#i watch a theater play? i simply have to suffer the curse

[mummelthecryptid]

really need to go to the theater more often because everytime i go it rewrites my brain chemistry (for better or for worse)

[buckys-black-dress]

i don't care, i'm in love

a/n: alright sexies, part two! of my last thing you guys liked! idk if anyone's noticed just yet but the titles are from tame impala's song 'new person, same old mistakes' because the song is fire asf. anyways. enough talking, here it is! enjoy! (sorry this took so long lol, i had no idea where i was going w this plot after part 1.)

warnings: penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), choking, cursing. this story is 18+ !!! tap off if you're a minor. this is your warning.

wc: 4k words

[bucky barnes x fem!reader]

read part one here!

-

It's been a few days since your outburst with Bucky in the kitchen. While you haven't made eye contact with him whenever you've been in the same room, you've practically felt his looks from across the room.

The air had definitely shifted in any room where you were both present. Nobody still knows about your past relationship, and you don't intend on telling anyone about it.

You've decided to let Bucky stew in silence, not allowing any leeway. If he wanted to be stubborn, this is where it would land him. He chose his own fate in the end, and now he would have to suffer the consequences.

And it was pretty awkward, to say the least. It was currently movie night in the Avengers Tower, and you were all in the movie theater. Tony had selected a rom-com tonight, as superheroes do. You were sat with Natasha on a loveseat, your legs swung over hers as your shared snacks were laid on your lap for the both of you.

She had, of course, noticed your change in demeanor since your impromptu break-up. You hadn't divulged in the details with her, not wanting to out the relationship. Even though you wanted to be petty as ever, you decided you were going to be the mature one in this situation.

And then Bucky walks in.

With a... another girl?

Maybe you weren't taking the high road after all.

You instantly feel a heat wash over your body, making you want to scream and cry and laugh in incredulity all at the same time.

What the fuck?

"Hey guys, I brought a date to movie night, if that's alright..." His voice sounded like nails on a blackboard to you right now. "This is Sophia."

He says it so simply that no one knows what to say. Everyone spares a glance at you, and for a second, you wonder if he had told anyone.

But everyone had somewhat of an idea that Bucky likes you!

So now, everyone was a bit confused.

"Uhm, yeah, nice to meet ya. Take a seat anywhere." Steve's voice cuts the suffocating silence.

You make brief eye contact with Bucky, but you look away as fast as you had looked in the first place. You felt like there was a golf ball lodged in your throat, and if you didn't stop yourself, you think you would've strangled that motherfu-

You're led out of your train of thought by a light tap on your arm. Natasha gives you a look that's saying, you look like you're about to kill someone. Are you okay?

You shake your head, letting her know you're just fine. Everything's fine. Bucky's over there, with another girl, who's holding his hand. And you've been here wondering for the past two months what's been so wrong about you that he couldn't do the same with you. Let alone even tell people you were in a relationship.

And you're not going to lie. This stung. Really bad.

Although you wanted to sit here and act as unbothered as possible, it was hard. You wanted to enjoy your night, watch your movie, and go to bed. This was a turn of events that you weren't expecting in the least.

The tension in the room was too much, everyone exchanging glances back and forth between you, Bucky, and Sophia. They were all confused. There was an obvious tension between you and Bucky, and although it was never anything serious to them, they all thought he would man up soon enough and ask you out.

Now, sympathetic looks were being shot across the room between all the team members, and no one could say really say anything.

Suddenly, Steve sits up in his seat and glares at his friend.

"Buck, can ya help me bring some snacks from the kitchen?" The blond asks, not waiting for a reply from the brunet.

Once they're safely out of earshot from the movie room, Steve grasps Bucky's shoulder in a tight hold that has Bucky wincing.

"What the hell, man?" His voice comes out strained and laced with confusion.

"Buck, I think I should be asking you that question." Steve says. "Don't play fuckin' dumb with me. You know what I wanna talk about."

"Well, please do enlighten me-"

"Oh would ya drop it? Sophia? I'm sure she's a great gal, but for the past six months you've been bitchin' and moanin' about Y/N." Steve cuts his friend off, trying to gauge the situation.

"I just... things went south. I needed somethin' new... somethin' different." Bucky's voice was meek, almost like he was afraid to admit this to his best friend of 90 years.

"What... whaddaya mean things went... south? Did you tell her you liked her and she rejected you or somethin'?" The blond asks, brows pulled together in confusion.

"I just... I can't really explain to you what happened but... it was bad. I fucked up, Stevie." Bucky's head is still tilted downwards in guilt.

"Buck, you know you can tell me anything, right?" A hand is placed on his shoulder, and he wants to shrug it off, I don't deserve any comfort, he thinks. I did this all by myself.

"Can I just... I'll tell you. But you can't tell anyone. Especially Tony or Nat. Or Wanda." Steve gives him a brief nod, motioning for Bucky to go on.

"Y/N and I had been... seeing each other for the past two months..." Bucky starts to explain, and Steve's eyes are jut about popping out of their sockets by the time he finishes explaining.

A few moments pass, and silence soaks the air surrounding them.

"You... you two were dating... in secret? You didn't tell me?" The look Steve gave Bucky made the latter's insides twist in the worst way possible. He should've told his best friend.

"Steve, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. We agreed to keep it between us until... "

"Until she decided she'd had enough."

"Yeah."

A pregnant pause and flat face followed, and flat face followed, and Bucky's now realizing how much he's fucked up. Not in the first place, per se, but by bringing Sophia here.

"So can you tell me why you've dragged that poor girl here?" Steve breaks the silence first.

"I-I... I met her at a bar a couple nights ago. Needed to get out, have a drink. She came up to me and asked me for my number, and... yeah."

What Bucky didn't explain is that as soon as she started talking to him, she had immediately realized he was painfully in love with someone else. She had been kind, understanding of his situation. Instead of trying to get in bed with him, she sat down with him while he explained to her how he got himself in this mess.

"You know... I can help you..." Sophia tells him with innocent eyes.

"Really? How?" Bucky's tone was incredulous, like the mere idea of doing something about this whole thing was possible.

"Well, she seems to care about you a lot. But maybe you just need to get a... reaction out of her. She's unbothered now, she says she 'moved on.' Show her she hasn't." She explains.

"But...how?"

And thus... this situation was born.

"So... Sophia has absolutely no interest in you, and you brought her here to make Y/N jealous?" Steve looks at his friend like he has three heads, and Bucky now realizes just how dumb this all looks.

"Well... yeah. This was a bad idea, wasn't it? I should just go take Sophia home-"

"No! You already got this far, and if you do that it might give Y/N the wrong idea. Just- just go with it for the rest of the night and see what happens." Steve says. "Now, let's get the snacks."

Bucky helps him, and they head back into the movie room. He notices your tense form against Natasha. Sophia's making conversation with Sam, and if you were in a cartoon, you're sure there would be steam coming out of your ears.

The movie goes by in a blur, and even though your eyes were glued to the screen, you feel like you didn't even watch the movie. You were too busy being hyperaware of the way Sophia held onto Bucky's arm like if was her lifeline, and quite frankly, you wanted to punch the living daylights out of the both of them.

Once the movie's finished and the lights turn on, you waste no time in heading to your room after a quick goodnight to everyone.

You're getting ready for bed with slams of closet doors and dresser drawers, absolutely enraged with everything. Why was this bothering you so much? But more importantly, how was Bucky so quick to move on? Like you were nothing to him? Like you were the dirt under his shoe?

And although you were too proud to say it, it stung like a motherfucker.

Before you could get ahead of yourself, a knock is coming from your door.

You're sure it's Natasha trying to make sure you're alright, but after months of acting unaffected, all you wanted to do was get under your covers and cry.

"Nat, I'm sorry but I'm really not in the mood-" But when you swung the door open, it was none other than your ex-boyfriend."What the hell are you doing here?"

Your tone was venomous, and all Bucky could see was the tiredness and rage behind your irises.

"I- Can I talk to you?" His voice is timid, like he's afraid to even ask for your time.

"About what? Don't you have someone to tend to?" You wonder out loud, and you can't help the way your heart twists at the thought of Bucky and Sophia. The way he had no problem holding her, touching her, loving her.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Y/N."

It even hurt to think that.

"What do you want, Barnes?" You query in an indifferent tone.

"I-I waned to talk to you, alone." He responds, and his palms are sliding down his thighs to wipe off the sweat.

"Don't you have to take your date home?"

He was quiet for a moment, trying to gauge how to handle you right now. One wrong word or move, and he was out.

"Y/N, can I please just talk to you? One night we're sleeping in each others' beds, and the next we're strangers? How- how does that even make sense?" He's trying to make sense of the past few weeks and the events that led up to the demise of your relationship.

He knows, but he doesn't want to say it out loud.

"Well, I wonder who's fault that was?" You ask snarkily.

Apparently, you weren't afraid to say it.

"You were the one that did this. I get it. This was new for you, but at some point, enough was enough! I- I was basically dirt under your shoe, James! I- I couldn't fucking take it anymore! I just- you were so easy with Steve and Natasha. And then you would shake me off like I was some pest, some bug." You choked on your words, tears pricking behind your eyes. You turned away before Bucky could see them, not wanting to let him see you like this.

You've put on a tough front, because you didn't want anyone to think that you'd get so hung up over some boy, but it was hard to do so when you were giving your all into a relationship while you got the bare minimum back.

Bucky watches you from your doorway, and as you turn away, he takes this as a sign to come in and shut the door behind him.

"Y/N, please, let me talk. I-I just need to talk. To get it all out. I'm begging you, please." And beg he did. He was on the floor, quite literally on his knees. You couldn't even comprehend how not even an hour ago, he brought a new girl in.

And now he was on his knees before you. Begging.

"Get up."

Your voice cracked, but it was still strong. You weren't in the mood to have a man beg at your feet, and you felt it was quite pathetic that he was on his knees right now when he's the reason you two had ended up like this.

Whatever this was.

"O-Okay. Does that mean I can talk?" He asks tentatively, rising to his feet slowly.

"You have five minutes."

He was quiet at first, and you wondered if he even had anything to say. If he was just here to waste your time, to cause even more heartache-

"I- Can I just start off by saying, in the almost three months we were together, I never, ever, wanted to make you feel anything less than what you really are. You're kind, caring, beautiful, the smartest person I've ever met. But above all those things, you were patient with me. And that was never something I had before with someone else. No one was as patient and as attentive as you were, and I need you to know." He pauses, catching his breath from his rambling.

"Know what?" Your tone was venomous, trying to hold back the tears prickling behind your eyes.

"That I have dreamt of a girl like you for decades. You are everything-" he chokes on his words, eyes glossing over, "everything I've ever wanted, and more. And I can't tell you how sorry I am for the way I treated you. How I made you feel, and how I felt the need to hide us. I should've just been honest with everyone from the start, and it cost me everything in the end. So I'll spend the rest of my days making it up to you, in any way possible. Because you deserve it. You deserve so much better than someone who- who doesn't know how to love. How to hold your hand and not want to cry because he feels like he doesn't deserve it. You deserve the entire universe, Y/N."

Bucky finishes speaking, looking so deeply into your eyes that you can't help but let the facade crack.

Tears are leaking out of the corners of your eyes. You sniffle, trying to take a deep breath.

"Wh-what about... Sophia?" You struggle to ask through your emotions, trying to hold yourself back from flinging yourself into his arms.

"I- She's... not relevant. I met her at a bar the day we... ended things, and she said 'it was clear I was going through a heartbreak,' and that she wanted to help me get you back." Bucky laughs a bit at the whole situation now, and how fucking badly he had fucked up.

"But if you don't want to get back together, I understand. Just know, I still feel the same. But if you give me another chance, I promise you it'll be different. I promise to spend all my time making it up to you, and I don't want to hide anything about us. To anyone." He affirms, moving to hold your hands in his.

And surprisingly, you didn't pull away.

No matter how much your brain was screaming, yelling to pull away!

But you couldn't. You wanted to believe every word that came out of his mouth, and you didn't care if anyone thought you were being naive or stupid. You just wanted to hold him again, to call him James again, and to have him whisper sweet nothings in your ears.

And as all these thoughts were running through your head, you see Bucky slowly backing away, assuming your silence meant you were telling him to leave.

"I-Wait. Wait. We have a- a lot to talk about, but I'm not giving up on us yet. But I want a full explanation, top to bottom about everything. And- you have to promise me things will be different between us. We can't have things like they were before, and-"

And before you could continue your rambles, you were stopped by the feeling of his lips on yours.

You could feel his rough ones moulding against your soft, cherry-flavoured ones from your lip balm. His eyes were closed, and so were yours. Any thoughts you had were thrown out the window, and all you could focus on right now was him.

He was invading all your senses in the best way possible. In this moment, you realized he was being completely honest and truthful in what he'd said earlier. Of course, you wouldn't let him forget about all this so easily, but right now, all that mattered were his hands running all over your waist and neck.

"J-James," you breathed out, disconnecting from him.

His eyes search yours, wondering if this is where you give him the boot, and tell him to leave it at this.

But oh, was he wrong.

"Lock the door for me?"

His mouth is akin to that of a fish out of water, wondering to himself if his brain was conjuring this image in his head after weeks of not having you.

"A-Are you sure? If you don't want to we don't have to-" And now he's the one getting cut off with your lips.

It had been enough suffering for the both of you these past few weeks.

"James, I'm sure. Help a girl out?" You smile coyly, slowly walking backwards until you reach your bed and sit down. Your eyes stay on James' blue ones while he rushes to lock to door.

He's hovering over you, waiting to see if you'll make a move.

"Well, aren't you gonna fuck me?"

At those words, the man above you snaps out of his stupor, and lets out an animalistic growl, lunging at you and making both your bodies fall back onto the fluffy white duvet of your bed.

"Can I take this off of you?" James hands are pinching at the fabric of your t-shirt, and you fervently nod in response.

"Words, honey." He coaxes and receives a meek but clear 'yes' from you.

He wastes no time slipping it off your form, only breaking apart from you for air to do so.

Soon enough, your panting forms were both almost bare, left down to just underwear. James slowly moves to settle himself between your thighs, but your hand catches onto his wrist before he could move any further.

"You don't have to, James. I want you inside me already." Although you usually never complained about getting head, you were aching to feel him inside you.

"C'mon angel, I've missed how your sweet lil' pussy tastes." The words coming out of his mouth combined with the feeling of the small pecks he's placing against your inner thighs have you practically shaking.

Along with his scruff giving the sensitive skin a delicious burn, you couldn't bring yourself to say no to James.

He guides your soaked panties down your legs, placing your calves against his shoulders to hold them open.

"Mmm, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to have my mouth between these legs again, sugar. Missed ya so much." He mumbles to you, licking a broad stripe up your core.

A gasp leaves your mouth, and you scramble to find something to grab onto.

With one hand in his brunet locks, Bucky continues his ministrations. He alternates between using his tongue and sucking on your sensitive button, building up your climax.

James listens to your small gasps and whimpers, paying attention to what brought you the most pleasure.

"Oh!" You let out a whimper at the feeling of Bucky's fingers hitting your sweet spot inside you.

Before you knew it, the throbbing in your heat was spreading all through your body, causing your first earth-shattering orgasm of the night.

You're chanting James over and over again, like a prayer.

"That's it, sweetheart, give it all t'me." He coaxes you through your high, allowing for you to come down.

Your eyes are bleary and you barely sense James coming back up over you. His fingers are opening your mouth, allowing you to taste them.

"Taste yourself, honey. So sweet, missed havin' you." He leaves pecks on your forehead, nose, and cheek, before circling back to your mouth when he pulls his fingers back out.

When he pulls away again, his nose is brushing against yours. You still feel like you're floating, but you open your eyes slowly to be met with his bright cerulean ones.

"You have a condom?" James' voice is gravelly as he speaks against your lips.

"No, I'm clean and still on the pill. Wanna feel all of you." You whisper while your fingers roam through his locks.

"A-Are you sure?" He asks, trying to ignore the involuntary twitch of his cock at your words.

"I'm sure, James. I've never been more sure of doing anything with anyone." You say, letting your hand move down to his boxers.

Your hand dips into the waistband, grasping him with your palm.

"Wanna feel all of this." You barely speak, but he understands every word you say.

Before you know it, his underwear is off and thrown somewhere across the room.

James sits back, running his cock through your juices for lubrication, eliciting a sigh from the both of you.

"Fuck, I missed you so much, doll." He grits out while he pushes into you slowly. "Can't believe I was so stupid and almost lost ya for good."

"I-I'm right here, baby. You won't ever lose me." You reassure him, letting him fill you to the brim.

"God, can't get enough of this tight pussy, baby." James is thrusting at an even pace now, and you can feel every inch of him inside you.

You release moans of ecstacy and pleasure in his ear as he stays above you, and while you're only half-conscious of what you're doing, you grab his metal arm and bring it to your throat.

His eyes shoot open but his pace never falters, looking at you for silent reassurance.

The white-hot feeling in your core builds at the feeling, not wanting it to stop.

"You sure?"

"Yes, please." All he needed was your whimper to moan at the sight of his hand around your throat.

"H-Holy shit. I- Come with me baby, c'mon." His voice is strained, like it's paining him to speak.

"I'm- I'm coming James. Come with me, baby." You gasp out, feeling the stirring in your belly reach its' peak.

Soon enough, you're both coming undone, breathing into each others' mouths while working through your highs together.

You feel him spurting inside you, painting your walls white. His rocking slowly comes to a stop, allowing him to open his eyes and focus on you. Your thumbs are brushing over his cheekbones, soaking in him just being here, with you.

"C'mon, let me get you cleaned up, angel." James slowly pulls out of you, being careful to not hurt you.

You see the light flicker on in your bathroom and hear the sink running. He returns with a rag and brushes it gently between your legs, feeling you shiver at how sensitive you are.

"Sorry, honey." James' whisper comes from below, and you smile down with soft eyes.

You were completely besotted for this man.

Once the rag is thrown into your laundry hamper, Bucky retrieves his boxers and pulls them on.

For a moment, you feel a flash through your body, your heart seizing at the thought of him leaving now.

"A-Are you leaving?" You barely recognize your own voice, feeling pathetic for feeling so vulnerable.

Bucky just looks at you. He's dumbfounded at you right now. How could you think that after everything, especially after what had just happened, that he would leave you. How he could ever let you go again.

And again, the question is just another painful reminder of how much he's hurt you.

"No, sweetheart. Just wanted to grab a shirt for you to sleep in." He gives you a soft smile, quenching the ache of your heart.

Once he sits you up and slips the large shirt over your frame, he slips back into his spot next to you under the duvet. Your legs immediately tangle with his, head on his shoulder and arm thrown across his torso.

"Never gonna let you go again, honey." He tells you, placing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Love you, James." You mumble in a half-asleep response into his chest, the words reverberating into his skin.

Bucky hopes you don't feel his heart racing, but replies with the same words that you hear before slipping into a deep slumber. And the last thing you hear before you slip under are the sweetest words to ever be spoken.

"I love you more, Y/N."

[themadauthorshatter]

Creative wave. And things are picking up

Red School AU/UA Headcanons/Story Arc 2 PART 2!!!!!!!!!

We pick up where we left off with Cal, confused and worried by the exchange between Mare and his father, looking between Mare as she leaves and Tiberias, who's looking back at his people as they wave goodbye.

A lot look sad, but a lot more look like they're trying to hide a smirk.

It gives Cal a sick feeling in his stomach.

Tibe notices and asks if he's alright, since he's been a little off his game for a while.

Cal turns to him with a smile and says he's just nervous because if maguc really does exist in wherever they're going, he's more concerned about being pulled underwater by a leviathan than a war.

Tibe chuckles and admits that that's one of the least of his concerns.

Cal joins him on the upper deck and the two watch the people as the boat departs, Cal sighing and hoping this goes smoothly and quickly.

He's clearly never been in a YA book series.😑

Regardless, Tibe echoes with, "Let's hope so." or "One can hope."

Now, I know what you're thinking, "OP, where's Maven? He disappeared with Elara, sure, but where is he?"

Well, we cut to their conversation, more specifically Maven as he fights a gag as the ship starts moving. Elara asks him if he's alright, and is going to be alright, and he groans he'll be fine. He then asks if she has any plans for when they arrive to they're destination.

Elara corrects him if they arrive, all things considered, but no there isn't exactly a plan.

After somer silence, Maven starts to sort of shuffle in his seat and avoid his mother's eyes, cursing himself mentally as he asks her if they really have to go through with their plan.

Elara proceeds to hold Maven's hand and remind him of how his father ignored him for Cal, kept Cal in his heart when he wouldn't allow the same for Maven. Cal's foolish, suffering from big-heart-with-feelings syndrome and tunnel vision, hardly seeing options that deliver the best results. Maven, however, doesn't have that problem. He'd rather avoid conflict and war by any means, for the most part, and is clever enough to get out of tight situations. Cal only sees a way through an obstacle, not around, over, or under like Maven.

With both her hands wrapped around one of Maven's, she assures him it is for those reasons he would make a much better King than Cal.

He nods and asks, if they continue forward, what will happen to Cal and Mare. Sure they might cause a few problems, but maybe an 'accident' can happen if/when they reach the Endless Woods, one where they accidentally lose them in the woods and SGE, maybe throw them down a well or to a dragon and say, 'c'est la vie, shit happens,' so Maven can step up. If not that, have Cal be proven unworthy for the throne and have Maven be the King.

Elara admits he's got some really good ideas, but if Cal and Mare are still alive, the mistake of letting them live will come back to bite them. As fun as it would be to shame Tibe, for putting Cal on a pedestal, and Cal, because he's the crown prince and gets nothing but Tibe's good graces, it's better that they eliminate the possibility of having Cal and Mare coming back to take the throne.

Regardless, Elara assures Maven that if he can't get his hands dirty, she'll gladly do it for him. A gift from mother to son, as she wants no th hing but the best for her boy.

With that conversation done, Elara stands and tells Maven they're needed on the deck, to show the Red villagers they're powerful because it's the idea that scares people more than the real thing.

Maven nods and says he'll be out in a second, as he wants to make a grand entrance.

Elara smile-smirks at this and hugs him before leaving.

Once she's gone, though, Maven sits back down and sighs, rubbing his face and messing up his hair; between the two of them, he might need his mother to be the one to get their hands dirty. All he needs to do is be stoic and play the right part.

But what part am I playing when I'm with them? He asks himself as he gets up and fixes his hair. Have I even been acting since Mare came here? Maven sighs and leaves the room, making that grand entrance, like he said he would.

He looks back at Elara and then to Cal, the two brothers sharing a nervous smile between them.

One thing is certain: in the end, none of it will even matter. But what will matter? And what is the ending for all of us?

CUT TO THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL!!!

In the Theater of Tales, the students are filing in and taking their seats.

We find a very fidgety Sophie as she wonders why they're assembled in the first place. With a gasp amd squeal, she wonders if the 'mistake' made on Day 1 is finally being fixed, so she can go in Good and Agatha can be in Evil.

Hester sighs that she wishes, because she and Anadil sure as hell will, if Sophie doesn't shut up, though Anadil wants her gone more because of an 'accident' in the dorm that left her rats pink. Sophie snaps she apologized for that, as the three should've left the room, if they didn't want any highlights.

Hester mutters that it's no wonder Good hasn't taken her, and even hopes that the assembly is a public 'expelltion,' so Sophie can leave and never come back.

Dot, however, simply replies that it's probably not for a transfer, but it might be about something else. Anadil and Hester ask what, but Dot shrugs, because it was called by order of the School Master himself.

Sophie isn't paying attention at all, because she's staring at Tedros as he walks in, talking and laughong with a couple of his friends as they take their seats.

They're equally confused about the emergency meeting, but, hey, whatever gets them out of their boring classes, right?

Beatrix spots him and waves from him to sit next to her, but Tedros sits behind Agatha and comments to her that he's never seen the students so chatty of whispery with each other since the fiasco with Agatha and Sophie claiming to see the School Master.

Agatha chides, as a semi-joke, that she wasn't joking about that, but if he wants to keep feeding that fluffy hair of his rather than his brain, that's fine by her.

Tedros laughs and does a mini hair flip, asking if she really thinks it's that fluffy, which makes Agatha giggle a little bit.

Now, from her stand point, Sophie notices this exchange and tries to see more and get Agatha's attention.

All that happens instead is Brone and Mona sitting down and blocking her view. She still tries to look and asks for them to sit elsewhere and Brone responds by getting comfortable whole Mona mirrors Sophie's actions, just to get under her skin.

Back with Tagatha- I mean, Tedros AND Agatha(sorry about that, my hand,uh,... slipped😶), they spot Sophie trying to spot them and Tedros glares at her, before dipping until his chin's resting on the back of Agatha's seat.

Agatha sits back as well and asks if he's still mad about the Trial and what led up to it.

