#in order to properly cover the extra effort that will be needed in learning a language which is so different from one's native language

[shavynel]

Writing comments for fanfic

tl;dr -- Write one thing you liked about the fic (a phrase or moment) and how you reacted or made you feel! Also, keep it fun! Make no demands of fic authors who write out of love and Owe Us Nothing.

It took me a while to figure out how to write comments. I went through an evolution. There's lots of stuff on how to write stories, probably even giving crit and feedback, but commenting? Not nearly as much. So here's my not so short ramble on writing comments for fic. Includes my Ways of commenting and Tenets of commenting.

Examples here will be T-rated (by AO3 standards) and most are taken from or newly written with specific fics in mind. They are, ahem, almost all Genshin Impact.

Commenting is, I believe, a personal thing. I've been told I have a bit of an enthusiastic presence, so what feels true to you may vary. I also like to write words (can you tell?). And smash keyboards.

Leaving comments is, in fact, effort! But it's also a skill that can be learned and honed. And honestly, I think my fic experience is improved by it. I don't always leave a comment. But, I don't know... that random internet person authored a Whole Thing. For Free (likely). And I just get to read it?? Yeah, I'm going to leave a little appreciation. Just a little snack in return for this fulfilling meal you have fed me.

I also find writing a comment is also a way for me to just bask in a fic a little bit longer, linger in that feeling of oh, wow, this was so good, and I don't want to leave yet. (And then sometimes there's a response, and then I get a bonus dose of nostalgia!)

Ways of commenting

These are roughly ordered by amount of effort required. I would say the comments I leave are a mash up of these, really. There aren't actual hard lines between them.

1. An extra kudos.

Kudos are nice. Knowing the kudos button isn't enough is one layer deeper! Comments like

"Thanks for writing!" "<3" "i mash kudos button but no more kudos come out what's wronnnnggg????" "yay an update!" "this is so good"

Level of effort: slightly more than a kudos.

Honestly, copy-pasteable. Personally, I would always write these out. Somehow, to me, as a commenter, feels more real if I tippy tappy the letters myself even if Author can't tell. It's a nice way to let an author know you're coming back chapter after chapter when we can only kudos once on a fic. I like to leave a little something more, but I still often start or end with this.

2. Fic reaction.

Sometimes a fic just leaves me a certain way. Invoked a particular mood or visceral reaction. So, I let the author know!

"Awww, my heart is warm!" "Jaw on ground. WTF!" "Literal chills." "My eyes are wet. How did that happen?" "This fic is pure comfort." "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Heart on floor, smashed." "WHOLESOME!" "This has left me completely feral and ready to punch something."

Level of effort: you need some emotional intelligence or other awareness of you reactions.

As a starting point, was the fic -- wholesome, sweet, chaotic (in a good way), funny, heartwrenching, sad, delightful, shocking, calm, peaceful, I just want a hug now, terrifying, creepy, comedic?

How do you then turn this into a comment? "This was so ___!!"

Honestly, my crutch here is to just keyboard smash. What does it mean? Your guess as good as mine. I'm speechless, and I cannot words properly, but please participate in these Feels I'm having.

3. One detail I like. (My default comment style)

This one covers a lot of scope. If I read to the end of the fic, there's probably something I liked. Maybe

a turn of phrase. "Diluc drinking grape juice like a man chained to an interrogation table. sfjfskkdz" "Bedsheets twisted up like cooked spinach is SO accurate." "Itto-to is such a cute mashup name!" "We have years ahead of us. That was just one day in the past. The feeeeeelllssss" ":) as punctuation" "Barbatos and Nobles as a bookstore. Sdjjsfjdw I love it"

a particular character moment, action, interaction, or dialogue. quote or paraphrase it! "Diluc kicking Childe into the water was hilarious." "Childe is such an adrenaline junkie. I can't believe he would lean out the window while he was driving." "I'm so proud of Zhongli for actually admitting his feelings!"

some specific moment you emotionally reacted to. I've only recently trained myself out of stoic facing through fic. I mean, it's a useful skill, don't get me wrong (especially in public), but it's less useful when it's just me by myself. I now laugh at 3am reading fic, and my life is brighter for it. Comedy fic writers, you are my fave. "Can't get over when Diluc walks in on Kaeya and Childe. AHHHHH!" "Qiqi drying Childe's hair was so sweet!"

Level of effort: you have to actually remember something you liked or reacted to.

The number of movies I watch and number of times someone asks how's my week, and I just stare blankly because I know it was good but don't know anything else? High. So yeah, this isn't trivial.

I've gotten to the point where usually while reading I notice a moment of "wow I love this!" I don't go looking for them (because I want to stay in fic headspace not comment material hunting headspace), and I don't spend much effort trying to remember. If I forget, that's fine. Not like I'm not writing a book review for a grade or anything.

Just, what's a moment you just got to call out? (And bonus, what's your reaction?) Authors out there seem to like to make us feel things. Show them we're just dangling from their puppet strings!

I usually leave comments like this. Just popcorn style, as many things as I remember, whatever comes up as I recall it. I'm aware that sometimes I end up basically quoting a fic back to its author completely out of order interspersed with commentary or keyboard smashes. I'm occasionally embarrassed by how much I'm smashing into their comments, but the reception seems overall positive.

4. Between the lines and spin off thoughts.

Sometimes fic make me think. I mean, canon makes me think, and then people go and make fanworks off of that, so of course I'm bound to run into fic that makes me think. Sometimes the things I notice or think about aren't directly in the text, but implied or spin out thoughts. An interpretation, a mini analysis, or a reflection. Like,

a new thought or take on a character. "Aro-ace Venti! I like this take!" "Please don't break Klee. She's just trying her best to hold all the adults together. Oh no. You've already broken Klee. T_T" "I bet Jean is the only person who could have kicked Diluc's ass, and he really needed it." "Kaeya what are you doooinggg?? Why is he like this???" (An extra note, it's cool to disagree with a character, but not the author. Character did that makes you want to scream? Go for it. Author wrote the character in a way you disagree with? Don't comment. Leave the fic if it bothers you that much.)

noticing foreshadowing or a detail that isn't fully explained / only alluded to. "Is that Scara working at Scarabucks???" "Wait, something about what Venti said makes me think this isn't just a modern day AU ..." "Did that count as a geo construct for the purposes of the contract?"

some sentence or moment somewhere that just hits you in the brain. This one I don't actually know if author's like. On the one hand, I can imagine it being flattering. On the other, maybe it's too personal? I'll usually center these on the characters, kind of like character analysis. "Diluc sharing his anxiety with Kaeya, and that being what made Kaeya look at his own anxiety... really hits. Like, I don't even think Diluc could have said something sooner without Kaeya running, which says so much about how Diluc loves Kaeya. And the fact Kaeya can see this as a mirror of what he's doing and learns something from it. Just. Oof. Wow." "The conversation between Zhongli and Childe is just so real. Like Zhongli is trying so hard but his ass just can't understand Childe just wants him to tell them things and his not telling things is Not Helping even though he just wants to protect the boy!"

Level of effort: some amount of analytical thinking, reflection, or willingness to share when you get sucker punched by words.

This one I absolutely never go looking for, so I don't leave many such comments. When it does come up, it usually smacks me in the face, and I let it (roll with the hit and into the comments). On occasion I am wailing in the comment box when the revelation (like having broken Klee) just dawns on me. Am I Feelings Processing in comment boxes? Uuuhhhhhh, no comment. (Don't mind the lack of delivery on the pun.)

I'd like to think authors appreciate when we reflect back to them we get their interpretation, but I can also imagine it might be a little too much for authors if we get too personal. In which case, sorry. Your work is great! Please take it as my intention to flatter you since you've touched my heart or brain or soul with your words.

5. Craft appreciation.

This one, *head scratches* yeah, I don't often end up here. But sometimes it's not one moment, but something about all the moments, something underlying, or something in the way it was all put together. If I do end up here and write a general statement, I like to point to specific bits that made me think that (which is where I lean back on One Detail I Like). Actually, yeah, usually I use this as flavor to One Detail I Like, but I think it's sufficiently different to pull out separately. It's a writerly meta layer. What falls here?

dialogue. "Your dialogue is so good. I can hear it in in the VA's voice." "I love the contrast between how Zhongli talks and Childe talks."

imagery. "Can't get over the imagery of Childe releasing dandelion scenes. Such a kid!" "Childe sleeping with Tranquil Statlight is just so peaceful."

characterization. "The little nuggets you give characters like Rosaria doing community service at the church for Crimes just gives me life." "I love the way you write Childe. He's so aggressive!"

setting, world building (more for AUs but wow there are some authors good at expanding on canon lore). "Your world building is so cool. Like the abyssal graffiti on the walls?? HNNG!"

writing style. "Your style is very dreamy. <3" "This is genuinely so heartwarming, and yet at the same time what is this underlying feeling of something is wrong????" "I feel like people appreciate the art of comedic one liners but you've got angst one liners. AND THEY SLAY."

pacing, timing. "This fic reads like a high speed express train. It just never stops or slows down!!" "What is this cRaFT! Like. Para 1, comedic. Para 2, thoughtful. Para 3, WHY DO MY HEARTSTRINGS HURT."

use of language. "Using he for POV character and they for the other is LINGUISTICALLY MIND BLOWING." (Please, I want this to catch on more. I do absolutely respect people's pronouns. These fictional characters (and people who have pronoun flexibility)? She and they instead of she and she?? THE CLARITY WE COULD HAVE??!? I'm incredibly greedy for it.)

premise. "Pierro Dad gives me so much life." "The Bachelor but it's Diluc?? Let's go!!"

plot twist, or cliff hanger. "The reveal!!! *screaming*" "I can't believe you would do me like this." (No, I can't in good conscience leave a specific example and give a fic away. Yes, I am thinking of specific fics still.)

Level of effort: be able to map details you like to writer's craft.

Let's not pretend we're here to do crit. Even if we're using writerly words, we are not here to do crit. Well, I am not because I don't believe the comments box is the right time or place for it, but I am happy to lay on the praise and point out the things that worked for me.

Usually, I think it's harder to look across a fic and be like, yeah, the dialogue hit, or this writing style or pacing really does it for me. It's more nebulous. And sometimes it kicks you out of fic reading headspace and into a writerly meta land to notice, so I don't, and I just let the fic wash over me. And if something here strikes me, I will offer my praises. Again, I think it helps to think of this more as an additional kind of One Detail I Like.

Tenets of commenting (and a little of reading)

Okay, so those were some do's, but I also have don't's. These are my boundaries that I keep. Maybe yours are different. I suspect most of these stem from the place, Author did this for free and Owes Me Nothing, so that's the one real tenet. I keep these in mind so that I can keep fic a nice, fun, safe place for me (and hopefully the authors too).

1. I will never ask for updates. I never expect a next chapter.

I've seen enough content creators stressed out and burnt out about putting something out over and over again. I feel for them. That sucks. They probably just started doing it for fun, and now ... The demand and expectation they continue to perform for free? Yeah, it's not going to come from me.

Once upon a time, because of this and a desire to have complete stories, I wouldn't read incomplete fics. I now am The Biggest Fan of incomplete fics. Yes, hang me off the side of a cliff. I will scream at you. And if you don't haul me back up? Well, fine. I'll live. Some other author's got my back. Probably. There's still so much to love between world building, characterization, good moments, jokes -- and you sometimes get the experience of seeing familiar faces screaming at the fic with you update after update. It's precious. It's fleeting. I could go on, but maybe a different day. Back to commenting!

Flip side, as an author, I will say the desire for more is, in one case, why I plan to continue a fic from years ago. I was very firm at the time I would not be extending the one shot, but I guess time changes things, and the fact people were like, I would read more story contributes to that.

So this one is very much a personal tenet. There's some line between I love this so much I want it to continue, and expecting there to be more. Where is it? I don't know. So I just stay away. Surely Author will get I want more if I just say how much I love everything and have commented on their latest chapter. Rather than leave snacks that taste like burn out to some authors, I will focus on other flavors of comments!

2. I will not say what I dislike.

Not my ship? I probably won't read. Not my preferred ship dynamic? Tropes I don't like? Characterization not hitting it for me? Paragraph formatting not doing it for me? I just x out of there, find something I do like. People be writing things for free! Let them have their fun!

If I did read it, snd I stayed, something else must have grabbed my attention. I'll focus on that. Writing style not quite doing it for me but I love the details added to the world? "Wow, the world you flesh out is so complex." No mention about how much of a drag it is to read, because hey, I still read it, and I had reason to not put it down!

3. I will not give corrections.

Authors (and maybe a beta) have put in tremendous effort and time, and to be like, "you missed a typo" or "actually, the canon lore says X" often detracts from the beauty of the shared fic experience. I interpret random grammar and misspeaks and typos in daily conversation and texts all the time. Surely I know enough to employ this skill. And if I figured it out, other readers probably will figure it out too. If I can't, I usually assume the author was too big brain for me and skip merrily along to the next sentence. (And if it's too much for me to handle, I click out.)

Yeah I get it! I get the urge to want to be helpful and contribute to other people's experience! I know that feel! Because, well, I learned this one from experience. I tried once. Watched an author wilt a little when what I wanted was to be helpful. Yeeeaaah, not doing that again.

So, I suspect this often comes off as a little entitled that just by that bit of you say something and kinda underlyingly expect the author to do something about it, and again, Author Owes Me Nothing! Even if the author is asking for a beta, I'd reach out first and make sure they are now in a headspace to be expecting beta thoughts from me.

Wrapping it up

I love fic, the world is rich with it, and I am full of love for authors and their craft. It fills my heart with joy to know I can return a little smile to someone who has let me hop on their ride for free.

It does take effort. Writing comments, turns out, is writing. Writing is a skill, therefore writing comments is a skill. And writing takes practice to improve, so, guess what, writing comments takes practice to improve. Who would've thunk. (Not me, I assure you.)

I've wanted to write this for me for a while, capture what I've learned because I noticed my ability to write comments change over time. Then recently, I was rec'd a fic and told to definitely leave a comment because the author deserves it and I write good comments. Dispatched because I write good comments! Now my commenter feathers are fluffed up, and so I have actually written this. But I definitely didn't start out the comment writer I am today, so I wanted to share that, surprisingly there is a progression path! (Maybe this is only surprising to me.)

I do find commenting adds to my fic reading experience. And I love reading other people's comments. Sometimes other people notice things I didn't or have very cool interpretations, and that is an extra wow right there. (And look at all these other people who like the thing I like!)

And if I leave a comment, sometimes I get a reply! Author noticed my little comment! Extra dose of happy for everyone!

And sometimes, sometimes, (and again I would never expect it, but it is a gift much like fic itself is) an author will write back full of their notes and what they were thinking about writing those moments, and I treasure that so, so much. It's both a delight because of the usual Author saw my effort commenting and I get an extra behind the scenes! The craft behind the craft! (Now how do authors leave good replies? That is still a mystery to me.)

Sometimes I write a lot and then it goes into a black hole, and that's sad. Hmm. I'm pretty sure this is what authors feel when we don't leave comments. Hmm. Guess it's time to write more comments! (Sometimes, like fic updates, replies show up months later, and that's honestly <3)

So, let's go leave some comments and show those authors love and tell them how much they delighted us! Or ... how they smashed our hearts into the ground with angst/no comfort because sometimes that's just what one wants to read.

[romanarose]

Secret's Out

Art by @runa-falls who drew me and marc lolololol

Join my taglist!

Masterlist

Brother Best Friend!Marc Spector x fem!reader

Summary: Marc is your brothers roommate and best friend in college. When you attend the same school, you meet and fall in love with Marc Spector. You both try to keep it a secret, for fear of what he'll say... eventually though, the secret comes out.

Warnings: Brief smut, readers brother drinks alcohol, protected creampie, mentions of oral.

Immersability: Reader is not Jewish, or least knows nothing about holidays as she tries to learn. Picture above does nothing to describe reader, including height, I just thought it was cute and Em let me use it lol. Reader is fem and AFAB

A/N: Although I know no one owns the idea of collage AU's, I think in this fandom it's safe to say that @juneknight is a big inspo for a lot of us writing college au marc. June had said she doesn't mind other people writing college marc but I still wanted to give her credit for it as that series is something I love v v v much and is a fandom fav. If you havn't read any of it, check em out. June is amazing. Als, I feel like i've had similar conversations with people in different discord servers about this concept but I can't remember who or who said what? but y'all know how those convos go, everyone throwing things in. If you feel i ripped of something you said, know it was on accident and i can give you creds as well!

