joseph like. catches himself and realises what he’s doing, which is. trying to beat his best friend into the carpet for taking his Stupid Childish Toy that he shouldn’t even Have bc what kind of Idiot gets so attached to some dumb Toy and makes Constant Annoying Noises with it. And Caesar is reaching up tentatively to put a hand on his arm to try to placate him or snap him out of it or Something and that’s when Joseph just Bolts

Like. clackers forgotten and everything, he just. utilises his favourite secret technique and runs for it

“It” being his room. He locks the door and sits on the floor next to it for a while trying to catch his breath and collect himself. Eventually he manages to get up and get his scarf to fumble with it to calm himself better bc the scarf is also Important like the clackers are

He’s fucked up Big Time. Now Caesar knows he’s weird no matter how hard he tries to save face, bc even if he doesn’t Say anything, even if he never gets his clackers back (oh god, where are they, did he leave them with Caesar, oh fuck-) his strong reaction to Caesar taking them will Definitely betray to him that Something Is Up. Caesar is a smart guy, Joseph can’t expect him not to catch on to Something being off anyway even if he doesn’t exactly know What bc it’s already enough evidence that Joseph is Weird and Childish in all the ways that are Undesirable

Caesar goes after him bc ofc he does. He wants to figure out how he fucked up and Fix It and also lbr. if this Was something Joseph would want to just be left alone with, Caesar wouldn’t really realise that until he got punched again. So he takes the clackers and goes looking for Joseph (which takes him some time bc he doesn’t Know what’s going on and thus that Joseph would be in his room where he can dig out his favourite scarf or bury himself under a pile of blankets bc that’s Comforting, and as small as the island is, it’s Full of good hiding places)

But he eventually comes up to Joseph’s room and knocks. “Jojo, you in there?”

“Go away.”

“…do you actually mean that?”

And okay that’s unfair bc even buried under three blankets (pressure is Good but his weighted blanket is at home in New York and he is here in positively Not New York) and feeling like the world is overall a v shitty place, he still likes Caesar. Even if he knows that it’s dumb to want comfort from the same person that hurt him in the first place.

And then Caesar adds: “I still have your clackers.”

And it’s not like. blackmail or anything, more like “hey I wanna give these back tho” and that’s what does it bc Joseph wants his clackers back and so he v bitterly decides that if Caesar thinks he’s gross and weird now then Joseph can just punch him and they can go back to hating each other like they had back in Rome

He hates that possibility tho

He allows Caesar in and sits up in his bed while he’s at it so that he can have at least Some dignity left. Caesar sits on the bed with him tho he does keep a larger distance than he usually does and Joseph Really hopes that’s “I don’t wanna freak you out again” kinda distance and not “you’re just gonna punch me for no reason again aren’t you” kinda distance

Before he does anything else, Caesar gives the clackers back and Joseph just. puts them down on the bed on the Caesar-free side of himself bc he’s Very Consciously trying Not to Act Weird

He doesn’t look at Caesar’s face tho bc that’s a lil too much for him rn

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Joseph just shrugs. “It’s fine, it’s…dumb.”

“It’s not dumb if it made you upset.”

And that’s so fuckin sweet and Honest and Caesar sounds like he genuinely feels bad for messing Joseph up so much but also Joseph doesn’t know what to Do with that when Caesar doesn’t even Know what he’s talking about, bc ofc it’s Dumb.

“No, it…it is dumb. Don’t worry about it.”

I’d say Caesar operates like 80% on Pure Spite so if you tell him not to worry about something he Will worry about it just to be an asshole but tbh it’s mostly just bc he loves Joseph in this case

“Can I ask why though?”

Joseph doesn’t expect whatever that is so much that he actually looks at Caesar for a moment. “Why what?”

“Why you got so upset. Or why you think it’s dumb,” and when Joseph doesn’t look convinced he continues. “I mean, we fight all the time, sure, but it’s never Serious…right?”

He genuinely looks Uncertain there for a moment and that’s a Big Fuckin Ouch bc of Course it’s never serious, ever since they took turns punting each other into that fountain in Rome none of their fights have been actually serious. They spar for training and they have joke-fights bc it’s fun to rile each other up and gain bragging rights but it’s never about Hurting and in face of real danger they’d protect each other over themselves in a heartbeat

So Joseph just nods, and Caesar carries on.

“But back there you got. really fucked up over what I did and. I guess I just wanna know Why so I know not to do that again?” and with that even He thinks he’s done but then he adds: “You’re my friend.”

And that’s such a fuckin clumsy way to end it bc he can’t say the rest of it, the “I know this here isn’t about comfort but I want you to be comfortable anyway” and “the world is shit and I don’t wanna be another person who hurt you” and “I love you.” So he just leaves it at that.

Joseph automatically wants to go “that’s easy, don’t take my clackers then, dipshit” but like. 1, Caesar is being v v nice so he Won’t be mean in return and 2, there’s so much more connected to his Weirdness that could set him off the same way besides his clackers being taken. So instead he just really appreciates the sentiment and Caesar in general and decides that it’s all a too big a can of worms for him to wrangle and he’d rather just weather the painful parts as they come

“It’s fine, you wouldn’t get it anyway, it’s fine.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, just no one gets it! Whatever, it’s weird shit.”

“If you think I don’t get it, fine, then explain it to me!”

And Joseph doesn’t know what to fuckin Say to that bc no one besides his family has ever asked him to do that. It was always just being told to put his stim toys away and stop moving too much and oh fuck just shut up already, never Why.

He makes a vague noise bc he forgets how to Words for a moment bc of that, and Caesar takes it as a question.

“Jojo, we’re gearing up to fight a bunch of gods with ancient magic so that we can get two rings of poison out of your body, and you really think I can’t handle ‘weird’? Because I can, thank you very much, and it’s You, so I don’t Care if it’s weird anyway.

(He ignores the huge fuckin implications of that and just keeps talking.)

"So, will you explain so that I can understand?”

And he’s Smiling and how Dare and oh fuck when did Joseph even manage to look at him again. He stares for a lil too long bc What The Fuck before he goes “Okay.”

And Caesar’s smile grows into a grin like he really is just. genuinely happy to understand this part of Joseph and make sure he doesn’t hurt him again, and Joseph braces himself for an awkward conversation with Hopefully a happy ending.

(And Joseph ends up being right bc Caesar doesn’t Understand, he can’t really fully understand.

But he Tries and more importantly he Listens and he Learns and is v adamant about the fact that Joseph isn’t Weird and Wrong when it comes to these things. So he doesn’t take away the clackers again and he finally connects the dots about why Joseph always lets him lean too much of his weight on him even if he risks toppling the two of them over and so he keeps doing it. He learns Joseph’s hyperfixations and how to prod him into talking about them to make him happy or distract him from shitty things, and what it looks like when his RSD kicks in and how to act around it.

Maybe he doesn’t Get It but it’s part of Joseph, and he loves all the other parts of Joseph too. And also tbh he’s a decent fuckin human being, even if he didn’t love Joseph so much he still wouldn’t act like an asshole about this stuff.)