"Define 'mad,'" Tedros grumbles, asking that if the person who promised to help, but left her alone to practically die, would she still want anything to do with said person?

Agatha has no response.

Good thing, too, because as the lrofessors take their places on their respective sides, above, the windows shoot open and doves and butterflies swoop in and circle the center of the stage, between the professors, who all cover their eyes as blinding white fills where the animals are circling, though Sader just smiles and laughs("Oh, this is FINALLY getting interesting!"). The animals fade from the gound up to reveal a man in a silver cloak, his robes white and his suit and boots black, wearing Good, Evil, and the Moral Grey that binds the two. He's also wearing a mask, one that's also silver, but one half is black while the other is white. They can, mostly, see his eyes though, for easier non-verbal communication for us and them.

Yes. This is the School Master, who we the audience know as Rhian; if this was a real thing, we wouldn't know yet, I'm just saying it niw because it's easier that way, and it's less tedious.

All students and the professors gasp, maybe we even see Espada look over at a disappointed Sader, about to ask why he's not surprised, before quickly remembering he's blind as hell and looks back at Rhian.

Tedros is especially flabbergasted, skack jawed as Agatha groans about how she liked what he'd worn before, an a grey and white robe with no shoes.

No one says a word, which is good because Rhian has a very, very, very, VERY important announcement to make:

The royal family of Norta is on their way, at this moment, as he speaks. The King is coming, the Queen is coming, both Princes are coming, and their betrotheds are coming, so everyone needs to behave themselves. That means no pranks, no missing classes, no slacking with hygiene(a stupid rule, but necessary because first impressions are everything and the literal King is coming, so they'd better make it count), no silly rivalries, and, most if all, they must show the unity and balance between Good and Evil, show that, yes they are opposites, but yhere are always two halves to a coin, two halves to a story. What better way to prove that than with the students cooperating.

For now, they'll have to forget who takes the next win in the Circus of Talents or the next fairytale, because fighting will do nothing to help them find peace with the new comers.

The students look each other over and silently agree; even villains know to leave a good impression.

Hester and Anadil are especially reluctant, but Dot tells them that things have been getting boring and these visitors will be a fresh change of pace from what they're used to, seeing as Sophie and Agatha are kind of old news now. She gives Sophie a quick 'no offense' and asks if she's at least got the basic idea of what she's trying to say.

Too bad Sophie tuned out at 'Princes,' which means her dream has come true: Cal and Maven are coming and can whisk her away from Gavaldon and the School for Evil. If this was a graphic novel, we'd see her monologue and smile up at a dream/vision of Cal sweeping her up in his arms as the two hug, both smiling and happy and dressed in white for a wedding, flowersand eose petals surrounding the frame with bells in the background. Her hands are wringed together, a tear's in her eye, and she can barely contain her excitement.

This thought is quite literally popped by Dot, who asks if Sophie's even listening at this point, or heard what Rhian said about them being on their best behavior.

Even though she's upset, Sophie nods, saying she'll be so good, Good itself will look Evil.

As the students file out- Sophie sprinting out to clean up and re-familiarize herself on her makeup and lotions- Agatha is still reeling from Rhian's words, stopping in the clearing on the way back to class to get her thoughts together.

Cal, Maven, and Mare are coming to the SGE. She NEVER thought she'd be able to see or meet them, but she is.

It settles in Agatha that she's going to meet them and cries tears of joy, more than excited to meet who she's been writing to for a month or so, maybeca little less.

CUT BACK TO THE SILVERS AS THEY SAIL!

Good news: They're getting closer to their destination. Bad news: it's storming outside.

The High House children, Mare, Cal, and Maven are all hanging out together because they're bored with a capital B. Ptolemus and Cal are arm wrestling with Olliver reffing, Sonya's doing a cat's cradle, Elane's taking a nap, and Evangeline, Mare, and Maven are playing Poker; they're going easy on Mare because she doesn't know how to play, though Evangeline's so bored she can't tease her for it.

The ship rocks and Sonya stops a vase from falling, Cal gets the leg up he needs on Ptolemus, and Maven holds down the deck of cards as Evangeline groans that this is a long ass trip.

As he shakes out his arm, Cal tells Evangeline it could be anywhere between a week to ten days, so long as they follow the path the School Master gave them.

Evangeline raises an eyebrow at this and stands up, asking Cal if he really believes this school of fairytales exists.

Cal admits that it's kind of late to be asking as he and Ptolemus switch arms and go again.

Ptolemus tells Evangeline to relax and try to enjoy herself; they'll be on the ship for a little while and can't afford to tear each other apart.

Sonya sighs and sets down her cat's cradle, stating that this whole thing is probably just a ploy made by the Lakelanders to invade Norta. It was an attempt made before, so she wouldn't be surprised if it happened again.

As he and Mare set up checkers, Maven states Norta should be fine. Tibe, Elara, Lucas, and Ptolemus are gone, but Volo and the rest of House Samos, House Osanos, House Merandus, and the other High Houses are still there, so they should be okay to leave for a little while. And they're sending telegrams to the Summer Palace and White Fire Palace, to fool the Lakelanders, in case they intercept their messages to compromise them.

After a few minutes of silence, brought to you by Evangeline joining Elane in that nap, Cal and Ptolemus on their feet as they arm wrestle, even throwing jabs at each other, Olliver and Sonya having a staring contest, and Mare and Maven playing checkers for some snacks.

This should all be more strategic-training stuff, but tge idea of these noble and royal kids being normal teenagers is just too gold for me.

Mare and Maven eventually give up checkers to watch Cal arm wrestle for his life, Evangeline and Elane waking to watch as wellwith Sonya and Olliver joining in and they all take they're sides: Maven, Mare, and Olliver bet on Cal winning as Evangeline, Sonya, and Elane bet on Ptolemus.

They're all bored, it's 7pm, they have a week together, so they might as well.

Caught in the fun, Cal and Ptolemus take their coats off, so they still have their shirts on, and psyche themselves and each other up.

What does the winner get? Well, the original prize was slapping the loser in the face, but Cal doesn't want Ptolemus to throw him overboard and Ptolemus, even though he's kicked Cal's ass before, isn't comfortable with slapping the crown prince in the face, so they considered the winner could PUNCH the loser in the face, but decided that was also a bad idea, so the winner just gets bragging rights. And has to do 35 pushups.

Lame prize, but everyone agrees.

The two sit down and join hands before Evangeline slaps a metal band around their hands and in the crooks of their elbows, which keeps them to the table, so they don't cheat, and Maven holds their fists in the middle of the table, fake reffing and saying he wants a clean match, so no roid rage from Ptolemus and no spontaneous combustion from Cal. The two glare each other down, fighting ring style, and then Cal sicks his tongue out just to be a dick.

Then they go at it, arm wrestling as hard as they can with their respective teams cheering them on, a little quietly though, because people might be sleeping.

There's jabs thrown, name calling, and maybe the hint of below the belt, but Cal manages to best the berserker, with the jab of, "If I was still General of the Shadow Legion, I'd make you mop floors for a week," to which Ptolemus replies, "Bite me," and Cal owns him by asking him how he won so many fights against Ptolemus in training.

The two are freed and shake hands, the teams applauding for the show.

I know this part is kinda filler, but it's fun and sillyness for teenagers who are usually not too happy with each other, let them have this moment.

Also, TIME FOR A TIME JUMP MONTAGE BETWEEN THE SGE CREW AND THE RED QUEEN CREW!

We see Hester and Anadil yell at an oblivious Sophie as she does her hair and makeup while they hold the brightly colored rats, who are now wearing bows. Cut to Mare watching the sun rise with Cal and Maven behind her, secretly high fiving at a job well done of cheering her up. Cut back to the school as Agatha organizes her room and tidies up(FIRST. IMPRESSIONS.) Beatrix and other Evergirls watch with a freaked out look, but leave when she looks over at them. Cut back the RQ cast with Tibe checking in on the captain of the ship to see they're going the right way. How do they know where they're going? Rhian sent a Stymph to guide them. All they need to do is keep it in their sight, and they'll reach the SGE in no time. Speaking of the SGE, cut to Tedros practicing some sword tricks and finishing with an introduction of himself. He asks Agatha, Tristan, and Chaddick how that was and the boys say he looked impressive, very flashy. They leave and Agatha asks if "flashy" is what Tedros wants the Silvers to see, if he wants them to see the Prince of Camelot with the arrogance of a pecock and the best at the sword, or the real Tedros, who's probavly just as scared and nervous as they are. Tedros admits he wants to be both, but admits that sometimes there can't be a 'both.' Agatha suggests he just flip the sword in his hand rather than go all out, so he can leave an impression, but still show he's someone important that's worth knowing. He thanks her and she leaves, Tedros smiling as she leaves. Cut to Maven, who's looking over a Pro and Con list and is obviously stressing over it because as much as he loves his mother and the idea of being King, he also loves Cal and Mare, so he's in a stalemate with himself. Cut to Anadil as she pets one of her rats as the other two rest on her shoulders, all three with black fur again. Cut to Evangeline and Ptolemus making sure their metal 'armor' resrs well on their bodies, forearm for Evangeline and ankles for Ptolemus. Cut to Agatha trying to doll up, but failing, which is overseen by Kiko, Beatrix, Millicent and Reena, who meet her eyes and pull her into the girl's Groom Room, where we get a match cut from Reena wiping the makeup off Agatha's face to a Red maid applying Mare's 'Silver' makeup as she reads the note Agatha sent. She accidentally papercuts herself and the calore brothers and Evangeline notice. As Maven distracts her, Cal quickly patches up Mare as a small bit of blood leaves her finger. He also hands her some gloves he found and tells her to keep them on until the cut heals. Evangeline asks if she's okay, faking it muchly, but Mare says she just scared herself. Cut to Kiko helping Agatha with her curtsey and Sophie rehearsing for when she meets Cal. Tedros is doing his own rehearsing, in the form of juggling his sword, sheathing it, and then extending a hand to introduce himself. He ultimately decides to lose the sword juggling and just go for a head bow and a hand shake. Cut to another storm with Maven and Cal giving Mare half-scared, 'sorry' smiles as she glares at them; they both saw some rocks and thought it was a cracken or leviathan. They didn't attack it, but they did scream and it woke her up.

Cut to the courtyard at the SGE, with the Evers and Nevers lined up and both are looking spick and span, even though they're all tired because it's an hour past dawn.

Sophie is giddy as hell, possibly being the only one in the Never line who's actually excited to be awake. Hester and Anadil sarcastically wonder why as Dot struggles to stat awake; Anadil's allowing her to lean on her for the time being until the Silvers arrive.

Tedros sighs and tries not to mess up his hair or fidget, because etiquette, when he spots Agatha, who's pretty as a picture and makes staring forward hard for all the students, even Sophie, who notices Tedros staring and scoffs, "She's not THAT pretty," with a flip of her hair.

Tedros compliments her and Agatha says it was Kiko's idea and Beatrix and her friends helped, because being friends with Sophie obviously taught her shit.

They take their places and watch the entrnce of the school, wondering when the Silvers will arrive. Tedros anickers that Sophie apparently can't wait, and assures Agatha they'll arrive safely. From what Cal said in his letters, that he's a soldier, they should be okay.

Funny he says that because carriages drawn by horses pull up.

Guess who's inside in groups of two? 😁🤩😃

The Evergirls all squeal, though Sophie gets hella excited for Agatha, who's trying to keep it together.

AND SO ARRIVE THE ROYAL FAMILY AND A COUPLE GUESTS LED BY TIBERIAS AND ELARA!!!!!

The students all bow and Rhian makes his entrance, with flare and pizazz, because pageantry.

From her place beside Maven, Mare chuckles, "Show off." before they start approaching.

Sophie spots Cal, and ignores Evangeline on his arm, and waves at him, even though he's in stoic, soldier, prince mode.

He catches her, because she's waving, but looks back at where they're walking, just giving a glimpse because HE'S NETROTHED TO EVANGELINE.

"You saw that girl? The one waving?" Maven murmurs.

Cal remains silent, but gives the slightest hint if a nod.

"That one's Soohie. Apparently she thinks she's supposed to be in the school where the other princes and princesses are."

The party stops in front of Rhian, who's looking absolutely incredible in his suit and cloak and mask.

It unsettles just about everyone, but Rhian bows and magucs a bouquet of navy, silver, and white roses for Elara.

"Your Majesties, welcome to the School for Good and Evil."

They all exchange greetings, though Rhian takes a second to look at Mare, noting hiw she's the only one in gloves and looks paler than the rest, almost... cakey. (Hmmmmmm?)

Regardless, he has the Silver party escorted to their rooms, Professor Dovey escorting the girls, Espada escorting the boys, and Rhian leading Tibe and Elara, hopin they don't mind if he asks a few questions.

Tibe agrees, as long as he can ask his own questions as well.

They leave and Rgian tells the students to return to their schedules and basically keep doing what they're doing, and to leave the party alone because they've had a long travel and need to rest.

He leaves with Tibe and Elara, and all the students instantly start talking, excited, giddy, and possibly in over their heads. Especially Sophie, who frets that Cal didn't see her in her refurbished Never dress that took her all week to make.

Agatha is only enamored want knows that after lessons, she's finding one of the gurls and talking to her, consequences be damned because if they travelled all the way from Norta to the Endless Woods, then there's a chance they can take her and Sophie back to Gavaldon.

Sophie, however, has a different objective, and its name is Tiberias Calore VII.

[writeblrfantasy]

Adventures of the Existential Three #3: The Great Travesty and Torture of Hot Weather (i.e. When Charys Put Their Hair Up)

the short that i have been waiting to write and post since the day i came up with these 3,,,,the hair short. please enjoy, i enjoyed writing this immensely <3

word count about 2400

-

It is well known that Charys’ hair is one of the most beautiful things in the world they know. Paris and Damien are far from the only ones to privately and publicly express their adoration for the way the black and dark blue shines in the sunlight, how it captures the darkness in the night or in the dim clubs Charys so loves.

Charys’ eccentric outfits cause enough of a stir, usually in interest, jealousy, or attraction from humans in all states of life and death. The population and Damien and Paris should be thankful that he wears his hair down and plain and spares them all some mercy. Instead, they’ve taken it for granted.

Because today, it is hotter than Paris and his sun have ever been, leaving him to swim all day in the river outside the house while Damien sits under the tree and watches. His eyes keep drooping, tired but too sweaty to take a nap, too lazy to go join Paris in the water.

At the sound of Paris’ gasp, Damien sits up, suddenly on full alert. He finds Paris still in the water, dripping in a decidedly distracting way under the sun, his mouth hanging open and eyes pointed towards the house.

Damien turns to see what has caught his attention—and mutters a soft curse.

Charys is standing in the doorway, head tilted down at a book, wearing none other than a pair of thin square spectacles. While both adorable and attractive in a way that makes Damien’s breath stutter, the real kicker is the messy and loose bun Charys pulled his hair into at the back of his head. In this angle of light, the blue streaks of his hair are especially highlighted, one of Damien’s favorite parts of the outside of him.

Damien must let out some noise of his own. Charys’ eyes drift up from the book and lock onto him. His eyes drift between Damien and Paris, brow furrowing. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, quite the opposite,” Damien says before he can stop himself. Charys raises a brow. “Your—your hair.”

Charys’ hand drifts up, playing with his bun now that attention has been called to it. Damien’s eyes track every movement. “What about it?”

“It’s different,” Damien says lamely, obviously.

“It’s hot.” Charys shrugs and turns his eyes back to the book.

“Yeah,” Paris breathes, “it is.”

Damien is still too stunned to slap him.

***

Charys does it again.

They’re reading a different book at the kitchen table, another in the same series they’ve been raving about as of late. Of course, Damien listened to everything Charys had to say about those books, but now he can’t remember a damn thing about the books. Probably because when Charys told him late at night, Damien understood, tired as he was, since Charys had their hair down.

Damien has a little bit more coherency this time, enough to figure out what exactly is so mind numbingly attractive about the hair. Charys is always so put together, so focused on looking good, beautiful, composed, that to see them like this is a wonder. A privilege. Damien and Paris are the only ones Charys would do this in front of. Reading glasses, hair up, wearing but a silk dressing gown, chin in their hand.

Damien could never forget the magnificent creature that takes his breath away every time they go out and more, but this quiet, soft version of Charys is quite different. quite attractive. He’s convinced no one in the three realms can make such a casual style look so good—except Paris, heavens help him if Paris gets any more ideas—and that it should be a crime to do so.

He’s not sure if it’s the heat, actually Charys, or his insistence on wearing long sleeves and high necks during the summer, but Damien feels more than a little hot under his collar. Without thinking, he unbuttons the top two buttons of his jacket and sweeps his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Now that’s unfair,” Charys says without looking up from the book.

Damien startles, not knowing Charys had been aware of his presence. “Unfair? I’m hot! It’s hot out. I need to cool down.”

“Yeah, this heat is wicked,” says Paris from across the room. “I’m going to go swim in the river. Damien, join me?” It’s an obvious ploy to tempt Charys into coming with them, so that Paris can have them close—at least Damien thinks it is until he realizes Paris can’t see them yet. His footsteps grow louder as he enters the kitchen, where they promptly stop. Charys literally stopped him in his tracks.

Charys moves their glasses down their face, unreasonably attractive in its own right. “You need to cool down. And I need to see.”

Paris makes a wounded noise and presses a hand to his chest, dramatically bracing a hand on the wall and ducking his head. “No. No. You can’t do this to me.”

Charys looks up with that same curious expression they wore when the two of them first reacted like this, but now they smirk and push the glasses up a bit as it clicks, if it didn’t click before. They know what they’re doing now, even if they claim not to understand it.

“Oh. Oh. You bastard. We’re doing this again, are we? Fine.” Paris pulls free the blue paper fan he’s taken to carrying around to deal with the incessant heat, and fans himself.

Damien almost laughs.

And then Paris hands him another one of his own, this one bright green. Damien does not usually play along with the others’ games like this, but this time Charys is simply being unreasonable. Have they seen themself?

Damien rapidly fans himself and tilts his head back. He can feel Charys’ hungry eyes on his throat.

“I’m trying to read,” Charys says. Damien can hear the little lilt in their voice suggesting they’re suppressing a smile.

“Your fault,” Paris tells Charys. “Your damn fault. You made this mess. Be the one to clean it up.”

Charys closes the book with a snap—well, as much snap as a paperback can have. “What would you have me do?”

They’re so different like this. Casual they may be, but the glasses and the hair seems to give new confidence, as confident and carefree as they already were. Damien supposes that’s his and Paris’ own doing, and they’ve secured themselves their own place in the afterlife with such a dramatic reaction.

If they—or more accurately, Paris, Damien will put the blame on anyone else—would’ve kept quiet, Charys wouldn’t have known it affected them so and the two of them would’ve perhaps been spared.

Though in their current situation, securing their own places in the afterlife wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He can’t imagine it’d be much better or different than life with Charys as is. If Damien is even alive. If he even has a soul to give to the afterlife.

Now is not the time to debate the nature of Damien’s existence.

Paris looks vexed for the first time as he’s forced to consider what he actually wants here. Damien doubts getting Charys very thoroughly alone with the two of them would fix the problem. If anything, Paris would be even more distraught the next time Charys put his hair up.

“I don’t know,” Paris says, thrashing his hands like a child throwing a fit. “Just—do something. Come swim with us.”

Charys’ smirk spells nothing good. Damien kisses them to distract himself.

***

Charys does something, alright.

Paris always has to open his big mouth. He should’ve listened when Charys told him to stuff it.

Because, indeed, “This is what happens!”

Paris has the decency to look ashamed, ruffling his windswept hair in a way almost enough to drag Damien’s attention from the matter at hand.

The matter being Charys in a brilliant new set of green robes—without the glasses, at least—and his hair up in that same infuriatingly messy bun.

The robes are a dark green, not quite dark enough to be mistaken for black, like the color of dark forest leaves. They’re stitched in gold, bringing back memories of the way Charys looked in those gold robes, offsetting the golden glow of the sun itself. Damien saw everything about his two lovers in that gold, and that is just one more distraction and reminder he does not need right now.

At least he left the damn glasses at the house. they’d be impractical going to the theater, but Charys seems to be fueled more and more on spite these days. He’s always cared less about what other people think than the two of them, despite his attention to his appearance. It’s all for them, reactions from others are minute.

Damien wouldn’t put it past him to wear something like that, disrupting his outfit, just to torture him and Paris.

But the hair…

This time it’s done a bit more neatly, slowly, less stray hairs spilling out. Everything Charys does is careful, calculated, from the glossy black paint on his nails to the dramatic black wing on the edge of his eye to the gold buckles on his shoes, another callback.

He’s already taller than both of them, if only by a bit, but his hair and the heels on his boots make him tower. If he wouldn’t already be commanding attention, he will be now. Watching the public suffer alongside him might be the only consolation Damien will get.

Paris is in gold, head to toe, complete with the gold laurel Damien picked out for himself. As Damien prepared to call Charys in to dress him tonight to his liking the way he always does, Paris grabbed his arm and made him stay. “Let’s dress in the most devastating things we know of,” he said, a crazed gleam in his blue eyes. “Revenge.”

Damien still isn’t sure one can get revenge on problems that one created himself, but he smiled and went along with it. Anything to see this new composure Charys developed break down.

So that is how Paris ended up in his classic gold, a chiton draped halfway across his chest and pinned properly, for once, so at least Charys does not have to suffer his warrior’s chest unveiled in the packed theater. Paris does not need it, but gold glitter is sprinkled in his hair, the laurel crown a hopeful comeback to Damien’s apparently mind blowing appearance. The only part of him not gold or tan is the blue of his eyes, glimmering with mischief.

This is what they’ve become. They’re content with their jobs, their lives, and each other, so they descend into battles of spite with fashion as their spears. It’s so ridiculous, Damien smiles.

And then he and Charys see each other and suddenly this is very serious again.

Charys’ mouth opens, probably to exclaim or swear, but he shuts it at the last second. Damien doesn’t know when their battles turned to war, but it’s been a long time since he’s walked away from a fight. Long time since he’s fought at all. Doesn’t mean he’s lost the art.

The look Charys sends him is smoldering.

“You’re beautiful, Paris,” Charys says, to which Paris preens. Jealousy spikes over Damien’s skin the way it hasn’t in a long time.

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?

He doesn’t care if he’s acting like a petulant child. He seats himself with Paris between them, arms crossed, stubbornly watching the play. Despite himself, he tries to enjoy it as much as he can, because it’s Charys’ favorite thing and he always wants to try and cherish everything his lover loves. Even while in a war with him, his instincts betray him. His own fault.

During some of the duller parts of the play, Damien contemplates the way his emotions have unfolded since the debacle of Charys’ hair up began. Awe to raw attraction to disbelief to annoyance to revenge and finally to the pettiest form of spite: taking it seriously.

“I can hear you thinking,” Paris whispers, squeezing his hand lightly to bring him back to the present. A spike of guilt climbs through Damien’s chest, and a whispered apology turns his eye back to the scene.

They always get a private box in every theater, but that only gives Charys and Paris more freedom to stare shamelessly at Damien’s profile. He and Charys can’t see each other well with Paris in the way, but Damien still feels eyes dragging over him, hungry and heavy. The hardest challenge is not returning the look. He’s losing the plot of the play more rapidly by the minute.

They haven’t fought like this—if this even counts as such—since they were new lovers, still unsure and competitive in many ways. Paris has never been competitive like them, but this dance, romantic in many ways, reminds Damien of the early days.

He’s not surprised that it’s Charys who breaks first.

When the play closes and the applause begins, the lights dimming, Charys leans across Paris to kiss him. the distractions of celebration below provide the perfect opportunity. Damien smiles into it, already dreaming up ten kinds of goading comments about Charys’ lack of self-control, his own irresistible charm. The passion in Charys’ kiss sweeps him and all his words away.

He loves this. there is nothing better. All logic in his mind melts into a pile.

“This is a nice view,” Paris comments, making Damien finally pull back. Charys is gasping, burning, the slightest bit ruffled. His hair is still intact.

Damien pulls him back in with a grip on the back of his neck, determined to change that.

“I am convinced,” Damien says against his lips, “that you and your hair can command realms, my love.”

Charys laughs, Paris complains about being left out, Damien holds back the needling comments Charys doesn’t have a filter for. Charys is too passionate, too open, too small a vessel for life’s majesty to restrain himself and his words, but when he is like this—Damien cannot claim he is anything but one of the two luckiest men in the realms.

aet taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @47crayons @chayscribbles @metanoiamorii @ashen-crest @doggo038 @artsietango

[ella-animine]

The Night We Met

The wind whistled through the trees like a heartbroken sigh. It cried out across the distance as though it could pierce through ones heart. Perhaps it could, if the heart it tried to pierce was not made of stone, that of a Witcher. Still, the sound reminded Geralt too much of the wails of monsters before dying. A swan song, of sorts; that of a creature mortally wounded.