1.5k words

********************

Sex on a dorm bed was hard enough, but Marc insisted he wanted the bed raised so he could fit his mini fridge under there. 

And a pile of fucking junk, but thats neither here nor there. Marc looked like he packed up all his personal belongings into plastic bins. He must live far away, because he never went home, not even over thanksgiving break and he paid the extra money to stay over winter break coming up, citing he was Jewish so he didn’t really need to be home for christmas. But what about new years? And he never felt for Jewish holidays either. You know, because you had been looking into them all in order to properly greet him. 

A few weeks into classes your first year, your older brother introduced you and let you hang around them while you got oriented in your new school. You had told Marc ‘Happy Yom Kippur’ to which he politely smiled and thanked you, only for you to find out later that ‘happy’ wasn’t exactly the right verbiage. So, you did your best to research. It wasn’t until you were intently watching youtube videos on what everything on a passover seder symbolizes that you realized how hard you had fallen for him.

Lucky for you, your interest and effort had endeared you to him just as much. He fought his feelings for a long time. Your brother, AJ, had been his roommate freshman year and all four years since, and there was no goddamn way on this planet he’d let Marc date you, always telling you which guys to stay away from. He was one of those guys, wasn’t he? So he tried his best to avoid you.

Fate had other plans, a normal day where you showed up at their room looking for AJ had ended with you both tumbling into bed, starting a secret little affair. Marc was good at what he did, opening you up with his fingers first and spending so long with his head between your legs you wondered if he was even planning on getting off at all. But he did, oh god he did, blowing his load inside you and you both came with a loud groan that caused the next door neighbors to bang on the adjacent wall telling you to shut the fuck up.

So started your dirty little secret, sneaking fucks in where you could, hooking up in the public bathroom next to the laundry room, quick kisses in unused classrooms. There was one time AJ was supposed to be gone for a 3 hour class, and walked in unceremoniously as Marc was balls deep inside you, the jingle of the keys and the sound of the key in the door only barely giving Marc enough time to throw you under the covers. AJ was quick to realize Marc had a girl in his bed, closing the door. Covering your mouth, Marc slowly began fucking you as he told AJ the come back later, AJ giving him some good-natured ribbing before announcing he would be at the dining hall. You were back on the verge of an orgasm by the time he left the door, the thrill of near getting caught culminating in cumming hard enough you bit Marc’s hand that still covered you.

 It was hard, you wanted to be out. Marc wanted to show you off, to show all the assholes in school how you, YOU were willingly dating him. Prettiest damn thing he’d ever seen. And you, you just wanted everyone to know who you belonged to. You knew Marc had a reputation, and you knew being his girl, you were safe.

Most of all, outside of the public image, you just wanted to be able to be together.

You helped Marc climb back on the bed despite the fit of laughter. After he finished, Marc rolled off you, but seemed to forget you were on a twin bed and promptly fell off. That’s where the bed being raised came in, adding a few feet for him to drop down. You would like to have thought you would have been a concerned girlfriend, but once you saw he didn’t land on his face or anything you couldn’t stop laughing, especially at his grumpy frown. Fucker was funny as shit without trying to be.

When he finally climbed back up, you two cuddled back under the covers and you began to kiss away his frown lines all over his face until they eased in a smile, kissing you back.

“I love you, you know.”

You did. You knew that with your whole heart. “Love you right back, Marc Spector.”

It wasn’t two minuets later when AJ walked in to see you laying on top of Marc, only covered by the blanket, he quickly closes his eyes. 

“GOD DAMMIT! WHAT THE FUCK!” He shouts, Marc quickly pulling the blanket up more and rolling over to cover you with his body. 

“GET OUT!”

“YEAH NO SHIT, SICKOS.”

AJ left, going to the lounge and you knew it was over. He knew it was you. You were shaking, your anxiety through the roof and Marc tried to calm you.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, I’ll take the blame-”

“WHY WAS THE DOOR UNLOCKED!” You scream.

“I’m sorry, I forgot!” 

“I WAS ON TOP MARC, IF HE HAD WALKED IN HE WOULD HAVE SEEN ME NAKED! ANYONE COULD H-HAVE WALKED I-I-I-IN!!”

Marc took your face in hands, sitting up and gently coaxing you. “Hey, baby, look at me.” You open your eyes, lost inside his and you knew you were safe. “I’m sorry, I’m really fucking sorry. But you’re safe, it’s going to be okay. I swear. I’ll never forget to lock the door again, I promise.”

Tearful, you express your fears. “I don’t know if there’s going to be a next time.”

Marc’s soft eyes are in contrast to his tense face. “You’re a grown adult, baby. He might not like it, but he can’t stop us.”

“But he’s going to be mad at you! He’s your…”

He chuckled. “My only friend?”

“Your best friend.” You correct.

With a sign, he strokes your face, knowing you both had to go out there and face him soon enough. “You’re worth it, okay? Whatever happens, you’re worth it.”

Overcome with emotions, you tuck your head into Marc’s neck. “It’ll be okay.”

You both got dressed, Marc opening the door to the loud, his body symbolically in front of you. Neither of you thought that there was any chance your brother would hurt you, but it was the gesture and what it meant. Marc would always be your protection.

“J, listen man, I can explain-”

“C’mon dude, all you had to do was text me to stay out so I don’t have to walk in on you fucking my sister.”

Everyone was quite, that wasn’t the response they were expecting. “I wasn’t- we weren’t- we were done,”

You smack Marc’s arm, whispering ‘gross’ and then look to AJ. “So you’re not… mad? You sounded mad…”

“I was mad because it was nasty, I don’t need to see that. I don’t give a fuck what you guys do.”

Marc was hesitant, but you moved out from behind Marc to join at his side. He spoke next. “You don’t care?”

AJ laughed. “I don’t care for her,” He clarified, smiling. “For you.” AJ pushed past both of you and made his way to Marc’s minifridge, stealing a beer.

“What does that mean?” Marc asked, incredulous and only semi-distracted by his roommate's theft. Bigger fish to fry.

“I mean,” AJ finished the beer and handed the can to Marc. “You know she cries every time she watched Revenge of the Sith, right?”

Marc turned to you and you shrug. “They were brothers, Marc!”

AJ continued. “She once cried because she wanted to make pasta but we didn’t have sauce. Like laid down on the kitchen floor and cried.”

“I was hungry and to broke to order food!”

“I offered to drive you to walmart!”

“I was tired!”

“You she bites her toe nails”

Marc jumped back in. “that’s why you’re so flexible”

AJ had enough “DISGUSTING! GET OUT! OUT!” He pushed you both out of the room he claimed you had defiled. “Go be disgusting elsewhere, sickos.” He slammed the door in your face as you laughed, giddy that the secret was out and it went well.

“Well, that was not what I expected?” You wrap your arm around his middle, walking towards the elevator. 

“Yeah… I thought I was about to get decked.”

Just then, you hear your brother scream your name down the hall.

“Y’ALL BETTER GET YOUR GODDAMN NASTY ASS UNDERWEAR OUT O HERE WHAT THE GODDAMN FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!”

Marc turned to you. “You forgot your underwear?”

“I WAS PANICKED!” You defended yourself. “I COULDNT FIND THEM AND IM IN LEGGINGS SO I JUST ASSUMED I WENT COMMANDO.”

Sex was moved to your dorm from then on.

******************************

Sorry this came to me today again and i had to write it.

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @steven-grants-world @ahookedheroespureheart @littlenosoul @mikaelak @stevenandmarcslove @scarletthefierce @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @missdictatorme

[corcnaiism]

;-- just bc i won't be able to properly write prompto's modern verse completely and in a grammatically correct manner any time soon, ima just post a plethora of bulletins of important info. prompto's modern verse pt.1 :

prompto comes from the outskirts of insomnia where all the shady stuff happens. crime and poverty are the biggest issues of the area.

his parents were drunkards, never married, unfaithful, and only kept prompto for the extra money given to them by the system to "raise him". they used very little of the money for him and the rest for themselves. the dad worked as a construction worker and the mum was a stay-at-home "wife". the two were usually always away from home or passed out drunk, leaving poor baby prompto alone. it was a miracle he survives as he was neglected to all hell and only given the minimal effort to keep him alive.

prompto suffered from poor eyesight at an early age, but his parents never bothered to get him prescription glasses.

once prompto was old enough, the parents immediately sent him off to school as they didn't want to deal with a toddler at home. bc of how disconnected he was from his parents, prompto had learning difficulties as he could not communicate properly with others. luckily, his teachers were very helpful and caught him up, especially his homeroom teacher who remained the same throughout his kindergarden-3rd grade years. the parents never attended to any school related events, even parent-teacher conferences.

eventually, his dad would leave him a weekly allowance for him to use to buy himself food since his mum wouldn't bother cooking for both of them, and they didn't want to deal with a deceased child on their conscious. there were times his allowance would get stolen from him by his mum who desperately needed alcohol, and prompto quickly learned to hide his money and other personal belongings away. at some point, he would give up eating for a day in order for him to buy himself a pair of reading glasses. it still wasn't enough but better than not being able to see much.

due to their intoxication, his parents were abusive towards each other and prompto. they would yell, throw things, punch walls, and physically beat each other. this lead to prompto developing severe ptsd to the sound of screaming, other loud noises, and touch. he would also learn to wear long sleeves and pants to cover up bruises and cuts he'd receive from physical altercations with his parents bc he didn't want to be called "ugly" by others.

prompto favorite place throughout his youth was school, mainly bc it was the only other place he could go that didn't cost money for him to exist for a couple of hours. he may had trouble with his academics, but the drive to learn was there thanks to his homeroom teacher who encouraged him every step of the way. she was also the reason why he got into music early on, simply bc she found him eating lunch in the music room.

prompto grew a fascination with playing the piano when his homeroom teacher began teaching him. unlike his studies, he was a very quick learner when it came to playing instruments and shortly, he'd be performing in the school's talent shows. it didn't take long before he also picked up guitar and singing. due to the control he had with the sounds coming from the instruments and his voice, prompto found a means to cope with his ptsd and turn it into something soothing.

his homeroom teacher gifted prompto his very own keyboard piano for him to practice at home for his birthday, but he was hesitant to accept it due to fear of how his parents would react. his teacher insisted and said she would speak with his parents about it, so they wouldn't think otherwise, but that also was a big no from him. nonetheless, she drove him home that day and introduced herself to his dad who was the one who opened the door. he was already wasted when they got there, pissed off to all hell. his dad exclaimed they didn't need "charity" or "hand-me-downs" and yelled at her to leave. but his homeroom teacher urged to let prompto take this gift and explained how talented he was with the piano and other aspects, but the dad didn't want to hear any of it and flew off the rails by smashing the keyboard right in front of her face. this triggered red flags within the teacher and grew worried over prompto's state of being living in such an abusive household. she wanted to take prompto away but knew it would only cause more trouble, so she decided to leave and would call the authorities later. however, she had only been able to set one foot away when prompto's dad got so bothered by her presence and suspected she would call the cops on him, so he grabbed the nearest gun he had stored up and shot her point blank, killing her instantly. prompto had been there the entire time and witnessed everything, worsening his trauma. it only got worse when his dad dragged both him and his teacher's corpse to his truck and drove them to a secluded area in the middle of nowhere. his dad threw a shovel at prompto and forced him to bury his teacher which he pleaded against it but was beat in response, so he had to with tears rolling down his face. his dad threatened to kill him too if he ever said a word to anyone, so for years poor prompto kept his mouth shut in utter fear for his life. for further erasure of the crime, the dad wrecked the vehicle his teacher had drove in and dumped it in the largest body of water closet to insomnia. the cops never had a lead for years.

prompto's mum would die a year later due to alcohol poisoning. he found her laying on the bathroom floor and tried to save her by calling an ambulance, but he had been too late. his dad never cared.

due to heartbreaking tragedies taking a heavy toll on him, prompto's health declined dangerously. some days he would eat too much, some days he wouldn't eat at all. some days he would sleep all day, and some days he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink. this was where his weight issues began, being overweight. he would miss school occasionally bc it reminded him too much of his teacher, but he wouldn't miss a lot as he didn't want to be around the house when his dad was there, and he'd get a beating if the school called his dad, and he'd find out he had skipped school.

when prompto did go to school, his grades were poor, and he'd spend a lot of time in the music room where his deceased teacher used to spend the afternoons with him. his love for music had withered away since her passing, but it would eventually spark again when he wanted to play her a song on the piano in hopes that she would be able to hear it, as a means to give her a funeral of his own. he felt as though she would want him to continue with what she had praised him so much for, and he wanted to honor her wishes. with everything he played up till present time, she was always on his mind, dedicated and thanked her with each song he played.

entering middle school, prompto dealt with a lot of bullying for his overweight problem from students and his dad alike. seeing as how he was unable to run away or have the agility to dodge punches coming his way, he decided it was best to start dieting and working out in order to be able to defend himself bc he was tired of constantly taking it. it was a tedious and difficult journey as he would relapse several times whenever something triggered him, but he kept at it as he really wanted to do better, and he could feel himself getting better whenever he would follow routine. he decided to record his progress using throw-away cameras he'd buy with his saved up allowance and taking pictures of himself to see the changes he'd make. that was when his fascination with photography kicked in as he found it motivational to see the past and the present and compare them, liking the idea that he can capture a moment of time with a simple click. shortly, and when he would have extra film rolls, he would begin taking pictures of things he found interesting and began his own collection. he still has his old albums up till present time.

[besttraining]

Beyond Boundaries: Kolkata's SAP Institute Celebrates a Decade of Excellence

For anyone looking for SAP education in Kolkata, there is a wide range of options available from beginner courses to expert certification training, the city offers numerous avenues for increasing one's knowledge about this business management software Students can start with introductory classes on the basics of SAP, which cover topics such as navigating the system and understanding its terminology.

Training programs also consist of modules that focus on developing skills in areas like finance and accounting, human resources management (HRM, enterprise resource planning (ERP, data analysis and more Certified trainers come from all over India to provide comprehensive guidance on these topics to students in Kolkata-based training centers or through online tutorials Classroom instruction often includes hands-on exercises so participants are able to apply what they learn in a real-world environment too.

  Professional organizations also offer tailored trainings specifically designed for their own employees who need additional help when using SAP solutions within their organization’s processes This type of program ensures that team members have better access to understand how they should utilize various modules within this sophisticated software suite effectively for maximum output potentials as well as shortening implementation time frames overall Companies may even outsource specific aspects of their operation without having to hire extra staff or invest any outside capital into the development process itself when done right first time round by properly skilled personnel during initial onboarding procedures etcetera clearly justifying costs associated with launching ERP project plans accordingly it has become much easier nowadays than before due obvious reasons mentioned above.

Kolkata-based firms offering strategic consultancy services related to IT systems integration projects usually include an educational arm where experienced tutors teach anybody interested free fundamental lessons regarding primary usage techniques required while dealing with SAP applications both extranet and intranet implementations wise making sure that latest updates related best practices approved guidelines by corporate governance bodies especially local ones are being taken under consideration throughout duration those sessions last giving remarkable results have been observed within significantly short periods compared status quo scenarios prior availability proffered materials personals behind each particular undertaking whenever necessary.

Finally some companies might prefer ensuring higher level certifications amongst existing work force either doing refresher courses themselves providing scholarship programs sending qualified personal off site locations mandated fulfill certain predefined requirements order graduate concerning field interest here again professionals from diverse backgrounds arrive mentor trainees equipping them necessary tools competencies thrive industry ultimately face plethora challenges arise way enabling successful adoption cutting edge technologies well founded expertise contemporary products market landscape at large end day reached goals originally set ensuring optimal return investments made possible combined efforts departing common source accordance regulations accepted society today.

Kolkata is home to one of the best SAP training centres in India This city offers a wide range of SAP courses and certifications at competitive prices These courses are designed to help professionals become experts in their field by equipping them with the necessary skills required for working on modern technologies such as SAP software and solutions.

  The types of SAP Courses available in Kolkata include basic level training, advanced level training and certification programs All these courses provide hands-on experience to enhance the knowledge base and help gain confidence while implementing various business processes using industry leading practices associated with SAP systems At present, there are multiple universities providing educational opportunities related to gaining an efficient working knowledge in this technology across different levels of expertise ranging from beginners’ module through professional-level certifications.