[theboykingofhell]

9, 15, 16, 18, 26, 31, 32, 34, 41, 42, 45, 46, 47, 49, 51 for TSG, 54 :*

ricky found fucking dead in miami after looking at these PROMPTS,

9. Least favorite trope to write.

what a weirdly phrased question because if i hate it, i ain’t gonna write it... UHH. i really don’t like bringing dead characters back to life???? i don’t like writing scenes for shock horror... well, that’s a lie, i DO like to horrify the reader through my writing, but i don’t want to cheapen the emotional ~journey~ they go through by being like ‘JUST KIDDING! everything actually DOES work out in the end!!’

i have a story where narratively its kind of leading to a place where i have to make a ‘dead’ character come back (chaos actually, since i use her in red’s actual story) and it’s making me so mad like wtf thought we had a deal

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

SONGS... and just insp in general but i get a lot through music and nnnh... there’s just so many good aesthetics and quotes on my dash tbh i’m like constantly and consistently inspired, it’s great

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

imma be honest, the thing that motivates me most sometimes is either reading a rly shitty novel or seeing a shitty show and just getting livid and writing out of spite because THAT DRIVEL WAS PUBLISHED????? MY SHIT IS SO MUCH BETTER WTF... or i think to myself ‘what the fuck, what if i die tomorrow????? with my damn novel unfinished?!?!! HELL NO’... pretty much anything that reminds me that my stuff is Great but no one knows how great it is because it’s not DONE and OUT THERE yet makes me get off my ass

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

depends! for books it mostly just consists of rereading after a long period of ignoring my story and just tweaking lines that seem out of place or that ruin the flow i’m imagining. if i’m rewriting, then i have two word documents out (which the program scrivener makes SO easy god BLESS that program) and just... rewrite it word for word while STARING at the old version. that always makes the prose come out slightly different, it smooths out stuff or lets me cut away or add things i really like and, most importantly, it adds length, which i tend to struggle with a lot because i like just being TO THE POINT

with playwriting though it’s mostly about the format.. i write all plays like i write everything online... in lowercase with little regard to actual grammar. so i gotta actually pretend i give a damn about the english language and format it all properly and add stage directions cuz in a first draft for plays, i always just focus on dialogue and that’s it

26. Standalone or series, and why?

standalones are far more fun and way more satisfying and, quite honestly, require way less fluff. i keep FORGETTING how much fluff is needed in a goddamn novel. MULTIPLE BOOKS OF FLUFF no FUCKING THANKS

31. Hardest character to write.

in the rp: tyler (because he dissociates in a way that literally cuts me off from? any parts of his character? which is like the ESSENCE of his character but it’s VERY unenjoyable to write tbh) and nicki (because i put too much pressure on myself to make her seem a certain way instead of letting it happen naturally)... tbh canon characters and/or characters that are based on people are generally just rly hard sometimes cuz there’s SO MUCH IMAGINED PRESSURE TO MAKE THEM GOOD!!!

in original shit: honestly i’m really tempted to say aaron and that’s just because he’s so... unlikeable to me???? but also i think it’s just because i’ve really only written one scene for him (i always write in order unless a scene is just KICKING MY ASS to write, like this particular scene) and... he seems like a Lot... of annoying bullshit to have to write out lmfao that bitch

32. Easiest character to write.

red because i’ve been writing him for like 7-9 years now, i would hope he’d be easy by now... honestly, really explosive and dramatic characters too like bert or nora come SUPER easy for me, they’re so fun to write (especially dialogue-wise) because they’re very emotional and i can get PARAGRAPHS based on one reaction. characters who try and hide shit from everyone, INCLUDING ME, are so annoying,

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

typed because they’re legible,,,,, but then again, my handwritten notes make more sense because they’re kind of fully crafted ideas like ‘***make nisha and aaron meet at 42nd street for transformation chap???’ while a typed note will be like... ‘42nd street+aaron’... what did that mean, ricky-at-5am... why did you do this to us

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

two... kind of as a minimum, sort of as a maximum... like there’s usually the MAIN story and then there’s something i’m kind of doodling in the side, something that’s just sort of cooking in the backburner that i’m not too serious into the process of it, but it’s goin... i’ve never tried to do 3 stories at a time but i feel like my attention would be too divided and it wouldn’t work

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

UHH........................................... i’m very fond of faceclaims cuz idk i just kind of... feel how they look... i don’t ever really envision a full person though, i get like traits... i’ll be like... oh she has long black hair and she’s not white and her eyebrows look like this... and then i’ll see a pic of pooja mor and be like THAT’S HER THAT’S EXACTLY IT. idk what it is about eyebrows and why that’s literally always the deciding factor of how a character looks, but there it is

personality just kind of... man, characters just poop out of me, i don’t decide any of this shit wtf jhsfjg

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

once someone told me to stop making the boys kiss in the first chapter of my story so i made the boys fuck instead

46. What would your story _______ look like as a tv show or movie?

scrolls WAY up... sees you didn’t add a story as a prompt WELL i’m still riding the tsg train here so

a tsg movie better look like the 90′s, goddamnit.. not like... found footage really, but i want something in the quality to be a little fuzzy and sort of tinted that one kind of grayish brown color i always associate with the 90′s for some reason... like, i can’t stop thinking about all these amber lighting and how dull everything looks, and how higher in quality things look the further and further it goes, like, it’s something i would concentrate a lot on visual cues with because i focus so much of the storytelling of tsg on nisha’s narration. sometimes you don’t know how many days have passed because nisha doesn’t know how many days have passed, if she dissociates, i’d want that shown on camera, if she keeps repeating the same number over and over again, i’d want to watch one little piece of a scene getting repeated again and again. it’d be VERY disorienting as a movie tbh but it’d be fun...

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story?

characters!!!! plot is such a backburner thing for me, if you have rly great characters, you already have a great plot right there. the plot is just set so i can see how characters react to things, man... 

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

THE MIDDLE, FUCK THE MIDDLE.... endings are literally the easiest thing for me, beginnings similarly so, it’s just getting from that BEAUTIFUL starting scene to that GORGEOUS ending that fucking kills my poor undeserving asshole

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words.

low-res pictures of old cemetaries... that’s five words right there, i’m sorry but the END IS IN SIGHT, I’M ALMOST FREE AND CANT BE BOTHERED

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

can’t stress how useful having an insp blog is... creating a story through the unconscious collection of pictures and quotes that just feel relavant is just SO useful not just when it comes to really constructing a character an an atmosphere to your story, but making a fucking plot????? my tsg blog is like my most perfect insp blog because i got the idea to seperate it by chapters, and i’ve found that i can literally just... go into the chapter tags... and make connections and build on plotlines that i had NO IDEA ABOUT when i made or filled those tags, IT’S REALLY FUN and it keeps me inspired to write

[chipsandwaffles]

Just Friends

Anon asked: Taeyong angst with the girl wanting him and him not being aware of it! Thank uuuuuu

You wish you could be more than just friends with Taeyong. But you knew that’s all you were ever going to be.

Can 300% guarantee this is not what you wanted but. here you go...? enjoy...?

Sometimes Taeyong confuses you.  

Because you like Taeyong, and sometimes it seems like he likes you back. He texts you all the time, he’ll let you borrow his jacket if you’re cold, sometimes draping it over your shoulders before you can even ask because he just knows. Whenever someone asks who he’d spend an entire week with, or who he’d want to be stranded on an island with, your name is the first that comes out his mouth, no hesitation. You’re not sure why, because you can’t possibly be that fun or entertaining, and it’s not like you’d actually last on a stranded island.  

Taeyong confuses you so much, and all you want to do is ask him. 