It was wrong to have hurt him so on the mountain, wrong but necessary in the long run. It would do no good to have the bard follow him. Still, as much as he tried to forget, Geralt couldnt shake the memories and the feelings that Jaskier had drudged up. He had been his companion after all, one that Geralt had rather unfortunately cared for. But now, at what may be the end of all things, Geralt was alone, just as he was meant to be. No Mage or Bard to keep him company, Geralt took to The Path just as he always had.

There were flickers of him everywhere. The wind through the trees sounded like him; mournful. Every snapped twig drew Geralt’s attention. Worst yet, every town with a bard strumming in the ale house seemed to sing the same songs.

“I am not the only traveler,

Who has not repayed his debt”

He tried not to listen, but his ears often betrayed him and his head was filled with the lyrics. Sometimes his mind would wander to thinking of what Jaskier might be singing, what sort of scathing remarks he might have put to music in retaliation for Geralt’s actions.

Most nights Geralt had difficulty sleeping. This issue was only exacerbated by the lack of a calm heartbeat nearby to help him feel as though he were a little less alone in the world.

“I’ve been searching for a trail to follow, again...”

Jaskier was well and truly lost in the world. He slowly bounced from town to village, drinking all the ale he could get his hands on and trying to scrape together enough meager coin to survive. His situation was hurt by the fact that lately he couldn’t bring himself to play the lively tunes or dramatic ballads that had won him fame and prestige. Rather he favored plucking slow and mournful notes from his lute, whispering and whimpering words that would sour even the worst drunkard’s fine mood.

He thought of where he was going in life. More directly, he thought often of where he should go more immediately. Perhaps Oxenfurt would permit him to return, although he wasn’t sure how useful he could make himself as a professor in such a sorry state. He would no doubt be unwelcome at his family table should he ever try to return home. His mother had made very clear what she thought of his chosen profession as well as his choice of company.

But he was without company anymore, and soon to be without a profession if he could not turn his life around.

Jaskier sighed to himself, rolling over in the hay that he had scraped together for a bed. He mumbled sorrowfully to himself

“Take me back to the night we met.”

Geralt tried various ways to take his mind off of the stupid bard and all of his tunes and lies. No matter how hard he threw himself into hunting, or how many prostitutes he paid, Geralt still found his thoughts drift. Jaskier had not been such a huge part of his life, or so he had thought, but the near constant stream of thoughts seemed determined to convince him otherwise.

As Geralt lay staring up at the ceiling after a rather athletic bout with another whore, he thought he may need to seek a mage or a healer to clear his head of the excess.

“Then I can tell myself, what the hell I’m supposed to do...”

“And then I can tell myself,

Not to ride along with you...”

Jaskier sat curled up in the back of the cart a kind enough farmer had let him hitch a ride on for the next town. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and cradled his lute in his arms. He had not felt such low emotions like this in years, and although he detested to call them so, he could not escape the truth that he was experiencing the feelings of abandonment.

Jaskier stared into the distance, trying not to think of all the times he had walked these roads with Geralt over the years. He tried desperately not to think about all the times he had shared with the Witcher, that he would never be able to get back.

Time evidently wasted.

“I had all and most of you, some and now none of you”

Geralt huffed at the lyrics that he heard. For some damnable reason the new most popular song of the Continent was about lost love, and the lyrics drove him crazy. There was no escape from it, every bar or inn was taken over by one bard or another singing the tune. It floated on the wind and whispered between the trees even when Geralt chose to forgo a warm bed for the forest floor.

It was not that he drew parallels to his life, his own lost companionship and love, Geralt insisted that it was simply because all of the bards and poets were pure shit at performing it. He dared not acknowledge the following thought, that he knew of one such person who was not likely to disappoint. It had been almost months at this point, and Geralt still grit his teeth to think of how many innocuous things could force thoughts of Jaskier to overtake his mind. Whatever form of companionship the two had shared was surely not worth all of the trouble he was suffering for having ended things.

“I don’t know what supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you”

Jaskier felt a sharp pain in his chest. The indecent proposal of becoming another’s bedfellow should have excited him, and yet he could not shake the pervasive ache that such a proposal brought.

He found a sad smile to paste on for show and blamed his lack of interest on being weary from his travels. He left before he could hear another word of argument, favoring to retire to his sparse room for the night and make a valiant effort to not allow himself to weep.

Despite himself, Jaskier lay on the threadbare mattress staring at the ceiling; he felt tears spill over and run down his temple. He wept harder still.

“Take me back to the night we met...”

Geralt propped himself up under a tree. He had narrowly escaped a violent collision with a territorial griffin, and was rather worse for wear. He tore the stopper from a vial and drank down the potion, knowing it would not cure him instantly but would alleviate some of the pain. The combination of lost blood and the potion clouding his senses permitted thoughts Geralt had shoved away to come to the forefront of his mind now.

He rarely felt fear for himself, as it was his duty to die if a monster ever truly bested him. There were times, though, that Geralt had known fear. He would never allow anyone to know, but here in the hazy theater of his mind he was free to relive all of the negative feelings he had little control over.

“When the night was full of terrors”

Geralt had known fear but a few times since boyhood. Few things were quite as terrifying as the agony of the Trial of the Grasses, but still there were moments etched into his memory that he would never be able to forget.

One such prominent memory was the day he had watched a curse force blood to bubble up out of his companions sputtering mouth at the grim news that he was likely to die. Geralt had done his best to remain unaffected, but he knew the moment that that Jaskier looked at him he would never be able to forget that sinking feeling of helplessness.

There were so many things he had never said.

“And your eyes were filled with tears”

As he lay tossing and turning Jaskier permitted himself the small mercy of letting his mind wander to thoughts of comfort. How he enjoyed a good strong wine time and again, or the rumble of pride he felt at receiving an audience’s applause. He mused about soft sheets and a full belly. He thought of the simple pleasures of enjoying his favorite fruit during peak ripeness, feeling the juice spill over his lips and be caught by a quick tongue. He thought of the slide of tongue and mouth when kissing, how a lover might show another affection.

How Jaskier had drawn his own lips chastely over his companion’s not just once when he thought the other was sleeping too deeply to notice.

Those thoughts no longer brought him comfort.

“When you had not touched me yet...”

Geralt recalled in the gauzy haze between sleep and wake how he had been the recipient of Jaskier’s affections. Witchers were, by nature, extremely light sleepers and as such Geralt had been aware every time that Jaskier had chosen to bestow upon him a light kiss. It was never more than a soft press of lips, and Geralt never dared move or give any indication that he was conscious of what happened, lest Jaskier would wise up and stop permitting himself the indulgence.

Geralt had long avoided thinking of why he never spoke or acknowledged the action, thereby through his own inaction encouraging its continuation. Deep down he supposed he enjoyed it on some level. Acknowledging it would take away the only pure affection Geralt would allow himself receive, because he was not supposed to know about it. Now, as the potion pulled Geralt deeper into a healing slumber, he longed for the gentle press of lips to his own, and cursed himself both for the longing and for never pressing to see what other affections he may have received.

“Take me back to the night we met.”

For the first time in a long time Geralt allowed himself to seek a room at the inn. It was supposed to rain overnight and he reasoned that Roach deserved a dry stable to sleep in for all the trouble he had put her through lately. It was already well enough into the evening by the time he staggered inside, and Geralt was hardly willing to invest any unnecessary attention in the other patrons of the inn and ale house. He hardly registered that someone was singing until his ear caught the sound of it better through the general din of the crowd.

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you”

Geralt felt his feet stop short at the words. His body turned without his consent and he listened closer to the song to be certain he was not being tricked or deceived.

“Take me back to the night we met”

There Jaskier practically moaned on a stool as he sang his latest hit. His eyes morosely scanned the patrons of the bar, looking perhaps for any kindred spirits of heartbreak and loneliness. There he found one with particularly rapt attention. A spectre from his past that Jaskier anticipated never to see again.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you”

Geralt felt his sad blue eyes from across the room. He was positive the bard had to feel the intensity of his own golden eyes taking him in. Time felt as if it were suspended, caught in those teary eyes, and the next words felt as if they were merely whispered.

“Take me back...”

[writing-gifts]

datura (moth!bruno x butterfly!reader)

—–

A/N: idk what to say so here’s another chapter ft. oblivious bruno lmao

First Chapter || Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Reader is gender neutral!

-----

[Early Fall]

You thought you were at peace with Summer ending but apparently that wasn’t the case. Every time you woke up and it was a little colder than the day before you’d curse the season. It was uncomfortable to adapt to and made you want to stay under your covers longer than you should.

You still tried to see the good in Autumn though. Such as the trees changing from various greens to reds, oranges, and yellows. It was a nice change of scenery. But you quickly remember with that came giant dead leaves almost landing on you, which wasn’t as nice. And these leaves would make the paths you walked extremely uneven. To you every pro had multiple drawbacks.

"I just don’t want to say goodbye to the warm weather, even if the heat would get a little unbearable some days,” you complain to your friend.

"Yeah. It’s going to suck when it gets too cold to fly."

Frowning even more, you pour the bag of grain you’re holding into a storage container. Since it would only be getting cooler from now on Abilene needed to start saving up food and you were helping them.

"Don’t look so down, we can keep each other company during it. By the way, have you started preparing for Winter?" Abilene asks.

“Yep! You know I have copious amounts of nectar stored at all times.”

"Of course, of course how silly of me."

You stick out your tongue at them but stop when you almost spill some of the grain on the ground.

You both continue to work in relative silence but if thoughts could make noise it would be extremely loud. Something has been plaguing your mind recently. Something related to Bruno.

Your crush on the moth had always been there but instead of fading away like you expected, it seemed to have grown exponentially over the Summer.

You put down the bag you just finished emptying. “Hey Abby...”

“Hm?”

You shift slightly from foot to foot, unsure how to bring up the topic. “Um, would it be strange if two different species got together?"

Abilene looks puzzled. “No? I've seen a lot of bugs do it, and honestly you and Bruno aren't that different. Moths and butterflies are probably under the same category."

"W-Wait, I didn't mention anything like that…"

Your friend shrugs, opening up another bag. "Why else would you ask a question that you already know the answer to? I’m guessing your little crush got more serious?"

You rub at your arm, your bottom hands wringing each other. "I thought I just had a crush because of his looks but I spent too much time with him and it got worse!”

"Yea, that's how relationships tend to work."

"Abby this is serious, I don't know what to do!"

They close the bin they just finished filling and look at you. “Maybe just confess?”

You almost roll your eyes. “You know that I can't do that. That’s the sensical thing to do!”

"I guess you're just going to have to suffer then. Unless, he confesses to you."

That gives you pause. You couldn't exactly see Bruno feeling the same way. Was that even a possibility?

"What if he doesn't see me that way?"

"As harsh as it sounds, you just have to accept and respect that. But at least you’ll know and there won't be any ‘what ifs’."

That was true but rejection was a scary thing. Scary enough to prevent you from even trying. And there was always that chance that the confession would ruin your friendship.

Suddenly, you didn't want to talk about this anymore.

“You okay?”

"I don't know...I just need to think a little more on this."

You help more silently from then on. It takes a while before you're done emptying the bags and the filled bins are placed neatly in Abilene’s pantry. And after cleaning up any spilled grains, you’re ready to walk home. Even though you try to reassure Abilene, they tag along to “prevent you from getting distracted”.

By the time you both get through the path between your homes, the sun’s on the verge of setting but you're surprised to find Bruno already waiting by the front steps.

The realization that crosses Abilene's face when they see him has you suddenly feeling antsy. You were not ready for this. You planned for them to meet during the upcoming play.

"Is this The Bruno?" they whisper to you.

Oh god.

“Abby please act normal…”

You both walk up to the moth, although you lag behind your friend.

When you catch up, Abilene’s already introducing themselves.

“I’m glad to finally meet the person I’ve been hearing so often about.”

You squint at Abilene trying to show your disapproval with just your eyes, but they simply return an “innocent” smile.

Fortunately, Bruno doesn’t question their comment. “Well It’s nice that I can finally sate your curiosity.”

“Definitely. But also it’s the perfect time to make sure that ____ is making friends with people with their best interest in mind. No offense.”

You internally groan. Abilene didn’t exactly sound confrontational but you can’t help feeling that from what they just said. If you knew they would act like this you would have avoided Bruno and Abilene meeting at all costs.

You sigh. “I told you he was safe….”

Bruno gives Abilene a slight smile, "It's good that they have someone looking after them. And I don't blame you considering how we met.”

You look at Abilene and for some reason they don't seem as sure as they did a moment ago.

“I've been wondering for a while...” Bruno continues. “Has ____ always liked to stay out late?”

Abilene seems to step out of whatever temporary daze they went into. “Unfortunately, yes. Ever since they were a caterpillar. I don't even know where they picked it up from, but you don't even want to know some of the other things I’ve caught them doing.”

The moth's brows raise and he looks at you, “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Guys”, you interject. Bruno did not need to know about that. Especially after what you said at the pond.

“I don't stay out that late anymore! At least not by myself anyways.”

"I suppose that's true." Bruno says.

“But the fact that you managed to discourage them from doing that is really amazing, you know?”

“It wasn’t easy trust me.”

You purse your lips. Sure you can be stubborn when it came to visiting flowers but were you really that bad? They had to be exaggerating. And you didn't need both your friends calling you out on your bad habits together. At least not in front of your face.

"By the way Abby, when did you say the play was again?” you ask.

"That’s coming up pretty soon actually--in a week.”

"I’m still curious about the ‘supernatural’ element," Bruno says.

You release a breath seeing that your question was enough to change to subject.

"Do you like supernatural stuff? Abby’s surprisingly into it."

“Not necessarily. I’m just wondering what they were planning since it was so vague.”

Abby nods. “I thought they would explain it when the play date got closer but it’s still pretty vague so guess we’ll just have to find out on the day.”

As the conversation continues you feel yourself relaxing. It really wasn't weird or awkward like you had been worrying about. Even if you wanted to pinch Abilene whenever they said something that even slightly implied your crush on the moth.

It doesn’t take long before the sun is gone and it’s dark out.

Abilene glances up. "Well, I’m going to head back now. Don’t want to let it get too late.”

You slightly pout. Now that the initial part of the meeting has passed you didn’t want this to end so quickly. "Aw okay. See ya later, Abby."

"It was nice meeting you. Be safe getting back," Bruno says.

Abilene smiles at you both, “Bye ____, and I’ll be seeing you at the play Bruno."

They turn to leave but they stop and lean towards your ear. “Now I know why you were so desperate to keep in contact with him--very handsome,” they whisper.

You push them in the direction of their home. “Yes goodbye Abby! Get back safely.”

They snicker at you, not moving as quickly as you would like. “I will obviously. Bye!”

Exhaling deeply, you watch them head back through the path you two came from.

“You guys seem like very good friends.”

You scowl still reeling from what that grasshopper said. “I have no friends!”

“What?”

You sigh when you see Bruno’s questioning gaze and open your front door. “Nothing, just come and get your nectar.”

After Bruno and Abilene’s brief meeting you find yourself looking more forward to the play. Fortunately, the next several days pass by quickly and the three of you all meet up at your home before heading there together.

It’s quite crowded when you arrive but you all manage to find a spot together and you sit in between your friends.

Throughout the play, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking over at Bruno to see his reactions. One time you look over and he looks right back, which makes you finally stop, afraid that he had noticed you doing that the whole time. Other than that everything else went smoothly, or as smoothly as a unique play like that could go.

It went on pretty long, starting late afternoon so any bug whether diurnal or nocturnal would be able to attend. Now the last of the sun covers everything in an orange glow and those who need it can make it home safely.

You walk alongside your friends, leaving the open theater area to head back towards your home. It’s only a short while before the three of you are walking along a river bank.

You cautiously watch the running water, your eyes every so often follow the random leaves being carried away.

"I wasn’t expecting that…” you say.

It was a romance story like the poster said but the supernatural part was definitely something new to you.

“When Athan started drinking from the other mosquito--,” Abilene chuckles.

You side eye your usually practical friend. “You were into that...?”

Abilene shrugs, “It’s not the first time I’ve seen or read stories like this. Definitely has a strange allure to it...”

You decide to not ask them to go into detail since Bruno’s here and turn to said moth instead.

“Did you think it was weird?”

“Some parts were definitely strange, especially all the blood drinking, but I enjoyed it overall,” he says.

“Hmm, do you like romance?”

“I guess I tend to lean towards it.”

You nod. “I could tell you really liked the more uhh s-sensual parts?”

You know that sounded off and you can see Bruno wants to laugh but he holds it behind a small smile.

Abilene looks at you with a raised brow. “Why did you have to say it like that?”

“I don't know how else to say it! The sexy parts?!”

You and Abilene fill most of the silence while Bruno mainly listens, throwing in his opinion every once in a while. Eventually he needs to split off from the group to head towards his own home. So you exchange goodbyes and he flies off.

“Bruno looked really happy!”

Abilene’s brows raise slightly. “...He did? He seemed at most content to me.”

“Nah, I think he really enjoyed himself,” you couldn't help the grin on your face. You wanted to do more things like this with your friends.

For some reason Abilene starts smiling at you with a knowing look and you just stare back confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, just smiling.”

You huff. “Come on.”

“Okay, you're so cute right now. I can tell that you really like Bruno a lot and spend a lot of time with him.”

“Oh...”

Was it that obvious? You didn't even say anything strange though, at least you think you didn’t.

“I can't make you do anything but I really think you should embrace your feelings,” your friend says.

“I don't know...How should I go about it cause I’m too afraid to just come out and say it.”

Abilene holds their chin as they think. “Well, perhaps you just need to show him.”

“Like trying to hold hands or something? That seems a bit much--I mean, we did do that once…”

“You held hands already?” They sound very curious.

You wave your hand in front of your face. “He was leading me through the dark, but we’re getting off topic! What do you mean?”

“Just like hints at feeling more. Maybe compliment him more. If you're feeling really brave, maybe offer a hug.”

The idea of hugging Bruno has your heart lurching.

Abilene tries to give you a supportive smile. “Honestly this isn’t my area of expertise but you can’t expect anything if you just wait around. And you don't have to go hard all at once, just start off small.”

You really didn’t want to constantly wonder ‘what if’ in the future so you agree with this plan. “I’ll try…”

It definitely won't be easy though.

-----

The sky had been dark and cloudy since morning and only got darker as the day went on. The pressure drop in the air was obvious but not a single raindrop fell. You just hoped it wouldn’t flood when it finally did decide to pour.

You were sitting on the ground in front of your low table sewing. You had neglected this hobby for baking last season so you decided to finally get back to it since you didn’t expect Bruno to show up tonight. You actually hadn't seen the moth that often since the play. Apparently, Narancia wanted him to stay with him more often and of course parent duty came first.

While focusing on pinning the cloth together that would be a new top, there's a knock on your front door which causes you to tilt your head. You wonder who it was. Maybe Abilene but they rarely came over this late, especially right before rain.

When you walk over to open the door and see Bruno, you immediately give him a questioning look. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to visit.”

“That’s it? But it’s going to rain though! How are you going to get back? What if it rained while you were coming here?”

“It’s fine--”

Suddenly there’s a loud clap of thunder, a bright flash and the stormy clouds finally release the rain they had been holding on to all day. Which instantly soaks Bruno.

You pull him in hastily and shut the door. “Holy crap, are you okay?”

“I probably should have not pushed my luck standing outside like that.” He wipes the fluff on his forearm across his face but it barely helps.

“Ah wait, let me get you something to dry off.”

You run to your bedroom to find a giant towel for the moth.

When you come back into the main room, you hold it out for him to take. He immediately brings the soft towel to his face and you leave again to get some blankets. It wasn’t too cold but it would be best to warm him up to absolutely avoid sickness.

When you come back with some of your fluffiest blankets in your arms, you see that Bruno has removed the golden clips from his hair to dry it. The braid on the top of head has come loose and the strands that once formed it sit slightly wavy atop the rest of his hair.

You suddenly remember Abilene’s advice to be more honest with your feelings but you could barely look at the moth right now. Damn him for not wearing clothes and looking good even soaked.

You finally look away and drop the blankets on your daybed.

“____.”

You turn back towards him.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Uh, yea?”

“If you don’t mind, I need help reaching my wings.”

“O-Oh.”

Why didn't you think of that. Getting back there would take way longer by himself

You grab the towel and move behind him to gently dab at his damp wings, careful not to cause any damage. The towel wouldn't be able to dry them completely but it would slightly speed up the process. They would have to mainly air dry though.

“You won't be able to fly for a while Bruno. Not that you could fly back in this rain anyways,” you say.

“I know.”

You almost want to chide the moth for how indifferent he sounded, but you decide to let it go. Both of you knew you weren’t the pinnacle of careful behavior anyways.

“I’m not going to kick you out, obviously, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable with staying overnight.”

“Why wouldn’t I be comfortable? I would actually really appreciate it.”

“Well, then I guess that's settled then.” You gently touch the wing that's slightly overlapped on top of the other and direct it upwards so you can better get to the bottom one. They felt pleasantly fuzzy. Similar to a cushion you would like to lay your face on or rub your hands all over.

Brunos wings shift slightly under your fingertips. “T-Thanks for helping me dry off.”

You momentarily pause. “You cold?”

“Not much.”

You couldn't tell if he was being honest or trying to pretend but you’re sure you heard him stutter. You shake it off quickly so you can finish trying to get some of the water off his wings. After you finish you lead him towards the daybed.

“I bought you covers to warm up. You can air dry your wings later.”

“But I’m not that cold.”

“I’m hearing that you’re still cold though so I’m not taking any nos.”

The moth sits on the daybed in slight resignation, and you quickly wrap the covers around him, layering him with one after the other. Once you're done, you laugh at his face poking out of the hill of blankets and his antenna being forced down by the wait of the covers.

He furrows his brow, blowing the fur on his antenna out of his face. “Don’t you think these are too many covers?”

You do your best to speak through your laughs. “Better--Better safe than sorry.”

“This is so…” He shakes his head, well the best that he can under those covers, not bothering to finish his thought.

“Don’t worry, you look great like this!” Your laughs finally start to slow and you sit down next to the blanket heap that is Bruno. “If you need anything else just let me know kay?”

The moth moves the blankets to sit on his shoulder instead on top of his head. “I should be okay. Thank you again for letting me stay.”

“No problem. I would have let you for no reason honestly.”

Bruno watched you slide off the daybed onto the floor so you can continue your sewing.

“What are you making?” he asks.

“A top. I want to wear something new for the upcoming cold.”

You pull out a pin from your flower shaped pincushion.

“Actually, do you ever wear clothes? I’ve never seen you in any since I met you,” you say.

“Barely, I don’t really get cold enough that I need to.”

Your lips twist to the side, unconvinced. It’s not like his legs and torso weren’t nice to look at, but part of you wanted to dress him up. You're sure he’d look great. And just knowing his thighs and torso were always exposed made you worried about the inevitable drop in temperature.

“Not even in the Winter? But youre almost completely exposed….”

“I stay mostly indoors during it and I can keep myself warm if necessary.”

“How?”

“I’ll just warm myself up by vibrating.”

You raise a brow. “...Vibrating?”

“It’s not exactly the warmest at night in Autumn so I need to vibrate my wings so I can fly. Do you want to see?”

You didn't want him to take off the covers so you shake your head, “Maybe another time.”

It did sound interesting, however you can't help thinking wearing clothes would be more convenient. Especially when it came to flying since it could get pretty chilly if you went fast enough.

“You must not be very fond of clothing. Or maybe you don’t like them at all?” you contemplate out loud. “Very interesting…”

“Is it really that unconventional to you?”

“It's fine, it’s fine. You can be exposed or whatever,” you say teasingly. “It's not like it's against the rules.”

The moth’s brow furrows. “I don't exactly hate wearing clothing, I just dont think it’s necessary for me.”

“I guess that’s true with all your fluff and you probably have a higher tolerance to cold than me. I still think you'd look good in something though. It’s actually pretty fun having stuff to change into.”

You notice that Bruno’s looking at your clothes and for some reason you decide to make a dumb joke. “Are you hungry or something?”

“If you're implying that I want to eat your clothes, then no.” He smirks a bit. “Unless you want me to, then I won’t be taking any bites near you, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Your eyes widen slightly, unsure of what to make of that. Next time you try to be clever you need to be better prepared.

“A-Anyways, maybe I could make you something one day! Do you have any preferences?”

“Maybe something that doesn’t restrict me too much. And doesn’t cover up my fur. It gets uncomfortable during the Summer.”

You cross off anything with long sleeves.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be a typical top…” you say outloud to yourself.