  Quality education delivered at reputed teaching institutes ensures that students get an understanding of all aspects related to deploying powerful implementations based on successful implementation strategies that have been developed over years within large enterprises running ERP/SAP systems globally  Alongside, they will also acquire essential insights into how enterprise hardware configuration can be optimized for peak performance when it comes to executing specific functions or tasks utilizing programmable logic controllers (PLC as well as other automation components like robots or automated conveyor systems for huge scale production lines etc, leveraging what is popularly known now as Industry  standards.

[muzzamilabbasiseoking]

Advantages of High Pressure Cleaning Services for Your Home

You intend to look for a properly curved industrial washing support that includes a established background of retaining its clients. After all you don't want to have to keep repeating the choosing processing. Evaluation the answers to these questions carefully to greatly help slim your list of probable cleaning companies to decide on from. Prior to making your ultimate selection there are always a several extra goods in the same way essential in your decision creating process.

Does the organization have responsibility insurance and is it ample enough to safeguard you against a potential responsibility declare arising from the cleaning? Do they maintain worker's payment insurance due to their workers? Many states involve this kind of insurance. Don't take the cleaning company's term saying they've insurance. Many businesses don't carry insurance, or only hold a minimal amount. Get yourself a duplicate of these insurance certificate. If you employ them demand on being added as a document dish and extra covered, therefore you are up-to-date with a brand new certificate when it finishes or if the policy is cancelled.

Every trustworthy commercial washing support will soon be pleased to provide proof insurance. Choose a industrial cleaning service that has insurance to safeguard you and your industrial center in the event of harm to your property and injury to the cleaners while they are on your own property.

For Your Security when you hire the industrial cleaning company feel the service to learn what they program to use on the various surfaces. Several new commercial cleaners use the wrong services and products or use the right services and products improperly. Some in-experienced cleaners actually utilize the inappropriate equipment. This may trigger lasting damage or spots to your property. A reputable and experienced organization will happily make an effort to tour your service, see the task which needs to be performed and also support you in creating a routine to keep the facility clear and shiny.Ask the professional washing service for a cleansing checklist that'll number all the solutions done for each cleaning. That check always list or "work order" must be closed by management to ensure that the commercial washing contractor to submit billing. Vape Shop in Dubai

Question the professional cleaning support for his or her pricing framework not merely for the companies you will demand frequently but also for any accidental companies that might happen throughout your agreement with them. Therefore they're washing your surfaces 3 x weekly? But, imagine if anything does occur to need a reel and wax of the ground area? Just how much may that charge? A trustworthy commercial washing service understands budgets and may understand your have to have a concept, if not a strong buck total for the kinds of companies required or which might become necessary.

Choosing a commercial cleaning support does not have becoming a frustrating task if you are using the info from this short article as an instrument to help you in making a choice. A commercial washing company that requires the time for you to solution all of your questions, who takes the time to review the facility and includes a thorough knowledge of the services to be done is more prone to meet and probably may surpass your expectations!

[dancebible1]

The ultimate guide to making your bharatanatyam costume unique and stylish!

If you’re looking to make an impression at your next function, or want to stand out from the crowd, look no further than your bharatanatyam costume. With a little creativity and thought, you can make your outfit stand out in a sea of similar outfits. The key is to find the right fabrics and accessories that will matches your personality and look great. Once you have everything set up, it’s time to start wearing your new suit!

What are the different types of bharatanatyam costumes.

Bharatanatyam is a classical Indian dance. It is a form of dance that is based on the Kathakali style of dance. Kathakali is a type of Hindu classical music. Bharatanatyam costumes are made from traditional Indian fabrics and materials. Each costume has its own unique look and feel.

How to Make a Bharatanatyam Costume.

To make a Bharatanatyam costume, you will need:

- A costume fabric

- A hair wig

- A belt or sari

- Shoes

- Jewels or nails

How to Wear a Bharatanatyam Costume.

In order to wear a Bharatanatyam costume, you will need to:

- Take your time making the costume

- Be sure the fabric is of good quality

- Make sure the wig is of good quality and fits well

- Get a good fit for the belt or sari

- Make sure the shoes are comfortable and fit properly

- Get nails or jewels to add some extra flair to your costume

How to Enjoy Bharatanatyam.

When wearing a Bharatanatyam costume, it is important to enjoy the experience. You may want to listen to traditional Indian music while wearing the costume and try to mimic the movements of the dancers. Additionally, be sure to drink plenty of cold water and eat light snacks during the performance.

How to Get Started in Bharatanatyam.

If you’re looking to learn how to make your own Bharatanatyam costumes, start with the basics. In this section, you’ll learn about the different types of costumes and how to get started. You can then begin making your own outfits by following these steps:

Learn the Basics of Costume Making

In order to make a good Bharatanatyam costume, you first need to understand the basics of costumemaking. This includes learning about the different types of costumes and how to create them. There are many ways to learn this information, but one way is to attend a costume workshop or class. Costume workshops and classes can be found at most libraries or online resources like Class-A-Dresses.com.

Start Making Your Own Bharatanatyam Costume

Once you have a basic understanding of how to make Bharatanatyam costumes, it’s time to start creating your own styles! There are many different ways to go about this, but one popular method is called “kitchenerism.” You will need some supplies including fabric, thread, needles, and scissors in orderto make your own Bharatanatyam costumes from scratch. The best way to learn this process is through trial and error – try out different materials and techniques until you find what works best for you.

Get reimbursements for costumes you make

If you make any clothes or accessories for your Bharatanatyam performances (either as part of an individual performance or as part of a team effort), be sure to ask for reimbursement from the organizers or event staff when leaving the show! This will help cover costs associated with your outfit even if it doesn’t sell out completely!

Tips for Making the Perfect Bharatanatyam Costume.

One of the most important factors when making your Bharatanatyam costume is planning ahead. You want to make sure you have everything you need before departure, so you can get started on yourekatha ceremony in style! To help with this, create a pattern and follow the instructions exactly.

Use a Pattern to Get the Perfect Look.

If you’re looking to add a bit of design flair to your Bharatanatyam outfit, there are plenty of patterns available online or in bookstores. The best way to find one is by searching for “bharatanatyam costumes” on Google or yahoo search engines. Once you’ve found a pattern that fits your specific needs and budget, follow the steps outlined in the pattern and make sure all measurements are correct before starting construction.

Follow the Directions to Create a Perfect Bharatanatyam Costume.

Instructions for creating a perfect Bharatanatyam costume can be found on many websites or books, but it’s always best to start with an understanding of what you want and how to reach it. By following these instructions carefully, you can create an outfit that looks great and is comfortable enough for any occasion!

Conclusion

If you're looking for a unique and exciting way to dress up for Bharatanatyam, there's no better way than through costumes made from various materials found in the Indian subcontinent. By learning about the different types of bharatanatyam costumes and getting help from a costume designer, you can create the perfect outfit for your performance. If you're interested in starting your own Bharatanatyam costume business, there are many resources available online to help you get started. Thanks for reading!

[faitsansorganes]

Btw the efficiency with which you learn a language really depends so much on the methods you use. While learning by translation (e.g. that jabłko = apple) works to some degree, any speech or writing in your target language will have to travel through an additional mental layer before you can understand or say it—as opposed to if you learned the words more directly (e.g. that jabłko = 🍎). Moreover, the applicability of translation as a means of approaching your target language falls apart as the linguistic distance between your native and target languages increases. Going from one indo-european language to another, you'll be mostly okay as long as you remember some language-specific rules, but outside of that things become ever more difficult. Much of Japanese, for example, cannot directly translate to English. There is absolutely no English equivalent for the nuances in choice of first- and second- person pronouns (or the choice not to use a pronoun at all!) in Japanese that can at all be understood when translated as the all-covering "I" or "you". Attempting to understand such linguistic differences in the terms of English does a disservice to one's learning and does not respect the Japanese language as something which exists on its own right, independent of the English language.

Now, to a certain point, using your native language to learn a target language is necessary. For the time being, the simplest resource for learning basic and topic-relevant words is a vocabulary list or an inter-language dictionary. Any introductory grammar is also much easier to learn the rules of in one's own native tongue. While one most likely could learn a language solely through engaging in media in that language, much as a baby learns their first language, without any guidance (which as yet seems only to be provided in full-time immersion programs designed for this purpose, which require not only a significant amount of money but also the free time not to be working at all during the duration of the program) this will take years.

That being said, having initially learned something in one's own native language does not mean that one should practice it in said native language. If you are using flash cards, then, using the aforementioned example of "jabłko", it would be better to have the definition side be a picture of an apple rather than the word "apple". To practice the conjugation of the relevant verb "jeść" as well, it would be better to have a card which is something like "ona [jeść] jabłko" than to have a card which requires you to translate "she eats an apple". (Obviously after a certain point, one will have to develop a method of telling oneself which tense is needed, but that is its own subject.) Through this, one develops a more direct and "intuitive" sense of the target language.

Learning in such a manner presents more initial difficulty, as it requires much more individual effort than does simply memorizing ready-made lists of words and grammatical rules, but the efficiency gained in learning and the depth gained in understanding more than makes up for this.

[just-a-creep-babe]

How many creeps do you think would be good at cooking? Imagine them making food for their s/o and cuddling with them 💙💙💙

Ooh, this was interesting to think about! ^^

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

Slenderman

This 👏mans 👏can 👏cook👏

He doesn’t do it too often because he doesn’t really… need to eat, but when he does? It’s a full-course fancy af meal

And it’s fucking delicious

Those tentacles mean that he’s pretty versatile in the kitchen

Combined with the many, many years of experience he has on this plane AND the fact that he’s a perfectionist, there’s no way his food is ever less than superb 👌

He doesn’t need his s/o’s help in the kitchen, but if they wanna lend a hand, he’ll more than gladly sheathe away his extra appendages to have some wholesome, pleasant human time with them 😙

If he’s doing something special for his s/o, chances are, he won’t stop at just the taste & appearance of the food, either

He’ll arrange a whole ass presentation for them—like a meal under the stars with rose petals scattered around expensive porcelain dishes, completed with candles for mood-lighting

He’ll even put on some nice, slow classical music while you dine ;)~

No expense is spared for his one and only darling 😚

Jeff the Killer

This may come as a surprise but he’s actually,,, fairly decent in the kitchen

Like, he’s really into keeping up his shape, right? So he takes special care in the things he puts into his body so that he can operate at PEAK performance

There was, admittedly, a time when he was younger where he legit ate absolute garbage

But then he realized (surprise, surprise) that eating good food makes you stronger, so he’s been putting effort into his diet ever since

The taste can sometimes be... a little bland because it’s all super healthy stuff, but most of the time, it’s pretty good ngl

He makes a lot of protein/carb-based stuff—so it’s a lot of heavy meats

You cannot get this mans to bake with you because he’ll cut back on the sugar/chocolate & turn your dessert into... a mush, basically

And he’s one of those people who can’t work in the kitchen with others, so any cooking with him at all probably isn’t going to happen

But, hey, if you don’t like preparing meals, at least he’s got it covered :)

Just don’t expect anything too sweet or fancy from him unless you want to be disappointed :p

Which, to be fair, you should be used to disappointment if you’re dating Jeff skdjksjdlkd

BEN Drowned

Alright, so, y’know how Jeff is super into health & nutrition, and Slender’s really good at making super fancy meals with excellent presentation?

Yeah, BEN’s the opposite of both of those

This mans cannot cook—and everything he makes is like thiiiis 👌 far from being chemically inedible

Not to mention, it looks about as radioactive as it probably is

Do not let this mans in the near vicinity of any kitchen whatsoever

If he wasn’t already dead, you’d be worried about him giving himself a heart attack with the kind of food he ingests

Speaking of, because he is dead, he doesn’t necessarily need to eat, but he still does enjoy food

He can get a lil cranky if he hasn’t eaten in a while, and when he’s in his physical form, he can still feel hunger—it just won’t kill him

So he’s at this point where he mostly just eats for the flavour, which explains his questionable cooking choices

Either way, it’s not recommended that you ever let this mans cook for you 😬

Eyeless Jack

As smart & talented as he is, it’s important to remember that homeboy was a college student before the incident

And because he can’t eat human food anymore & it all tastes the same (kinda like,, rotten dirt mixed in with ashes), it just means boy sucks at cooking

He can try to follow a recipe, but somehow, they always end up tasting a little... off??

It’s best for him to just stick to chicky nuggies and frozen pizza ngl :”)

Which sucks, because if he wants to cook for you, he wants to make it healthy, ya know?

If you have the patience for it, however, he’d be more than happy to learn how to properly cook for and with you

And he’s a pretty fast learner, so maybe there’s still hope for his cooking skills :”)

He really enjoys making food with you, but it can stress him out a little at the same time

He would generally just rather order takeout from some healthy place for ya instead

Also please don’t make fun of his cooking, he’s trying :(

Masky

Masky & Hoodie are the two most likely to cook for the mansion

Everyone’s supposed to take turns, but considering the quality of the meals the others make *cough* BEN *cough,* it doesn’t usually end up that way

And since Masky genuinely enjoys cooking, he’s more likely to pick up the slack for the others

He can make pretty much anything, and unlike what Jeff makes, the flavour is varied & pretty damn delicious ^^

He’ll also make a lot extra, because not only do the bois eat a lot, but if no one else decides to cook the next day, at least they’ll have leftovers

The creeps are always free to fix themselves whatever they want, of course, but it’s nice to just open up a fridge & have something ready, ya know?

If his s/o wants to join him in prepping food, he’ll be more than happy!

Loves having extra hands to help & loves teaching them his secret to good recipes 😋

He enjoys cooking for his s/o more than he enjoys cooking for anyone else ngl

He’s the type to make them their fave dish all the time, just cause he can & he loves them sm <3

Hoodie

As I’ve mentioned, Hoodie’s one of the few people that cook for everyone in the mansion

So, while he’s maybe not as skilled or enthusiastic about cooking as Masky, he can still manage

He has a few specialty dishes that he prefers making & that taste better than the rest

And, on the other hand, he also has some random dishes that, for some reason, just never turn out how they’re supposed to >:/

He’s really good w/ breakfast foods especially ^^

Baking, on the other hand, tends to be a bit too precise, so he tends to stick away from that, but hey, if his s/o wants to bake with him, he won’t refuse

If you bake with him, he will get flour on his hands & tap your ass—just to leave his handprint on ya butt :p

He can be a bit of a goof in the kitchen—he’ll get messy & is definitely the type to smear icing on your lips just so he can kiss it off ;)

At the end of the day, if his s/o really loves his cooking, he’ll push himself to make more food more often for them

Homeboy’s just an absolute babe no matter what he does tbh 💗👄💗

Ticci Toby

This mans… also has some… issues in the kitchen

He’s somewhere halfway between BEN and EJ in terms of skill

Like, has a soft spot for sweets, so he loves baking and making desserts—and he’s even pretty good at it!

But he, unfortunately, isn’t very good at making regular food because he eats a lot of junk tbh

So he needs a bit of guidance in the kitchen to make sure he doesn’t put too much sugar in a recipe that should not have sugar in the first place

Even when baking, you sorta need to keep an eye on him

He could very easily burn himself without realizing it—but he’s sort of a danger magnet already, so that’s to be expected

Boy’s also got pretty bad adhd, so he can & will forget to take stuff out of the oven or the stove

People are kinda wary of him being in the kitchen alone after a few too many incidents…

Poor boy honestly gets a bad rep that he doesn’t really deserve :”)

[awanderingdeal]

Never too late - 1-3

There were so many things Regulus wanted to do as child that his parents wouldn’t allow, but Leo is adamant that it is never too late to do those things. They make a list of ten things Regulus wants to do before he decides what his next step in life was going to be, because he refuses to grow up before he even got a chance to be young. 

Disclaimer: Of course you don’t have to have do any of things to have a happy and fulfilled childhood, but Regulus didn’t not get to do them because he had other interests or because he didn’t have the means (and usually, if that is the case, parents will ensure their child have other fun memories). It was a case of having controlling parents, who thought the only important things were school and hockey and there was no reason to have fun outside of those things. He watched his friends having experiences and he didn’t get choose in whether he wanted to participate or not. 

CW: mentions of toxic parenting and frequent mentions of food.

Please message me if you feel anything needs to be added to the content warnings.

Rating:T 

Credit for the sweater universe and the characters within it go to @lumosinlove. What a hero.

P.S. I was getting increasingly inebriated as I wrote this and I haven’t read it over so sorry for any errors. I will probably edit tomorrow!