Hey, do you like me? 

And then you’d have to clarify because of course he’d say “Yes I like you you’re my best friend” and then it’d get quiet and awkward.  

You want to ask, to see what will come after the awkwardness, but you’re afraid it’s only going to be bad. You’re afraid Taeyong will say no, and he’ll apologize for not liking you back, and then you’ll have to stop being friends because it’d be too awkward.  

And you don’t want that. You’d rather suffer in silence than suffer being without his friendship.  

You’re picking the best out of a bad situation, you supposed and for now, it’d have to do.  

- 

Unfortunately, secrets aren’t fun and somehow they always come out. This time, it’s Nakamoto Yuta’s fault. You shouldn’t be surprised, really, because if there’s one person who likes telling secrets it’s him. You’re not quite sure how he found out that you liked Taeyong, all you know is that while you were waiting for him to come to your lunch table, you were going to tape Yuta’s fricking big mouth shut.  

“I can’t believe you like Taeyongie~” 

“Yuta, shut up,” you tell him, trying to take the notebook where you no doubt had your names written together a billion times. How he found out about the notebook as well was weird. No one else knew about it except… 

Jung Jaehyun.  

You grab your spoon on your tray and hit Yuta on the top of his head, a resounding thwack coming out from the collision. Yuta drops your notebook, and you snatch it away, shoving it into your backpack before standing up to go find Jaehyun. You had some business with him, some business that included a spoon hitting his head too.  

Before you head off though, you turn back to Yuta.  

“You say anything to Taeyong and I’ll ruin your life, got it?” Yuta smirks at you.  

“Say something to me? You need to tell me something Y/N?” You flinch at the voice behind you and turn around, trying to seem like there totally is not something you need to tell Taeyong. Because there wasn’t. Nothing at all, and certainly not a confession.  

“Me? No way. I actually have to go- I’ll see you after school!” You run off before Taeyong can give you a pout to make you feel bad and give him the info he wants. The pout was your one weakness.  

You make your way through the school, moving along in the halls until you reach your destination. You open the door, interrupting the class that’s going on at the moment.  

You definitely didn’t think this through, because now there’s a class of thirty students and a teacher staring at you, wondering what you could possibly want. You open your mouth to talk, trying to explain you want to beat the shit out of Jaehyun, but no words come out. You gulp when you make eye contact with the teacher. 

“Yes? Is there something you need?” She asks. You open your mouth again, but deciding you can’t and won’t get the words out, you shake your head and apologize for interrupting the class. The teacher let’s you leave without any fuss and you close the door, stalking off to find the nearest quiet spot. If you couldn’t beat Jaehyun up physically, you’d have to settle with doing it digitally.  

You find yourself in the courtyard and you take a seat one of the edges of the concrete flowerbeds. Pulling out your phone, you immediately see a few missed texts from Taeyong, and practically forget about Jaehyun as you look at his texts. 

Tae :), 11:56 A.M  There’s no good food at lunch today :((( 

Tae :), 12:01 P.M  Where’d you gooooo yuta is boring and doyoung is complaining about getting an 89 on a test :/ I’d be happy to get even an 80 

Tae :), 12:04 P.M  Yuta told me you liked me he’s stupid of course you like me 

You take a double take at that text. Yuta told me you liked me. You reread it three more times before furiously opening up Yuta’s contact in your phone and texting him. You threaten him, tell him you hate him, and send a ton of knife emojis because how dare he not take your threat from earlier seriously. How dare he tell Taeyong your secret (granted a secret he didn’t quite understand) when you could barely mention it to yourself. How dare he be such a fricking asshole. 

Not to mention his partner in crime. Jaehyun was at fault too, that fucker. He was the one who told Yuta in the first place. And for that, he deserved worse than the verbal abuse you gave Yuta. He really did deserve getting beat up in person. 

You shove your phone in your pocket after sending a quick text to Jaehyun to meet you in the empty classroom you usually met up in, standing up and heading there yourself. Jaehyun wasn’t even going to know what hit him. Literally.  

- 

“Hey, Y/N, you wanted to meet- ow! What the heck?” You watch your shoe fall to the floor after hitting Jaehyun in the head and then turn your eyes on him. He’s looking at you with confusion on his face, but you know he knows what he did. He’s not stupid or naïve by any means.  

“I told you not to tell anyone!” 

“What are you talking about?” Jaehyun asks. He steps towards you but you arm your other shoe, ready to throw it at him if he gets too close.  

“You told Yuta I liked Taeyong and about my notebook- clearly I had a lapse in faith and I should’ve never told you- you’re a jerk!”  

You slump down in one of the empty desks, dropping your shoe on the top of it. You didn’t want to be upset in front of Jaehyun, but he took your trust and threw it back in your face. It made you feel like shit.  

“Y/N, hey, I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not because technically I didn’t tell Yuta- 

“Then how did he find out?” You yell at Jaehyun. He comes to stand in front of the desk you’re sitting at, setting your shoe next to the other one.  

“He was looking over my shoulder when I got the text. I didn’t explicitly tell him you liked Taeyong hyung…”  

“Nosy fucker.” Jaehyun laughs at your statement, and you’d laugh too if you weren’t still mad at him. He was still the reason Yuta knew, and the reason Yuta was able to tell Taeyong. If Yuta ruined your friendship with him, you were going to kill him and Jaehyun. 

“Y/N, you know… maybe you should just forget about Taeyong.” You glance up at Jaehyun, frowning. What did he mean “forget about Taeyong”? How were you supposed to forget about Taeyong?  

“What?”  

Jaehyun leans down, getting his face far too close to your own. You flinch back, but Jaehyun just moves closer again.  

“What are you doing?” You ask. Jaehyun is silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as you stare at him.  

“Go out with me.”  

“Excuse me?” Go out with Jaehyun? That was unthinkable and not on your list of things to do. Going out with Jaehyun would be weird, and even so, you’re too in love with Taeyong to think about dating anyone else. Especially Jaehyun of all people.  

“Go out with me. Taeyong isn’t ever going to like you back- 

“That’s rude to say- 

“It’s true.” You frown at Jaehyun. How did he even know how Taeyong felt? He was oblivious to anyone liking him, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t like you.  

You’re not sure why you’re being hopeful now. You haven’t been hopeful until now. You blame Jaehyun indefinitely. Him saying Taeyong wasn’t going to like you back made you hope he did, just to spite Jaehyun and his words.  

“I’ll make you forget about Taeyong, Y/N.” Jaehyun leans forward, his eyes closing and you know exactly what he’s going for. Your first reaction is to grab one of your shoes and hit Jaehyun. Your next is to grab your other shoe and hit him again, with both this time. He yelps in pain, telling you to stop, but you refuse. He just tried to kIss you. He was trying to take your first kiss, and that was absolutely never going to happen.  

“You are the worst!” You tell Jaehyun. When you decide he’s had enough, you move out from the desk and head for the door. You needed to leave. Not just the classroom, but the school. You needed to go home.  

You head down the stairs and out the front door of the school, heading straight for the school gate. When you’re halfway down the street, past the first two crosswalks, you pull out your phone and text Taeyong.  

You, 12:24 P.M  Didn’t feel well so went home early. Meet you at my house after school :( 

Tae :), 12:24 P.M  Want me to skip too? School isn’t fun without you here  

Tae :), 12:25 P.M  Never mind already leaving I’ll meet you at your house  

Sometimes Taeyong confuses you.  