An idea is taking shape in your mind's eye but you're not exactly sure how you’ll go about it yet. You might need to make a visit with your more arachnid than insect neighbor.

“Well for now I’m going to knit you a sweater for winter cause I’m not letting you walk around shirtless in the cold!”

“You know I do actually own clothes right?”

“But you said you barely wear them so I'm still making you a sweater. I'm going to make it so you can remove the forearm sleeves if you want, okay?”

“You can make it however you please. I’ll take whatever you make for me”

You shake your head. “That’s sweet but I want you to really like it too--like it so much that you’ll never want to take it off! So I want to make sure it’s something that would be completely comfortable for you.”

Bruno pulls the blankets closer to him. “I’m sure you’d come up with something good without my input, but if it will make it easier for you then I’m fine with that.”

After asking a few more questions related to the sweater, you continue working on the shirt in front of you while you try to figure out how you'd go about making a sheer piece of clothing. At one point you look over and see that Bruno has fallen asleep on top of all the covers that were previously wrapped around him.

You reach out to feel his wings without really thinking. They’re still wet of course but it was better than before.

The moth shifts in his sleep and opens a tired eye.

“Sorry, just checking your wings. Go back to sleep.”

He shuts his eye. “I’m going to poke at your wings when you fall asleep…” It was impossible to take that seriously with his voice being so groggy.

“I would barely call that a poke,” you roll your eyes when you see his lips form a soft smile. It’s tempting to reach out and pinch his nose but you leave him alone.

The rain continues to be heavy and persistent throughout the rest of the evening, filling your home with a pleasant hum. Once it gets too late for you to keep sewing you decide to leave your stuff on the table, too tired to clean up.

You move to get off the floor and jump when you realize Bruno was awake.

“Have you been laying there quietly the whole time?”

Bruno props himself up to better look at you. “Yes?”

“You should have said something, I would have talked to you!”

“You seemed focused and I didn’t want to distract you.”

You shake your head at the somewhat socially inept but considerate action. “Well I guess I’ll head to bed. Will you be comfortable here?”

“With all these covers and this daybed? Definitely.”

You grin, “I really can't believe you risked the rain to come over here. Did it really need to be today?”

The question was supposed to be mostly rhetorical but the moth still answers.

“Narancia wanted to stay over with a friend so I decided to visit. I knew I could make it if I was quick enough.”

But look at you now silly moth.

“That’s it?”

You were still confused by Bruno’s actions but he continues speaking.

“I wanted to visit you. I finally had a chance to come over and I didn’t want to let it pass by.”

How can he say things like that so easily?

“Oh, okay that’s--Thanks, I’m glad to see you too.”

The Bruno you were looking at right now with his messy hair and completely relaxed posture was almost hard to process. But when his usually serious expression is replaced by something more at ease and soft, your stomach feels weird, like something is fluttering within and you can barely keep eye contact.

“Y-You’re actually really cute sometimes--” You freeze as soon as the words come out of your mouth. It wasn’t an accident, you fully intended to say them but actually hearing them outloud? It was embarrassing.

“GOODNIGHT!” you yell before the moth can speak and quickly walk out of the room, leaving a probably highly weirded out Bruno on your daybed.

[amandaklwrites]

Movie Review: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales (POTC #5) (2017)

Genre: Action/Adventure/Fantasy

Rating: 10/10

Movie Review: 

And here we are, at the end of this series (so far!). I hadn’t seen this movie since theaters as well, and let me tell you, I didn’t remember much other than specific moments. 

But I loved this damn movie. 

We have time jumped yet again (I heard a line from Barbossa about the time with the Fountain of Youth being 5 winters ago). 

The opening scene was beautiful, guys, I swear to god. A young boy letting himself sink to the bottom of the sea to see his cursed father. And Will!! It had been too long. I had missed our Will Turner. 

Henry Turner and Carina Smith were wonderful new additions to this series. Henry seemed like a great combination of his parents-- brave and strong and caring like his mother, fierce and willing to die for the people he loved like his father. Carina was bright and smart, a woman with her own mind and already outside of the realms of society, which was interesting to see. Remember what I said about Philip and Syrena in POTC 4 and how they felt lacking to the drive/point of the story? Compare them to these two. That is what I meant! Carina has the key to something, Henry is literally driving the story. They were specific to the storyline, they were the reason everything was happening. They felt important. They were so integrated to the story that it wouldn’t make sense without them. And they were delightful and fresh. I like to think that this movie, specifically, shows that important idea that the new generation will always make changes. The original trilogy was Will and Elizabeth, and this one is now Carina and Henry. They are trying to change everything. 

Salazar is just such a good villain. THE EFFECTS! The idea that they looked like men underwater, even as ghosts, is so damn cool. I loved how there were missing pieces of them, that Salazar’s hair floating like in the midst of water. He was a good villain, to me (which is rare, people who know me will understand that), because of the simpleness of his drive. Think of Beckett-- he was a villain by manipulating, controlling, and just wiping out people because he could. But Salazar simply hated pirates, and it was all about revenge. He hated what Jack Sparrow had done to him (the slight backstory for Jack was so fresh and interesting, by the way!!!) and just wanted to eradicate them all because he was pissed at this curse. Javier Bardem was so incredible and he’s my mom’s favorite villain of the series (fun fact: Javier Bardem is married to Penelope Cruz in real life, and she played Angelica in POTC #4-- so they have both been in the POTC world!). 

And we have our favorites back: Jack Sparrow and Hector Barbossa. We see Jack as a drunk after all this time, aging and in a rut. His entrance into this movie was hilarious (my mom always says that Jack Sparrow has the best entrances in any film ever), and it was a delight to see him as something he’d never been-- lost, not the best, and completely wasted. But at the heart, he was the same, and we watched him come back to life when there was a new adventure. He was returning to his old self with the help of these two young kids (who, we have to admit, probably reminds him of Elizabeth and Will, which makes him feel young again), and we saw him bloom back into the man we know and love. His humor is still there-- the best being when Carina undresses to swim away, and he tells Henry he could have seen a lot more than her ankles if he had kept his mouth shut-- and he’s still Jack Sparrow deep down. He’s just a little lost and has to find himself. 

Barbossa’s arc finally came and blew me away. We see him at his prime as a pirate-- with a fleet!-- with so much gold and riches. He’s willing to cross a ghost pirate who can kill them all, he just wants power. Until he discovers that Carina, yes, is his daughter-- I remember guessing it at the very beginning of the movie when I saw it in theaters-- and suddenly, he’s changed for her. He sacrifices himself to save her, and finally completes an arc. I cried when I watched that scene, because it was beautiful. It is what (at least, to me) we had been wanting from Barbossa, to see him have something more important than power and wealth. Remember what I sad before about how love is the central storylines of these films? 

The mythology of Poseidon’s trident is interesting and fresh, and its idea to end all curses was so cool to me. That whole scene “underwater” was fantastic and I remember that rather clearly in my mind. Thank god for the technology we have nowadays. My only question is: where is Poseidon? Why would his trident exist, but he would just leave it lying there? I believe there was a quick mention about it being left behind or something (does anyone remember a line?), but it still doesn't make sense to me. We brought in Calypso, why can’t we have Posiedon appear too?? 

I do have to say. That witch that Barbossa spoke with was really cool, but why was she there? To me, she had little part of the story, other than to offer some advice. Maybe they wanted to make her more important if there were movies? 

The action was exciting (that whole execution scene is hilarious and the stealing of the bank was probably one of the biggest action sets I have ever seen performed), the humor was dark and witty and what we love about the movies, and it was bright and colorful (my theory about it being this way because it’s more about Jack than anyone else). This movie continues every aspect of what we love about these movies. 

Now, let me talk about the ending. Will is no longer cursed. I started to cry when you see him walking on land. And I cried more when you see Elizabeth come over the hill and running to Will. How amazing, we ended with Will and Elizabeth once again!!!! Which just shows, this series was always theirs, from the very beginning to the end. They can be together after so long, they can love each other until it ends. I love that it wrapped up with them. We needed them. 

And now, how about that very last ending scene after the credits? Davy Jones???!?!?! Now, hear me out. I have a theory: It’s actually Barbossa. Because honestly, they’ve brought him back to life before, and he’s such a fan favorite, that I don’t think they would let him go. So why not make him the new Davy Jones (though the curse is supposed to be over-- unless, you know, like Barbossa is, wants to live forever and still have some power)? Think about it. When Davy Jones walks in, the banging sounds like Barbossa’s wooden leg that he got in POTC #4. And another thing to further my theory-- I read online that Bill Nighy (who played Davy Jones) was never told that his character would make an appearance in that movie. So.......? What if? 

Now that I am at the end, let me leave some final thoughts about the movies as a whole. 

I know only one writer from the original movie was a part of ALL five movies. But I have to say-- these writers are masters as creating intriguing humans. Every single character is a specific person, with flaws and good things about them, with drives, with hopes and dreams. They suffer heartbreak, they win, they lose, they do it all. Now, as someone who writes, I know how hard it is to create a visual, intricate plot while also creating these vivid characters-- most writers say whether they are more plot driven or character driven (I myself am the latter). But these guys did both. They made fantastic plots and storylines for us to follow with layers of themes and things to think about. But they also created strong characters that we love and love to hate. Even though POTC #4 is a least favorite amongst most fans, I think the plot is still fun and the characters are the strongest part-- think of the stuff with Angelica and Blackbeard and such. The writers does an incredible job of making complicated characters and making them interesting so we find ourselves drawn to them. 

And while these stories feature pirates (that we possibly glorify, when in real life, they were way worse) and action and fantasy and many great characters, I think at the very heart of these stories are love. We see it a common B-story that seems to me, turns into A-stories. Elizabeth and Will only join the world of pirates to protect each other, because they love one another. Jack saves Angelica because he actually loves her (though its complicated). Davy Jones became the monster we love because he had his heart broken and he ripped out his own heart. Henry went in search for Jack, Carina along the way, and the trident of Poseidon to break the curse on his father because he loves him. These stories are about people who love each other, or have love and lost, and it turns them into different sides, into different versions of people and pirates. Because honestly, love helps us decide how and who we are going to be, what we want to do. Love or lack of love makes and shapes us, and these stories represent that. There are so many layers of love (Jack for Will and Elizabeth, Barbossa for his daughter, Philip and Syrena, Blackbeard and Angelica, Gibbs for his captain, etc) that trickle into the stories. Love is what makes us bleed, and that’s what make these characters bleed as well. Yes, it’s about characters finding themselves, and discovering the truth about the world, but at the very root, at the heart, it’s about love. And no one can convince me otherwise. 

These movies are about love, amongst people and pirates and fantasy and sea battles, and I think, at least for me, that’s why we love them. Because we understand, and we feel and love. That’s what it’s all about, isn't it? 

[madamhatter]

Headcanon: The ‘Actress’ Motif and Sophie Hatter. Companion piece to Self-Perception, Self-Restraint, and Conflict in Sophie Hatter.

A theme that has been going throughout this blog’s writing (and in my interpretation of Sophie) has always been themes surrounding theater and performance.  It ranges from addressing the young Hatter to work through ‘masks’ that best work per situation (this’ll date to pre-curse in canon and standard in others) to the stage that everyone works on to this thing we know as life. 

She refers to herself as a cognizant actress to take on many shapes and forms, easily transitioning and adapting physically and emotionally (feelings, as opposed to long-term sentiments) whenever possible. Her adaptability isn’t as flexible when it comes to her own mentality, and emotions, which itself is jeopardized and rigid most of the time. However, what matters to her is how she is perceived and keeping all in order and in check as she is, after all, responsible for providing to others. 

Emotional intimacy, in which she opens herself up to others, is among the hardest things for her to express. She has placed too many boundaries and walls around to find herself comfortable to do this in any normal circumstance. And this is a result of her own deliberate management and compartmentalization of her own person. Which is basically saying ‘her behaviors and thought process has harmed her normal processes and her own perception of herself. It is a removal from understanding herself entirely and placed it in the back of her mind. That is itself an entirely different topic, but it does relay back into this current headcanon. More details on that may be found here: Is your muse very emotionally intimate?

Performativity is an important asset to how Sophie functions. She has already withdrawn her own interests and future intentions at a relatively young age (book canon wise) in order to pursue raising and aiding her youngest sister to seek our her fortune. This also includes her other sister, the second-born, by keeping her in line and helping her navigate through her wants. Being perfectly honest, Sophie did raise both of her sisters and Fanny, her mother, gave her her rightfully deserved acknowledgement and credit for that after being missing for quite some time. Back on topic, this is the first instance to where Sophie begins her ‘performance’and reworking herself to better meet the needs of others. The first mask for her to where was the one meant for the most important people in her life: her sisters.

As for imagery, the most consistent would be masks, the stage, dancing (specific performance), marionettes (and being controlled by strings), the ‘audience’ being connected to overwhelming (and public) eyes always watching her and recitals. All of it revolves around how she sees herself in the real world interacting with everyone else, making her distinctively separated from the others around her. And boy, Sophie’s views on what she deserves and what others deserve is a topic.

The quote below is an excerpt that goes thoroughly into the mentioned imagery. It is specifically a dream sequence Sophie has that encapsulates her own experience and fears that ties all this together. 

( White, red, and gray dance in the mind of the dancer; dissonance spinning her around by the wooden controller that fate held onto. Entangled by responsibilities, her feet drag, and the wires dig into her light skin along her neck, arms, legs, and across her exposed body. The same sequence, dance, and song – the marionette towed onto the stage takes her place – first position, heels touching, and feet outward with shoulders flat and body motionless.

   A jerk to the left from the strings, one arm now up, and her feet are drawn to the fifth position. Assemblé, the left foot behind her right, gives a small kick forward, and once that rests, the right foot and arm continue the pattern. Within the same step, arabesque. Both arms out on her sides slightly angled forward to the house, left leg extending behind her body with her right leg firmly straightened. Before long, she turns to position.

   Rond de jambe to create grace, tendu to keep simple, sissonne to change the pace, and passé to change her feet position a little. Each rigorous moment had a particular formation to follow, an order that must be obeyed. Performing for the faceless and unseeable, they still demand entertainment, and she must appease.

   Echappé to the stars and emboité for impressions, each step now was exigent and the breath in her throat she held. Jumps, bends, snaps, it must be according to the motions of wires that compose and direct her required movements. Glistening her throat was sweat, trailing down a major muscle tensing, yet now she held the house in her palm.

  One arm pulled back over her shoulder, back bent backward, her head craning back to greet the audience with her eyes, and her left up, pointing forward to the direction of the stage. A waltz dip for only one, a dance for two yet she must perform in solitude. Her greatest feat, making illusions of balance when impossible.

  Rrrrriiiiippppp. All she could feel was cotton. Just like a well-loved and well-traveled toy, sometimes they tear after a while. White cotton plush tumbling out of the split down her abdomen, the chaotic tune in her ears now white noise, a stillness hangs over the theater. But why was it so hot? Why were her appendages twitching, and why now of all places? Could she not continue? She must–…

   Her legs failed her – no, no, she failed them. The conductor to the show, the audience, the faces she knew and loved. Perfect form collapsing to the ground, her body descending to the wooden floor with her arms splayed and legs luxate stiffly.

   How odd, this dream never ends like this. But, it’s a kinder dream then if it does. )

DRABBLE RESPONSE TO @/diverse-hearts’ ASK.

Now, onto another business revolving around this motif: the mental state of Sophie’s mind because the imagery, references, and comparisons whenever I write are connected to each character by third person narrative. Basically, any time I do write for a character, their unique particulars bleed through into the writing which makes it their own and provides the capacity available to experience what they’re thinking, going through, rationalizing/understanding something, etc.

Having this constant duality between the perceived world and the real world since young, Sophie’s mind oft bleeds into relying and using her active imagination, which was of the many things that were kept ‘in line’ as a child. It is something that is persistently with her as she has a tendency of vicariously living out different lives and imagining herself as a completely different person or face (thank you HMC musical for validating this HC). But, she would most often take on imagining what other people life and what kind of fun and excitement and fortune was in their lives. Case and point: the entirety of chapter 1 where Sophie spends her time coping from her isolation by talking to her hats.

Her mental stage is working around the loss of herself and the opportunities, time, and chances for herself. In some cases, thinking of life in a certain way can help minimize the suffering and pain that one endures if they don’t want to come to terms. However, there comes the fact that it is more damaging to the person the longer they continue with their ways. Sophie falls underneath this umbrella since her own coping is essentially one fitted to how she was originally responding to traumas as a child. She has become a reclusive, nervous wreck of a person (book canon) that refuses to leave home and works through executive dysfunction whenever she prompts herself to leave the house or do something outside of her schedule (house-work-sleep). This only happens once she is officially hired as an apprentice under Fanny and her sisters both leave for their apprenticeships. But, judging from what Martha tells her, Sophie’s tendency to wallow and hide didn’t suddenly appear. It’s been here and there that both sisters comment on it. Even when she tells herself that she should go, it’s up to her and she knows, it is then where she falls back to excuse certain things and continue only for the sake of someone needs to work. 

And that itself is relatively childish. There are numerous gaps in her to understand herself and assess her own self that she tends to fall back into this box of where she’s been already used. To her, it’s easier to play upon the part assigned to her as opposed to seeking herself out and shedding off this role. It’s only until she is cursed beyond recognition that she, finally, goes out for her own and is remarkably accepting of the situation. (Which, really, speaks enough about Sophie’s mental health). 

With all the emotional maturity and responsibility to help and guide others, however, there is freshness and uncomfortable feeling she carries when it comes to acknowledging her divided self. It is an untreated wound and unacknowledged creation made by her household. it is  the ‘elephant in the room’ that even her sisters repeatedly tell her about (about her being exploited and being taken advantage of). 

It could be simply said that Sophie, overall, confronts herself with over-simplifications of her own feelings and thoughts, despite showing intense and deep questioning and dislike. The actual her that wishes to speak cannot when the role she plays does not find need for it. With this in mind, this perpetuates frustrations and even more inclination to make skewed, if not worrisome, conclusions. If she could, she would rather split herself to play different roles just like what she does and ignore what is brewing inside her mind. Which is why, for verses including Sophie crossdressing (Simeon), or in disguise (ie: Myrtle in TW),  this side of her is explored much more as for the fact she’s as willing and open to doing it 

One of the best examples to elaborate on this Sophie’s confrontation of death and what she views it as. Taking into account from the previous HC post, there are two variations to how Sophie may view a particular topic (but end with the same results, which is her belief).  The two accounts below carries the romanticize versus poison parts of herself. 

To truly embrace of total removal of control, that was the final evidence needed to show that one was willing to submit their mortality in the hands of someone else.

A cold someone else, whose of the remains of all mankind, placid bones that caress against still-warm skin, cradling mortal’s falling form. Garments of black hug  their rib cage, hollowed eyes gazing tenderly, they hold humanity and allow for the mortal to lay all weight and burdens into their hold. Bowing now from the dance of life, death takes the final lead in the danse macabre.

Sophie hopes at the time death greets her, when she submits herself unwillingly or willingly to the final number in their performance, that they were beautiful.

But, it was yet the step for that – as she never knew when it’d be and countless times, she could’ve.  To when she would’ve been enveloped in unconditional acceptance, for the first time in her life, it was not yet time. For now, it was a long waltz with the grim reaper who waited for her.

Yet, the actress returns to form, facing the mirror once more as the curtains drew back on her neck.

ACT. ???? - SILVER STIGMATA.

Context: Sophie Hatter, after doing a night’s work as Simeon, is standing before her bathroom mirror, in a state of undress. Her mind right now is blurred between the current act of Simeon and the act of Sophie. She is looking over the parts of herself that she keeps hidden (her scars) and her own bareness has her examining herself. While lost in this space, she slowly succumbs to revisiting her true self, locked away in mind. 

Part of her wants to laugh. How dare he have the audacity he had to think she’d be bothered by death? [...] Death was the only guarantee she had in her life besides her future as a failure.

DRABBLE RESPONSE TO @/diverse-hearts’ ASK.

Context: Sophie made a reckless decision during one of the Port Mafia’s events to take on an incoming threat that almost cost her life. Chuuya is reprimanding her while she’s laying out in a hospital, a place that is uncomfortable for her and reveals her usually hidden hostility and anger. 

While elaborate in description and playing along with Sophie’s imagination (and thoughts), the ending results are still the same: death is the only other variable in her life promised to her. She may look at it lovingly and dream it or scoff and bitterly remark it as if ‘that’s how life is.’ Both still embrace it, which is reducing the actual gravity and weight of the situation of her almost dying and the thought of herself dying.

(For those curious: Sophie’s views on death for others is entirely different and she’s fearful of it for others. Relates back to both of her parents’ early death and her witnessing her father succumb to ailment while she spent most of her time caring for him.)

Anyways, that’s a lot for this one post ---! 

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Happy new year, dearest readers! Let’s start off the new year with a little Rabastian!

10. 2014

DECEMBER 30,  2013

“That was hilarious,” Sebastian said with a grin as he and Rafael walked out of the Walter Kerr theater. 

After he’d gotten out of yet another pretrial motion filed by William Lewis’ lawyer, Rafael had been anxious to go see a show with the pianist that had been on his mind the entire day. He’d gone home to change and walked to Sebastian’s apartment. Upon seeing the musician, Rafael instantly felt the day’s tension leave his shoulders. 

“Jefferson Mays has never disappointed me,” he said as Sebastian’s hand naturally found his and laced their fingers together.

“I know, he is so amazing, I’d watch him in just about anything,” the pianist replied. “And the fact that he played all those roles--”

“--Oh, I know, he was brilliant,” Rafael said, holding up a hand to hail a cab. 

“Thanks again for bringing me,” Sebastian replied, gently squeezing the other man’s hand and dropping a kiss on his lips. 

“It was my pleasure,” Rafael said with a smile as they got into a cab.

“You hungry?”

“Yes, actually,” Rafael answered.

"What do you think, Italian?" Sebastian looked over at Rafael, who had slightly curled his top lip as he tilted his head to one side. "Okay, sushi?" The musician laughed at the grin of approval that graced the prosecutor's lips before he turned to the driver and gave him an address. He looked back to Rafael. "You're adorable when you speak with your expressions, you know that?" 

"You're adorable, period," Rafael answered, sliding his gloved fingers between Sebastian's.

Ever since their first sexual experience together Christmas Day-night, he'd found himself thinking more and more about he and Sebastian planning a future together. He would often picture coming home to the musician working at his piano while a roast cooked in the oven. Or waking up to the feel of the other man's lips against his neck. He was well into a fantasy of he and Sebastian taking a trip around the world together when the pianist spoke again.

"Hey, listen, I was wondering...you spending New Years Eve with your family?" the musician asked, pulling him from his fantasies.

"No, I usually just spend it at home," Rafael answered. "Why?"

"Well, Casper and I usually spend it at his place and since Katie's living there now, I was hoping that maybe you would want to come too." The pianists eyes shifted nervously to their joined hands before coming back up to meet his own.

A slow smile came to Rafael's face as he shifted slightly to look at Sebastian. "You want me to spend New Years Eve with you?"

"Yeah, I-I know it's kinda last minute...I wasn't even sure if I should ask you, I mean...we've only been seeing each other a short--"

"--Stop," Rafael said softly, his easy smile stretching his lips. "I'd love to ring in the new year with you, Sebastian."

The pianist mirrored his grin and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips as the cab stopped at their destination. Paying for the cab, Sebastian tugged on Rafael's hand and they walked into the sushi bar together.

"You really spend New Years Eve by yourself?" he asked Rafael in a gentle voice after they'd been seated by the hostess. 

The prosecutor bobbed his shoulders, opening the menu. "I usually have work to keep me busy. My mom has always said I could come with her to my aunt's house but...crime never sleeps, apparently. And my aunt lives in Kew Gardens, my mom usually spends the night. I have to work the following day, so…"

"Well, this year, you'll only be a few blocks away from home. No excuse. And no work either. We can leave early if need be, if you really need to get some work done, but while we're at Casper and Katie's, I want you to relax and have fun, deal?"

Rafael's lips stretched into a closed-mouth smile as he nodded. "Deal."

"Good."

"So Casper and Katie live together? How long have they been dating?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Ugh, don't get me started on that. According to Casper, they're 'roommates'." He brought his fingers up to make air quotes as he again rolled his eyes. "And yet they've been sleeping in the same room and fucking for the last seven months. Oh and Katie definitely wants more. Casper's the neanderthal."

"Ugh," Rafael answered in a grimace.

"I know."

"Why hasn't he--"

"--I don't know," Sebastian replied with a chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at the menu. "I told him he's a commitment-phobe. It's a shame, too, Katie's a good woman."

"Well, to be patient with that arrangement, I'd say she's a downright saint."

"Tell me about it," Sebastian said. "I told him last week he needs to shit or get off the pot. It's time, and the girl's earned the girlfriend title by now."