“What do you mean you’ve never had a sleepover?” Leo exclaimed, tea sloshing over the side of his mug with the force that he set it down on the table. “Not even with your cousins?”

“Not even with our cousins,” Regulus shrugged. “Maybe when I was really small? Mother and Father weren’t keen on letting us out of their sight much.” 

“Yeah, that's fucked up,” Leo said resolutely. Sometimes he forgot how lucky he was to have his parents, and conversations with Regulus often made him want to call and tell them how much he loved them. 

“I’m starting to recognise that now,” Regulus hummed quietly, giving Leo a shy look. “Guess I should be grateful to Uncle Alphard for the trust fund. At least I’ll be able to pay for the lifetime of therapy I’m going to require.”

“You and Sirius should milk the media by doing increasingly ridiculous interviews for exorbitant fees,” Leo laughed, looking around the kitchen. “Do you have any cookies in this house?”

“Merde, your stomach is bottomless. We just had lunch!” Regulus rolled his eyes, but waved in the direction of one of the cupboards. 

“I’m a growing boy,” Leo defended, pushing his chair back to source the cookies. “Besides, I’m going to need the energy if we’re going to plan your ‘Regulus had a sucky childhood and this must be rectified list’,” he said, his words muffled due to the fact his head was half-way into the cupboard as he rummaged around for a worthy snack. Moments later, Leo emerged with a triumphant smile and his fingers clasped around a packet of Nutter Butter cookies.

“First of all, what the fuck?” Regulus scoffed, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Secondly, really?” he raised an eyebrow. 

“Admittedly, the name is a work in progress,” Leo sat back down, schooling his features into something he hoped looked indignant. “And, I have a brand to maintain,” he continued, biting into the cookie with an overly loud crunch. 

And that was how Leo and Regulus ended up spending an entire afternoon curating the perfect list of things Regulus wanted to experience before he decided his next step in life. 

1) Have a sleepover! Build a fort, play video games, eat all the snacks, stay up all night and have a pillow fight! 

“Babe, sleepovers are supposed to be fun, not meticulously planned military operations,” Finn teased, peering over Leo’s shoulder to look at the schedule on the laptop screen. 

“There is a lot of enjoyment to be found in structure!” Leo argued, tilting his head back to pout at Finn. “I don’t want to forget anything. I just want Reg to have a good time,” he sighed.

“Sweetheart it’s gonna be fine,” Finn reassured, pecking a kiss on Leo’s lips. “You’ve got pizza, you’ve got Mario Kart, you’ve got -” Finn leaned forward to squint at the screen, “building a blanket fort. Hey, I wanna come to this sleepover! You’re gonna have a great time.” 

Leo smiled up at Finn, his boyfriend had a seemingly infinite ability to make him feel better. 

***

 “Bye! Have fun!” Finn yelled.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Logan added, and then the door slammed. 

Leo reached out to grab his cell off the coffee table before wriggling excitedly in his seat, “Okay! Let the sleepover begin. What pizza do you want?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but his reply betrayed his enthusiasm, “I’ll have an extra large half and half please. One side with ham and pineapple and the other with pepperoni, green peppers, grilled onions, black olives, mushrooms, sausage and extra mozzarella. Oh, and a side of wedges, please.”

Leo spluttered, “Reg!”

“Hey, don’t judge. Your order will be just as big,” Regulus frowned.

“Please,” Leo scoffed. “I live with Finn and Logan. You could order five pizzas and I wouldn’t be phased. No, I am scandalised by your topping choices. Pineapple!” Leo gesticulated his arms widely, “I thought you were better than that. I am seriously re-considering this friendship.” 

“Wow, you really are picking up on Finn’s dramatics,” Regulus laughed.

Leo huffed as he tapped at his phone, “Pineapple on pizza is a very serious matter, thank you very much. Since this is your sleepover, I have ordered the abomination. Consider this a one time pass.” 

“I am honoured.” Regulus drawled, playing up the posh notes of his accents. 

“So you should be,” Leo said, grabbing the cushion from behind him and throwing it at Regulus. 

“Oh, that’s how you want to play it.” Regulus smirked, grasping the cushion that had been thrown at him, as well as the one stuffed behind him. 

“Noooooo!” Leo shrieked. “Pillow fights are not on the plan until -” his words interrupted by a cushion hitting him square in the face. “- 9pm.”

“Oh dear, we can’t mess with your painstakingly designed plan.” Regulus teased, leaning forward to pick up the printed schedule that Leo had shown him earlier. “I believe we are at, 19.30 - play Mario Kart whilst waiting for pizza.”

***

“So, did you boys have fun?” Sirius asked,  as he placed a cup of coffee in front of Regulus, and then Leo. He sounded exactly like Leo’s mother and it was creeping him out. 

“Why are you here?” Regulus grumbled, resting his head against his arms. He titled it to the side and cracked one eye open. 

“Thank you for the coffee, Sirius. You’re the best big brother, Sirius,” Sirius did an uncanny imitation of Regulus’ voice. “We were in the neighbourhood and figured we’d pick you up instead of you getting a taxi back.”

Regulus made another noise that sounded somewhat like a thank you. 

“Did you guys sleep at all last night?” Remus laughed.

“A little bit,” Leo mumbled, staring into his coffee. He wanted it to magically make its way into his stomach without him having to make the effort of lifting it. 

“An hour maybe?” Regulus added. 

Logan snorted as he wandered into the kitchen, “We came in at 3am and they were fast asleep on the couch. We have photo evidence.” 

“And Leo was doing his “I’m having sweet dreams’ snore so I doubt they had only just fallen asleep,” Finn added, following behind Logan.

“I do not have a ‘I’m having sweet dreams’ snore,” Leo said, the tips of his cheeks turning pink. 

Regulus laughed, sitting up-right and swallowing a huge gulp of coffee. 

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you,” Logan began, pouring coffee beans into the espresso machine. “You were drooling.” 

2) Master that chore list! Learn to cook! It’s a bore, but you’ll thank me later.

“This is an excellent idea,” Remus said, “Perhaps now I will stop being woken up by the sound of the fire alarm.” 

“That was one time!” Regulus protested, shoving Remus in the shoulder. “Leave. I have lessons to learn.”

“Try not to burn the kitchen down!” Sirius sang, as he left the kitchen, his arms piled with snacks. 

“You cannot talk, Sirius Black,” Remus laughed. “And don’t you think that is a bit excessive. We’re going to order take-out in two hours anyway.”

***

“Regulus! Your hand,” Leo shouted when he saw the flames. 

“What?” Regulus asked, but then he looked down and saw the edge of the oven mitt he was wearing were alight. He must have had them too close to hob. Leo noticed the panic in eyes and grabbed the end of the mitt that wasn’t on fire and chucked it into the sink, turning the tap on to smother the flames. 

“Okay,” Leo said, “Maybe we should start with something easier. Let’s try the washing machine.”

Regulus whined, “The washing machine scares me.”

“How does the washing machine scare you?” Leo asked, trying his best to hold in the laugh. 

“It’s scary!” Regulus reiterated. “You put stuff in there and they come out tiny or pink or covered in tissue.”

Leo blinked multiple times, registering the words and then he couldn’t hold in the laughter any longer. “Well, those things should only happen if you do it wrong. Pro tip, number one, don’t put tissues in the washing machine,” he said once he had recovered. “Come on, I’ll show you. It’s really not that scary and I’ll teach you how to sort things properly but really I chuck stuff in together all the time and nothing ever turns pink.” 

***

“Regulus. Leo,” Remus called, leaning in the doorway to the lounge. Leo paused the movie they were watching before turning to look at him. “Is there a reason that all our bedding is pink?”

Leo and Regulus shared a sheepish look. 

“No idea, sorry,” Leo said.

“It was Leo’s fault! He said nothing ever turned pink,” Regulus blurted out, shoving his hand over his mouth as soon as the words left it. 

“Never take up a career in espionage,” Leo scoffed, throwing the skittle he conveniently had in his hand at Regulus. 

“And I suppose you had something to do with the glove in the kitchen sink?” Remus chuckled. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot about that,” Leo said, giving Remus his most charming smile. “I’ll buy a new pair.”

3) Go to your first concert, it’ll be a night to remember

Leo had managed to drag half the team into his mission to get tickets to see Fall Out Boy in a couple of months time. It was a band both he and Regulus loved, and Leo had always wanted to see them when he was younger but it never seemed to work out.  

Between them they had twelve laptops that they were constantly refreshing, waiting for the box office to open. 

“Yes! I’m in,” Thomas shouted, wiggling around in  a celebratory dance. “Waiting time is 27 minutes.” A few seconds later, James was chanting about his access. 

“No suh! My wait time is 35 minutes. How is that possible, I was only a few seconds behind Talker,” James griped. 

“It’s a cruel cruel game,” Ollie nodded solemnly. 

In the end, they did manage to get tickets for everybody that wanted them, even if Leo had lost the will to live by the time he had kicked everybody out of their apartment. 

***

Leo noticed that Regulus was sticking pretty close to him as they walked through the halls of the arena, a sign that he was nervous. “Hey, you doing okay?” Leo asked, bumping his shoulder against Regulus’.

“Yeah,” Regulus breathed. “It’s just...a lot,”  he gestured to the crowds of people around him. They had tried to get there early to ease Regulus into things, but between Talker and Noelle running later, and Finn having an absolute meltdown because he couldn’t find his old tour t-shirt, it was already starting to get quite busy. 

“We can always go if it gets too much,” Leo reassured, smiling softly at Regulus. 

“You just paid all that money for the tickets, we can’t just leave,” Regulus argued. 

Leo slung his arm around Regulus, hugging him close. “Your comfort is worth far more than the price of a concert ticket, Reggie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus moaned, but Leo felt him sink into the hug. Their tranquil moment was ruined by Finn who decided it was the perfect moment to burst into a rendition of Dance, Dance, and James immediately joined in. 

***

“I’m sad,” Regulus sighed, wearing one of the t-shirts he had brought at the concert. He’d been deliberating over a few when Leo had told the cashier that they’d take one of all of them. Thankfully, Regulus had learnt that to argue with Leo when he was trying to show love was futile. “Why am I sad? I just had the best night.”

“Post concert blues,” Leo commiserated, sliding a plate of pancakes across the table to Regulus. 

Logan hummed his agreement, drowning his pancakes in maple syrup, “You’ve got to spend the whole day watching the videos you took. Try and get some of the endorphins back. But really, the only thing that cures it, is booking a new concert. You’re gonna be hooked forever.” 

“Is it also normal to still be able to hear the music?” Regulus said, rubbing at his left ear, before cutting into his pancake. 

“Sure, the music is loud,” Finn answered with a chortle.“ You two blasting music until 2am in the morning probably didn’t help. It’s a good job this apartment is soundproof.” 

“Sorry,” Regulus said, looking guilty, “Did we keep you up?” Leo didn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing he could recall was dancing around his bedroom screaming along to My songs know what you did in the dark, and then was waking up sprawled across Regulus.

“Don’t worry about,” Finn mumbled around a mouthful of food. “It was nice to see you letting go like that.”

“It would be nice if you could learn some table manners,” Logan chirped.

[liddolwhynot2000]

Ruins: Part 2

____________________________________

Summary: Anyone he allowed close would have to understand that there was no compromising-not when it came to you.

____________________________________

Pairings: Levi/Reader, Mike/Reader

Genre: Angst, romance, Levi falls in love, landlords are scared of Levi for a very good reason

____________________________________

Ruins : Part 1 is right here. Please read this first to understand this fic!

____________________________________

Warnings: mentions of prostitution, violence, death, brothels

____________________________________

Your existence was mind numbing, really, for someone like Levi. There's something about you that makes him feel over a thousand emotions, yet also rendered him unable to identify even one. Was he happy? Sad? Thrilled?

Levi didn't know, and with the passage of time, he found himself caring less about being able to properly word how he feels. Instead, his mind opted to drift off to the easiness of being with you. Like a moth to a flame, your peaceful and gentle demeanour draws him in. Ever since he's met you, you've left him befuddled, to say the least.

Levi clearly recalled the first time he laid eyes on you, a shivering, scared mess of a woman, chained to the bed like a captive. Tears had streaked down your cheeks, as you tried to get get out of your restraints. Pleas for mercy had escaped your lips, while he walked towards you.

The scene was painfully familiar for him, reminding him of another woman who struggled in fear of a man approaching her.

Unlike her, you were lucky, for Levi had no interest in using you like all the other disgusting pigs in this hell hole.

In fact, the only reason he had been in that brothel was for some revenge.

In his younger years, he recalled a Military Police member that had frequented his mother at her job. So many times, he had stood by, helplessly watching as she was used over and over again by him. Treated as a toy to sate his lust, and left bruised and battered for days.

He'd hated him so much, to the point that he had vowed he would kill the man if he ever saw him again. And it was sheer dumb luck that the same man had been about to be your first customer, and Levi had caught him just as he was about to visit you.

Levi had committed the sight of the pigsty officer's freshly rotting corpse, and the blood stains on the wall, to his memory. It was a view he had no intention of forgetting, and a feeling of satisfaction he would cherish.

He remembered being unsure of what to do with you. He had walked into that room with every intention of setting you free and then going his own way. But once he'd caught sight of you and your watery, pained eyes, he'd found himself revising his plans.

Just by the look of you, Levi could tell that you weren't a fighter. You wouldn't be able to fight off the vultures in the dark depths of the underground, not on your own. If he simply freed you, you would either be captured again or die of starvation on the streets.

Even though you were a stranger, someone he owed zero of his care, someone he had no obligation towards, Levi found himself conflicted. He was used to walking past those who couldn't fend for himself, but his feet wouldn't obey him in treating you the same way.

The result of his inner conflict has been you stumbling, shaking as he hurried to drag you out of there.

As the two of you exited the establishemnt building-- Levi had felt as though he had started something beyond him, something he honestly didn't know what to do with.

Later, he would admit to himself, that he had felt excited.

____________________________________

Levi was used to being alone-to taking on his opponents with his own hands. There was no back up, no team to rely on. Just him and his bare fists.

And despite how tiring it could get, he liked it that way.

By the time he taken you in, he had used his strength to establish a home for himself. It was a small hut, and he was on good terms with the landlord.

It hadn't started out that way, of course, but the Old Relic had learned not to mess with Levi.

He had led you straight to his house, noting your solemn expression. You were troubled-as you should be. He was a man you had never met before, dragging you to his house. But you also had no choice-who else but him? The people that had sold you?

He hadn't been worried about leaving you alone in his house, and had simply ordered you to take a bath before taking off. He would need supplies for you, clothes and what not. It was a pain--and Levi had the feeling his teenage hormones had contributed to this-- but he hadn't minded putting in the extra effort.

The fact that he found a dress that matched your eyes, well, that had been a coincidence.

And the only reason you'd gotten more dinner then him that night was because he just hadn't been that hungry.

Your longing glances at his bread had nothing to do with it.

____________________________________

You were quiet the first few days, not making eye contact with him, barely speaking beyond telling him your name. You had thanked him softly for the clothes, and he had pretended not to notice the tears welling up in your eyes-you had been relieved to be rid of those those rags, and being able to wear proper clothes again.

Without needing to be asked, you took over maintaining the house. Levi had been impressed by how you had quietly adapted to his cleaning standards, not needing him to direct you on what to do beyond the first two days.

It was an unspoken agreement that you would keep the house clean, cook and stay home. While Levi would be the bread winner, bringing in money and clothes and food into the house.

He hadn't even intended on this, on you living with him. But at the time, he hadn't seen any other option. He'd gravitated towards you for some reason, allowing the softness in his heart to overcome him for once. He not only wanted to help you- he wanted you to stick around.

Maybe it was because he'd never had a friend at that point, or it was those blasted hormones that Kenny had obnoxiously lectured him about once, but Levi just hadn't been willing to let you go.

And years later, in an open field, surrounded by the rain, Levi would acknowledge that out of all the deicisons he had ever made, not letting you go had been the one deicison his heart could never regret.

____________________________________

You begin to speak up a little, talking to him, asking him about his day. It takes a month, but it's still progress. The two of you learn to cordially co exist with each other.

One day, he had returned home, covered in blood. Usually, he was sparkling clean, maybe a little ruffled up. You weren't used to seeing him in this bloodied state, and had panicked once he had set down the bag of fruits.

'So, these are actually pretty fresh-'

'What happened to you!?'