Because Taeyong will text you within seconds of receiving a text from you, and Taeyong will skip school with you and will tell you things are boring without you there. He confuses you because everything he does with you or to you he’d never do with anyone else. It always feels like you’re special, it feels like you could be more than just friends.  

But at the same time, you could be wrong. You could be so wrong and ruin everything that you have with him. 

That fear keeps you from saying anything when you open the door for Taeyong, letting him in and letting him pull you into a hug when he sees you’ve been crying.  

Friends. You were just friends, and that was how it was always going to be. 

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

The Great ATOG Reread; Grey part 8

Cause I can’t stop reading. This is a liveblog.

Chapter 25

And Kurt thinks, I can endure this. I've endured worse. No. He hasn't. 

Ah, young love. Sebastian, our resident bag of dicks, is awful for both of them. 

I could write a lot of shit about this and about how Blaine’s on the Phalanx rollercoaster again (even when he’s not Phalanx, I will refer to this as the Phalanx rollercoaster now), but this passage does it all justice.

He tips his cup around, feeling guilty. He wants to be friends with Sebastian. He wants something in his life to be normal. He likes being greeted with a glance confirming that he's wanted, what's so wrong with that? Agent Sylvester treats him more like the Ghost's pet than his partner, the internet can't make its mind up whether he's the sidekick or if he's carrying the helpless Ghost, Blaine doesn't know that some days. Kurt's been weird for a long time, and Blaine can keep attributing it to bad nights on the streets, that team - at its worst, he knows what that team did to him - his job, now this situation with Sebastian; but the truth is just that Kurt is being weird, and Blaine's relationship with Kurt was one of the few normalities he had left to grasp at in his life. Is it so wrong to just want to have something ordinary? Because even Cooper looks at him differently now, like he's still working out if he likes the difference. Maybe even Cooper doesn't know if he does, behind the appraisal in his eyes there is fear: for all he knows every night of Blaine's life is that burning theatre, and it's only a matter of time before the night it's too much. It's weird seeing Cooper scared. The end of Blaine's placement and the end of his course is coming up and if he admits it he is fucking terrified of the real world, of having to actually face people and try to make them better. He's scared of fucking up his course because he never has enough sleep or time, he's scared of having to look for a job, what if he can't find a job? He's scared of not having college's timetables to keep to, the disruption of the life he's managed to keep just on this side of orderly is going to be utter and he's scared. He doesn't know who he is and he can't know how he'll cope with these things. And he would tell Kurt, talk to Kurt, but - But everyone calls him the sidekick, and he can't look so pathetic and lost in front of him . . .

God fuck damnit problem 2.

It’s kind of sad that they’ve reached the point where it’s easier to be the Ghost and Phalanx, because being Kurt and Blaine means hurt and miscommunication. It’s kind of sad they’re aware of the fact that their relationship without masks is getting worse, and they both don’t know how to handle it, so they hide behind their trusted masks.

(Oh, and, uhm... birds)

Oh mother-

Oh. It’s already time for Phalanx to almost fucking fall off that rollercoaster.

(Remember, this is a liveblog, not a review written after I’ve read this crap)

He needs to protect him, he has to protect him, he has to shield him, but - but it's only now facing him saying it that he realises that it's not for Kurt's sake that he's doing it anymore, he needs to be a shield more than he needs to protect him, and he doesn't know how this happened, how he became . . .

I know by now how Phalanx feels about homophobia and how it hurts him. I mean, how does it not hurt? But most night, Phalanx has learned to ignore it, but that wasn’t the right solution. Whereas I agree with the Ghost 100000%, Phalanx needed to do this to get it out of his system.

He’s tired. 

So fucking tired.

Coping has become something he’s gotten used to, because with the life he’s living, all he can do is cope and it still hurts.

AND OG SHIT IS THIS THE MOMENT WHEERE PHALANX ADMITS TO THE GHOST WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO HIM OH HOD I AM NOT READY?

(Once again, I have the urge to scream. This part always makes me want to scream)

His voice is shaking. "That I don't know who I am."

Oh Jesus, I know I’ve listed Blaine’s problems, but there’s actually only one. Problem 1, 2, and 3 are combined. He has an identity crisis because people keep seeing Phalanx as less than the Ghost, which leads to him regretting some choices he’s made and longing for some normal stuff, which only makes him feel guilty because he doesn’t know what that does to him and who he is and what he’s capable of.

He always says the Ghost is unpredictable, while really, in his eyes he’s the one who is unpredictable.

"Phalanx." He squeezes his hand hard. "Oh my god. Do you actually do this, you sit around comparing yourself to other people's ideas of other people? Like there's not enough in our lives to drive us insane before you start listening to them? Because they don't know us, you know they don't, that's the point. The way they talk about me isn't me. And you know that and I know you know that so why would you think that anything they say about you . . . because I never wanted you to be another me, you know I didn't, you're - better -" "No."

Of course, the Ghost is so confused. Because of all this shitty miscommunication, the Ghost hasn’t noticed any of this at all.

What’s the best solution?

Throwing yourself off a building.

Oh how I love the Ghost.

He’s right about Phalanx, though. Phalanx should stop seeing the Ghost as a victim. Phalanx does not get to decide whenever the Ghost needs to defend him. He’s the Ghost of New York City for fuck’s sake.

And Phalanx is Phalanx.

There's a lot to take in. There's so much to take in and some of it is - heavy and dark like a bruise he has to accept, he knows he just has to bear, but mostly he feels - mostly he feels - He feels so light it's like he has wings, straining for flight in the air this high over the city. Because he told him. He told him. And the Ghost - Kurt -

I almost started crying, but this time from happiness. I feel the exact same thing. This fic is kind of burden for a reason, and finally it feels like there’s this heavy thing being lifted from my shoulders.

He laughs, can't stop it, he feels so light, he feels - lifted - out of all those dark places, all those confusing shadows, the Ghost took a look at his dark places and he's not afraid of the dark. He just marched into them for him and said, There's nothing here. It's just shadows. There's nothing scary, look. If there are any ghosts, they can do him no harm now. Maybe they never meant harm to begin with.

Enjoy your coffee, boys.

genderflipped ghostlanx hell yes \o/ I hate when assholes only flip *one* of them because thanks for erasing their queerness guys, but girl-on-girl ghostlanx srsly does do it for me <3 An m/f couple is not automatically a straight couple yeah, but given how heterosexist thr world is anyway, I have no faith that people are being *clever* when they only flip one, they're 90% probably just being a dick. 

Shit, fandom is on a roll. (They’re both right)

For the first time in this entire verse, Ghostly is high key freaking out. We’ve seen her freak out before, but now you finally get what’s going on and why she rejects BB. Given the fact that they’re both adults, age isn’t important, and Ghostly knows that.

But Ghostly, the woman made of steel, is afraid.

Or not 'as soon'. That's the worst thought. What they would have done to him. How long it could have . . . it would never have been just death.

Phalanx is back on the rollercoaster, but this time the Ghost has strapped him in his seat. He’s slowly realising that all the dark thoughts that have been nagging him... aren’t that big of a deal.

BUT

You know what I love about Grey? The solutions to the problems are so small and so easy, and they make those problems feel like nothing. Yet, they’ve suffered. They’ve suffered a lot. 