"I agree with that," Rafael replied. "Speaking of friends, I finally talked to Liv about the dinner party thing."

Sebastian looked up, setting his menu down. "And?"

"She said she didn't think I would go with all the other detectives there, and she apologized for making the assumption."

"See? I bet you feel better after talking to her," Sebastian said.

"I do actually. You were right," Rafael answered, smirking at the pianist.

"I'm glad. She seems nice. She doing any better after the...thing you were talking about?"

"She is...but the trial's coming up next week, I'm not sure she's ready to face him."

"Trial? What happened to her?" Sebastian asked. "Was she…"

Rafael sighed as he shook his head, brows raised on his forehead. "She says no, but I...I honestly don't know. I think she would've told me if he had. But even if he didn't, he still abducted her for three days...tortured her…he would've killed if she hadn't--" 

His jaw clenched as he thought about the photos of Liv from the hospital, sleep-deprived, beaten and traumatized. He shook his head, trying to keep those images from tainting his evening with Sebastian. As if on cue, the musician reached across the table and placed a hand over his. 

"Sounds to me like the guy deserves to fry," Sebastian said. "And I don't even believe in the death penalty."

"You don't?" Rafael replied indignantly, looking up at the pianist with his brows in waves.

Sebastian was a little taken back by his response, inching away from him slightly. "No...does that bother you?"

"For animals like William Lewis, I wish a firing squad were still an option," Rafael answered. "Some people deserve to die."

"That may be true, but who the hell are we to decide who lives and dies? The death penalty makes us just as bad as they are. Worse, actually...we bring in people to watch it go down."

"Your own mother was murdered, you wouldn't want to see the guy responsible pay for what he did?" Rafael asked, biting down on his tongue after the words had escaped his lips. The musician pulled his hand away and leaned back against his chair as Rafael shook his head and lowered his eyes, mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry, that was...outta line, I'm sor--"

"--You're right, it was outta line," the pianist replied.

Rafael could see a mixture of hurt and anger swirling in the blue of the other man's eyes and he lowered his own gaze, silently cursing his big mouth. He supposed it was only a matter of time before his words would work against him. It certainly hadn't been the first time he'd said something he immediately regretted thereafter. His tongue, however sharp and effective in a courtroom, may very well have just ruined the one good thing in his life. 

Swallowing the lump that had begun to form in his throat, he inhaled silently and deeply, pursing his lips before he again reached across the table and looked up Sebastian, who now appeared to either be holding back tears or trying to keep himself from throttling the prosecutor. Maybe both.

"Sebastian, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking, I..." The lawyer shook his head and bit down on his bottom lip, a small form of punishment, which paled in comparison to the offense. "I never should've said that."

The musician simply continued to stare at him as their server came to take their orders. It was then that Sebastian broke eye contact and looked up at her with a small smile before he gave her his order. Rafael followed suit, though instead of a polite smile he looked more like a child who'd been caught misbehaving. Only after she'd left did Sebastian speak again, this time directing his words to Rafael.

"I need to know you're not gonna use that against me every time we disagree," he said.

"No," Rafael answered immediately, shaking his head for good measure. "I promise you, it'll never happen again. I'm so sorry, Sebastian."

Sebastian nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "And just for the record, I never said that I wouldn't want my mother's killer to pay. It's just that my idea of vengeance is a lot darker than just a needle in the arm."

"It's justice, not vengeance," Rafael said with a frown. 

Sebastian shook his head. "It's a quick fix for us and giving them the easy way out. I'd want to know that every morning I get to wake up, free as a bird, while he rots in a cell for the rest of his life. I'd want the option to be able to go to whatever prison he's in and watch him rot. Watch him suffer knowing he'll never see daylight again. The man who killed my mom doesn't get to rest in peace. I'd want him to live a long, miserable life in a four by four cell with nothing but time to think about everyone he ever hurt."

Rafael regarded the pianist with soft eyes as he picked up his water and took a sip while his eyes roamed their surroundings.

"They changed the lighting in here, I think," he said as his eyes once again settled on Rafael. 

Smiling softly, the ADA reached across the table and laid a hand over the musician's forearm until he met Rafael's gaze.

"You're such a good man," he said.

Sebastian snorted softly. "I'm a good man because I want some piece of shit to suffer?"

"A piece of shit who would deserve to suffer. A piece of shit who took something from you that can never be replaced...but still you would spare his life. That's what makes you a good man. Most people would let him die. Want him to die."

Smirk tugging at his lips, Sebastian shrugged. "I'm not most people."

"I know," Rafael replied, using his thumb to stroke over the musician's hair-covered forearm.

"I think we just had our first fight," Sebastian said after a moment.

"Yeah, thanks to my big mouth," Rafael answered, lowering his eyes again.

"I love your mouth," the pianist said, turning his palm to face the ceiling, waiting for the lawyer's hand to slide over it. "Most of the time," he added with a teasing smirk.

Grinning back, Rafael brought the pianist hand up to place a firm kiss on his knuckles as in his mind he answered, I think I love you.

DECEMBER 31, 2013

Sebastian checked himself over in the mirror one last time after he heard the short rapping on the door, which he assumed was Rafael. They'd decided to meet up at Sebastian's and then go to Casper and Katie's together. Taking a deep breath, he tried to slow his racing heart by focusing on his breathing. Why was he so nervous? He and Rafael had been seeing each other for almost five months, they'd been on countless dates together, but never had they hung out with other people for an evening, least of all another couple and close friends of Sebastian's to boot. 

It'll be fine, you idiot. Just open the door so he doesn't think you ditched him.

Clearing his throat, he took long strides to his front door and opened it to find Rafael in a pink polo shirt under a tan jacket and jeans, carrying a bottle of expensive-looking champagne. The musician couldn't help the grin that formed on his face as his eyes drank in the sight of the ADA over and over again. 

"Wow. You look so good," he finally said, stepping aside to let the other man in as he gestured to the bottle. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"My mother taught me to never show up at someone's home without something in your hand," Rafael answered, closing the space between them to plant a kiss on the pianist's lips. "You look handsome, too."

Looking down at his fitted white thermal and dark stained jeans, Sebastian smoothed a hand over his shirt before his eyes came back up to meet Rafael's. "I may just say fuck it and keep you all to myself tonight."

"Well, you'll have me all to yourself later," the prosecutor replied, smirking suggestively as he laid another kiss on Sebastian's pout. 

"Oh, no work this year?" the pianist teased.

"I had a reason to get it all done this afternoon," Rafael said.

There was no stopping the warmth that crept up Sebastian's neck at the thought of Rafael making sure to clear his evening just for him. As if he hadn't already had thoughts of Rafael coming home to him after a hard day in court, now he was fighting the urge to mentally plan their wedding. 

"Should we go?" Sebastian asked, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. 

"Yes," Rafael replied. "So is this the first holiday Katie and Casper are spending together, too?"

"They were...whatever they are for this past 4th of July, so, not exactly. But it is coming up on nine months they've been fucking." Sebastian locked the door behind him and followed Rafael downstairs and onto the sidewalk.

"You should just call it what it is," Rafael replied with a smirk. "They're dating. Who knows, maybe if you say it enough times, Casper will finally start referring to her as his girlfriend."

The pianist laughed as his fingers naturally laced with those of Rafael's while they walked up the street towards Casper and Katie's apartment building. The streets were relatively clear, the large majority of the city either at a New Years Eve party or in the restaurants that were scattered around The Village. No true New Yorker ever went near Times Square when they could have a far more comfortable view of the Rockin Eve festivities from their couch or on a rooftop.

"That's not a bad idea," Sebastian said. "Who knows, he may not even notice."

"How long have you known him?"

"Since we were, like, twelve. He lived in the building across the street from mine," Sebastian replied. "How about you and Olivia? How long have you guys known each other?"

"A little over a year now. Basically from the time I started working with Manhattan SVU. She's probably the closest thing I have to a friend left. The only other person that I would still consider a friend is...going through some things. I'm not sure if things will ever be the same between us," Rafael replied.

"What happened?"

Rafael sighed heavily, forcing a smile on his face as he looked over at Sebastian. "Alex Muñoz happened."

"That whole thing that went down a couple months back?"

Rafael nodded as they both came to a stop at the corner of the block. "We were all friends as kids. Alex had the looks, Eddie was the muscle and I was the mouth, of course."

"Course you were," Sebastian answered with a smirk, gently bumping the ADA's hip with his own. 

Snorting softly, Rafael rolled his eyes just as the white figure appeared on the light across the street, indicating they could safely cross. "Eddie and I always had a special bond. A kind of unspoken connection...and we both always followed Alex. Until I went off to Harvard, Eddie stayed with Alex in the South Bronx, even became his bodyguard when he got into politics."

"So he was probably privy to a lot of the not so kosher shit Alex was doing."

Rafael nodded. "He was. He almost went to prison because of Alex."

"Why didn't he?"

"Because I convinced him to make a deal," Rafael answered in a barely audible voice. "He has a son, a mother to look after. Single dad, he's their only income. And I have no idea what he's gonna do now that Alex has been indicted. That whole ordeal just...it made me feel like a bad friend for leaving him."

Sebastian's thumb idly stroked over the glove covered skin between Rafael's knuckles. "You helped him stay outta prison, Raf. That sounds like a pretty great friend to me."

The corner of Rafael's lips curled upward slightly, his eyes lowered towards the sidewalk. He had never seen the prosecutor look so sad as when he talked about his childhood friends, and all Sebastian wanted to do at that moment was kiss every bad memory away.

"You should invite him to the club some night," he suggested, giving Rafael's hand a squeeze. 

"I don't know," the ADA answered in a sigh.

"If he took your advice, that means he values your opinion...and with Alex gone, I'm sure he could use a friend he knows he can count on," Sebastian said as he streered them towards the entrance of a six story building. "Think about it."

Nodding gently, Rafael smiled at Sebastian as they walked to the elevator and waited for the doors to open. "I will."

"Good," the pianist answered, pulling his hand out of Rafael's to wind the arm around his waist. "Because I can't tell you just how badly I wanna hear all about what you were like as a kid."

Rafael laughed, letting his head fall back as he leaned into the other man's frame. "I can tell you. I was a nerd. Older kids in the neighborhood used to beat me up, take my lunch money. Eddie put a stop to that."

"Well then he sounds like a pretty great friend, too."

"He is," Rafael replied.

They stepped into the elevator  and Sebastian hit the button for the fourth floor. "We're supposed to be getting a lot of snow in the next couple days."

"Yeah, I am not looking forward to that," Rafael replied in a sigh. "The commute to work is gonna be a nightmare."

"I can't say I envy you," Sebastian answered with a smirk. "That's probably the easiest part about my job, short commute."

"Your job must be nice. You get to play music all night, relaxed setting."

"It's got its difficulties like any other job. Mostly just people who drink a little too much and make asses of themselves. Doesn't happen too often, but still. Plus, it can get a little difficult to keep the sets fresh every night. There are only so many songs that are compatible with a piano arrangement."

"I, for one, wouldn't care if you played the same song on a loop every night. Your voice is so beautiful," Rafael answered, leaning his forehead against Sebastian's temple.

Turning his head to stare into the prosecutor's emerald eyes, Sebastian grinned and closed the space between them just as the elevator dinged softly and the doors began to slide open again.

"THEY'RE HERE!" he heard Katie yell. 

Breaking their kiss, Sebastian turned his head to see the petite brunette standing in the hallway with a beer.

"Jesus Christ, woman. What the hell are you doing?" he asked. "You started without us?" He gestured to the bottle in her hand as he and Rafael got out of the elevator and walked towards her.

"Casper didn't think you guys would make it. I knew you would," she answered, leading them both inside.

"Shit," Casper muttered when he saw the two men walk in behind Katie. 

"What a way to greet your guests, you animal," Sebastian mused as he took off his winter gear.

"I thought for sure you guys were gonna end up staying at your place so you could bang, if I'm being honest," Casper said with a bob of his shoulders. "I mean, you know, New Years Eve, fireworks and shit."

"Whoa, fancy," Katie said, her eyes on the bottle in Rafael's hand.

"Oh, yes, here. I brought this for us to toast to a new year," the prosecutor said, handing the bottle to Katie.

"Wow! Champagne," Katie replied with a grin. "Thank you, that's so nice. I'll go put it in the kitchen."

"Champagne, huh?" Casper chimed, nodding as the corners of his mouth turned down in appreciation. He looked up at Sebastian. "I like him."

Rafael chuckled as he, too, took off his winter coat, gloves and scarf.

"So what have you two lovebirds been doing?" Sebastian teased.

Casper rolled his eyes as Katie answered, "Oh just hanging around. By the way," she turned her gaze to Casper as she came back into the living room, "you owe me ten bucks."

"Yeah, yeah," Casper replied, reaching into his pocket and digging a ten dollar bill out of his wallet.

"He bet you guys would end up cancelling and staying at your place to bone," she explained to Rafael and Sebastian.

The pianist turned to look at the prosecutor. "See? What'd I tell you? Animal."

Rafael laughed softly before he looked back at Katie. "He means thank you for inviting us over."

"Aw, you're doing that thing where these two act like total idiots," she gestured to Sebastian and Casper, "but you and I are totally on the same page." 

"We're standing right here," Casper said with furrowed brows.

Katoe paid him no mind. "Do you guys want some snacks? We've got some cheese I can cut up and crackers."

"Sure," Sebastian answered.

"Do you want some help?" Rafael asked.

Katie's eyes lit up. "I would love some help, thank you, Rafael."

Sebastian watched Katie and the ADA walk into the kitchen as he and Casper sat down on the couch, the latter reaching into a small cooler for a bottle of beer to hand off to Sebastian. The pianist couldn’t help but chuckle as he took the offering. “Something wrong with your fridge?”

“No, this is just easier, I don’t have to get up. So, this is getting pretty serious between you two, huh?” the scrawny man asked, leaning back against the cushions.

“I don’t know if I would say that just yet, but things are going really well,” Sebastian answered. “How about you and your girlfriend?” he asked with a smirk, remembering the conversation with Rafael on the way over to their apartment.

“Oh, I mean, same ole. She really liked the bathrobe, you were right,” Casper replied. “Think I’m gonna--wait a sec, did you call her my girlfriend? She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Right,” Sebastian mumbled, taking a sip of his beer. “So she liked the bathrobe?”

“Yeah.”

“I told you she would,” Sebastian said, grinning. “Hey, I’ve been thinking...I think I wanna take Raf to meet Edna. What do you think?”

“Five months in?”

“No, not right away, but I was thinking maybe for Valentine’s Day we could stop Uptown to see her and he could meet her then,” Sebastian replied.

“And you say it’s not getting serious.” Casper smirked, rolling his eyes and taking a sip from his beer. “Have you met anyone from his world yet?”

“Yeah, I met one of his coworkers one night while we were out.”

“Did you meet her there or did you just happen to run into her?” Casper asked.

“We just ran into her, but Raf still introduced me.”

“I don’t know, man,” Casper mumbled.

“What? He just happened to meet you guys down at the piano bar. That wasn’t planned.”

Casper tilted his head to one side. “That’s true.” 

Katie and Rafael came back into the living room with a platter of cheese and crackers, laughing at one thing or another as they set the platter and small plates on the coffee table. For a moment, Sebastian could imagine that the four of them had been together for years and that this was their tradition every New Years. It was a nice thought, especially when accompanied by the image of him and Rafael going home together, falling asleep together.

“So how was the show last night, guys?” Katie asked as she sat down next to Casper, who instinctively put an arm around her shoulders.

“Oh God, it was amazing,” Rafael answered, looking to Sebastian as he too sat down.

“Yeah, Jefferson Mays knocked it out of the park, as usual. You guys should go see it if you get a chance to, it was so good,” the pianist agreed.

“Well, I wanna go see it, but you know Mr. I-Don’t-Watch-Theatre over here,” she answered, as she pointed to Casper with her thumb.

“I just don’t like the crowds,” Casper said, shoulders bobbing.

“This is a really small theatre, so it’s actually perfect for someone who prefers smaller crowds,” Rafael offered, leaning against Sebastian when the musician draped an arm over the back of the sofa behind him.

Casper seemed to consider it for a moment before he idly nodded. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we’ll go then.”

Katie looked pleasantly surprised. “We gotta keep you around Rafael. I never thought it would be that easy to convince him to go see a show.”

“Happy to help,” the ADA answered. 

“Hey, let’s play a game!” Katie suggested, handing Rafael a beer from the cooler. “I got Cards Against Humanity from my grandma and I think we might have Jenga somewhere.”

“That sounds great,” Rafael chimed.

“I’ll go get them!” Katie replied, shooting up from her seat excitedly and disappearing down the hall.

For the next couple of hours, they played games while waiting for the time to tick closer to midnight, and Sebastian couldn’t shake the feeling of it all being so...normal. As if they’d been doing this for years with Casper and Katie. Every so often they would meet eyes and share a smile at one another and Sebastian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. He hoped it would last for the rest of their lives.

Eleven fifty-five came in no time at all it seemed, and Casper suggested they all go to the rooftop to watch the ball drop, just as he and the pianist had done every year. Opening the bottle of champagne that Rafael had brought, they poured four glasses out and began to make their way to the top of the building.

“I can’t believe you can actually see the ball from here,” Katie mused as Casper propped open the emergency exit that led to the roof.

“I mean, it’s not a perfect view, but you can see it as it reaches five seconds left,” Casper answered, leading them to the perfect spot for the best vantage point. Looking down at his watch, he started off the countdown. “Ten, nine, eight…”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Rafael mumbled into Sebastian’s ear before he planted a gentle kiss on the skin beneath the lobe.

“Thanks for coming,” Sebastian mumbled back with a warm smile.

“Three, two, one...HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

With his heart filled to brim with joy, Sebastian closed the space between them and pressed his lips against those of the ADA’s, keeping their foreheads pressed together when, after a few moments of bliss, their lip lock broke. From the corner of his eye, he could see a bright flash and turned to look at Katie, who was holding up her cellphone, pointed at the two of them.

"Sorry, you guys are just so cute together, I literally want to put you both in a frame and keep you always," Katie said.

"When would they pee?" Casper asked, earning a chuckle from Sebastian and Rafael.

“Katie, would you send that to me, please?” Rafael asked.

“Yeah, of course!” Katie answered.

Sebastian couldn’t have helped it if he wanted to, and he definitely didn’t want to stop himself from falling, long and hard for the ADA at that very moment. And he didn’t even care that it might’ve been too soon to feel that way.

[spideyxchelle]

on this, the holiest day of the ffh trailer release, I have written a oneshot inspired by the too beautiful for words spideychelle theater scene. obviously, spoilers for the trailer. 

Michelle knows she looks fine. Perfectly adequate, even. Her entire life she has had nearly every adult around her riff on a variation of “you’re such a pretty girl, if only you’d just [enter criticism here]”. She knows she is pretty; and yet. She also knows that looks aren’t everything and would much prefer the people in her life to value her for her intelligence, her wit, and her humor. The superficial is immaterial.

But something absolutely explodes in her chest when Peter Parker tucks his theatre ticket in his inside of his borrowed jacket pocket and summons the courage to say, “You look really pretty.” Her heart nearly suffers a murmur because, somehow, she knows that he means it. He thinks she is really pretty.

And it matters. It matters more than it should. 

 Peter Parker thinks she looks really pretty.

“Therefore I have value?” she smarts.

His eyes widen slightly as he starts to ramble and back himself off of the invisible ledge she has pushed him out on, “No, no that’s not—“

She laughs. It is a light, twinkly sound. He looks stupefied. “I’m messing with you,” she says.

He nods, like he has any clue, and it is so sweet it adds two skips to her already irregularly racing heart. Peter Parker is turning her into a giggly, smiley fool. And she doesn’t think she minds.

Which is why, she tentatively adds, “You look pretty, too.”

He smiles. She smiles shyly back. And Michelle has never been happier to be in a flirting standoff where the only weapon is goofy, brilliant smiles.

Flash shoulders through them and punctures a hole in the moment. As it deflates, MJ considers tossing her shoe at his head. Rubbing his shoulder— a moment too late to be convincing, Spider-Man— Peter beats her to a retort. “Seriously, Flash?” he frowns.

Eugene turns around and snorts, “Got a problem, dickwad?”

He glances at Michelle and she sees Peter visibly soften. She never imagined he would ever look at her like this, like she is a revelation. Peter adopts the goofy smile that is quickly becoming her favorite look on him. He shakes his head, “Nah. I’m good.”

He nervously, but determined, too, extends his hand to MJ and she gnaws on her bottom lip. It keeps her barely contained grin somewhat at bay. (It doesn’t).

She takes his hand and he laces their fingers together. Peter weaves around a flabbergasted Flash and leads them to their seats. She pretends she doesn’t see the emphatic thumbs up that Ned is shooting his best friend from the entrance of the theatre.

Even when they sit, Peter holds her hand. They don’t say another word. They are smiling, again, and MJ is too blissfully happy to feel stupid.

Mr. Harrington bumbles down to the row of seats they have reserved and huffs as he falls into the red velvet beside Peter. “Europe time is really getting to me, Peter. How was I supposed to know we were an hour early?”

MJ raises her eyebrow, “Clocks?”

“I don’t mind,” Peter flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m having a great time.”

She ducks her head in embarrassment. Before Europe, before Peter looked at her and didn’t look away, she liked him. She grew accustomed to being overlooked and watching him fall over beautiful girls that weren’t her. It was fine, the way all things are fine when you are forced to bear it, but it was certainly easier to admire him from afar. He is so singular, so intensely good that she never considered what it would feel like to have his attention, his affection, his silly little dumb faces.

She likes it. It scares her.

Peter Parker is the kind of thing she is afraid to lose.

Then, Peter runs his thumb over the back of her hand. She glances at him and he is already watching her, like he never looked away. She rolls her eyes. He grins wider. She whispers, as patrons start to filter into the theatre, “How long are you going to look at me?”

“As long as you’ll let me,” he says, without hesitation.

They are still holding hands, hours later, when the curtain drops. She holds his hand as the rest of the crowd filters out. She holds his hand as the walk out of the theatre. She holds his hand as Mr. Harrington starts to lead their class’ way back to the hostel to change for the Festival later that night. She holds his hand as Eugene utterly bores her to tears with his learned opinion on the play and the actors.

And because she is still holding his hand, it is too easy for him, to tug her, by the hand, off the beat and path of the busy Prague streets.

“Peter—“ she starts, but he quiets her with one look and she impatiently waits. He ducks his head out to check that their class hasn’t noticed their absence and when they are in the clear, she revisits her grievance, “Peter, what the hell?”

He flushes, a deep, blotchy red, and earnestly replies, “I wasn’t ready to head back just yet.”

She knows more experienced, sexy girls would have bat their eyelashes, or said something sexy or even kissed him, but Michelle simply whispers, “Oh.”

Peter widely blinks, “Unless you don’t want to! Of course. Oh man, I’m sorry. It wasn’t—“

She cuts him off with a firm shake of her head, “No. No, I want to, too.”

He relaxes and she squeezes his hand. It is such a simple, beautiful thing. Holding his hand.

They walk for a long time in silence. She supposes it makes sense— the pair of them are fumbling through uncharted territory. MJ hasn’t dated. She had been too preoccupied by the Peter Parker of it all the entirety of high school to consider anyone else. And Peter, well, Peter is Peter.

She knows he was hardly focused enough for a relationship before the whole Spider-Man incident came crashing into his life the back half of their freshman year. After, he was an utter mess, completely incapable of maintaining any stability in his life. Liz Toomes proved that he wasn’t ready to anything other than Spider-Man.

After Tony Stark died, Peter seemed to find some clarity, some boundaries and when he came up for air after years of putting the suit first, he saw her.

Before she died, Michelle’s mother used to say that “timing was everything”. As she holds Peter’s hand in the shadowy candlelight of an abandoned European streets, Michelle thinks she might have been right.

“What’d you think of the play?” Peter prompts, aching for conversation.

Michelle softly smirks, “Small talk, really?”

He shakily exhales, “I’m nervous. Sue me.”

She nods, “I know. Your hands are all sweaty.”

Peter blushes deeply. He drops her hand, which she tries not to immediately grieve, and wipes his palms furiously on his pants. “Jesus, MJ, why didn’t you tell me?” She laughs and its easy. It bubbles up out of her and crackles in the night air. He looks so privately pleased. “Anyway,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, “I, uh, I’m not misreading this, us, am I?”

She tucks the tendril hanging loosely in her face behind her ear and shakes her head, “No. You’re not.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. It makes her smile, again, damn it. Her chest is starting to ache from happiness. It is a tangible tenderness. “Cool,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. “I didn’t think I was…”

She loops her thumbs in the hooks of her backpack. MJ only wastes a moment wishing she was holding his hand, “I did mean it, you know.” He raises his eyebrow, and so, she clarifies, “I do think you’re pretty.”