You cut him off, immediately bee lining towards him. Levi had been perplexed as you grabbed his arm with barely any hesitancy, and made him sit on the couch.

'Tch-Oi, the couch will get dirty-'

'Forget the couch, just look at you. I'm getting the medical kit.'

You had snapped at him, your movements panicky as you looked at him with worry in your eyes. Levi had been startled-not used to anyone looking at him like that.

As though he actually mattered.

In fact, as you bandaged his arm, a concerned frown firmly set on your face, Levi had felt strangely warm.

His heart beat had gotten erratic, and his eyes hadn't been able to keep themselves off of you.

Whatever this was building towards, it only made you more intriguing in his eyes.

____________________________________

After that, the two of you stop engaging in polite chit chat-and actually start opening up. You're more comfortable around him, more relaxed.

You don't harbour much fear of him- not like before, when you straightened up as though he were some drill seargent whenever he was in the vicinity.

When he walks in to the kitchen now, rather then tensing up and gripping your knife tight, as though you might attack like before, you lightly smile at him.

You welcome him home, as you engage you in household tasks. It's domestic, as though you're an old married couple, who have been doing this for 40 years. The two of you banter with each other even-

'Please tell me that stain on your shirt isn't what I think it is.' '

'......'

'Levi!'

'It's not what you think it is.'

'So it's not blood?'

'I never said that its blood. I also never said that it's not blood.'

'Levi-you did it again! How could you be so reckless-'

The days of the two of you being in the same house, sitting in haunting silence, slowly start to fade away. You begin to approach him, spending more time in his company.

And he enjoys it. He can tell its not out of loneliness, or because you're forcing yourself. Much to his pleasant surprise, he can tell that you're seeking him out for all the right reasons, because you want to.

And Levi finds himself edging towards you, just the same.

____________________________________

Your interactions get more and more friendly with him, and Levi finds him spiralling head first into his first ever friendship.

He learns about you, how you had lived on the surface. How your parents had been neglectful bastards. It had burned inside of him, his insides had twisted at the fact that they were still alive and kicking, the fact that they had abandoned you.

You tell him about Mr and Mrs Zacharius, about how kind they had been to you. How they had taken you in, offered you the warmth of a home. They had been so loving towards you, as though you were their actual daughter. You don't speak much about their son, Levi had noted, but he didn't think much of it at the time.

Your growing trust in him has Levi offering the same. There are nights where he sits by you, near the fire place. The two of you share warm food, while being wrapped up in blankets in an attempt to defeat the chilly night air.

He finds himself speaking to you without meaning to. He's so used to keeping it all in, he's never once worded out his life story, let alone tried to explain how he feels about it.

But with your honest gaze on him, and the knowledge of your life in his mind, he let's it all out.

When he mentions his mother's job and subsequent death, there isn't any judgement in your eyes. Neither is there any pity or sympathy, which makes him feel glad. He doesn't want any of those things.

You look at him softly, with genuine compassion aimed right at him. When he pauses, feeling choked up, you inch closer to him. Your small form is right next to him, which he belatedly registers, too caught up in his distress.

It's when your hand rests on top of his that he understands what being comforted actually feels like.

It's like his mother's embrace, an act he can hardly visualize in his mind. It's been too long since she left him, so he can't say it's just the same. But all Levi knows is, he feels cared for. Just like back then.

Ever since his mother took her last breathe in this cruel world, he often wished that he had done the same back then.

But now, as he sits by you, feeling warmth like never before, Levi feels like he's been given a reason to breathe again.

He wants to keep breathing, for you.

And most importantly, he admits to himself, that he wants to live-

-With you.

____________________________________

Roughly after a year and a half of living with you, Farlan makes an entrance into your lives. It had been a calculated decision on his part-one he had thought through numerous times. If it had been just him, he might have given it less mind and simply gone along with it, hoping for the best.

But he had you to care for now. You had become a non negotiable part of his life, one he felt fiercely protective over. He couldn't afford risking you- not when you had become so precious to him. You just weren't built to be a fighter, which meant that he had to take extreme measures to ensure your safety.

Kenny would call him a whipped rat for it, but Levi refused to change his mind.

Anyone he allowed close would have to understand that there was no compromising-not when it came to you.

Which was why he had put Farlan through the ringer-testing him severely. To his credit, the man hadn't complained much. He had been rather accepting of the fact that earning Levi's trust wouldn't be an easy journey.

But he had done it nonetheless, which was why Levi allowed him to meet you. Once you had given your approval, liking the man's respectful demeanour towards you, no doubt something Levi had demanded of him, Levi set out to carry out the next stage of the agreement.

He and Farlan secured another house, bigger then the one he was staying at with you. The old relic had been glad to see the last of him, though Levi had noted how his hands had shook as he waved them off.

The new Landlord, Pigsty Vermin; as Levi likes to call him, soon learns why the old relic had despised him so much.

At least they manage to live in relative peace after that.

And to think, all it took was Levi breaking Pigsty Vermins wrist.

____________________________________

Levi was a man who had come from nothing, inheriting just a shirt from his mother. You had been born to people who had material assets, only, they wouldn't use them on you. The end result had been the two of you struggling in your attempts at building your lives, trying to cut your way through a forest that had too many branches with spikes.

Levi had succeeded somewhat, but you had gotten knocked down mid way. By the time he found you, you had lost even the hard earned clothes on your back.

He knows there are things you wish you could get back-particularly, a book Mr Zacharius had gifted you, a set of jewellery from his wife. You've accepted that you won't ever see those cherished items again, even though Levi knows it upsets you a great deal to not have them anymore.

He's not some miracle worker, so despite how much he wants to, he can't find them for you. But, as he watches one of those noble women ride in a carriage, he thinks he can maybe you give something else to cherish.

And maybe, it'll help him muster up the courage to say something he's been wanting to for a while.

He's nervous as he approaches you. The last time he had been this jittery was when Kenny had threatened to feed him to wolves if he didn't do well in knife welding practice. His hands aren't shaking per say, but his heart is beating too loud.

He's clutching a velvet box in his hand. It's sparkling clean, a big contrast to the initial state he had found it in. He had wanted to give you your gift in the best condition possible.

After giving himself a stern talking to, he approaches you, urging his legs to stop being so cowardly. There was no way he could turn back now.

You're hunched over the sink as you clean dishes. He clears his throat, causing you turn to him. You sweetly smile at him, and it only serves to make him sweat some more, how could you look at someone like him with such a positive expression?

'Hey, just give me a second. I'm almost done here-'

You trail off, as your eyebrows furrow. Of course, you can tell something is up with him, you know him too well. Usually, this would make him happy, the possessive part of him adores that you pay that much attention to him. However, the part of him that's nerve wracked by what he's about to confess is overwhelming him.

'Is everything okay?'

He snaps out of his thoughts, desperately trying shove his doubts away. What if you don't feel the same? What if he loses you for this?

Levi can promise alot of things. He can promise he'll always want you the way he does right now, that he'll never leave you. He can guarantee that no one else has ever made him feel this way. That everything he has, undoubtedly, will always be yours.

What he just can't say for sure is if he can live without you.

You look at him patiently, concern shining in your eyes. Levi extends his hand, presenting the box you.

You blink in surprise, pointing at yourself.

'Th-this is for m-me?'

Your cheeks turn a little red, and if it weren't for the anticipation bubbling in his stomach, Levi would smirk. Instead, he nods wordlessly. He inwardly counsels himself, he can't just be mute.

You take it from him, a flustered smile lighting up on your face. You look at it in wonder.

'Any year now.'

You roll your eyes at his dry quip, your smiling getting wider as you wave him off.

'Oh hush.'

You open the box, gasping in delight. Inside are a set of earrings and a necklace. A pair of small, golden hoops are delicately placed. There's a tiny, intricate flower hanging from them. The necklace bears the same pattern as the flower. It's a very simple design, but you love it nonetheless.

Your eyes water a little, and you find yourself carefully setting the box down on the table, before hurrying to embrace Levi.

He's caught off guard, not used to physical contact like this. But when it comes to you, no part of him bothers to think much. His arms, having a mind of their own, and carefully loop around your waist. Your head is buried into his chest, arms clutching his shoulders.

'Th-thank you.'

Your crying, and even though it's out of joy, he doesn't quite like it. Pulling back a little, his hand moves to wipe your tears away. He looks at you meaningfully, holding himself back from saying the words he desperately wants to. He doesn't know if someone like him is even worth you, and that thought has the words stuck in his throat.

It shouldn't surprise him though, that you know him well enough to hear what he wants to say, without him having to say a word. You look at him with an understanding expression, somehow catching on to his feelings and consequent dilemma. A gentle hand cups his cheek, and you blush as your eyes shyly flicker to the ground for a second. You manage to muster up the confidence to look at him again, and his heart nearly stops at what you say.

'I love you too.'

The two of you are lost in each others eyes, and Levi finds himself tilting his head, resting his forehead against yours.

A rare, soft smile is visible on his lips, one which most would come to learn, is reserved only for you.

____________________________________

A/N: Heyooo! So this was highlyyy requested and I honestly couldn't wait to write it either. I hope y'all enjoyed this! I couldn't help writing Levi falling in love in the underground. This just came to me as I wrote, and it made me feel pretty emotional ngl.

Also look at me, writing a confession scene, when I still haven't completed the confession sequel for falling. Those who want that confession fic, feel free to throw some virtual shoes my way. Hopefully it'll motivate me to stop being so lazy about it.

So, again, this depends on all of you. I have a part 3 mind for this. It would focus on being out of the underground and on the surface, which means Mike is back in the fold. Do tell what y'all want! Also, thank you for all the love and support you've given my work, I'm truly grateful that my clowning about work is so appreciated by all of you. 💕

[gffa]

Hi!  Okay, so, to build this up a bit, I’ll cover what originally made the Council decide that training Anakin wasn’t a great idea:  In the scene where they test him--which they agree to, so they are genuinely considering it, they’re not rejecting Anakin out of hand for being too old, otherwise they wouldn’t go through the effort or take the test seriously, as we see them do--they are very neutral towards him and nobody says anything like Anakin is bad and terrible or whatever.  Nobody says feelings are bad or anything of the sort: Yoda: Hmm... how feel you? Anakin: Cold, sir. Yoda: Afraid are you? Anakin: No, sir. Yoda: See through you, we can. Mace: Be mindful of your feelings. Ki-Adi: Your thoughts dwell on your mother. Anakin: I miss her. Yoda: Afraid to lose her... I think, hmm? Anakin: (a little angry) What's that got to do with anything? Yoda: Everything. Fear is the path to the dark side... fear leads to anger... anger leads to hate.. hate leads to suffering... I sense much fear in you.

Mace says “be mindful of your feelings”, which is pretty much the opposite of denying that they’re there--MINDFULNESS:  “a mental state achieved by focusing one's awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one's feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations, used as a therapeutic technique.” Also in this scene, Yoda’s words are important, because he’s connecting Anakin’s reactions to the path to the dark side and Yoda’s lent a whole lot of narrative weight in this scene because it’s almost word for word how George Lucas describes the fundamentals of the Force: “Once you become afraid that somebody’s going to take it away from you or you’re gonna lose it, then you start to become angry, especially if you’re losing it, and that anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. Mostly on the part of the person who’s selfish, because you spend all your time being afraid of losing everything you’ve got instead of actually living.”  --George Lucas This shows that we’re meant to take Yoda’s words with extra consideration, given that he is absolutely, completely correct about how the dark side works.  He’s not saying that “you have one bad feeling and you’re a dark sider forever”, he’s saying that “once you start letting hate seize on your heart, once you start murdering people out of hate and anger, you gotta live with that shit for the rest of your life”, and he’s warning Anakin that being unable to face your fears means they’re going to grab hold of you. Jedi have negative feelings all the time, we see them in the movies!  From “perfect” Jedi like Mace and Obi-Wan and Yoda!  And nobody says that, oh, no, I had a feeling, that was bad.  Instead, they acknowledge it and work through those feelings and let them go--I mean, even the test for their younglings on Ilum or the tests from the Lothal Jedi Temple are designed around this concept. Hell, even as young as the creche, the Jedi teach their children that the dark side is part of them and that again echoes how George Lucas says the Force works, giving weight to the narrative correctness of the Jedi’s practices:       “Qui-Gon whispered, “The dark side?” He knew it was a thing all beings carried within them, a part of himself he would learn to guard against—the crèche masters had taught him all that. --Master & Apprentice      “Only way to overcome the dark side is through discipline.” --George Lucas Anakin, in this scene, has trouble admitting to his fears even existing, he gets defensive and angry--and that’s completely understandable, nowhere in the scene do they say he’s bad for it or anything like that.  But it does mean he’s likely a poor fit for the Jedi at this point and half-training someone is more dangerous than fully training them. George’s commentary on Anakin supports this as well, that he doesn’t really want to accept Jedi philosophy:     “The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that he can’t hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn’t willing to accept emotionally and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he’d have been taken in his first year and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he’d have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.     “But he has become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padme and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation. And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village.“  –George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary And George ties Anakin’s attachment (which is tied to possessive, obsessive feelings, not synonymous with any kind of care) to his mother for why he becomes Darth Vader, that it’s on his character, not on the Jedi:       “[Anakin] turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can’t let go of his mother; he can’t let go of his girlfriend. He can’t let go of things. It makes you greedy. And when you’re greedy, you are on the path to the dark side, because you fear you’re going to lose things, that you’re not going to have the power you need.” –George Lucas, Time Magazine So, what changes? By the end of the movie, the Sith have undeniably returned, and they know that there’s still another one out there and they’re quite possibly going to be looking for a new apprentice:

Further, Obi-Wan says that he is going to train Anakin, whether he does so as a Jedi or whether he leaves with Anakin to go elsewhere. This is something that Jedi have done before and they’re pretty fine with it (Age of Republic: Count Dooku has Jak’zin telling Dooku that most Jedi think he’s gone off to create his own order of the Force and Dooku’s surprised by this, showing that the Jedi never lifted a finger to stop this or even scold him for it, they’re fine with it), but Obi-Wan has only just been Knighted, Anakin is so tremendously potentially powerful and doesn’t have a great mindset, so he really needs the community support that the Jedi provide. Even further, in the comic Age of the Republic: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda makes a point to talk to Obi-Wan and say:  “If you’re going to commit to training Anakin, you must commit.”

“If train him you must, young Kenobi... train him well.” Even as far back as Empire Strikes Back, Yoda has been emphasizing that a Jedi must be serious about this, you can’t half-ass it, given the depths of their powers, the ability they have to hurt others, and how the Force is a constant echo in their heads and they have to be disciplined against it (another thing George Lucas specifically says is how the Force works). “A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind.” So, basically, the Council initially doesn’t want to accept him because they think Anakin would struggle too much with their ways (and that’s not throwing shade on him, not everyone is meant to be a Jedi and that’s not a bad thing for either path! as well as they’re kinda right, given George’s commentary on Anakin) and they wouldn’t be a good fit for each other. But then the Sith are back, if it was the Apprentice who died, then the Master will be looking for a new one and Anakin would be far too tempting, so they have to protect this kid, despite that they don’t actually seem to believe he’s the Chosen One (or that, if he is, it matters), especially if Obi-Wan is going to train him either way, and so they say, “Yeah, we’ve decided to accept him for the Jedi path, because it’s more dangerous to half-ass someone’s training than it is to truly commit to them and do it properly.” And, honestly, given how genuinely liked Anakin seems to be by the other Jedi, it wasn’t about having a grudge against him or anything, it was that they weren’t sure he was a good fit for their ways, but once he was accepted, they truly committed to him!

[deathduty]

Sew What || Deirdre & Irene

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Sew La Ti Do PARTIES: @threadofheart & @deathduty (special mentions to Angela Lansbury) SUMMARY: Deirdre strips. Irene does her job and nothing more. They both do what they know best.

Deirdre never considered herself to be a sentimental person. Yet, with her dress torn up the side, she found herself more willing to find the nearest tailor than to get a new one. She’d had the thing since moving to White Crest, and was certain at that moment that no other dress could make her look as good. More than that, though, she had things to do. Places to be. As much as she liked being nude, a torn up dress simply wasn’t acceptable. If she could just get the thing stitched up, however crude, she’d be on her way. “Hello?” The banshee called out, poking her head around the shop, trying to find someone to assist her. “I need–“ and at that moment, as someone emerged, Deirdre waved them down. “Do you work here? I need some help,” Deirdre pointed to the tear in her dress. “Just something to make it presentable enough. Can you do that?” 