Yes, looking back on them, those problems were fucking easy, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t bad. Rainjoy is a genius for doing that. The problems and the suffering were still valid. As a reader, you’ve seen how much this has fucked Phalanx up. You’ve seen that, even though the problems seem relatively easy to handle, they’re not easy and unimportant at all and Phalanx’s pain and suffering was real and valid.

Some stories fall in the “YOU’VE BEEN OVERREACTING ALL THIS TIME GROW A PAIR” trope, which is just awful. Rainjoy doesn’t follow that trope. Rainjoy writes reality.

He's allowed to struggle. He's allowed to not be sure. He's allowed to find it hard. That's what life is. And the joy of being allowed to fuck up, he could cry, he never knew how hard he was trying until he was told that he could forgive himself for it.

YES!

Oh wait, this is also the chapter where he gets poisoned? HE REALLY CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS, EH.

I hate the Pink Dagger. How can someone be such a great, yet awful, villian?

Chapter 26

Oh shit, all that was just ONE chapter? This is what happens when I liveblog.

Phalanx is dying. AGAIN.

Why does this always happen to Phalanx? This and the fucking rollercoaster I named after him.

Phalanx means so much to him, he’s willing to break all the rules? Driving with Finn? Cool, why not? Stopping in front of Mike and Tina’s apartment and making it obvious they know each other? Sure? Willing going to meet a villian, knowing it’s a trap? Yeah?

Two things to remember about the Pink Dagger. One is that he does have an incredibly twisted sense of honour when it comes to the superhero vs. supervillain game; he understands the rules they're supposed to work by, and he sticks to them. If he said that he made an antidote then he almost certainly did. He's not actually evil, not as the Ghost knows evil. He might want to take the Ghost down out of sheer petty spite but he's got very little against Phalanx, and if he said that he made an antidote, in his ridiculous, overdramatic way, he probably did. The Ghost does have a chance to save Phalanx's life - if he can actually get that antidote. Two is that he's a coward.

OH god. Again, he’s one of the most brutal villians, but he’s also awful at being a villian? This is why Rainjoy chose Sandy Ryerson to be a villian.

Why is he so dangerous? This is awful. He’s forcing the Ghost to relive his worst memories and to make his worst fears seem real. It’s so bad the Ghost fucking gives up.

But he does that. He fucks up the rules for Phalanx.

Mike picks something up from the night table, lets a breath out like he needs to steel himself, and injects it into the drip running into Kurt's arm. "He's been drugged. His fear responses are - I'm trying to regulate them. He was calm enough when he got back, it's only when he started waking up that he -"

Can’t these guys get some rest?

They need a vacation, but Mike and Tina will have to pass for now. They’re good people.

It is awful. Blaine knows that what the Pink Dagger did to the Ghost was supposed to kill him. That he's alive at all is because he had people to help and because he's incredibly fucking strong, and, Blaine knows, because he's incredibly fucking proud; Kurt might die, but not to someone who calls himself 'the Pink Dagger'. But he hangs, still, on the precipice of how weakened he is. What was done to him should have killed him, and what he teeters on the edge of isn't just that his heart beat itself so hard it could have ruptured, that his lungs could have suffocated him by breathing too hard. He was dying of fear. He didn't have a clue where he was, he didn't know what was happening, he just knew that he was terrified almost to the point of it killing him and for all he knew alone in it, and Blaine doesn't know what desire Kurt could have left for waking up. He leans to his ear, brushes his hair behind it with his fingertips, murmurs to him, "Finn's here." He strokes his wrist. "You going to wake up and say hi . . . ?"

FUCK.

Kurt’s recovering, but he can’t fully wake up. Blaine is still recovering too, but at least he’s awake, and he can think. Kurt seems incapable of doing anything.

Finn carries him, over his shoulder and unresponsive, down to his car. They only get a few stares, the incredibly tall man carrying the smaller unconscious man like a rolled up carpet, the shambling little guy leaning on a much taller and very bruised man with a woman carrying the bag to the car behind them almost in tears. People have seen weirder. This is New York.

Bless.

And Kurt gave Blaine his life back: Blaine will never fail him now.

Double bless.

I feel bad for Rachel though, since she’s not used to this, but that’s life.

This is so fucking hectic and sad, at this point I even miss the fandom.

Because Kurt gave him a new mirror to see the world with, and now that neither of them are on their feet, he really has the time to look into it, to see the world reflected the right way. To see himself reflected the right way, finally.

Thee times bless. I am just so happy for him that Blaine’s feeling so good about himself, even though he’s half-drugged.

But now he has time to think and slowly, 

God. Blaine's not the only one struggling with what other people say about him.

he starts to realise that they’ve gone too far and that they need to talk. Kurt has changed to world the day before, and Blaine wants to do the same.

Both Blaine and Mike know medical shit (I don’t), so they both know the awful truth: Kurt doesn’t want to wake up. Well, Blaine’s not gonna let that happen.

The line opens, and he says, "Hi, Mr Hummel."

Chapter 27

Oh, you get Kurt’s POV.

This is kinda sad.

He’s so defeated. He’s ready to die.

Thinking Blaine will always have Sebastian anyway. Well fuck that bag of dicks.

It's not just the streets, it's every magazine he opens, every time he turns the TV on, every time he overhears another joke in a café, every time he goes online. Be yourself! society sings, and then, You're doing it wrong. Kurt can't do it right.

Please, don’t die.

Well shit, I know you won’t die. I mean - JULIO.

But it’s so sad to read about someone who wanted to give the world everything, but got nothing back.

He got stopped by the police, once. Came back to Kurt's apartment on a Saturday afternoon and the showers at his gym were out of order, he'd travelled back hair sweat-wrecked, more Phalanx than Blaine, still in his gross boxing gear and not the neat polo shirt and bow tie packed in the bag over his shoulder. And he'd been - his smile was a little wrong, too broad, as he recounted too amused that a couple of cops had stopped him for questioning (for walking while in possession of a suspicious skin colour?), like it was funny, when Kurt stared at him thinking, What? The police have never stopped Kurt. Not for all those years Kurt actually was performing illegal activities every night, no-one ever looks at Kurt and thinks of trouble, and looking at Blaine making light of it Kurt thought, They never would have stopped me. Not if I came straight from aikido looking like I'd just been in a fight. They would never stop me just for being on the street. Blaine had shrugged, grinning, and gone to use Kurt's shower. They both knew he was more startled by the incident than he'd let on, but Kurt suspects that he's the one who remembers it more often than Blaine does now. Because Blaine makes light of it so he doesn't feel hurt and angry, and Blaine's inherently sunny nature pushes these things out of his mind, and to Blaine, of course, this is only one incident amongst all the incidents that make up his life and can be catalogued as such - but to Kurt this was new and appalling, it was sickening. The one tick box that never will hurt Kurt: the cops who stopped Blaine knew nothing at all about Blaine that mattered to them except that they could tell that he wasn't white, and for once, his appearance didn't even 'pass'.

What good does it do Blaine, how will it possibly help him survive, if the only difference between them is that Blaine is forced to live by two tick boxes that will never be right instead of one . . . ? No wonder he claimed that he didn't know who he was, how can he? Caught between straight enough, male enough, white enough and the boxes that forces him into, how can that make him feel about the other halves of himself? Be yourself! society sings. Just not like that.