He chuckles, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed and gratified. “And you know,” he starts, “I think you’re more than just pretty, right?”

She remembers the way he looked at her in London. She remembers the way he laughed at her jokes in Venice. She remembers the little ways they have become friends over the last year and the way he seems to always search for her in a crowded room.

It is more. They are more.

MJ nods, “I know.”

“MJ—” he says, touching her elbow, stopping her in her tracks.

“Peter?” she replies, quietly.

He steps forward and her space is suddenly crowded with Peter. His eyes, his face, the soft curve of his lips. She realizes, a moment too late, that he intends to kiss her.

The world crashes around them. There is a bang. There is a crash. There is screaming. And the whoosh of some water nearby.

He curses. Loudly. “I’m sorry.” He curses, again. “I need to go.” Still, he hesitates. Another scream sounds. Michelle knows he hasn’t told her yet, about Spider-Man and all of the baggage that goes along with his suit, but she knows they, Peter and MJ, have time. But the people who need him don’t.

She can let him go for now. She knows he’ll come back. Peter Parker isn’t the type of boy to leave.

“Go,” she insists.

He blinks and assesses her. She wonders if he suspects that she knows about his alter ego, but, even if he does, he doesn’t have time to press her about it now. The cries grow louder.

He hastily kisses her cheek and jogs off toward the danger. “I’ll meet you at the Festival!” Peter shouts, as he runs toward the danger. “Go there! I’ll be there soon!”

She sees him running, running, gone.

Michelle gingerly touches her burning cheek from his kiss. And smiles.

[terato-is-life]

Shall We Dance? - Ghost boy x Female Reader

This is my first story in english, since it’s not my first language. Any errors, please tell me.

This story is no romance related, since it’s about a family bond.

I hope you guys like it and enjoy

It was such a hot day at summer. (Your name) was at home, sitting on the living’s room sofa with her cousin older-brother like Mark lazily laying down with his head rested on her thighs, pretending to be asleep so she would let him “rest in piece”.

“Hey, your jerk!” She playfully provoked him, just like the way the two used to treat each other. She wasn’t paying too much attention on him, but she was almost sure he gave he a fast smirk so she couldn’t notice his misbehaving. Without any option remaining to get him off of her, the girl gave him a slap on his chest, for which he reacted by getting up out of her while massaging the area complaining it pained.

“It hurts!” He yelled, dramatically pretending the slap really would have hurt someone like him.

“It was your fault by not getting out of me, your idiot!” She answered, chuckling at his not so true mad expression.

“Now I really won’t be attending that ball you wanted so much”, he teased with a devilish smirk, for whom she answered by throwing her pillow at his face.

“Doing that won’t work you know?” Mark provoked again, even though he was saying those things, (Your name) knew it was only part of his game to make her laugh.

“I hate you, your little devil”. She pointed, crossing her arms in the breasts.

“What’s with that Darling, wasn’t you who used to call me your dreamy prince?” He charmingly alleged, making his younger cousin get even angrier with him.

“Don’t mess with me, idiot”. Even though Mark was on his 21 years old; his dead cousin right in front of him had 17, and since they used to live together since she was a baby, the two of them grew up by creating a strong brother-sister bond, and besides their light curses between them, it was clear for everyone around there that they deeply cared about each other

“Hey, (nickname)” he softly called her, and when Mark did it, it was most of time about any kind of way to hang out with her, since they were close enough to get the friends whom didn’t know about their relationship, teasing them by saying it was too much dates for them to handle.

And they get out to another “date” as usual. This time, Mark was using a black T-shirt over his tanned skin, along with white pants, a pair of grey shoes along with a sunglass even if they were supposed to walk through the Shopping.

Y/N, on the other side, was wearing a loosely red dress to turn that hot day into something warm, along with a pair of white sandals and a tied braided hair.

Despite that not being proposedly romantic, their hands were holding each other, and she secretly liked that, since she always felt like being protected by that wing-less angel.

After walking for a while, they came to the movie theater, where he bought their tickets for the movie (Your name) wanted to watch. It only had a problem: Due to the tickets getting sold out so fast, they were “forced” to buy the ones from the only session that wasn’t fully sold out: The last of the day that would start in three hours. And she didn’t felt bad, until the end of the movie that is.

When the movie finished its exhibition, the cousins ran as fast as they could, wishing to get the last bus of the night, but it was already gone when they reached the bus stop.

“Yeah darling, I think it’s time for us to get home by walking”. A shiver ran through her spine, get home by walking wasn’t all of a big deal, but the real problem was in fact the hour and how late they would get home safely, after all now it was something like 11 pm.

“Okay then” She answered, in a shy tone while they started the long walk.

Some time later, it was already one hour of their walking and they were already in her neighborhood, when a loud and sharp sound ripped the silence of the night.

“(Your name), if something happens, please run”. Although his tone was serious, there was a hint of apprehension in his voice.

By saying that, he took her roughly by her hand and started to walk in fast steps. The feeling of the atmosphere getting even heavier made (Your name) feel a mix of fear and anxiety.

Another shot’s sound. It was closer this time. Mark and (Your name) were about to enter the only quarter left for her to come home, when a group of four guys appear, surrounding them when she finally noticed they there holding some guns.

“Run away (Your name)”. Mark sharply asked while putting himself in front of her.

“Oh man, are you really going to take her away?” The guy with red t-shirt questioned. A feeling of bad intuition filled her body, could it be something was about to happen?

(Your name) didn’t want to left him alone there, specially because her beloved cousin was acting like a shield to protect her.

“Come on, let my friends and I have some fun with this hot girl”. The one with blue t-shirt seemed to be drunk while Mark stood his body against her to avoid any kind of visual contact.

“This asshole and his dear bitch won’t cooperate”. The taller of them said, apparently to be pissed off, pointing his gun to them.

A sadistic smile formed in his lips, when he shot, passing centimeters from Mark’s temple at the same time another shot, this time reached him, right on his right chest.

“RUN!” He yelled, hesitantly stopping to hold her hand for her completely despair. Figuring the dark and serious expression on his face, she started to run to the opposite direction while Marks began a fight by punch trying to distract then.

A feeling of adrenaline passed through (Your name)’s body, sweat started to drip through her cheek along with fear of hearing another shot.

The girl was about to enter her home’s street, when a shot along with a loud scream was heard. Her whole spine chilled with that sound and fear and terror mixed her. She was supposed to return there, and even thought about waiting right where she was now to wait for him. But he never did. And her nightmare begun.

Mark’s body was left right on thee middle of the street, with his chest completely full of shot marks. And even though those events were a horrible incident, the poor girl was filled with guilty and pain because of that, after all they only came home that late because she begged him for that movie she wanted to watch so much.

The months passed and that street created a point to left things in memory of him since he was known by everyone around that neighborhood.

(Your name)’s graduation’s ball wouldn’t be that funny and beautiful after all. Mark was supposed to be his pair and no one would be able to be on his place, that guy was simply irreplaceable and his cousin made sure of that by not attending the ball, but she did with the graduation.

The day after the ceremony, when it was supposed the ball to happen, (Your name) walked by that street in the dark of the night, with a bouquet of flowers to put right there. She kneeled down, with the tears already running by her face while placing the bouquet on the ground.

“I am sorry jerk”. She begged on a whisper. “It was all my fault”

(Your name)’s eyes were closed in a way that made she didn’t notice the shadow hovering behind her.

“Are you serious you are wasting your tears with me?” That playfully voice behind her made her body shiver violently, the girl didn’t even wanted to look.

“Hey (Your name), I am here. Stop crying please”. Mark softly asked, standing her up with his left arm. Tears were now running ever more, when he gave her a tight hug.

“Sorry for making my precious crybaby suffer so much”. She could hear the smirk on his face, but she didn’t care and gave back that hug, yet unbelieving he was right there in front of her.

“Why are you here?” She questioned him while feeling those big hands stroking her hair.

“Well…” Mark hesitated in a playfully tone. “As you may see my Darling, today is the day we were supposed to dance”. A large smile appeared on her face, it was impossible not to love someone so dumb and yet so caring and loving.

He took her by her hand in a delicate way, as if she was a petal of flower, and gently smiling he asked “Hey my darling, shall we dance?”

With the happiness and all the pain supposed to be away from her, she gladly took his hand at the same moment she heard Ed Sheeran’s Photograph loudly playing somewhere while they started to waltz by the rhythm of the song.

By the end of the song, Mark kindly whispered on her left ear “I will always love you my crybaby”, by doing that he softly made her let him go, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, disappearing by turning into grey fog saying along with Ed Sheeran’s last song line “Wait for me to come home”.

After that, she couldn’t help but think about all the wonderful things that happened between them. Her suffering lowered until completely disappear from her life.

Mark loved and cared about her. And nothing would EVER change that.

[saltylikecrait]

A Long, Beautiful Dream - Nutcracker AU

For @finnreyfridays​; it’s a little early to post a holiday story, but I wanted to get this out while the movie was fresh in my mind. This is more of a darker, re-imagining of The Nutcracker and the Four Realms and the works the film was based around, including the original stories.

You can also read this on AO3.

When he arrived back to the palace that night, the Christmas celebrations were in full swing. It was a beautiful winter night to share with friends and family, a calm, snowy night where the moonlight illuminated the snow and the white of the palace’s architecture. Bright and illuminated, decorated with gold and silver moldings, the palace was a fantasy come to life to the eyes. And as he watched children run down the hallways, playing with their newest toys, Finn wondered how he was so blessed to have made it in time to be there that night.

But his return to this place had nothing to do with the celebration itself.            

From her private box in the balcony of the palace’s theater, Queen Rey lounged in her seat thoughtfully as the dancers from the Realm of the Snowflakes twirled effortlessly across the stage, the white tulle of their costumes resembling the natural wonders that their Realm took its name from. From his place down below, Finn could tell that their waltz was mesmerizing to Rey as she tried to figure out exactly where she should be watching. He saw her eyes flicker back and forth on the stage. The Queen was strong in her own regard, known for her great skill with a staff and saber, but even Finn would be hard-pressed to believe that Rey could match the movements of the dancers and still remain graceful.

Rey was alone in a box that could fit a few more people in the seats beside her and Finn could tell by her frown and tired eyes that she had been listening to the whispers of her subjects as they criticized their queen, knowing very well that she could hear them. Rey was nothing like her mother, they were probably saying. If her mother were still alive, the Realms wouldn’t be falling apart and on the brink of war. Too bad she didn’t inherit her mother’s mind and not just her knack for inventions.

This is partly why Finn came back tonight, even though when he left her earlier, she had told him that she didn’t want to see him until the celebrations had ended.

The war had taken its toll on the both of them. When Finn’s uncle had asked him to accompany Rey to check on her late mother’s grand creation, he had no idea that it would lead to kingdom of talking toys, betrayal of her mother’s first live creation, and a curse placed upon him to forever look like a nutcracker soldier. And despite their misgivings, he and Rey had overcame every tribulation and figured out how to lift his curse. To destroy the Sugar Plum Fairy had seemed to break Rey’s spirit, for if she couldn’t trust her mother’s first creation and her kind words and beauty, who could she?

Yet the death of Sugar Plum didn’t end the war and the Realms had yet to actually reach a real treaty; too much damage had already been done. Mother Ginger was still hurt by the betrayal of her own friends and her son that she wasn’t sure if she was ready to allow her Realm to unify with the others. Finn and Rey respected that choice. Their only comfort was the thought that they did manage to agree to an armistice over the period between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day. It would be a time where no troops would go to the battlefield and a time where everyone would try to put the war behind them.

But Rey, it seemed, could not do so and Finn wondered if she felt that the old problems of the Realms had something to do with her own failures as a person. As the year went by, he watched as the light in her eyes, full of life and wonder and promise, dulled. When he wasn’t out on duty as Captain of the Guard, Finn was always by her side – it was where he wanted to be – and tried to do whatever he could to bring that light back. That light was something that he fell in love with and watching her suffer in silence made his own heart ache. Rey went from the brilliant young queen back to the broken girl he had met on the night that his uncle took her in, the night that her parents died. The Realms and all the adventures they provided them made Rey almost into a new woman, but now the illusion of perfection had faded and heavy was the head that wore the crown.

“I thought I was clear that I wanted you to go back for the week,” she told him without looking away from the stage. He had not entered her box yet and somehow, she knew he was there.

Finn adjusted the collar of his uniform – white brocade with gold embellishments for this week of celebrations instead of the scarlet tails he usually wore – and pushed back the curtain to make his entrance. He bowed to her before sitting next to her.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She tore her eyes away from the ballerinas, staring straight into his eyes with a hint of alarm. The whites of them were tinted pink.

“Is the way back to our world… gone?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s still there. Don’t worry.”

“So then why are you here?”

Trying to take her hand, he sighed as Rey rejected him and kept her hands neatly clasped together in her lap. “I came back here so that you wouldn’t be alone for Christmas, Rey.”

“I’m hardly alone.” And to emphasize this, she waved her hand towards the audience in the seats below them.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The glare that she shot at him would have been deadly if it looks could kill. He thought that she was going to say something more, but instead she ignored him and resumed watching the ballet until it ended. Then, after showing her gratitude and approval to the dancers, she stood up and left the box, the white silk of her dress and the pastel blue of her capelet trailing behind her.

Finn almost felt like he needed to jog to catch back up to her. The colors of her dress had shocked him at first, no longer being accustomed to seeing light, delicate colors on her. When she first arrived here, Rey had taken to pastels like all the locals in this Realm, but after the death of the Sugar Plum, she abandoned the light shades for darker blues and reds, pinks and purples reminding her too much of the pain that she had felt.

But to Finn’s relief, she didn’t try to run away from him and stopped after she reached the last step of the grand staircase in the palace, looking up at the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall. The lit candles and the array of ornaments and colors seemed to make her thoughtful again, and Rey stepped closer to the tree, her heels echoing against the hard floor.

“I haven’t seen you in white forever,” Finn commented. “I almost forgot how pretty it could be on you.”

Once, this might have made Rey blush until her entire face went red and she stammered out of a desperate attempt to hide her embarrassment, and once, Finn would have found himself charmed by this side of her, but Rey made no acknowledgement to his compliment and he felt as if his heart had been physically squeezed in his chest. How was this the same woman that he had fallen in love with? Had the war really hardened Rey’s heart to the point that she might no longer love him back? She had made a promise to him and he would have never taken Rey for a woman to break her promises.

“I always did love that uniform on you,” she finally observed and Finn felt his heart almost beat in relief. Looking down at the white brocade sleeves, he realized that he had only worn this uniform one other time, and that was on the day of Rey’s coronation. When she knighted him and named him Captain of the Guard, she had summoned him to her side on the throne and seemed to not be able to take her eyes off of him until he kneeled in front of her. He had always hoped that he would see that devotion and longing reflected in her eyes, for surely it was the same in his.

He stood at her side now, hoping that she would accept him as his equal again. “I’m worried for you, Rey,” he confessed. “You haven’t been yourself in a long time.” Then, he realized that he couldn’t beat around the bush any longer. “I came here for a few reasons.”

“Not just so I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas?” She arched an eyebrow.

Frowning, he decided he couldn’t lie. “No… Well, that was a part of it. There have been talks from the Realms about your state and whether you are still fit to rule.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Then you know that your subjects are growing angry with your sudden disinterest to govern?” He reached for her hand again and to his surprise, she let him take it. “Rey, you are my queen, and I will always be loyal to you, but I need to know why you are no longer taking audience with your counsel and locking yourself away all day.”

“So, you think I should step down and let the regents take over again?” she asked. Her eyes met his, and he understood that she really did want his honest opinion.

“Only if you don’t want to be the queen anymore,” he said. “It’s hard to see you like this and I don’t think you’re happy. When you were crowned, everyone thought that you were going to bring the Realms together again. Now, there are doubts that you can even rule.”

Bending down to pick up an ornament that had fallen off of its branches, Rey placed it carefully back on the tree. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she confessed. “It wasn’t like Mum left me a manual.” This last part was almost growled and Rey paused to stop speaking, surprised by her own tone of voice. “I’m not sure if I really want this,” she finished.

“Then we can give the regency back and leave,” he offered. “Go back home.”

“I thought you came with me here because you didn’t want to go back home?”

She had a point there. For all it was worth, one of the reasons why Finn felt so content in the Realms was because he had simply been unhappy in his old life. Like Rey, they had been running from their problems only to find that they could never escape them and that new problems would eventually find them. But now it seemed like Rey was ready to run again and Finn was growing tired.

“Is this about the Sugar Plum Fairy?” he guessed.

She shrugged. “Not really. Well, not just her.” Rey began to walk around the tree, inspecting the presents left for the children underneath it. “Mother Ginger assured me that her son’s betrayal was no fault of mine and that she does not hold him against me and the rest of the Realms.” But then, as she flipped over a tag and read a name off it absent-mindedly, she said, “Too much has happened in the last year, and before that. My mother hid so much from me and now I have to learn all of this on my own. It’s not what I expected.”

“We’ll help you,” Finn affirmed, trying to grab her attention again. “No one wants you to fail, Rey. We all want to end the war.”

Saying nothing, Rey looped her arm through his and led him through the halls. In any other occasion, Finn would have loved to be this close to her, but her pace was urgent as she led him up another flight of stairs, up to the apartments where the palace residents lived.

“So what?” she snapped at him once they were out of earshot. “You came back to… tell me that everyone wants me to step down under the guise of wanting to be with me tonight?” She stomped her foot. “Why didn’t you go back to your uncle’s house for the week?”

But he stopped her from continuing by holding up his hand in a gesture to ask her to quiet. “Actually, on my way there, I was given something that I think you might need.”

She looked at him with disbelief. “What?”

“I got you a present,” he clarified. “Though really, I wasn’t the one to find it. On my way through the Christmas Tree Forest, I came across Commander Dameron and he told me that Mother Ginger had found something that she wants you to have. When I saw what it was, I realized it might help you and that I needed to come back right away.”

He then took the lead this time, taking her back to the French doors leading to her private suite. “I left it here before going to look for you.”

A small package lay on the foot of her bed, wrapped in a simple brown paper and adorned with a silver ribbon that almost matched her bedspread.

Finn grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about the wrap job. Didn’t have proper wrapping paper on short notice.”

But if Rey minded, she didn’t make it known. Instead, she sat on her bed and sat the package in her lap. When he looked at it now, he realized that its odd shape might be a giveaway if Rey had any inkling of familiarity to the object inside. But when she made no movement to open it, Finn tried to coax her into undoing the ribbon.

“Shouldn’t I wait until tomorrow?” she half-teased.

“I think you might need this now,” he told her.

So Rey pulled on the ribbon, untying it and allowing the paper to come loose.

“Oh,” she sighed as she looked over the object inside the gift. “Finn, it’s beautiful.”

Turning the egg-shaped box in her hands, she admired the white and gold coloring though she looked a little confused. “What is it, though?”

He was a little disappointed that she had no knowledge of the gift, but he understood that there had been a chance that this would have been the case. The box might have been in the possession of Mother Ginger for decades, for all he knew.

“According to Poe,” he began, “it was your mother’s.” Then he frowned. “It looks like there’s supposed to be a key for it, but no one seems to know where it is.”

Rey’s eyes widened as her hand drifted up towards her neck and collarbone where a necklace rested against her skin. The pendent itself had not been large, but the rose quartz butterfly that had been her mother’s had turned out to be a key to the giant machine that brought the toys of these Realms to life. Finn understood what she was thinking and watched as she removed the necklace and held the pendant up to the slot where the hinges on the egg locked together.

A small click told them that the egg had opened, reveling a small ballerina figurine in an arabesque position twirling in a circle as a musical chime played. Rey sighed and her eyes filled with tears as she listened to the song.

“My mother used to hum this to me when I was a baby,” she said. “I haven’t heard it in years.” Then she began to sob, holding a hand up to her face to try to wipe the tears away.

Finn sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. This time, she did not try to pull away as they listened to the song together.

When it came to a slow right before the final note echoed and faded, Rey gripped the egg in her hands again and remained quiet for a moment, lost in thought again. Finn waited.

“I think I know what she would have wanted me to do now,” Rey finally said.

“And that is?” Finn wanted some clarification.

“I’ll try harder,” she explained. “And if I still am not the right person for the job or I get like this again, I’ll bring back the regency. Mum would have wanted me to try, but she wouldn’t have gotten angry at me if it turned out I just wasn’t good at the ruling part.”

Finn nodded. “I know you can do it.”

"I’m sorry I haven’t been nice to you lately. There wasn’t an excuse for it.” She didn’t look him in the face again, ashamed of herself and her actions of late.

He accepted her apology but something still hung in the air that needed to be addressed. “Do you still want to marry me?” The thought of her answer made him nervous as he wondered if the past couple of months had changed everything for them. Originally, they had planned for a long engagement until things had settled down and they felt the time was right. They were young after all and Finn had asked for her hand earlier than he would have liked – a spur of the moment choice. No one thought poorly of them for wanting to wait.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” she whispered.

But Finn shook his head. “No, you promised that you would love me regardless of how I looked.” He thought back to the time when he was a nutcracker soldier, insecure over the thought that he would be that way forever and that Rey would never look at him the way he looked at her. It was just like Sugar Plum to base a curse around appearance. “You never promised to marry me.”

“I believe accepting your proposal is something like a promise.” She held out her hand, punctuating this statement by showing him the engagement ring on her finger. “We just need time to work things through it. You’re giving me another chance to be a good queen and I want to take that. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You haven’t disappointed me,” he told her as he brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it back behind her ear.

He stayed with Rey while she changed out of her dress and into her nightgown. The wispy material of the gown hung loose on her, making Rey look more like herself than any of the gowns and military regalia did.

Finn stood up, ready to excuse himself when Rey stopped him.

“Are you coming to bed?”

Finn grinned. “Am I welcome?”

“Well you know, it’s Christmas Eve and you did come back so I wouldn’t spend the time alone.” She gave him the first warm smile that he had seen out of her in weeks.

And what could he say to refuse her?

“Well,” he lowered his voice. “If my queen commands.”

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Movie 1: Curse of the Blood Rubies

I wanted to cover the movies during this liveblog, so I decided the best way to do that was to try to do them as they came out alongside the episodes of the TV show.   Movie 1 premiered at the Toei Cartoon Festival on December 20, 1986, right after Episode 43 aired on television.   From what I read on Kaizenshuu.com, the idea was that Toei would run these film festivals when kids were on break from school.   So if you were a huge Dragon Ball fan in 1986, you could watch Episode 43 on TV, bug your parents to take you to see Movie 1 in theaters, and then catch Episode 44 a few days later.   But they were screening the Cartoon Festival for at least a few weeks after December 20, so I’m sure a lot of fans saw it later.   Anyway, I’m trying to replicate that general chronology. 

For my part, this was one of the last pieces of Dragon Ball anime I purchased, because it took years for an official Funimation dub to be released in the U.S.   For a long time, the rights to distribute Movie 1 and the first thirteen episodes of Dragon Ball in the U.S. were held up by KidMark, and Funimation didn’t secure the rights until about 2009 or so.   That was when they released the “Blue Brick” box sets, which included the first thirteen episodes, but not the movie.   That wasn’t released until 2010.    So I’ve only seen this thing once before today.

Truthfully, I’m not a big fan of the movie, because it’s a sort of retelling of the original Dragon Ball storyline, only with a new villan and other new characters included.   Several later films would adopt this same formula, most notably “Path to Power” in 1996, but also the bootleg live action films “Dragon Ball: The Magic Begins” (made in Taiwan) and “Fight Son Goku, Win Son Goku” (made in Korea).   And “Dragon Ball Evolution” looks an awful lot like a retelling of the first 13 episodes of Dragon Ball, only with Piccolo as the villain and Chi-Chi as a love interest for Goku.     I get it, it’s a good story, and maybe it’s worth repeating, but I just read the original version a couple of weeks ago.    My favorite thing about Dragon Ball is how the story keeps expanding and moving in new directions, not rehashing the same stuff over and over.

We open with the Toei logo.   When you see this, you know some serious shit’s about to go down.  And the movie does start out with some really gorgeous visuals and animation, mostly setting up the concept of what the Dragon Balls are.

Then we start in the Land of Gurumes, where the local ecology is being ravaged by strip mining.    One little girl named Pansy tries to fight back by shooting a worker with a slingshot, and her father stands up to the royal guards when they try to punish her. 

But the king has stronger henchmen to keep guys like him in line.   Bongo, for example, isn’t interested in any sob stories about the EPA or sick children or whatever.   He thinks the rubies they’re digging up from the ground more than make up for whatever environmental damage is being caused.  Then he jumps in a car with his partner Pasta and they head back to the castle.