Irene sat at her computer, finishing up some paperwork for a few of her orders, when she heard the front door of her shop open. Quickly getting up, she walked out to greet whoever it was and spotted a new face. “Hello, yes, how can I help you?” she responded as she made her way to the front counter. It would be one thing to assume that this person was looking to get something fixed, but Irene had encountered a fair number of strange asks (like “Where’s the closest Pizza Hut?” and Irene had to bite her tongue to not inform them that she was not a map). At the question, Irene leaned forward and noticed the tear on the dress. Her brow furrowed as she studied it before she stood back up. “I can definitely get that properly sewn back together for you. Uh when would you need this by and, perchance, are you… um are you dropping off the dress right now?”

“Right now.” Deirdre said, twisting around to reach the zipper. “And I’ll wait; I can wait. I just need this done immediately.” Getting the dress half off, dangling from her bare shoulders, Deirdre considered that maybe stripping inside a store was not acceptable conduct in human society. It was fortunate then, that she didn’t care about human society. “Here,” she handed the dress off, standing about in her underwear. “Do you mind if I watch you work? I’d be bored otherwise.” Deirdre’s smile was wide, her best attempt at being friendly. The last tailor she had gone to, she murdered. Of course, because he was going to die anyway, but murdered all the same. This tailor was, however, much prettier than the last. And she wasn’t a murderer anymore. For now, anyway. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” She beamed, “I’ll pay double. Triple, even. And I am very pleasant to look at.” 

“Wait!” Irene immediately held her hands up before the customer fully stripped right in her shop. She blushed slightly when half of it was already off as the seamstress walked to her desk and grabbed her long coat. “I-I don’t have any spare clothing in the shop right now other than this.” Her arm stretched out, offering it over as she averted her own gaze while her other hand reached for the dress. The moment her fingers found purchase with it, Irene noted that the material was quite nice and thankfully was something she had worked with before. “Oh, um, of course that’s no problem.” Normally, she would have politely informed her customers that she would need at least a day to complete something like this but this didn’t seem too difficult. And the prospect of being paid extra for this wasn’t unalluring… “Feel free to take a seat,” she finally decided with a small smile. Setting the dress down on her counter, Irene quickly began looking for the tear. “As much as that may be true, I’m afraid I can’t look back at you while I fix up your dress,” she indicated with a light tone as she began to pull out some tools from her cabinets. And she had been so caught up in this sudden exchange that only when Irene began to get to work did she realize that she was picking up some strange emotions from the woman. Not strange in the sense that it wasn’t reflective of the scenario but… dulled? Her brow knitted and she tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed was to mess up the dress in front of an audience.

“Oh no, I like being naked.” Deirdre tried to explain, but with a sigh, she took the coat offered and put it on. Humans could be such prudes. This human was fixing her dress though, and so she figured she might as well cover up. Though, at mention of taking a seat, despite knowing exactly what the tailor meant, she hoisted herself on the counter and took her seat there. “A tree branch got me, you know,” she said, offering an explanation for the tear. She smiled wide. A tree branch did not get her. It was, rather, the hand of a dying man, who’d managed to claw at her dress before she could leave. “I’m Deirdre,” she said, insisting on being a nuisance. “Why tailoring? It certainly can’t pay well, and it seems like such an unappreciated art…” 

Irene managed a stiff smile in response to the woman’s comment about being naked, but the seamstress really did not want to explain having a naked person in her shop should anyone pass by her windows. A sigh of relief escaped her when the woman took the coat, though tension twisted her stomach once more when she noticed the guest hoist herself up onto her worktable. “Please be careful of the pins and other uh sharp objects on the counter,” she offered tersely as her hands continued to address the garment. “A tree branch… sounds dangerous. If you need any first aid, I have a kit in the back room I can grab.” Irene wasn’t certain she believed that especially as she picked up a dull feeling of smugness that seemed to emanate from the woman. Or perhaps she was really proud to be struck by a tree; Irene was not one to judge. “Lovely to meet you, Deirdre. I’m Irene,” her response flowed automatically from her lips. It was certainly taking a bit of effort for the seamstress to hold her tongue. “It’s actually a family business so I inherited the skills when I was old enough,” she briefly explained.

Deirdre watched the seamstress work, doubtlessly skilled in her work. Her great-grandmother had taught her to sew, still enraptured by the idea that a proper lady must know how to embroider, but she’d only ever enjoyed the feeling of sticking the needle through. “Oh no, I’m okay, you should've seen the tree though, Irene,” she smiled at her own joke, leaning into the woman’s work. It looked boring to her, but there was something about the ability to mend that always caught her attention; weapons never could learn to heal. “Like a duty?” She leaned back, “like some obligation to run this shop? Do you enjoy your work?” Deirdre watched the woman some more, graceful fingers finding what they wanted with ease. “I guess I’m in something of a family business myself…” she trailed off, looking out the shop window at the people passing by, living their own obligations. “But of all the things…” She turned back to Irene, “you’re not one of those people that wish to be a fashion designer, are you?” Not that there was anything wrong with that. 

Having an audience while she worked normally wouldn’t distract her, but Irene found herself a little on edge with this woman, probably because she had initially wanted to stand around the shop naked. “Poor tree couldn’t put up much of a fight? What did it do to deserve such ire from you?” she replied with a small chuckle as she tried to imagine such a scene. Her mental image came up with something rather absurd and cartoonish, causing her to let out another quiet laugh. Irene paused, both to check on the progress of her sewing and also to consider the questions. “It was an obligation and now it’s what I know best. I enjoy it as much as one can enjoy their work I suppose. There are good days and bad ones.” Her fingers deftly finished up what she was able to hand-sew before she got up to move to her sewing machine. “Fashion designer? It’s something that’s crossed my mind a few times but it’s not a particular passion of mine. I do have a lot of respect for designers though. The pressure to constantly create something new or avant-garde that hasn’t already been created, I can’t begin to imagine it.”

“Oh, you know how it goes, it looked at me the wrong way…” Deirdre trailed off, grinning toothy and lopsided. She had started the process of trying to think of something else to say, something to make the woman uncomfortable, when she continued. Deirdre’s grin faltered, and from her position nosing into Irene’s work, she leaned back with a frown. She was not so deluded on ideas of passion that she didn’t understand practicality, but the way the woman described it sounded…sad. Or, at best, Deirdre would unknowingly insult her. “What you know best?” She repeated, hoping Irene would correct her. “What you know best and what you enjoy are two different things.” Deirdre stared at her, completely having intended to ruin her day and yet being struck with confusion instead. “Irene,” she began, “is there some other thing you imagined you’d be doing?” She sighed, she could understand duty and she could understand obligation. She could even understand knowing something too well to not make anything of it, but like this? Deirdre stared around the shop, nose wrinkled; was it really worth it? “It’s just an odd way to word your sentence—‘what I know best’ what I know best is murd—“ Deirdre froze. “Uh,” she turned to Irene, “Mur—Murder, She Wrote! The show! Love it. It’s what I know best, but, it’s not…uh, it’s not what I imagined I’d be watching. It doesn’t satisfy my life’s hunger.” 

Irene expertly adjusted her machine, her movements second nature after years of working in this profession. As she ran the dress through the machine, she chuckled again. “I have noticed that some trees do make some devious faces.” The playful banter was easy enough to maintain as the seamstress worked, a trait she picked up early on when she had to mend her sisters’ clothes while they chattered away beside her. But then the sudden shift in tone surprised her, almost causing the woman to completely stop in her work. She swallowed hard, her lips pursing into a small smile despite her facing the machine and not her customer. “In the end, it’s all semantics,” she replied quietly before clearing her voice. There were many things she had tickled in pursuing: places she’d considered visiting or even living in, career paths she might have enjoyed, goals she’d like to achieve. “What I enjoy most is making sure my family is doing well and is safe and happy, and this happens to be the way I am able to achieve that.” The fabric slid through her fingers and past the thrumming needle of the machine. Her brow furrowed once more at the way this conversation unfolded from this curious woman. “I suppose that’s a thing about life, though, isn’t it? If Murder She Wrote doesn’t satisfy you, there are so many things out there that might do the trick.” With a satisfied sigh and a more genuine smile now, Irene finished up her repairs, snipped the loose thread from the dress, and held it up to examine. “This should be all good to go and ready for another battle with any tree that gives you the wrong impression.”

Why did it bother her? Long after Irene held the dress out, signaling the end of their little tête-à-tête, Deirdre stood and stared at her. She was dissatisfied; with Irene’s answer, her amiability and her lack of disdain at Deirdre’s general demeanor. It was spiteful. How dare the woman feign happiness in her face? It was tragic. How dare she answer honestly? And then it was pointless; why did it bother her at all? Irene was being practical, smart, safe. What could she possibly find a flaw in? Perhaps it was just that, the perceived perfectionism of the whole thing. Deirdre’s expression soured quickly. “Is that so?” Deirdre got her little inside glance at the woman, watching her words bounce right off. She had no hook, no control; friendly people disgusted her. A saccharine grin greeted Irene as Deirdre yanked the dress from her grip. “I suppose your family are all grateful. Where are they? Out back or…?” Perhaps it was the whimper of feeling blooming in her stomach; sadness, or something like it. “Aren’t you the hypocrite? Deluding yourself into thinking this satisfies you. At least Murder, She Wrote has Angela Lansbury.” From her boot, she drew out wrinkled hundred dollar bills, offering no explanation for either action. One hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred dollars, slapped down in front of Irene. “I’m taking your coat.” She announced with a huff, finding it to be the apology she deserved after Irene ruined her evening with her politeness. “And you!” she jabbed a finger at the tailor, throwing her dress over her shoulder. She stepped to leave, eager to free herself from Irene’s bullying. “If I peel back those layers of lies and professional, am I going to find a woman who fights or flees?” 

Despite the muted emotions Irene picked up from Deirdre, she managed to pick up something akin to frustration. From the very beginning, this whole exchange presented to be a challenge. Why was Deidre frustrated when she had bulldozed Irene from the moment she arrived? Her gaze flickered momentarily at the questioning, each interrogatory a sharp, yet familiar, stab. Everything Deidre was saying was not incorrect. In fact, Irene was certain her sisters would likely agree. But, unlike Deidre, Irene made peace with her own reality, a reality she had resigned herself to for quite some time. “My family--my sisters are where they wish to be.” Was that so bad? That she prioritized their happiness over hers? It was her duty, always has been her duty, to take care of the family. As the money slammed onto the table, far more than was needed to pay, Irene made no move to collect it. “I suppose you and I will find out if that happens.” Each day in White Crest forced Irene to face that question: was she here fighting for something or was she actually fleeing? She lifted her head, swallowing hard and finding it harder to maintain a professional front. It was too early in the day for her regularly scheduled existential crisis. “Well, thanks for your patronage; I hope the dress is to your liking,” were the last words, auto-piloted by habit, she managed to say as she finally reached to collect the money dispensed upon her work surface.

Deirdre reveled in the sort of annoyances she could spur in others; she desired to control their reactions to her. If she forced hate, she would beat them all to the punch. But there was a special sort of person she could never crack: those that desired to be polite, kind, friendly. Those who refused to stoop to her level. Those, much like Irene. Her grievance all along might just have been envy. If only she had half a mind to be as optimistic. “I hope for your sake,” Deirdre said as she lingered at the door, “you find out sooner rather than later, the kind of person you are.” Without so much as a thank you, she was gone, and the store fell back into the silence that didn’t know her. One day, Irene would be dead, and her legacy was her own concern. It didn’t bother Deirdre one bit. Not at all.

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU :)

Chapter 12 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here. 

yes i updated twice this week my foot is broken i can’t do anything else

The Beginning (of the End)

Three Years Earlier

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on Moving Pictures, and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone that long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished Lord of the Rings last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “Lord of the Rings is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection. 

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming. 

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever rise again. 

 Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, A Christmas Story playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of Houses of the Holy. When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

 They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the Harry Potter movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas liked hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, bring that up again, and I’ll kill you. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder… 

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean. 

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again. 

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab. 

“Prudent,” he deadpanned. 

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes. 

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked. 

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said. 

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar. 

“Ready to go?” 

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said. 

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?” 

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. Shit. 

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret. 

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object. 

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again. 

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say. 

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong. 

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — fuck, I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence. 

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?” 

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering Cas with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?” 

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice. 

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback. 

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?” 

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense. 

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my car. What am I, sixteen?” 

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.” 

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.” 

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.” 

“— Because you thought I hated you.” 

“A little bit.” 

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.” 

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.” 

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.” 

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.” 

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort. 

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said. 

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh. 

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.” 

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.” 

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

 Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. Us. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real. 

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue. 

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.” 

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him. 

Oh. 

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming. 

“Mornin’,” he said. 

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. Beautiful. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider. 

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas. 

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways. 

MM (1:12 p.m.)

holy shit!!!! 

MM (1:13 p.m.)

ur going to tell me everything tmrw

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg. 

CN (2:32 p.m.)

Absolutely.

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class. 

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest. 

“Too early,” he mumbled. 

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless. 

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake. 

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.” 

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer. 

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest. 

“Class is important,” he reminded Dean. 

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?” 

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him. 

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.” 

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?” 

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.” 

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.” 

“Y’all are throwing me a surprise party?” 

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.” 

“But it’s a party.” 

“Yes.” 

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?” 

“Only a week.” 

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once. 

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated. 

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?” 

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention. 

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.” 

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.” 

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door. 

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.” 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile. 

 They didn’t make it to the party. 

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television. 

“Fucking asshole,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly. 

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?” 

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?” 

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing. 

“Dean?” 

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement. 

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic. 

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out. 

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face. 

“Dean!” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot. 

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop. 

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?” 

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground. 

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick. 

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.” 

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him. 

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

——

tag list! let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@nguyenxtrang @castielsbeeslippers @fortiusnitius

[acupofcocoa]

Opal Reviews - Unexpected but Good

Dressed as Cannon Fodder Abandoned by the Actor

This novel isn't being translated and currently only available for MTL (machine translated), but its relatively easy to understand. I made this blog because I wanted to talk about this novel and I have no other outlet.

As a life long reader I used to pick my books by going to bookstores and picking out what attracts me. I do in fact judge books by their cover. I do the same for artwork for anime's and webtoons but that's another story. Lately I've been exploring new novels and stumbled on this one. The cover is... rough but the summary is what attracted me.

I won't quote it because if you're not used to MTL it sounds very awkward. In summary:

Gu Qingchi became a cannon fodder in a story but one that wasn't even written by the author. He has the best appearance but even that is of no use. As a cannon fodder he has no sense of existence and everyone treats him as part of the background.

Now, the plot has come to an end and he is about to be abandoned by the successful actor. Gu Qingchi's eyes are full of tears, "the day has finally arrived."

Xie Luyu (Male Lead): The tabloids are talking nonsense.

Gu Qingchi (Main Character): No response.

Xie Luyu: We've already received the certificate!

Gu Qingchi: We have already divorced.

Xie Luyu: I regret it now, really regret it.

There are so many stories now about people transmigrating as cannon fodder's and changing their fates, and coupling it with the entertainment industry setting I was very intrigued. There will be some spoilers beyond this point so read at your own discretion.

At first the story was exhausting.

Gu Qingchi is someone without a care for the world. Literally. He's written to cold and can't be bothered to care even about himself. The author contrasts this lazy, can't be bothered persona, with his seriousness towards his work. He will do what is needed to do and what is asked of him. But nothing beyond that. In addition, he is skilled at acting because he immerses himself in the character's emotion rather than using skill.

Reader's may be put off with how he readily accepts what's given to him, never speaks up, and how generally sloppy he approaches everything else in his life. I was so frustrated by his character in the first third of the story because of how he thoroughly he embodied the notion of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

As we are introduced to the ML, the MC notes that he loathes him after the divorce. But is willing to let the past remain in the past as he now strives to move forward. I swear I was about to shake him. Read and you'll understand why. (Hint: the ML doesn't even know for most of the story that the MC was his "marriage" partner that he divorced.)

What kept me reading was the mention how the MC actually tried to break free from the plot early on but found all his efforts futile and the people he met can't even remember him because of his setting as a cannon fodder. I believe at the beginning of the story the MC mentions that he has to introduce himself every time he meets the neighbor next door because they can never remember him.

I'm so glad I pushed through and read it because my god was this story heartbreaking.