Is it weird I think about this a lot? I recently made a doodle of Phalanx and Incendiary, in costume, looking unamused and it read “NOT WHITE, BUT NOT A CRIMINAL”

Blaine isn’t black, which is kind of a terrifying thought. The way people stereotype black people is fucking awful, but I sometimes feel people forget that all PoC have this problem. It doesn’t matter what colour your skin is, as long as it isn’t white, they will look right through you.

Society says, Be yourself! We have already designated which 'yourself' is acceptable.

Shit son.

BUT FUCK YEAH PAPA HUMMEL IS HERE, READING VOGUE.

Really Kurt, wake up.

"Buddy, I hate to do this to you, but you gotta start wakin' up. You're scaring your doctor. Don't even get me started on your boyfriend. Kurt." He nudges his cheek again, until Kurt drags his eyes back open. "You're scarin' me."

WAKE UP.

AND HOLY SHIT

NO

NO

NO

NON

O

NO

THIS

OH I AM NOT READY

GHOSTLY

I wish I could put the entire passage in this post, but it’s too much. Ghostly. I’ve read a lot of good Ghostly stuff over the past week, but this is the best of all of them, because she’s right. This wears you down.

So here is the second thing I'd suggest, before the next time you treat someone else like shit because it's less effort than stopping to think before you start to type: imagine a mask on every person you see. Imagine that *they* deal with impossible shit you haven't got a clue about, imagine that they suffer such crap that other people throw at them, imagine that *they* make sacrifices to make the world a better place and that they deserve our respect for it, because you know what, fandom?

Ghostly, I love you.

This part of this chapter is needed, because you delve right back into the pile of shit that is Kurt Hummel’s current mental state.

Blaine stares at his coffee, then shakes his head, slowly. He takes a sip of coffee, holds it in his mouth and thinks before he swallows. Blaine has spent too long letting other people dictate to him how he should think and feel and live; Kurt has spent half his life coping with things he can't cope with by living for other people instead. And it's only now they've hit this wall that Blaine realises that neither of their coping methods work. Blaine can't let himself be pushed and pulled by other people, can't let what other people think dictate to him who he is but Kurt can't keep on disappearing the way he does, just submerging himself into other people's needs, fading himself away because he thinks that someone else needs something more.

Blaine is realising that they have missed so much. Kurt really had no idea what Blaine was going through, and now Blaine understands that Kurt’s been coping on his own too. Burt Hummel reminds him of that.

They don’t necessarily have to talk about heavy shit only. Just knowing they’re both awake and together is enough.

Amused, now, "How was your day, Blaine?" "I sang a medley of nineties girl group r'n'b in the shower." Kurt's laughter ripples under Blaine's cheek, sunlit water over stone. "I know, I could hear it." "I really enjoyed it." "I could hear that too."

Chapter 28

Something was finally restored to him in all that shouting, all that spent grief, something more than just Blaine's body was healed by that antidote. Returned to Kurt again is the boy he first met, wiser but still bright and enthusiastic and sweet, chivalrous and hopeful and kind, he looks at Kurt and it's like he sees him. His eyes are actually on him. He's actually smiling because of him. And he actually seems to look at him. He actually seems to listen and hear him. Because for so long now they've been so used to each other, Kurt felt himself so dull to Blaine as Blaine went for coffee with Sebastian and what was Kurt anyway, Blaine already knows Kurt and Kurt is hardly the most interesting creature on the planet, the most interesting part of Kurt is the Ghost. Blaine fell in love with the Ghost first, it's not like Kurt ever could complain, but, but - How long has it been since Kurt felt noticed? Phalanx and the Ghost were for so long so much steadier than he and Blaine were, in that costume Phalanx paid attention to him, in all that dull grey the Ghost was actually noticeable.

Welcome back, idiots.

It’s still so shitty how defeated Kurt feels. It’s like he has a time bomb strapped to his chest. He seriously thinks he’s going to die. He stops caring. Why care? One day, it will all be gone.

And Kurt goes with Brian, because whatever. Blaine is with Sebastian anyway.

Both of them are just... sigh. Kurt realises what’s Brian after, and Blaine realises Sebastian is a bag of dicks.

Fuck Sebastian and fuck anything Sebastian says. Blaine is defined by the choices he makes: now and every time, he's choosing Kurt.

Good. Sebastian is disgusting. You know who else is disgusting?

So if Ghostly's not here to yell at everyone for like expressing an opinion, I DO FIND THE WAY HE STANDS REALLY ANNOYING OK. Like Jesus we *get* that your gay already I'm sorry, I didn't realize people needed telling this, the fandom's angriest woman having stuff going on in her life doesn't mean that you're not a dick. *Fuck* you.

Fandom. I take back what I said, I don’t miss them anymore.

paleandghostly wrote a thing once about how people want to see puckzilla as a monster because its easy but hes more complicated than that i liked her, noone writes puckzilla meta, hope youre ok paleandghostly xxx

Dude what. You say something reasonable for once.

Was it just because he was still too drained to go back to work, he should never have gone out, and he panicked at his body failing him? Blaine knows how hard Kurt pushes himself and how Kurt's shortened limits might scare him right now. If he felt himself too ill to get home on his own, could that have kicked him into . . . ? But he hasn't done that in months. He hasn't for months and months, Blaine's been so proud of him, Kurt practising meditation breaths and reading up on CBT, Kurt so determined and strong. He hasn't done that in months. How worn down must he be to go back to that old fear, like no-one exists who'll protect him and he can no longer protect himself?

UHM YES TO TALKING ABOUT THIS.

Oh Jesus. The “break-up” is heartbreaking, because Kurt is drowning in his lack of self-confidence and Blaine can’t help him.

Kurt’s problem 2 is really suffocating him.

And he's been strange for months, because of - This. Because of this. He's been strange for months while he was disappearing and didn't - couldn't - tell him - "No. No."

NO.

[rainygalaxynerd]

Brave New World - Chapter 51A

Warnings: Memories and conversations about kidnapping and abuse. Emotional turmoil.

Word count: app 3300

Summary: Caitlin meets Charlie. Charlie meets Caitlin. Caitlin yells at Dean. Dean yells at Caitlin. 

This is part of a chapter story. Link to mobile friendly master list here.

A/N: This is crap. Unbetaed, just finished it, haven’t even reread it myself. Trying to catch up again for next Monday. With Christmas over, it should be almost doable.

Tagging: @twenty-onepages  @winchesterprincessbride @fangirling-instead-of-working @kbrand0 @vibou25 @jencharlan @jotink78 @mrsjohnsmith @deandoesthingstome @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Dean gave her an amused look. “Eager all of a sudden, aren’t ya? Where was that adventurous spirit when we suggested a little trespassing at your workplace?”

“It didn’t involve any damsels, did it?” Charlie arched an eyebrow at him and smirked.

Dean frowned in puzzlement until the dime dropped. “Oh,” he said and scratched his neck nervously. “Oh.”

Chapter 51A - It Shall Be Told

There was a knock on the door. Caitlin jumped, then froze, staring at it. It was almost an hour earlier than Derek had told Sam and she wasn’t ready. Well, technically she was, hair dry and smoothed back in a loose ponytail, her clothes clean and almost matching. But she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Shaking, she stumbled forward. Not like she would be ready in another hour, anyway.

The rapping came again, harder and more insistent. “Caitlin! Are you in there?”