Is... Is that Kato?   Well, whatever, Bongo and Pasta report to King Gurumes that they’ve located another Dragon Ball, and he’s pretty pleased to hear that, since he’s starving to death.    According to his ramblings, only the tastiest food can satisfy his hunger, and he’s reached the limit of what the finest cooks and chefs and prepare for him.   If I’m understanding this correctly, once he eats something, it can no longer satisfy him ever again.    So he wants the Dragon Balls so he can ask Shenron to finally put an end to his hunger.   I’m not sure if he means a cure for his curse, or if he just wants to wish for the world’s most delicious food. 

Then we check in on Goku, who’s basically playing out the same story we’ve seen before.   He catches a fish, Bulma hits him with her car motorcycle, but this time, there’s a plane landing in Goku’s backyard.   Goku notices Bulma’s Dragon Ball, and she explains it to him, and then she realizes that whoever’s in the plane is trying to take the Dragon Ball Goku has at his house.  

By the time they arrive, Pasta and Bongo have already left, and they’ve dropped off a gold coin, apparently as payment for Gokus’ Dragon Ball.  Bulma whips out a plane of her own to give chase, and while she manages to take out Pasta’s Dragon Radar, they still get shot down, and Pasta and Bongo get away.  

Bulma and Goku continue their search by car, and they happen to drive by Pansy, who is being menaced by Oolong.   Bulma sees to Pansy while Goku chases Oolong away, but this leads them straight into...

...Puar, and his sidekick Yamcha.   Wait.  

Yamcha and Goku fight, just like they did in the TV seres, but with a bigger animation budget, and then Bulma shows up and Yamcha falls off a ledge, knocking out one of his teeth.   

Later, Bulma and Pansy compare notes in a mobile home.  I assume it’s Oolong’s, since it’s like the one he had in the original story, but Bulma never lost her own capsules in this version, so it might be hers.   Pansy’s plan is to seek help from Master Roshi.    According to her, King Gurumes was corrupted by the “Rich Stones”, which is what they call the rubies they’re mining out of the ground.   I can see why the English dubs refer to them as “Blood Rubies”, since that’s a much more dramatic name. 

What I don’t understand is whether the Blood Rubies actually have some sort of magic power to curse people, or if Gurumes has simply succumbed to plain old greed.  I guess you’d need a magic curse to explain his distorted appearance and insatiable hunger.   But did he eat a Blood Ruby at some point?   Pasta and Bongo want the Blood Ruby mining to continue as well, so why haven’t they been cursed as well?   Anyway, Gurumes is obsessed with accumulating more and more Blood Rubies, even though he already has tons of them in his royal treasury, and even though he’s currently suffering from his hunger problems. 

Bulma agrees to take Pansy to Master Roshi, since they share a common enemy, however, when Roshi meets them, he accuses Goku of plotting to kill him.  Turns out Yamcha was spying on Bulma and Pansy’s conversation, and he hatched a scheme to get to Roshi first and trick him into taking out Goku for him, so that he could secure the Dragon Balls for himself. 

Wait, that doesn’t make sense.  Gurumes has most of the Dragon Balls right now.  Six of them, actually.   What good would it do Yamcha to eliminate Goku now?  Well, it doesn’t matter for long, since Roshi summons the Kinto’Un to see who’s telling the truth.   When Goku proves he’s pure of heart by riding Kinto’Un, Yamcha’s deception is exposed, so he runs away.

Then Pasta and Bongo show up in a submarine and bombard Roshi’s island. Roshi gets pissed about his house being blown up and retaliates with a Kamehameha wave, which drives the bad guys away.    Naturaly, Goku wants to learn it too, and he manages to imitate it on his first try. 

At that point, Bulma notices the Dragon Ball hanging from Roshi’s neck, and he agrees to give it to her if he can touch her boobs.   So Bulma gets Oolong to shape-shift into a fake Bulma and... yeah we all saw Episode 8.   Same thing.  

Incidentally, Bulma got a haircut sometime before they arrived at Roshi’s place.   In the first half of the movie, she looks like this:

But after she arrives on Roshi’s Island she looks like this:

I mean, that’s a lot of hair to lose from one scene to another, isn’t it?  

The gang finally heads for the Land of Gurumes to take the fight to him.   Pansy asked Roshi to help them, but he said no, because as a martials arts master, he’s become too far removed from the affairs of the outside world, or some other B.S.   I’m pretty sure the real reason he doesn’t come along is because he didn’t join Bulma and Goku in the manga either, but he can’t just say that out loud. 

He tells Pansy that she’s already got a fine group of friends to help her, so everything out to work out for her.   This really sounds like a cop-out.   I think we’re supposed to believe that Roshi has wisely sensed that Goku and the others are more than enough to save the day, and yeah, he’s right, but it really makes him look like a heel.  Like, what else does Roshi have to do today?   His house is gone, so I’m pretty sure his schedule just cleared up for the next several days.

There’s a cool scene where Bulma uses Oolong’s shape-shifting powers to frighten off Gurumes’ henchmen, only they end up running into Puar, who was doing the same thing for Yamcha.   See, he’s trying to secure the Dragon Balls for himself because he wants to get over his fear of girls, just like in the original version of this story, you see, so it’s very clever. 

Really, the only interesting parts of this movie are when the new characters do things, like when Pasta attacks Bulma, and Yamcha has no choice but to rush to her defense.   He battles Pasta for a while, and does okay until her mask comes off and he realizes he’s been fighting a girl the whole time.   Then he saves Bulma from a falling rock, and I’m bored again because he saved Bulma from different things back in Pilaf’s castle in the original story.  

Goku has a decent battle with Bongo, who flies around on some sort of hoverboard, so that’s pretty cool.    Finally they all get to Gurumes’ dining hall, and he suddenly turns into a giant monster.

This is what I find really disappointing about this movie.  Gurumes looks like a pretty cool boss villan on the poster, but he spends most of the film in shadow, and when he finally does step out into the light, he’s become a hulkng, mindless brute.   And I’m fine with that development, but I wanted more of what Gurumes was before he succumbed to his mutation.   As it is, I can’t tell if Pasta and Bongo were manipulating him from the start, or if he was the true mastermind of this whole scheme, and he was too twisted and evil to realize it was a fool’s errand.  Well, we won’t get any answers now, because he forgot how to talk.

Goku tries to stop Gurumes with a Kamehameha, but it doesn’t even scratch the guy.  While that goes on, Bulma checks her radar and realizes that the other six Dragon Balls are inside Gurumes’ body.   So he ate them?   Was he that crazed with hunger, or was there actually some purpose to that?  

Bulma decides the only thing to do is toss the seventh Dragon Ball into Gurumes mouth, and summon the Dragon while they’re all together inside his tummy.   And that seems to stop him, so this is the first time Bulma beat the bad guy.   Good hustle, Bulma.   

Shenron emerges, and the whole castle is wrecked, so I would think Gurumes has been completely destroyed.  Bulma and Yamcha are too stunned to make their wish, so Pansy cries out that her people don’t want the Blood Rubies, and she only wants the land restored to the way it was before.   Shenron grants her request, and as the land transforms, all the rubies start floating out of the ground.

Pasta is horrified to see this, because it means the complete ruination of her plans.   Also, I think Bongo might be dead?  Gurumes stepped on him, and he never moved much after that.  Goku hands her back the coin she paid him for his Dragon Ball, and I’m pretty sure that’s all the money she has left after everything that’s happened.  Bulma and Yamcha find each other, because that’s what happened in the original story, yadda yadda, and then...

Okay, so King Gurumes is back to normal?   I guess?   How the hell did he survive Shenron coming out of his body?   His castle sure didn’t.  And why does he look like that?   Was he always that ugly, or is he still changing back?  Maybe he suffered some permanent damage from the curse?   Anyway, he’s still hungry, so Pansy hands him an apple, which he finds surprisingly delicious.   Pansy’s dad gives him shit about it, as if the apple had been the solution to his problem all along, if only he hadn’t been corrupted by his own greed.  Maybe that was the moral of the story, but I’m betting Gurumes has eaten apples before now.   I think he’s ony confused because the curse has finally been lifted.  

But why was it lifted?  Is it because Shenron removed all the Blood Rubies?   Was that all Gurumes had to do?   Just chuck them in a dumpster?   Where did Shenron put all the Blood Rubies?  Did he throw them into the sun?   Did he bury them in some other king’s backyard?    This is how you get Curse of the Blood Rubies II, you know?

The movie ends with Goku running off on his new flying cloud, and thinking about how big and interesting the world it, yada yada.  It’s a decent movie with some breathtaking animation in places, but it’s not very satisfying when it borrows so much from other material that we’ve already seen before.   I really wanted to see more of Pansy, Gurumes, Bongo, and Pasta, but we couldn’t get that because we had to go over Yamcha’s motivation one more time, and remix the story of how Master Roshi gave Goku the Flying Nimbus. 

[analogscum]

SCUM IN THE AISLES #4 (The House That Jack Built: Unrated Director’s Cut)

Sometimes, in order to seek out the weirdest discarded slices of celluloid trash that cinema has to offer, one must leave the confines of their crappy apartment, and go to an actual movie theater. This is a column recounting my excursions into the b-movie wilds. This is Scum in the Aisles!

PART 1: ANTICIPATION

“You’ve all bought tickets for a Lars von Trier film, so you know what you’re getting yourselves into.”

With this, Justin Timms, the founder of the Brooklyn Horror Film Festival, and our host for this evening in a dark and chilly corner of Greenpoint known as the Film Noir Cinema, ceded the floor to the film we had all gathered to experience, The House That Jack Built. A two and a half hour art house serial killer epic by perhaps the most controversial filmmaker alive. A film that prompted both mass walkouts (anywhere between a dozen and a hundred people, depending on who you ask) and a ten minute standing ovation when it premiered out of competition at this year’s Cannes Film Festival. A film which has since been decried as a gruesome, sadistic, mean-spirited slog by some, and praised as a beautiful, self-reflexive act of provocation by others.

Timms, for his part, had just seen the film for the first time along with the crowd from the first screening of the evening, and he looked positively shell-shocked. All around me, the crowd buzzed with nervousness and excitement. What sort of celluloid horrors awaited us? Would we be able to stomach what was splayed up on the screen? Would cinema’s angry Danish trickster god once again succeed in getting under our skin and raising our cockles? Or had his flagellations, both towards himself and the audience that improbably keeps coming back (myself included), grown tired and stale?

Our host had claimed that we knew what we were getting ourselves into simply by showing up to watch a Lars von Trier film…but did we?

PART 2: SYNOPSIS

The House That Jack Built follows Jack (Matt Dillon, turning in a career best performance) over roughly twelve years of a very eventful life. Jack lives somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, he’s an engineer who dabbles in architecture on the side. He comes from a wealthy family; his inheritance allows him to buy a large plot of land by a picturesque lake and build his titular house. However, what Jack really loves, his true passion in life, is annihilating other human beings. Jack is not just A serial killer, he is THE serial killer. Dude makes Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy, both of whose real life exploits are alluded to via Jack’s activities in the film, look like slouches.

As von Trier likes to do, the film is divided into five chapters and an epilogue. The five chapters are each devoted to a specific murder out of the nearly hundred he commits that is supposed to make us understand why Jack does what he does. I’ll get to the epilogue later, because I have FEELINGS about it. Similarly, as von Trier also likes to do, Jack narrates these chapters in the form of a confession, in this case to a man named Verge (Bruno Ganz). With the first two chapters, von Trier catches us off guard by deploying humor. Aside from the violence, which is indeed quite brutal, von Trier manages to wring genuine laughs out of the absurdity of these situations. In the first chapter, Uma Thurman plays a rich woman with a flat tire who is so unpleasant and annoying that you can’t help but root for Jack to kill her. In the second chapter, Siobhan Fallon Hogan makes the mistake of believing Jack when he knocks on her door, first pretending to be a policeman, then incredulously switching gears and pretending to be an insurance salesman, before a comedy of errors involving Jack’s cleanliness-based OCD, a very annoyed local cop, and a telltale trail of blood ensues. The audience I saw it with tonight ate these moments up, partially laughing at the jokes themselves, then perhaps doubling down when we realized how inappropriate it was to be laughing in the first place.

However, the laughs quickly dried up once chapter three began. This chapter involved the shooting of children, and was the focus of much of the ire directed at the film after Cannes. Indeed, especially in a post-Sandy Hook world, the violence in this section was almost unbearable. Aside from seeing children gunned down in graphic detail, Jack then conducts some, shall we say, amateur taxidermy with one of the corpses, making for the second time in two films that von Trier has given us the nightmare image of a child with a horrifying rictus smile (shoutouts to the baby from Nymphomaniac Vol. II). Chapter four details the gruesome fate of Jack’s one and only girlfriend, played by Riley Keough. Von Trier ratchets up the tension here to near intolerable levels, foreshadowing a horrific act of mutilation a good ten minutes before it happens, and then showing it up close, in nauseatingly graphic detail. Most of the audience, myself included, watched this scene through our fingers.

Now, very quickly, I’ll say that, yes, for most normal moviegoers, the violence in this film will definitely be a lot. But speaking as a connoisseur of horror movies and weirdo genre experiments, it wasn’t anything outside of the ordinary. In fact, I found the violence in Antichrist to be way more upsetting and visceral than most of what you see in this film.

Chapter five sees Jack conducting a gristly experiment in his industrial freezer involving full metal jacket bullets. He also picks up a spiffy red hooded robe. This is where we catch up with the beginning of the film, and see Verge for the first time. As it turns out, Verge is here to chaperone Jack to the fires of Hell. This is where the Epilogue kicked off, and where the audience, myself DEFINITELY included, started to get a bit antsy. I seem to recall an old maxim that goes something like, you can do anything to an audience aside from bore them. Well, unfortunately, I found this Epilogue to be almost unbearably boring. Aside from some stunning imagery, it was mostly tedious and pretentious, straining for some sort of higher message that was just unnecessary. If I had to sum it up in one sentence, it would be: Tarkovsky by way of Tim and Eric. Normally that would be a compliment coming from me. All the pretty pictures in the world means nothing if the audience is reaching for their coats.

PART 3: INTENTIONS

So what is von Trier trying to tell us with all of this madness? What does he want us to take with us once we leave the theater? If you follow his filmography, it’s not a big scoop to say that von Trier’s most recent work, starting with Antichrist and continuing through Melancholia and the Nymphomaniac films, have been somewhat autobiographical, sort of his version of State of the Union addresses. The House That Jack Built feels like the culmination of this stage of his career. In this film, von Trier puts himself on trial, with Dillon’s Jack as his surrogate. Just like with the Nymphomaniac films, there are many, many, MANY flowery, pseudo-philosophical digressions on a number of topics, accompanied by slides and bits of archival video (I’ll bet someone out there is kicking themselves for ever having introduced von Trier to Shudderstock), including the poetry of William Blake, photography, love, deer hunting, gothic architecture, and Glenn Gould. One especially epic digression finds Jack opining on dessert wines, the Third Reich architect Albert Speer, and finally the artistic integrity of von Trier’s own cinematic oeuvre, complete with clips from his previous films. Ballsy, no?

I would be lying to you if I said I understood everything that von Trier was trying to convey with these digressions. However, it is definitely clear to me that this film is meant to function as sort of a statement to the jury in the court of public opinion. Von Trier has always put himself at the forefront of his films more so than most directors, displaying his name alongside, or sometimes above his actors (hell, for this film, he even devoted an entire poster to himself). This, of course, means we the audience tend to read his films as glimpses into its maker’s psyche more than we would for most other directors, which is not entirely fair in my opinion, but it’s a blessing and a curse that von Trier has brought on himself. So what does he want us to understand about himself after we’ve seen The House That Jack Built? It seems to be something along the lines of, yes, every awful thing you’ve said about me is true, and you could never hate me as much as I hate myself, but I only answer to a higher power. Which, yeah, ok...but is that enough? Or, to put it more succinctly, is that even that interesting of a conclusion? We’ve now sat through nearly ten hours of von Trier’s cinematic therapy sessions over the last decade, and he basically ends it all by pulling a Tupac on us: only God can judge me.

PART 4: MISANTHROPY

The best and most succinct description of von Trier’s modus operandi as an artist that I’ve yet to hear comes from the excellent YouTube movie review show Welcome to the Basement. During their most recent episode, while giving a (largely negative) critique of Dogville, co-host Matt Sloan describes von Trier as “a provocateur that has the talent to back it up.” Indeed, if von Trier was entirely the sum of his detractors claims, then he would’ve been forgotten a long time ago. He does indeed have the cinematic bonafides, and they don’t let him down here: the camerawork in this film is gorgeous and intimate, the editing is kinetic and fast-paced, and as usual von Trier knows just how and when to perfectly deploy a pop song for maximum disarmament.

The most resounding jibe against von Trier is that he is a raving misogynist, due to the almost ludicrously awful levels of suffering that he puts his female protagonists through. For his part, von Trier has defended himself in the past by saying he is actually fighting against the patriarchy by showing the awful trials that women must endure in a society run by men. It’s a fair, if slightly dubious claim. Personally I’ve always been kind of dumbfounded that we seem to hold von Trier to these moral standards based on the fates of his fictional characters that we just don’t with other directors. What makes him an exception in this case? Wes Anderson and Yorgos Lanthimos depict gruesome animal deaths left and right in their films, but does anyone legitimately think that they hate pets? However, when it comes to The House That Jack Built, I cannot and will not defend von Trier against these accusations of misogyny. Almost none of the female characters in the film are even given a name, and the one exception, Keough’s “Jaqueline Simple,” is derided constantly by Jack and called stupid because of her last name. It becomes especially stark and uncomfortable when, at one point, Verge observes that the women Jack has discussed strike him as “unbelievably stupid,” as if they somehow deserved to die because of that. Jack just shrugs and says that he also killed men, but he just so happened to choose these stories of killing women “at random.” Mhmmm. Not buying it this time, bucko.

Then again, you could argue that, since this story is told from the perspective of a man who unapologetically murders women in the most gruesome and debasing of ways, it would be dishonest or nonsensical to show them otherwise. But that brings up a whole other can of worms: what does it say about von Trier himself that he seems to seriously identify with a mass murderer? At one point, the film alludes to, and seemingly tries to make excuses for, the infamous press conference following Melancholia’s Cannes premiere during which von Trier compared himself to and jokingly sympathized with Hitler, an act of provocation which earned him an unofficial “ban for life” from the festival (obviously this did not last). And perhaps I’m reading too much into this, but the scene where Jack experiments with killing multiple people at once with a single full metal jacket bullet reminded me of a director at work, setting up his shot, changing the angle, making sure everything is just right, except in this instance, the camera is replaced with a high powered military grade rifle. Jack does remark at multiple times throughout the film that he sees his killings as a sort of art. Does von Trier relate to this sentiment? Does he see the creation of art as an act of love, as Verge does, or more like Jack, as an act of decay and degradation? I’m guessing more the latter than the former.

PART 5: DAMNATION

As good as Sloan’s summation of his modus operandi on Welcome to the Basement was, I have my own go-to log line: von Trier’s story is the story of a man who got everything he wished for, but was still miserable. For the first part of his career, von Trier was determined to an almost psychotic degree to be seen as one of the great auteurs of cinema. Anyone who didn’t agree was the fucking enemy. When his 1991 film Europa, which was up for the Palme d’Or at Cannes, won the Jury Prize instead, von Trier lashed out, calling that year’s jury president, Roman Polanski, “the midget” during his acceptance speech, and later hurled his trophy into the French Riviera in anger. But then his luck began to change. His next film to play in competition, 1996’s Breaking the Waves, won the Grand Prix and was nominated for an Oscar, and 2000’s Dancer in the Dark finally won him his long sought after Palme d’Or. After years of angrily bashing the world cinema establishment over the head with his own inflated opinion of himself, von Trier was finally one of the most respected and discussed filmmakers of the day.

The thing is, once you’re on top, there’s only one way you can go. He never finished his proposed “Land of Opportunities” trilogy, completing only the first two installments, Dogville and Manderlay, both of which were met with mixed to negative reviews. Von Trier soon found himself spiraling into depression and alcoholism, twin demons that he has wrestled with cinematically over the course of the last decade. It would not surprise me if The House That Jack Built was von Trier’s final film. On one hand, it feels like the thesis statement, the grand summary, of what he’s been trying to say with all of his films. On the other hand, in recent interviews, the guy just looks terrible. He’s frail, he’s got the tremors, his hair is unwashed and ratty and his clothes look ill-fitting and dirty. Despite getting sober not long after the Melancholia press conference debacle, it’s clear that alcohol abuse has taken quite a toll on him. Perhaps its gauche and inappropriate to speculate from afar on von Trier’s mortality, but he’s already done it himself, by making The House That Jack Built.

EPILOGUE: FUTILITY

Now that I’ve reached the end of this jeremiad of a review, I have to wonder, what was it all for? You’ve probably already made up your mind about whether or not you’re going to see this film. You’ve probably already got a very strong opinion on Lars von Trier, both the man and his work. Some of you are probably judging me for even having paid money to see this film, which is your right. Odds are, whatever you think about this filmmaker and his films are not going to be swayed either way by anything I have to say. And even if you did want to experience The House That Jack Built like I did, you can’t: last night was the only night that von Trier’s “Unrated Director’s Cut,” the one that screened at Cannes, is going to be shown in theaters (a stunt that has apparently landed IFC Films in hot water with the MPAA), before an R-rated version is released next month. Was this a shameless promotional ploy? Yes. Did it still give us weirdo cinephiles the feeling that we were part of a super naughty super secret club? Absolutely. I didn’t know anyone in that dark and chilly corner of Greenpoint, but I feel connected to them for life, since we all went through this cinematic journey to Hell together. So, then, now that we’ve descended into the flames, how to describe The House That Jack Built? It is vibrant and stuffy and brilliant and maddening and hilarious and terrifying and pretentious and vulnerable and prescient and infuriating and awful and a masterpiece. In other words, it is a Lars von Trier film. You know what you’re getting yourself into.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “The Prince and His Stable Hand: Chapter 1 - The Prince’s Stable Hand” (NC17)

Blaine is a prince, betrothed to wed the Princess Rachel Berry, but he has secret desires that his new wife will never be able to fulfill.

But the handsome young man who tends his father's stables definitely can. (4278 words this chapter)

Notes: This is a re-write. I have set it in the vague 1800s, with no real indication of a locale. Historical romance. Warning for Dom/sub, whipping, bondage, and arranged marriage.

Read on AO3.

Blaine stood dutifully in the courtyard and watched Princess Berry’s carriage pull away. The four white stallions at the lead trotted down the winding stone drive, the clacking of their hooves bombarding the still, night air with their rhythmic cadence. A dainty, white-gloved hand waved from within the darkened window, a lace handkerchief clutched between pinched fingers, its owner shrouded by shadows. Blaine didn’t need to see her to visualize her auburn hair spilling down her shoulders, her lightly sun-kissed skin, her deep brown eyes, her baby pink bodice laced so tightly around her petite frame that Blaine feared she might actually have suffered a broken rib or two.

He raised his gloved hand and waved back, the smile plastered on his face growing less and less sincere as the carriage drove farther away toward the black iron gates that surrounded the grounds. Before the carriage reached them, Princess Berry released the handkerchief, leaving it behind as a token for her betrothed. The lacey fabric billowed in the air, floating freely in the wake of the carriage as the team gained speed and bustled away.  The evening breeze caught the handkerchief, swirled it through the air, and then settled it on the lawn. Prince Blaine stared at the thing, a white stain on the lush green grass, his lip curled in disgust.

“Would you like me to fetch that for you, Your Highness?” Sebastian, the captain of the prince’s guard, asked with a smirk.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Blaine muttered, turning angrily from the moonlit scene and storming away.

“Where are you going, Your Highness?” Sebastian called after him, a thinly veiled taunt in his voice. The day spent guarding the awkward couple had been dreadfully dull and long for Sebastian, but it was worth it to watch the prince forced to play nice for that vain and shallow fiancée of his. “What should I tell the king if he asks for you?”

Blaine yanked off his gloves and chucked them one by one over his shoulder.

“If he ever removes his dick from the downstairs maid, you can tell him I’ll see him in hell!” Blaine snapped without slowing his stride.

Sebastian shook his head, watching noble Prince Blaine stomp away like a spoiled child. Sebastian knew he was pushing his luck teasing the prince the way he did, but he possessed more luck than most to push. He and Blaine had been friends since birth. Both nursed by Sebastian’s own mother, they were nearly brothers. Sebastian knew Blaine better than anyone in the kingdom, definitely better than the prince’s parents, which was why, despite all his taunting, his heart broke for Blaine. He saw the prince’s footsteps falter on the cobblestones as he made his way with a purpose toward the stables, and knew the man was holding back sobs … or screams.

Or both.