Can you imagine how the MC must have felt living for two years as if he doesn't exist? How no matter what he does he doesn't leave a trace and no one acknowledges his existence? The only thing he can leave behind are physical traces like a tree he planted and the receipts from his takeout orders. Nothing else.

What started out as being lazy and sloppy, turns out to be signs of severe depression. I can't and won't mince that. As I think back there are so many signs that the author wove into the details to show his struggle, how hard he tried to overcome it, and what contributed to it.

Whether it be the contrast of his family life before and after he came into the story, his addiction to the "burn of alcohol running down his throat", or the complete lack of interest he has in life. I really can't do this story proper justice. What astounds me is how complete the emotion is through MTL and makes me wish I could read it in it's original form to see the style of the author tear my heart into pieces.

But this story isn't meant to break your heart, it's a story about healing. As the MC continues living and sets goals for himself he meets the ML who is utterly and completely in love with him (and properly redeems himself I promise!) and his actual family who show his endless patience, understanding and support.

If the first part of the story is full of irritating dust in your eyes, the second part is full of knives, but the third part is the warm hot cocoa that soothes you.

This is the journey of a young man who overcomes his struggle with the support and care of the people around him. He learns to be independent but also learns its ok to need help.

There is so much underlying tension and drama with his relationship with the ML and his family. But there are also warm moments with his friendships and especially in his relationships. This story isn't perfect.

I'm frustrated that we don't see true retribution for what his "family" put him through. I'm frustrated that why he transmigrated was never really addressed (although his previous life was acknowledged in a great plot twist). I'm frustrated there were interesting character's that were introduced but didn't get proper exits or acknowledgement because the MC "doesn't care".

But there are also many things I loved about this story. I loved how the MC and ML overcame their communication issues and both learned to grow and love each other properly. Especially the ML. I loved how his family prioritized the MC and made the effort to improve their relationship. I loved how the author acknowledged that the process to healing isn't smooth and linear, it can be bumpy and takes time so it's ok to go at your pace.

This is about 135 chapter's long (+ 3 extra's I haven't read yet) but it was an unexpectedly good read. I tried not to spoil too many things about the story and there's still so much I didn't cover. So much! But it's worth it. It's really worth it.

[whumpqin]

Clean-Up Duty

Finally, a new chapter for Elisha! I originally intended this to be a lighter chapter for poor Elisha but honestly it didn’t go that way. Whoops.

Taglist:  @faewhump @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes @burtlederp @whumpasaurus101 (if you would like to be added let me know!)

CW: Whumper POV, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whump, major dehumanization, dehumanizing thoughts/language, monster whumpee, painful horn filing, passing out from pain, pinned to the floor, collars, noncon touching, mentions of self harm (via the horns), being mean to someone with a stutter, conditioning, brainwashing, manipulation, begging, crying, reference to eye whump, blood, muzzling, brief torture mention, humiliation. If there’s anything I left out just let me know!

Word count: 2,458

“Fucking… stay still, mutt!” Jeremiah spat.

He drew the file along Caleb’s horn roughly, feeling how he jerked and whined. His tail thrummed against the floor in a panicked tune, hitting the wall, the chain link that kept him tied to the wall, and Jeremiah’s back. Even his legs, broken as they were, shifted and moved in the struggle.

It was with a sigh that Jeremiah adjusted how he was straddling Caleb’s back, feeling the Cambion’s arms as he pinned them more efficiently. How did he get stuck grinding his horns down?

Partly, it had something to do with the bad habits that Caleb had picked up over the past few months since his escape attempt. He started to grind his horns against the stone of the basement, and while Jeremiah didn’t understand what sort of sick pleasure that he got from doing it, Caleb’s horns had been flattened on each side into a point from doing it too much. Considering how it could have been used as a weapon, they simply couldn’t have that. Now it was his job to make sure that they were dulled down and ‘made pretty’, as Aridai put it.

Jeremiah pinned Caleb’s head to the floor, grinding bits of his horn into it. Caleb’s fangs parted in a shrill whine when the file was drug along his horns, chest heaving as he sobbed freely. He’d started crying the moment Jeremiah announced what he was doing, and it didn’t seem like the Cambion had any intention of stopping. Not that he really cared whether or not Caleb was nervous about being caught - he rather liked the noises his pet was making. It wasn’t like he could get the stupid devil to actually understand why he was doing this right now anyways.

His hands rounded and dulled the tip of the keratin growth, listening to the sound of Caleb’s teeth as he snapped at Jeremiah, despite not really being near any skin to latch onto. Biting was another bad habit of his now, snapping at his Masters when they tried to do something to him. Aridai alone had been subject to multiple nips here and there, though they assured Jeremiah that Caleb immediately regretted it, and they had muzzled him until he learned better. Jeremiah however, unlike his partner, was well aware you had to treat Cambion much like snakes; grab them by the back of the head and don’t let go until you were good and ready to. Such tactics worked rather well in this sort of setting.

Again, it wasn’t like Caleb actually knew what was going on beyond his instincts. Jeremiah could tell from the panicked, unfocused look in his eye that he was only doing what came natural. Not that the idea that his pet would try to hurt him made him any less upset.

God he hated doing this. He just wanted to read his book.

“It’s your fault this is even happening, Caleb,” Jeremiah hissed above his stupid whining and the sound of the file against his horns. “I don’t even fucking get why this is such a fucking problem. Just sit the fuck still and stop wasting my time.”

Caleb’s breath hitched, squirming the arms that Jeremiah had pinned underneath his legs. He let out a low whine, terrified and seemingly in pain. Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. The Cambion hadn’t done anything too contrary to his rules, and he liked it when Caleb was scared of him. It gave him more control.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeremiah paused a moment to allow him to speak, but it was obvious that Caleb was too stupid to realize he’d been prompted. Instead he sobbed, chest bobbing up and down, jerking every time the file was drawn across his horn. Jeremiah gritted his teeth, pressing the Cambion’s head against the cement of the basement. “I asked you a question, Caleb. If you’re going to act like a whining puppy you better beg like one.”

“I’m-I’m s-so-sorry, sorry! Pl-plea-please, Sir, please, nnk, it-it hurts! It hurts,” he cried, spitting and sputtering his words like he always did. Jeremiah’s lip curled in annoyance.

“I’m sure a dog can speak better than you. Can’t you fucking calm down for a moment? I’m not even doing anything to you.” He watched as Caleb panted, fangs bared in a warning for what would happen if he drew too close. Then they gritted, snapping together without any words, wanting to say something. He sighed. “Speak.”

“My, my, my horns, it hurts-” he cut himself off in a cry of pain, tears flowing freely from his eyes. “It hurts s-s-so-so bad, Sir, I c-can-can’t, I can’t- help, help me, pl-please…”

Jeremiah felt Caleb’s tail flick, hit his ankle, and coil tightly around it. It worried at his skin as it moved, gripping tightly to mitigate the pain he was feeling. Which was, in Jeremiah’s opinion, a bit strange. Cambion didn't feel their horns, they were like goats, or something - it was all just dead skin and didn’t have any nerves.

Out of curiosity, Jeremiah paused.

The relief was instant. Caleb still cried, but he seemed to finally take in a deep breath, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon.  Jeremiah felt his tail relax and slip off of his ankle. It was almost ridiculous; had that been the problem the whole time? He just thought Caleb was scared because he got hurt. Had he known he might have tied Caleb up so this wouldn’t have been an issue.

“Th-thank, thank you, Sir,” Caleb breathed, practically going limp in Jeremiah’s hands.

Huh.

It became rather apparent he was going to have to switch tactics. Jeremiah slid his hand from Caleb’s hair into his hair, gently petting him to get him to calm down.

“I need you to be still for me. Can you be good and do what I ask?” He tried his best to keep his voice soft, like how Aridai spoke to make him more pliable from time to time, but Jeremiah couldn’t stop the weariness from seeping out of him.

Caleb swallowed thickly, oblivious, and nodded. “Y-yes, yes, Sir, but, but it-it hu-hurts-”

“Shh. I know. But if you stay still for me it’ll be over much more quickly.” Jeremiah was light in how he touched Caleb’s horns, relishing in how the Cambion shuddered in anticipation from the feeling. Caleb nodded again, but remained quiet. “Don’t fight it,” Jeremiah murmured.

As the file pressed against Caleb’s horn, he could feel him try to resist writhing, wanting to be good for him. Even so, he couldn’t stop the whines and whimpers that fell from his mouth, the incessant snapping of his sharp teeth meant as a warning, as the pressure increased on his horns. 

However it only took a few moments of filing before Caleb jerked again, eye rolling in sheer agony. Jeremiah couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight of it, even if it was more bothersome. Eventually, he did drag his eyes away long enough to focus on filing, but he couldn’t help it when his grip became rougher and dragged across the surface of the horn.

Meanwhile, Caleb’s whines eventually broke to screams and sobs.

Screaming, and screaming-

Until finally he went limp, passed out from the pain. 

Jeremiah finished up dulling Caleb’s horns. They’d gotten much longer since he’d last done this, jutting forward and then nearly halfway curled around his head, but the last time wasn’t nearly as excruciating as this.

When he was done, he huffed out another sigh. “You’re such a fucking hassle,” Jeremiah muttered, ruffling the Cambion’s hair to get out the bits of horn that had fallen into it. He tilted Caleb’s head to the side to get another look at his bandaged eye while he was thinking about it, noting the blood seeping out from behind it and mixing with the pet’s tears. Damn it.

He drew the box of items he had brought down with him, placing the file back into it. He took out the extra bandages and clippers he had left in there, setting them in the space between Caleb’s shoulder blades to hold them still for a moment. 

Jeremiah drew off the bandage covering Caleb’s missing eye. He tried hard not to peer into the empty socket, nor remember the bloody sight of when it was removed, or even what Aridai planned to do with it despite his protests.

Right now, it’s sitting in a jar in the kitchen while they figure out how to preserve it properly. It made it difficult to eat there. 

He placed the bandages over Caleb’s eye quickly and tied it towards the back. Jeremiah was less careful about keeping the knot away from his hair this time; if Caleb wasn’t going to keep himself from bleeding then he wasn’t going to waste his time trying to be nice. Instead, he just focused on washing off the blood that had stained on Caleb’s face and simply left it at that. 

Jeremiah had to move a bit to get to Caleb’s claws - which he still had no idea how they kept getting sharp, considering he’d dulled them down far too many times to count - in order to clip them down again. It only took a bit of extra effort since Cambion claws were stronger than a human nail, but he managed. After that, he dropped the clippers back into the box and got the muzzle.

Caleb wasn’t allowed to be around either of them without his muzzle on. He liked to bite a little too much, and Aridai wanted it on at all times, for the most part. Jeremiah wanted to keep it off despite the risks. He liked hearing Caleb’s voice sometimes, even if he continuously stuttered. When he was able to speak straight his voice was soft and gentle, never rising above a distant call.

Jeremiah shook his head out of that thought. He was getting distracted.

He straightened the leather of the muzzle before curling fingers around one of Caleb’s horns, drawing him up from his resting position. Caleb unconsciously tensed at the feeling, tail once again finding and curling around Jeremiah’s ankle a little tighter as he stirred. His eye fluttered open, and the faded pupil of his black colored eye darted around to understand what was happening.

“Shh, stay still, boy,” he murmured gently, as if he were talking to a spooked dog. Jeremiah heard him swallow audibly, but remained still. “Good, that’s it…”

He slipped the muzzle over Caleb’s head and buckled it quickly, firmly locking those fangs of his behind the leather where it wouldn’t hurt anyone. Jeremiah finally let go of him, pulling away to sit against the wall and relax for a moment. He watched Caleb like he was one of those freshly released animals in a new zoo enclosure, confusedly looking around to see what was different or what was done to them.

The Cambion shifted, moving his arms to inspect the damage done to his hands. He felt his nails against his face as his hands moved up to gently touch his horns, feeling how dull they now were. He must have been satisfied with it, somehow, considering that after the careful inspection he huffed a sigh and rested his head on the floor, angling his gaze to look back at Jeremiah. Waiting patiently.

At the moment he seemed so… gentle. A lot like how he was when they’d first met each other, though with a bit more obedience and reverence. Awkward, maybe embarrassed, like when he had gently corrected the amount of cash he was supposed to be paying when Jeremiah hadn’t really cared whether a few cents were tallied correctly or not. Though, Jeremiah much preferred having Caleb here, with him, when he had all those nice bruises and cuts on him and a leather collar that wrapped around his throat and chained him to the wall. He preferred having things that couldn’t get away from him, and Caleb was no different.

It made him much prettier, he supposed. If that’s the proper word he could use to describe Caleb.

He reached into the box and recovered the book he had put in it, then patted his lap. “Come over here, Caleb.”

A simple offer, though not so simply followed. Caleb struggled to lift himself up off of the ground, and his animal-like legs offered no assistance. But he did as he was told, even if he had to crawl, until he was somewhat draped across Jeremiah’s lap. 

“Good boy,” Jeremiah praised, running his hands through his hair. He let his fingers graze against Caleb’s horns, drifting over them with featherlight touches that made his pet’s breathing quicken. His pet stayed perfectly still, allowing him to touch what he pleased, only twitching when his hand encompassed one of the dull tips of his horns. “Shh, you’re being a very good boy right now. We wouldn’t want to ruin that.” He felt the tips much like Caleb did. “This wasn’t so bad once you stayed still, was it?

Caleb’s eye fell downwards, searching for the answer. It always took him a little bit of time to think now, and Jeremiah was quite alright with that. He didn’t want a pet that thought, he just wanted one that would listen to him perfectly.

He hummed, pleased, when Caleb shook his head to agree with him. “No, I didn’t think so.” Jeremiah’s fingers drifted downwards, tracing the Cambion’s jawline, down to his neck, and thumbed across the leather collar around it. “You really are handsome like this, despite the eye.”

A faint blush worked itself over Caleb’s cheeks, or from what little he could see, anyway. Embarrassment, humiliation, a bit of grief, then acceptance, all flashed in his expression. His head lowered, resting on Jeremiah’s thigh and hiding his face in the fabric of his pants. His hands curled up with him, tangling their fingers into the lower hem of Jeremiah’s shirt. Jeremiah couldn’t help a chuckle as he ruffled Caleb’s hair.

“You blush too easily,” he stated, voice lowered to be soft. “Get some rest while you can, pet. I doubt Aridai will be nice after how deeply you bit their arm yesterday.”

Caleb heaved a sigh, knowing. He leaned into the hand that brushed against his head, making adjustments so that he could rest more comfortably, draping himself over Jeremiah like he was a pleased cat.

He watched Caleb breath for a moment, in, then out, then back in, relaxed in the momentary peace that he had allowed him. 

Perfectly obedient like how he was supposed to be, now that he knew there was no escape.

[myfriendscallmecoelophysis]

God(dess) Help the Outcasts

He lived in a world of duality, Mianite and Dianite, Order and Chaos, Red and Blue, Propriety and Discord. How could he be anything but an Outcast when he chose the forgotten Third God? 

Dedicated to Nerf House, @topazgirlygirl, @snowydawn17 and all the rest of the Voice Vibes crew <3 you all

Jordan had been born to a divided family. His Father was a follower of Mianite, his Mother a follower of Dianite. While this wasn’t necessarily the norm, it wasn’t frowned upon either. They lived in a world of duality, Mianite and Dianite, Order and Chaos, Red and Blue, Propriety and Discord. Everyone in their world chose one or the other. Neither were wholly good or wholly evil, just as no single person was good or evil, there were intricacies. However, people tended towards one side or the other, one God or another. In the case of his own family, his Father, a librarian, tended towards order and organization; so he, when he was old enough to choose his path, pledged himself to Mianite. Jordan’s mother on the other hand, an artist, adored spontaneity and was just generally, a disorderly person, her studio a mess of paints and brushes at all times. She had pledged herself to Dianite when it had been her time to choose. 

Their families had been surprised when they’d first fallen in love, but wasn’t that how the old saying went? Opposites attract? And when a follower of Order and a follower of Chaos had a son, was it any wonder that he trended towards the middle ground of Balance?

Jordan had never had an answer when the other children in school asked which God he would pick. His town was close to the Capital and was therefore mostly neutral, conversations of who they would follow were frequent. Rarely was there any negativity shown towards either decision, except when Jordan said that he wasn’t sure. They always looked at him strangely, it was normal to have all but chosen by the time you were old enough to understand who the Gods were. You couldn’t pledge yourself officially at the Temples until you were 16, but that didn’t mean most children didn’t already know. He became an outcast, not bullied per say, but mostly ignored, the strange boy who clearly didn’t know himself well enough to know who to worship. 