She rushed the last few steps, smiling broadly. Dean had made it back in time. She swung the door open and stopped short of throwing herself into his arms when she saw a petite red haired woman, dwarfed by the two Winchesters on either side of her. She recognized her from the footage on Sam’s computer the same morning.

When Charlie felt the other woman’s eyes on her, she smiled sweetly at her and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you.”

Caitlin stared at the outstretched hand and frowned. Her gaze shifted to Dean, conveying an unvoiced question. Dean shrugged back at her, looking slightly apologetic or maybe uncomfortable. The awkwardness was growing exponentially with every millisecond. Caitlin turned back to Charlie and finally shook hands with her. “I’m Caitlin.”

Caitlin stepped aside and let the others into her room. Only when she had closed the door and turned to face them, did she see what they were already staring at. The bulbless lamps, the heap of things on the bed, the confetti-sized pieces of paper by the chair where she had sat and slowly, bitterly, demolished the motel bible after cleaning up after Cas.

Dean went to her side and tucked her under his arm, giving her a tight, comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry we had to leave.”

“I’m glad you came back.” Caitlin snuggled into his side and took a deep sniff of ‘essence of Dean.’ If that smell could be bottled… Then her eyes found Charlie again and she regretfully let go of Dean and took a small step away from him, her cheeks heating up a little. No one should see her this way.

Dean’s eyes flitted between Caitlin and Charlie, a heavy weight settling in his gut. Should have fucking known. He sighed and jammed his hands in his pockets, where no one could see them clench until his nails bit into his palms.

“Charlie’s gonna hack Roman’s computer tonight, see if there’s something we can use against him.” Sam placed a friendly hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

Charlie smiled nervously at Sam. “Can’t wait,” she mumbled. She braced herself and braved a bigger smile at Caitlin. “I’ll 007 those pesky bigmouths.” She chuckled humorlessly.

Sam gave her shoulder an extra squeeze. “Definitely.”

“Make Bond your bitch.” Dean gave a lopsided smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We should grab something to eat before things get crazy.”

Caitlin paled at the mention of food and sprinted to the bathroom. The others shifted uncomfortably on their feet as they heard her retching.

Dean buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

Caitlin emerged a few minutes later, eyes red and watery, skin pallid. “Sorry.”

Dean was at her side immediately. “No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the f-word.”

Caitlin giggled and brushed her fingers against his knuckles. “I would have done it soon anyway.”

According to the clock by the bed, there was half an hour left. Silence fell over the room and its ticking seemed louder by the second. She met Dean’s eyes and inexplicably felt the ghost of his warm hands gliding over her skin, his finger touching her inside. She squirmed when heat flared between her legs and felt her face heat up. She snatched her hand back and stepped away from Dean, diverting her attention to Charlie.

“So how did you end up working for the bad guys?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess I didn’t read the small print in the contract. Didn’t realize they were any worse than the other corporate assholes willing to pay me money.” She eyed Caitlin with curiosity. “How did you end up with these black holes of testosterone as personal bodyguards?”

Dean exposed my boss as an unmitigated misogynist, a ghost tried to kill me, then Sam tried to kill me in his sleep. We got rid of the ghost, Dean’s three days old daughter tried to kill us, some Leviathans found and caught us, a Djinn caught me, Sam got beat up by clowns, then my psycho stepfamily kidnapped me and here we are. Caitlin pinched her lips and turned her eyes to the window. The bird was back. “Long story,” she finally said.

“Oh. Right.” Charlie tucked her hair behind her ear. “So what is it we’re doing this afternoon?”

Caitlin’s mouth fell open and she turned to glare at Dean in open betrayal. “You haven’t told her?”

“We wanted to get back in a hurry and she insisted on coming.” Dean gave her a bewildered look.

Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest and paced the short unoccupied space of the room.

Charlie followed her movements, throwing glances at Sam and Dean. “I…” she stuttered haltingly, “it sounded like they were going off to rescue someone. I didn’t get the specifics.”

The brothers both kept busy with the ugly carpet at their feet.

“You thought I needed rescue?” Caitlin’s eyes bored into Dean’s scalp until he slowly met her eyes, shamefaced. “Fuck you, Dean. Fuck you and your cocky ass arrogance.”

“Hey, we talked about this.” Dean held out his hands placatingly. “Anyone of those people you’re meeting could be Leviathan.”

“I just threw up because I have to tell everything to a bunch of complete strangers in half an hour.” She turned to point an angry finger at Dean. “If there are Leviathan at least they’re built in a way that means they already know everything.”

“I was thinking about keeping you alive. All I care about is your safety.” Dean pointed right back at her in annoyance.

“I’m so glad my safety is your primary concern now that you’ve proven you don’t give a shit about my feelings.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut, a pained look crossing his face before anger took over.

Caitlin wanted to kiss him and punch him and apologize and yell some more. Regardless, words spilled out her mouth, too big to keep inside. “Fuck everything I’ve done with you, all the progress I’ve made. No, let’s bring Caitlin a complete stranger out of the blue so she can spend even more time talking about the past today. Because Caitlin loves that.”

“God dammit, Caitlin, that’s not it at all. I get that you’re nervous but some of us are trying to save both your hide and our whole species from becoming monster chow. Could you snap out of your own pity party for a second and just tell Charlie that her to-do-list doesn’t start until 9 PM?”

Caitlin let out a shocked gasp as her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed without a word. She picked up her duffel and swung the door open wide. A final spiteful glance back at Dean was the last they saw of her before the door shut with a loud crack behind her.

Dean threw his arms up and looked at Sam. “Should I have said Christo?”

Sam shook his head. “No, she had a point.”

Dean sighed. “Of course she did. Now what?”

“You can’t really protect her from in here. Not that I think she wants you to right now.”

“You tellin’ me I should apologize?” Dean spoke the words flatly, sounding more tired than angered.

“Not telling you to do anything. Just stating the facts.” Sam shrugged. Don’t take it out on me, he didn’t add.

Dean blinked and gave Sam a look. “Fuck it all,” he muttered and scrambled out the door in a hurry.

Charlie slowly met Sam’s eyes. “I said something stupid, didn’t I?”

Dean looked around the motel parking lot, but Caitlin was long gone. He set out toward the reception.

“Hey,” he greeted the young clerk at the desk. “Was there a woman in here a few minutes ago? Blonde hair, this tall?”

The kid answered in a bored voice. “She barely went through the door before this black dude greeted her. She went with him.”

“They got into a car?”

The clerk shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Dean marched back out, pulling his phone up and punching Morgan’s number. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the back of the phone through three beeps before the call was answered.

“Morgan speaking.”

“Is Caitlin with you?”

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Is she?”

“Yes, we’re pulling up at the station as we speak.”

“Put her on.”

There was some rustling as the phone was jostled around. Dean heard Caitlin’s voice protesting angrily before she spoke into his ear.

“Now is a really fucking bad time, Dean.”

“I know. We can continue the shouting match later, just… did you borax test Morgan before getting in the car with him?”

The silence stretched and Dean was striding toward the Impala, heart racing, when she spoke.

“No, because I’m helpless and stupid and without you, I’ll die within two hours. Fuck you, Dean. It’s the real Derek, I’ve got enough soap in my pockets to test everyone in this lazy-ass town and I’ve got my knife on me. So you can go back to worrying about saving the human race, for all I care. Go back to Chicago, kick some monster ass and leave me alone.”