Sometimes the worst curse in the world could be the circumstances of birth, for rich and poor alike.

Blaine didn’t choose who he was or the way he loved, but the fact of the matter was that Blaine was born a prince. He had duties and responsibilities. He needed to be a role model - a shining example to his kingdom. Those responsibilities included marrying well … and producing an heir.

Sebastian turned to the rest of the complement watching their prince with interest, the scene most assuredly feeding rumors that would circulate like wildfire later in the drunken revelry of the evening. One or two guards even wore the shadows of grins on their faces. Sebastian scowled, and their grins beat a hasty retreat.

“None of you know where the prince is headed, do you?” Sebastian bellowed to the guards. When no one answered, Sebastian repeated loudly, “Do you!?”

“No, sir,” they answered in unison.

“Good,” Sebastian said, knowing in his heart that keeping them quiet through fear only worked for so long. “Keep your mouths shut and you might not be working in the kitchens come morning.”

***

Blaine concentrated on the click of his footsteps on the stones to scrub his mind clean of Rachel Berry - his intended - and her inane chatter. She talked all day long about everything and nothing, rarely giving Blaine’s ears a rest.

“Oh, Your Highness!” she blathered over breakfast. “What an amazing pianoforte you have in the palace! I’m sure I’ll never tire of playing while I’m here. It’s my one true passion!”

“Did I tell you, Prince Blaine?” she jabbered during their walk in the garden after lunch. “I have the most marvelous design for a tabletop that I would love to paint for my sitting room!”

“Does the prince enjoy theater?” she chittered as they took a carriage ride over the grounds. “Oh, I do love the theater. The costumes, the singing - especially the love stories …”

She sat close by his side and put a bold hand on his knee. Then she proceeded to sing from her favorite score. She sang and she quipped and she barely drew a breath. So many times he wished he could scream, ‘Do shut the fuck up!’ Blaine wasn’t ashamed of his indifference toward the girl. He had no intention of leading her on. He was sure that he had made it quite clear on several occasions that this ‘marriage’ was one of no consequence to him. He wasn’t marrying for love.

He had his suspicions that neither was she, she was simply better at masking her displeasure. She might hold some disdain for him, but she stood to benefit a great deal better by their marriage than he, so she had more reason to act cordial. His father could back out of this arrangement at any time.

He could, but Blaine knew he wouldn’t.

The bastard.

Blaine made his way to the stables, pleased to see the windows glowing with lamplight from within, so much warmer and more inviting than a single room in the whole of his palace. He had already undone the buttons to his coat, tearing a few in his haste to be rid of the damned thing. This one in particular fit too tightly around his chest and restricted his breathing, but he was allowed to wear no other - another cage that being royal kept him confined in.

He burst through the door, sighing in relief at the sight of Kurt, pitchfork in hand, laying fresh hay for the horses in their stalls. Through his loose-fitting linen shirt, Blaine could see the muscles in Kurt’s arms shift and stretch, bulging beneath flawless, pale skin. Blaine admired how Kurt kept his skin perfect despite the labor he performed every day. Though Blaine would rather see him stationed in the palace, sleeping on a bed of feathers instead of a humble mattress of hay, covered in satins and silks, and bathed perfumes, within a stone’s throw of the prince’s own bedroom.

But then they might not be able to do what Blaine had come here for.

“Why does it always reek of horse shit in here?” Blaine asked to announce his presence.

“Because this is a stable, Your Highness. It’s full of horses and their shit.”

Kurt did not turn from his work, but spied the prince loosening the collar of his shirt from the corner of his eye, and nibbled his lower lip in secret. But from Blaine’s perspective, Kurt continued on as if he weren’t there, effectively ignoring the prince and his mounting frustrations.

“Well, do you think you could cease shoveling and spare a moment for me?”

“A moment with you will turn into the entire evening, sire.” Kurt chuckled. “Let me get these poor animals fed so I can take my time with you.”

Blaine pushed past Kurt and headed for the rear of the stable, straight to Kurt’s quarters.

“Eager tonight, aren’t we?” Kurt prodded. “But that will not hurry me along, I’m afraid.” He heard the prince curse underneath his breath and chuckled. He had no desire to incur the prince’s ire, but he liked taking advantage of the fact that here, in this stable, where he had total control, he had permission to treat his prince so familiar. Besides, he caught a glimpse of the prince’s ‘playdate’ with the Princess Berry. Kurt knew very well the prince’s pain.

He carried it as well.

Kurt gave the broodmare in the stall an extra helping of oats and patted her on the back. She would foal soon, and it made Kurt’s chest tighten with bittersweet hopes and dreams, each one fracturing a bit every day that the prince’s wedding drew near. Horses had such simple lives. They lived in the stables and galloped in the yards, their every need provided for. They ran where their wills took them, and they fucked where they pleased. In the stable of the king, the horses were neither traded nor sold, and his favorites, cared for by Kurt, never went to war. How wonderful it would be to live out his life as a horse, Kurt thought.

Then he rolled his eyes at his own foolishness.

He followed the prince to his room and saw him struggling with his clothes. He managed to tear off the coat and toss it on Kurt’s bed, but the shirt, along with the corset underneath, was giving him some trouble.

“Could we just get this started?” Blaine growled, nearly ripping off the uncooperative garments. Kurt caught the shirt when it finally slipped from Blaine’s shoulders and hung it along with the coat on a dull hook in the corner. Then he helped Blaine remove the corset. He loosened one lace at a time slowly so that Blaine’s lungs didn’t fill too quickly and cause him to pass out. Kurt could appreciate a sturdy corset, but not like this one, worn solely for looks. But this wasn’t vanity. In the case of the prince, Blaine’s father forced it on him to keep him from slouching in the presence of the princess - so he didn’t show with his body the resentment he felt.

Blaine far from needed a corset. His shoulders broad, his waist trim, his arms muscular, he cut a handsome figure in a properly fitted coat. Kurt could see that figure now, emerging from underneath cotton and bone. And though Kurt didn’t approve of the corset, the marks it left behind, running vertically on Blaine’s olive skin, made him hotter than a brick oven cooking in the middle of July.

Kurt removed the corset completely, and Blaine stood before him shirtless, back turned, chest heaving in anticipation. Kurt took a moment to appreciate the body of the man who’d started coming to him more and more recently in need of release … and sometimes, in need of comfort. Kurt rounded on Blaine and stood before him, stripped off his own shirt and tossed it aside, allowing the prince time to lay eyes on his body. He wore only his leather work pants, the material clinging like a second skin to his thighs. Kurt let Blaine’s eyes wander where they pleased, let him gawk openly, but once Kurt saw the bulge in the front of Blaine’s pants grow with interest, he knew Blaine had seen enough. Kurt pointed sharply to the ground, and seeing the signal from his Dom, Blaine lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Arms out,” Kurt commanded, no more need for ceremony or fancy titles now that Blaine had silently shown his willingness to submit.

Blaine raised his arms and grabbed the posts at either side of him, keeping his eyes downcast while his Dom worked. Kurt bound Blaine’s wrists to the wood, wrapping them with leather straps and pulling the ends tight. The prince sighed when the leather bit into his skin.

“You like that?” Kurt ran a hand up Blaine’s spine, rubbing his shoulders and pushing down on his bowed neck. “Of course, you do. You always do.”

Without permission to speak, Blaine stood obediently and listened.

In the confines of Kurt’s quarters, his sub didn’t always have permission to speak.

He had permission to scream, but that could be taken away.

Kurt stole a moment to clean up, washing the filth from his body with water from a basin beside his bed. He grimaced when the water turned brown with dust, as did the cloth he wiped down with. He wished he could wash himself a bit more thoroughly, but that would require drawing a bath.

They didn’t have that kind of time.

He opened a chest on the floor and pulled out a braided whip, along with a pair of leather gloves, both gifts from the prince after the first time Blaine wandered down to the stables in search of Kurt’s services. At the time, Blaine barely knew himself, barely understood where his strange urges came from. He had noticed Kurt before. Of course he had. Who but the blind could not? He was fair and strong, but kept mostly to himself. God, he seemed so quiet, so innocent to Blaine’s eyes.

After watching Kurt spend the afternoon breaking a new pair of stallions – a gift from the Belgium ambassador – Blaine simply knew.

He knew what he needed, and that night, he sought Kurt out – to have Kurt break him like one of his horses.

They taught each other, learned together, and as time passed, Blaine came to Kurt almost nightly, until the marks on his back frightened his servants. They would have sent most of the household into a fury had it not been for Sebastian and his uncanny ability to stop wagging tongues.

Falling in love with Kurt … well, that was something that Blaine hadn’t expected.

Kurt slipped the gloves over his hands, and then ran his hands all over Blaine’s body, starting down at his ankles, drawing his hands up Blaine’s legs, firmly massaging the muscles of the prince’s thighs, brushing over the outline of his hard cock aching in the restrictive pants. Kurt would have taken great pleasure in grabbing the impressive length and stroking it until Blaine came, but he knew that wasn’t what the prince needed. His hands traveled up Blaine’s flanks and his chest, pinching both nipples hard and soliciting a stifled groan. Kurt hugged Blaine from behind, fitting their bodies together so that Blaine could feel every plane of his body against him.

Kurt felt Blaine lean back toward him, longing to be close to him.

“That’ll come soon enough,” Kurt said. “That’ll come as soon as you do, sweetheart.”

Kurt released him and stepped away. Blaine whimpered beneath his breath.

“Was there something you wanted to say, sweetheart?” Kurt picked up his whip, feeling the weight of it in his hand, holding it so the braid didn’t brush against the dirty floor. He came back to where the prince stood and rested his head against the man’s shoulder.

Blaine shivered, holding on by a thread, and Kurt hadn’t even started yet.

“Please …” Blaine breathed, his voice heavy with desperation. “Help me …”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Kurt whispered, letting the words fall over Blaine’s shoulders and slide down his skin.

Kurt moved away, and without any warning, snapped the whip. The first crack of Kurt’s whip didn’t connect to Blaine’s skin; it was only meant to prepare him for what was to come. The sound of it, the promise in that sound as it struck the air, filled Blaine’s body with a surge of heat. It loosened every muscle, unbottled his inhibitions - gave him permission to be a man, not a prince. Kurt ran the leather braid over Blaine’s skin with light strokes, watching goosebumps blossom on the prince’s tan back and arms. The prince’s skin, pulled tight over his muscular frame, made Kurt’s mouth water. He knew how it tasted, how it felt beneath his tongue, how it felt against his back when Blaine pounded into him from behind.

Kurt walked back a few paces and watched Blaine prepare for the first hit, his muscles tightening to absorb the blow. It made Kurt immensely hard to watch such a powerful man like Prince Blaine, shrewd and clever, feared by his enemies and loved by his kingdom, submit. He took his time, eyeing the area right beside his spine where thin, white marks had already healed over other lighter, silvery marks. He raised his arm, but before he could bring the whip down, he heard one last, soft plea from the prince’s lips.

“Kurt?”

The whip cut through the air, the end of it slicing Blaine’s back. The tethered prince threw his head back and screamed through clenched teeth.

“God!” he groaned, breathing out quickly.

“I love the way you sound the first time,” Kurt moaned. “I love hearing you scream.”

“More,” Blaine begged. “Please, or I’m going to go mad.”

“No one told you to speak,” Kurt said with delight, holding his whip at bay.

Blaine dropped his head and whined, pressing his lips into a tight line to keep from making any more remarks, one in particular on the tip of his tongue that would most likely have him untied and sent home.

Kurt watched Blaine’s breathing slow, his body relax, and when calm had overtaken him, Kurt brought the whip down again, moving closer so more of the braid bit into his back.

“Augh! Christ!” Blaine growled, his arms shaking, tugging reflexively against the straps binding his wrists and pulling them tighter.

Kurt held tight to the whip handle, feeling his heart race in his chest. Another crack of his whip cutting into Blaine’s back made the prince’s knees buckle. He grabbed at the wooden posts and held firm, righting his feet beneath him. Kurt brought the whip down again, harder than before, and the scream that escaped the prince’s throat morphed into a moan. His knees buckled again, and this time, he almost fell to the floor.

“Now, now,” Kurt tutted, swallowing down the stirrings of his own erection, begging to be free from his pants. “We wouldn’t want you breaking your pretty little wrists. Stand up like the good boy you are.”

Blaine regained his footing, his knees wobbling as he waited.

Kurt reached down a gloved hand, snaked it beneath the waist of his pants, and grabbed his cock. He held himself, squeezing below the head, suppressing the craving to stroke. Holding his hard length in his hand, he brought the whip down again, and again, harder, and then less so, letting Blaine’s mutters and groans fuel his desires. Blaine held on to the posts, fingers straining, knuckles white, while his body slumped and his knees fought to keep him upright. Four more stripes and Blaine’s back was nearly painted red, but still he begged for more.

“Do you want to cum, Blaine?” Kurt asked, his voice low, merely a rumble in the back of his throat. He approached the prince slowly, letting Blaine hear every footfall on the floor behind him. Kurt surveyed the crisscross marks on Blaine’s back, wondering how it felt, how he could get off on being whipped the way he did, but the look of them, slightly grotesque and swollen, knowing that Blaine enjoyed them, made Kurt long for release himself. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Y-y-yes,” Blaine mumbled, his voice struggling to be heard past the chattering of his teeth.

“Do you want to cum off the end of my whip, Blaine?”

“Y-y-yes.” Blaine’s voice was nearly inaudible this time, but Kurt didn’t need to hear him say it. The answer was the same every time.

Kurt retreated again, forgetting the pain of his erection to focus on what he knew would happen next. He brought the whip down lightly on Blaine’s shoulder, but it was enough to make him weak. One more time on the opposite shoulder almost obliterated his grasp on the wooden post.

“Oh, God,” Blaine whispered into the air. Kurt could tell from his breathy gasp that he almost had him. The whip snapped at Blaine’s lower back, in those dimples where Kurt loved to fit his hands when they got the chance to make love. Blaine’s hips lurched forward, and a quiet, “yes,” passed his lips.

One more. Kurt knew he only needed one more, and he picked his spot carefully, a spot that had taken hours of practicing on those nights when he slept alone to perfect.

A spot that had become the prince’s favorite by far.

Kurt snapped the whip out along Blaine’s waist, where the braided length wrapped around his hip and hit his throbbing cock, with enough force to sting, but not enough to do any damage.

But it was all he needed.

“Fuck!” Blaine moaned and came with a string of muttered curses, his knees giving out and his wrists pulling on the leather straps until Kurt thought they might dislocate. Kurt dropped his whip and rushed over with a tall stool for the prince to drop down onto, giving Kurt time to undo the leather straps from the posts, and then from Blaine’s wrists, taking care with the sore, broken skin.

“Kurt … I …” Blaine muttered with his eyes half-lidded, lust blown pupils searching Kurt’s body while he worked. The fingers of Blaine’s freed left hand toyed at the strings of Kurt’s pants while Kurt worked to untie the left.

“Blaine …” Kurt warned, panting as tired, shaking fingertips brushed the head of his neglected erection.

“Kurt,” Blaine mumbled, “I want to …”

“No, Your Highness,” Kurt said firmly. He wrapped his arms around Blaine’s waist and lifted him from the stool, helping Blaine limp his way onto the bed. “You can barely stand.”

“I don’t … need to stand … for what I have in mind,” Blaine stuttered. Kurt suddenly got a vivid image of his gorgeous prince on his knees, pink lips stretched around his cock, taking him down his throat to the hilt, sparkling hazel eyes staring up at him with no shame, no superiority, no lines or borders or boundaries between them. It was almost a tempting enough image to make Kurt give in, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right. It would feel like taking advantage of a tired and wounded man.

“Maybe when you can stand on your own, I’ll let you,” Kurt said, trying to think of anything he could to make his persistent hard-on die.

There was a bull calf in the north quarter that he’d need to castrate on the morrow, he reminded himself, sure that that would do the trick.

It didn’t. In a way, it only made things worse, which, in turn, made him question his moral compass.

He laid Blaine down on his stomach. He emptied and cleaned his basin, then refilled it with clean water. He dusted the cool liquid with herbs that he remembered his mother using to heal cuts and bruises when he was younger, long before he entered the king’s service. They worked well against infection and cut down the sting, but most of all, they sped the scabbing of the wounds. Any mark on the prince’s skin stabbed at Kurt, regardless of how erotic whipping him felt.

Kurt emptied and refilled the basin three times before the prince’s wounds were well cleaned. He undressed the prince, pulling off his shoes, pants, and stockings, exposing him to the cool, soothing air. Then Kurt disrobed and climbed onto the bed beside him. Blaine reached out instinctually to find Kurt, to hold his hand or touch his shoulder, anything to let him know that Kurt was there beside him. Blaine had often said that Kurt was his anchor, and that without him, he would feel adrift, floating here and there with no place to call home.

It was difficult to believe those words sometimes, considering all that would befall them in the days and weeks to come, but they were nice to hear all the same.

“You will be staying on here, will you not? After I am wed?” Blaine asked. It was a question made of more than one feeling. It was a statement, a command, a prince relaying an order that would be followed without dispute; but it was also a plea, a hope, a gentle request.

“I was not commanded otherwise,” Kurt replied, sheltering his smile. Blaine laced their fingers together. He brought Kurt’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.

“Will you be telling Princess Berry about us then?”

Blaine’s kisses stopped, and Kurt wished he could take his question back, but he also needed to know.

“Why would she need to know?”

“Well, she is to be your wife,” Kurt said matter-of-factly. “Don’t you think she deserves to know?”

“No,” Blaine said, a catch splintering his voice. “No, she doesn’t. I will not share you and I will not lose you. Do you understand?”

“But I’m sharing you,” Kurt grumbled.

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“But …”

“No, Kurt! It’s different! You understand, don’t you?” Blaine let out a shuddering breath. “P-please say you do.”

Kurt sighed, sinking further into the thin mattress with his arm wrapped around the prince’s middle, avoiding putting too much pressure on his back.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He leaned over to kiss Blaine’s cheek. “I understand.”

Kurt drew his blanket over them. He kissed Blaine softly on the nape of his neck, feeling the body in his arms relax at the touch of his lips. Kurt let his breathing follow Blaine’s till they inhaled together and exhaled together, drifting off to sleep with a sympathetic Sebastian guarding the stable door, ready to wake his prince before dawn.

[awed-frog]

Thank you for answering my cuestion about human Cas! That was so great to read. My favorite movie as a child was the little mermaid and now I don't know what to think about that 😑 Anyway thank you, and, one cuestion that popped in my mind. If every angels has emotions and have made their own choices, why is Cas so different?

Hi! No problem, it was fun! And about what makes Cas different - what I’ve been taught to do with this kind of questions is flip them at once, and wonder instead, “Is Cas different?” and I think that’s a healthy habit to form, because sometimes questions are framed in that way to prove a malicious political point and we mostly never notice (“Why do Muslim hate us?” is a recent example).

So, is Cas different? I have to say - I never truly thought about this, because the show spent seven seasons textually telling us that Cas is indeed different, but it could be interesting to look into it. So, here we go.

The complaints we hear about Cas, and that supposedly set him apart from other angels, are that ‘he cares too much’ and ‘he never does what he’s told’ and also that ‘he prefers humanity to his brothers’ - but are those things really exclusive to Cas? Because if we look at the angels we know - Gabriel cared so much he basically faked his own death because he couldn’t stand his brothers fighting, and he cared so much he built an intricate fantasy for Sam just to prove a point, and he cared so much he finally decided to stay and die rather than damn it all to hell. Naomi, for all her faults, also cared a lot, as did Ishim, in his own unhealthy and obsessed way. Having feelings is not unique to Cas. Balthazar, Raphael, Gadreel, even Metatron - they all had identities and opinions and feelings of their own, and that applies to ‘not doing what you’re told’ as well. Of all the angels we’ve met, very few were following orders to the letter. From Uriel to Anna to Ishim to those rogue angels Cas was hunting down with Hannah, angels seem to know how to make up their own minds and disregard a hierarchy that hasn’t had a true leader for years (and possibly centuries). And as for the humanity thing - that confuses me, truth be told, because if we want to be logical about it, all angels should consider themselves servants of humanity. That’s why Lucifer Fell, after all: “Non serviam,” I will not serve, he told God, and God cast him down and cursed him. So in a way it makes little sense that the ‘real’ angels, creatures like Naomi and Zachariah and even Michael himself, should think so little of humans and that free will their Father has given his creation. 

No, I think that if Cas is truly as different as the show keeps insisting he is, it’s because he uses those opinions and those feelings in what as traditionally seen as an unselfish way: to help others, and not to seek anything for himself.

(And I say ‘traditionally’ because there’s some debate about this: if what makes you happy is make other people happy, is what you’re doing really unselfish? That’s a philosophical point, of course, but personally I tend to believe we all do what we need and what we want - even when that includes hurting ourselves or devoting ourselves to other people.)

Balthazar and Gabriel thought of themselves first, and even Uriel, a sort of fanatic, was serving a greater purpose, as were Naomi and Raphael and most of the other angels we’ve met. Cas, on the other hand, was always interested in protecting people (but, again, it could be argued that in so doing he was ‘simply’ fulfilling item one of his operating manual: serve humanity). Furthermore, his affection and love for Sam and Dean resembles a lot ‘normal’ human feelings, and that’s the story the show’s been pushing, both textually and (mostly) subtextually: what is different about Cas is, in the end, not that he’s rebellious, but that he can love (that he craves, perhaps, ordinary human intimacy: holding hands, whispering sweet nothings, watching movies in a darkened movie theater and, why not, sex).

And, I mean - I recognize that it’s there they want to go, and I talked about this in my metas in the past and I’m all for it (the angel who can love - that’s some powerful narrative), but, as you may know, I’m slightly pissed at the show right now, which means I’m less willing to forgive it its plotholes and inconsistencies. Because, I mean, even if we accept that Cas is the only ‘weird’ angel (and, as I just said, he isn’t), the fact he can love - how do we know it’s unique? We’ve seen Ishim lose everything to make Lily his - and that was the wrong way to love someone, but in its black, twisted way, it was love nonetheless (plus, we never saw how the whole thing started). We also got a glimpse of other angels having relationships - Benjamin and his vessel definitely had something deep going on, Anna was very keen on Dean before going insane for reasons I don’t even remember, Gadreel and Thaddeus were basically exes and Thaddeus had a sort of human family he seemed to care deeply for, Hannah fell in love with Cas and freaked out - the list goes on and on, which means that, well, if you want to be annoying about things, Cas isn’t very special or unique - at all. Like, as I was writing this I wondered for a second if we needed to include him in this new, amazing category of ‘soft’ heroes - Pop Culture Detective analyzed Newt Scamander as the perfect example of a hero who rejects toxic masculinity in a fantastic video - but even then - as meta writers, we often profile Cas as borderline autistic, but the truth is - he’s awkward and out of place on Earth (which, again, makes zero narrative sense, since he’s been watching humans for thousands of years), but we rarely see him interact with angels, and when we do, he’s - normal? Sure, he’s got his own personality, a personality which is a lot less flamboyant than Gabriel’s or Balthazar’s, but he never comes across as plain weird when he talks to angels - not in the way he so often does around humans.

So, well - maybe Cas is special because he’s interested in humanity, and likes humanity, in a way that goes beyond his original mission. He doesn’t help people because he was created to do so - he does it because that’s genuinely what he wants to do. He admires how resilient people can be, but he also loves our kindness, the fact we stick together and create ‘families that don’t end with blood’ even if, unlike angels, we could theoretically function on our own. Unlike other angels, Cas’ primary connection with humanity was not, as far as we know, through a single person - he didn’t become fascinated with Earth because he was particularly close to his vessel (again: as far as we know, which is not much); he liked us as we like birds or cats or mountains, without truly understanding us (it’s very telling, in this sense, that despite his fascination for humanity Cas knew nothing at all about our art and culture). Dean, of course, changed all that, and that’s when Cas became truly special, perhaps: when he decided to risk everything just because Dean asked him to, when he tried to form a real bond of affection with a human that wasn’t based on kinship or orders or ‘vesselhood’, but simply on - human things (shared experiences, common interests, genuine liking, maybe a healthy dose of lust).

I don’t know if I’m making any sense. Maybe I’m playing Devil’s advocate too much? As I said, I think it’s important to turn things around from time to time, and wonder if those truths we were taking for granted really are truths at all; but, well, perhaps it’s simpler to believe the story we’re being told - that Cas is special because he chose humanity over angels (because he can love), and if your question was why he can do those things when other angels allegedly can’t or don’t - my guess is that it’s got something to do with all those times Chuck put Cas back together and reshaped him. The idea that suffering is key to personal development and in order to become something better you need to symbolically die first is absolutely central in Christianity(I mean: think of baptism), and Supernatural is, despite everything, a Christian tale.