The phone went silent as she ended the call giving Dean no chance to reply.

Dean stood in the middle of the parking lot, shoulders hunched and jaw clenched tightly. I wonder if Cas’ll sober me up for the heist tonight if I get shitfaced now.

Caitlin handed Derek the phone, eyes glued to the building they were parked next to.

“Ready?”

She counted out three slow breaths before answering. “Of course not.” Then she reached out a trembling hand and opened the car door. She was out of the car before Derek had gotten his seatbelt off.

Through the double doors was a large open office space, one-third of the workplaces occupied by men and women in uniform. As they entered, a dark haired woman stuck her head out of a glass door on the other side of the room.

“Morgan, finally. The Mitchells’ lawyer is starting to complain about unnecessarily long detainment.”

Derek acknowledged her with a nod. “Is there a room ready for us?”

The woman nodded and pointed to where she had come from. Then she stuck her hand out toward Caitlin and when Caitlin responded, she didn’t as much shake hands with her as she simply held her hand in a tight, warm grip. “I’m Emily Prentiss. Morgan and I will be conducting the interview and it will be recorded on film. Whenever it gets to be too much, just ask for a break.”

Caitlin nodded, mouth too dry to speak. Agent Prentiss was definitely not a Leviathan. She put her hand back in her pocket and rubbed some more soap into her skin.

They walked into a small room, a camera already waiting. There was bottled water, a bowl of granola bars, assorted chocolate, and a few Pepsi cans on the table.

Derek pulled out the chair opposite the camera for Caitlin and sat down next to Prentiss.

“This is a preliminary interview. With what I know so far, it will likely be the first of many, as we try to dig up as many details about the case as possible. The goal is to proof beyond any doubt that your stepfather and -brothers did, in fact, break the law.” Derek paused and waited for Caitlin to nod that she understood. “First things first: Can you tell us what happened on the night of April 14th?”

“I checked into the Midnight Blue Motel in Dewe, Kansas. At some point in the evening, there was a knock on my door. When I didn’t open, the door was kicked open. Saul, Cody, and Brad Mitchell entered the motel room uninvited. They… they didn’t say anything, just walked toward me. Saul had a knife. I got behind the bed and grabbed a nightstand but it caught in the outlet. He knocked me out. I came to tied up in a car trunk.”

Prentiss opened her mouth, but Morgan spoke first. “What happened then?”

Caitlin told them. When she talked about the collar, she kept a hand pressed to her neck. It’s gone, it’s gone, I’m free. When she described the cold shower, she started shaking.

“Easy now, let’s take a break,” Morgan cut her off.

Caitlin fell silent and focused on her breathing. Her cheeks were wet. The room felt cold and foreign, too big. She suddenly couldn’t care less that Dean was an occasional insensitive asshole. All she wanted was his arms around her and his whisky-gunpowder scent of safety in her nostrils.

When had she become so dependent on him? Well, it wouldn’t do. This world didn’t care about what she wanted and needed and Dean certainly couldn’t be expected to mold his chaotic life around her. Get over it, Caitie… Oh God. That’s his nickname for me. She pushed the chair back and got up. Once safely out of the camera’s view and her back turned to the others, she cried.

Dean entered the motel room where Sam and Charlie sat next to each other on the bed, idly chatting. He caught the word “mainframe” and stopped listening. He plumped down in the chair and uncapped the bottle of whiskey he had picked up at the nearest drugstore after calling Morgan and getting yelled at by Caitlin.

“Hey!” Sam was kneeling in front of Dean, hand waving in front of his face.

Dean startled a bit, hadn’t noticed his brother at all, hell bent on boozing up in a hurry. “What?”

“You can’t get drunk now. We’re Charlie’s backup in four hours when she walks into the boss monster lair. Suck it up, Dean.” Sam caught the bottle and tried to wrestle it away from Dean.

“Cas can kill my buzz in four hours. If I’m gonna be useless, then lemme be useless.” Dean held onto the bottle petulantly.

Charlie shrieked as Cas showed up out of nowhere. “I will not act as your personalized angel transport and alcohol purger. It is bad enough that I have to heal the cirrhosis on your liver every chance I get or you would be dying of liver failure in less than a decade.”

Eyes glued to the angel, Dean let Sam take the bottle.

Cas put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the gesture he’d learned from Dean himself years ago. “You are not useless.”

When Cas said nothing else and didn’t move, the silence grew awkward quickly.

Abruptly, Dean seemed to shake himself out of his funk and stood. “Thanks, Cas.” He picked up his belongings and threw a meaningful glance at Sam and Charlie. “How ‘bout we get started a bit earlier?”

Sam pinched his lips together and shook his head. “The only thing we can accomplish in Chicago now is getting spotted before Charlie has a chance to do her thing.”

Dean glared at his brother, narrowed eyes and tense muscles easily expressing his pent up, irrational anger.

Sam sighed and shrugged. “It’s a shitty situation but maybe now is a good a time as ever to grow up and handle your feelings instead of numbing them or running away.”

Dean’s mouth fell open and his fists clenched. “I’m not the one who runs,” he growled.

Sam shrugged again. “Physically, no. But you’re a real pro at hiding, numbing, repressing, and deflecting.”

“That’s the Winchester way, goddammit!” Spit flew from Dean’s mouth as he yelled. There had only been one time before where he had wanted to punch Sam this badly (without the influence of supernatural things, of course.)

He had let his fists fly then and while their fight may not have been the sole reason for the angels’ scheme succeeding and Sam unknowingly breaking the last seal, it had certainly been a turning point. Immature as his little brother insisted that he was, Dean liked to think that he learned from his mistakes. Before Sam could say anything else, Dean left the room.

“I will watch over him.” Castiel’s announcement hung in the air, drowning out the flutter of his wings.

Charlie sat wide-eyed on the bed, looking at the spot where the angel had been seconds before. “Remind me again why I’m not at work, receiving a fat bonus for cracking a high priority assignment?”

Dean stood in front of the station, separated from Caitlin by much more than simple brick walls. There could be Leviathan in there. She could be having a flashback and no one would know how to comfort her. They could be asking her about Emma and the other Amazons, the Leviathan bodies in her apartment and how was she going to explain that. He wanted to be there so badly but if he went inside the building, he would be in cuffs within minutes.

“Cas, are you there?”

The angel showed up next to Dean, his eyes resting on the building in front of them.

“How’s she doin’?”

“She is crying.” Cas slowly turned toward Dean. “Dean, I can make you look different to anyone who does not know who you are for certain.”

“What?”

“I can put a glamor on you that only those that know you as an ally can see through.”

Dean blinked. “Well, what are you waiting for? Do it.”

Cas touched his forehead and Dean’s vision swam momentarily while every single nerve in his body tingled.

The sensation faded and the world came back into focus. Dean raised a finger at Castiel. “When this is over, you and I are gonna have a talk about you not mentioning this earlier.” Dean’s mouth quirked upward as he spoke, however.

“It only works on humans.”

“Spoilsport.” With a squeeze to Cas’ shoulder, Dean went up the broad steps to the police station.

He went straight to the first available officer. “Excuse me, can you tell me where to find Agent Morgan?” At the puzzled look, he clarified. “He’s with the B.A.U. and conducting an interview with a witness at the moment, if I’m not mistaken.”