Despite this, he did well in school and between his studies and spending all his free time reading in the library where his Father worked, Jordan was quite clever by the time his final year of schooling came along. He left the school for the last time with the reputation of the outcast still on his shoulders but emotionally no worse for wear because of it. 

In all the years spent there, all the time they thought that he didn’t know himself, he’d known it to be the opposite. He knew himself too well. He knew that he would not pledge himself to either God. He would forge a middle path, a Balance between Order and Chaos. If he was alone in his beliefs, so be it, but they would be his. 

It was a trader that came from the far flung deserts that got his thoughts turning. He was manning the library for his Father when the trader arrived, dressed in rich blue robes. 

“I come to trade with Sir Conway.” The man said, voice accented and gravelly. 

Father had warned Jordan of this and had given him instructions and payment for the trader. “He’s not here, but I’m his son. I can help you.” Jordan explained, reaching under the counter to grab the bag of emeralds his Father had left for him. The trader nodded shortly but said nothing, producing a stack of three old books from his bag. The covers were dyed leather, faded and cracked with age, one deep royal blue, one burgundy and one a rich purple color. Three books for 10 emeralds was what his Father had said, so Jordan handed over 10 gleaming polished gemstones. The trader made a pleased sounding grunt and left the library without another word. 

Once he was alone again Jordan looked at the books, he could recognize the archaic spelling of Mianite’s name on the spine of the blue book and Dianite’s on the burgundy one, but he’d never seen the name Ianite before. Curiously, he cracked it open and began to read.

As he read, Jordan realized that this Ianite figure had felt the same way he himself did. They were between Order and Chaos, a third option, a third God. But why then had he never heard of them? Why had no one told him that his thoughts were valid? He spent the entirety of the day reading the book, trying to find the answers to his questions. 

He learned that Ianite was not a God, but a Goddess. She was the Goddess of Balance, sister to the Gods of Chaos and Order. Her domain was the End, something that shocked Jordan. He knew about the End but no one had been there in centuries according to the stories. Ancient Heroes of the Gods had entered the dimension and conquered it, slaying the beast that defended it. Was that why there was no mention of Ianite? Had conquering her domain in the name of the Overworlders done her some great harm? Caused her to fade from memory? Why would they have done such a thing?

Ianite had been different than the other Gods, he was able to gather as much from reading between the lines of the text. She’d been the least worshipped by the ancient people of this land. Her followers had been cast out for worshipping a Goddess of ‘contradiction’, instead of picking a side, they picked Ianite. Like he himself inadvertently had. But yet, he felt no shame in it. 

That book became Jordan’s most important possession. He poured over it’s every word, committing every last scrap of information about Ianite to memory. He scoured other books about the Gods, searching for mentions of Ianite or Balance or the End. It became his life’s goal, he would find the End one day, because it was there that all the secrets of Ianite were. 

He moved to the Capital, made a living in the bustling city by doing odd jobs and tasks. All his years of study and reading had given him such a vast wealth of knowledge that he could accomplish almost anything. It was during these jobs that he began to notice the disparity among the people, the different levels of society. He knew the Champions of the Gods lived here, their images and lives exalted by the civilian population, he’d come to recognize their names and faces the same as everyone else despite supporting neither of their Gods. The two men were friends he learned, practically as close as brothers. Jordan wondered, what it might be like to be so close to another person or to a God. He had a name for his beliefs now after all this time, a greater privilege than he’d ever expected when he’d chosen the third path years ago, but nothing more about her. It was also in the city that he realized that he may not be entirely alone in his beliefs. 

Every city had it’s lower class, the poor and downtrodden, the Capital was no different. It made pity twist in his stomach to see people pray to their Gods for wealth and glory, while at the same time ignoring the people directly in front of them who needed things as simple as food. He took to giving what extra coin he could spare whenever he saw someone in need because how could he, an Outcast to the Gods, ignore the outcasts of society. Sometimes it was a lot, sometimes only a little, sometimes it was a loaf of bread or an apple. Every time though, no matter what, they were grateful. 

One day, after Jordan had given him a loaf of bread and a handful of coins, an older man dressed in little more than rags, said “May Lady Ianite bless you in your kindness.” Jordan was too shaken to reply. He nodded and went on with his job, trying not to notice the knowing look the man gave him at his reaction. 

It was that interaction that reminded him of the path he’d set himself upon. He was in a place of fortune, unlike so many that he saw. He could afford the time and effort to learn all he could about Ianite and the part she played in the history of the land. He dove into his research, seeking out books and scrolls and legends, following every lead in hopes that one of them might give him the knowledge he needed. 

With each passing day and each new story he learned he felt closer and closer to this Goddess he’d never met. Most people went their whole lives without properly meeting their Gods, only the Champions interacted personally with the Gods, but Jordan felt so connected to Ianite already. 

‘Maybe in another time or another life you were her Champion.’ He thought with a wry chuckle while getting ready for bed one night. “Yeah, like I’d ever be a Champion.” He muttered to himself as he blew out the candle in his bedroom. 

“Don’t be so sure” A woman said in his dreams.

Days passed the same as they always had. He spent the daylight doing courier work and odd jobs, while the night was spent researching and learning. It was monotonous, until one lead brought him to the local museum. On display they had something unlike anything he’d seen. It looked almost like an enderpearl except it was pale green and blue with a dark streak through the middle that looked almost like a slit pupil. 

‘Legend tells us that an Eye of Ender was the key to discovering the entrance to the void world, The End, when the ancient Heroes of the realm ventured forth to conquer it in the name of the Gods.’ 

This was the link he’d been searching for. After years of effort, he’d discovered the last step. This was how to find the stronghold that protected the portal to The End. Jordan left the museum with a grin on his face and hope in his heart. 

It took him days to barter, purchase, or otherwise acquire the resources to create just over a dozen Eyes of Ender. He’d need a dozen alone to open the portal but he figured that if he calculated the trajectories just right, he could find the stronghold itself with less than 5. A week was spent preparing supplies for the journey and getting his affairs in order. Then, one final day was spent cooking and distributing all the perishable food he had throughout the city. He had no idea how long he’d be gone, no use letting things go to waste. 

Just before sunrise, he climbed to the highest point in the hills surrounding the Capital. Below, the city was just beginning to wake up, smoke trickling from some of the chimneys, people heading to the fields and the markets. The Temples to Mianite and Dianite, one of either side of the city, were lit in crackling firelight by the enormous ever burning braziers the statues of the Gods themselves held in their hands. Jordan took one last look, imagining what it might be like to have a third temple, a third statue, a third God. Then, he turned away from the city towards the wilderness beyond and threw the Eye of Ender as high as he could.

~~~

He was farther from home than he’d ever been. A few days ago he’d hit the desert and hadn’t that been interesting? All his life he’d thought deserts to be excruciatingly hot, but after days spent in a strangely cold desert, he owed mental apologies to every desert trader he’d ever questioned for wearing such thick, blanket-like garments. He’d nearly frozen the first night, huddling as close as he could to his campfire under the shelter of a large sand dune. He was close though. He had to be. If his calculations were correct he should be within a few hundred blocks of the stronghold. He still had two spare Eyes aside from the dozen he needed to unlock the portal. He could spare one. Sliding his sunglasses back in place in front of his eyes, he looked up towards the sun, throwing the Eye, it drifted and drifted in the direction he’d been travelling but then he noticed something on the horizon as his eyes tracked its path. Was that a tree?

Jordan ran through the sand as fast as his feet could carry him, tripping and stumbling as it filled his boots. It wasn’t just a mirage, he realized as he got closer, it was an oasis, a crystal clear pond surrounded by drooping trees flush with leaves and vines. On the other side of the pond was a crumbling stone structure, a ruin of some long forgotten building, but within it was a staircase that led below the earth. Two small obelisks still stood, flanking the staircase, each made of intricately carved lavender stone and capped with a pyramid of obsidian. 

A laugh of astonishment bubbled from his throat as he collapsed to his knees in the sand. He’d made it. After all this time. He’d found the entrance to the stronghold.

That night as he sat by fire, he reread his favorite sections of the purple book his Father had purchased all those years ago. It was worn down from years of use, the spine loose and some of the pages torn, the ink faded in spots. But that didn’t diminish Jordan’s love for it and what it represented. If anything he liked to think that Ianite appreciated the love he’d shown her book after so long. 

He fell asleep to the relaxing crackling of his fire with the book open on his chest, thinking about the possibilities of what lay ahead. 

“I’m so excited to finally meet you, my Hero.”  A woman whispered as he drifted into his dreams.

~~~

When Jordan entered the Stronghold, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He wandered the eerily silent halls, lighting the torches on the walls to mark where he’d been so that he was less likely to get lost in the maze-like complex of halls and rooms. There were remnants that someone had been here before him but he’d expected that. The stories told as much. What he hadn’t expected to find were signs that there may have once been an entire civilization beneath the ground. He stumbled upon dozens of empty rooms in all different sizes, fountains, storerooms, two libraries, a prison, and nearly endless hallways and staircases. Had there been people who lived here once long ago? 

Finally, after what felt like hours, down a darkened hallway, he saw an otherworldly glow. Jordan rounded a corner and there it was, the portal. It was elevated above a pool of lava, the blocks that made the frame glowing from their own internal illumination. It was the brightest room he’d been in since leaving the light of the sun behind. There were bits of rusted and cracked metal at the top of the staircase that led up to the portal. Whatever it had been, had been destroyed long ago. The portal was made of a strange white stone, capped with filigree patterns the same color as the Eyes of Ender. In the center of each was a rounded indentation of smoothed obsidian. 

He gently placed the first Eye of Ender in the closest spot, jumping in surprise at the bizarre, resonant sound that echoed through the room. With each Eye the sound changed in pitch and tone until he got to the final slot. Jordan took a deep breath and inserted the final Eye. There was a crack of energy and a deep thud of a noise, alien and unnatural. Where there had been an empty frame, was now filled in with a warping speckled void unlike anything he’d ever seen in his life. It had appeared from nothing and seemed to go on endlessly even though the logical side of Jordan’s mind knew there was lava beneath it. 

This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Ianite’s domain was beyond this remarkable and mystical portal. The answers he’d been looking for his entire life waited for him. And, if nothing else, at least maybe being in her domain would give him a chance that she would hear his prayers.

He closed his eyes and stepped forward in a leap of faith. 

When he opened his eyes he was greeted by a bizarre landscape of the same off-white stone of the portal and immense towering columns of obsidian. He could see enderman teleporting about, their lanky, ink dark bodies moving without a single step. He averted his eyes downward out of reflex, confused by the obsidian platform that hovered above the Void. Jordan’s heart stopped in his chest, the Void was a scary story, a warning from parents to children about being cautious how deep into the earth they went.  He’d never expected to actually see it in his life. Connecting this platform to the main island was a surprisingly wide path of cobblestone, worn and dirtied with age, but otherwise safe enough looking. This was more evidence that others had been here before him, the path was wide enough to accommodate multiple people at once with a waist high walls lining either side for safety. His thoughts turned back to the book and his thoughts that maybe, once upon a time, she had been worshipped the same way Dianite and Mianite were. There could be a Temple to Ianite somewhere on that island. 

Cautiously, Jordan stepped onto the path, pleased that it didn’t crumble or give any indication of failing. With each step he gained confidence and surety, eyes flicking upwards towards the pillars of obsidian, the researcher in him taking in every bit of information he could, above each pillar floated a white crystal, bobbing gently up and down. The stone that made up the island, endstone he mentally dubbed it, had a strange texture under his boots. There was an almost, sandy feeling to it, like the very top layer was loose dust. It made for a slick surface as he ventured deeper into the landmass.

The first thing he noticed was just how many enderman there were, reminding himself to keep his gaze low so he didn’t attract their attention. In the center of the island was a fountain-like structure made of bedrock, something he’d only seen on school trips into the deep mines. Next to the fountain was a monstrous skeleton, the skull of which was larger than Jordan was tall. It looked almost reptilian in nature, with a horned frill and long sharp teeth. The Beast, he realized. The beast the ‘Heroes’ had killed was a dragon, a creature from myth and fairy tales. 

As Jordan looked around further, he was beginning to fear that all this had been for nothing. There had to be more here, it couldn’t be just this. There had to be something else, something relating to Ianite. 

An enderman teleported across the island. Behind it, Jordan caught a glimpse of the same lavender stone the obelisks at the oasis had been made of. Curiously he walked over to investigate, eyes widening in understanding as it came fully into view. It was a Temple. A decaying and crumbling Temple, but a Temple nonetheless.  The roof was mostly caved in, only the front pediment was mildly intact, the lavender stone balancing almost precariously on top of a series of pure white columns, quartz if he had to guess. The walls of the Temple seemed intact enough as entered, wary and wondering. 

It was emptier than the Temples dedicated to the other Gods that he’d been in. No pews or places for private prayer, simply a large room filled with the stone remains of the roof. Purple flowers in varieties he’d never seen sprouted up from in between the cracks in the floor, interspersed with flowers he did recognize, lilies of the valley and lavender sprigs. The drooping white lilies were a symbol of returning happiness and the lavender a symbol of feminine elegance, his mother loved painting them both because of it. Moss and vines had somehow found their way in as well, growing uncontrollably up and around the remains of grand columns and archways. But the most eye catching thing was the statue of a woman before an immense and intricate stained glass window, her arms outstretched in a pose of strength and grace. It was her. Ianite.  

He approached and without really considering his actions, fell to his knees before her. He’d never prayed to a God before, had never felt that it was his right. But he’d seen others do it all his life, he knew how it traditionally went. He reached into his bag and pulled out a flint and steel, carefully lighting the end of a stick to use as a match. Surrounding the base of the statues were the stump ends of purple candles, melted to almost nothing, wicks blacked to charcoal. He lit those first, one at a time. Next he removed the offerings he’d prepared, it was said that every God had their favored items and the more valuable an item you presented, the greater blessing you would receive. With no knowledge of what she may want, he’d done his best. He laid diamonds and emeralds before her, as many as he could truly spare. But also, he presented the book that had sent him on this journey. He’d memorized every word and while he wasn’t sure what use it might have to her, the idea of offering something so significant to him felt right. 

Jordan looked up to her then, the statue. Much like the rest of the Temple, it had seen better days. It was cracked and broken in places, a finger on one hand missing entirely, the hem of her dress ragged and eroded, her face barely more than a hint at an expression, shards of ender pearl where her eyes ought to be. Twin cracks traced down her cheeks like tears. She may have been forgotten, but she still deserved better. 

He spread his arms wide, mimicking her pose. He swallowed, hesitant for what he was about to do. The Champions of the Gods were the only ones who were supposed to speak directly to the Gods themselves. The rest of the kingdom spoke only to priests and disciples who relayed the messages, and ‘Godless’ Outcasts like Jordan? Well, the last priest he’d spoken to had laughed him from the Temple because he’d dared insinuate that there was someone besides the two Gods. Still, he’d spent a long time trying to form the words he wanted to say to her. He was not here just for himself, but for all the Godless outcasts that could use the blessing of a Goddess.  

I don’t know if you can hear me Or if you’re even there I don’t know if you would listen to a humble prayer

Yes, I know I’m just an outcast I shouldn’t speak to you Still I see your face and wonder Were you once an outcast too?

God help the outcasts Hungry from birth Show them the mercy They don't find on Earth God help my people We look to you still God help the outcasts Or nobody will

He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying but he didn’t wipe his tears away, looking into her eyes. He’d never felt so humbled in his life nor felt anything as strongly as he felt now. All his life he’d wondered what it felt like to pray to the Gods and have them supposedly listen. The prayers he’d heard though, had often been selfish. Requests for self-betterment, wealth, fame, glory, love. It made him wonder what kind of Gods Mianite and Dianite must be if their followers prayed so selfishly. 

I ask for nothing I can get by But I know so many Less lucky than I

Please help my people The poor and down-trod I thought we all were children of Gods

God help the outcasts Children of Gods

He felt lighter when the words finally left him. Something in his heart had lifted, a weight he’d not realized he’d been carrying. A smile found its way to his lips as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. Jordan bowed his head to Lady Ianite for a moment, even if this had all been for nothing, at least he could return to the Capital with a new sense of purpose. He would spread the word of her existence, tell people of the third option, restore the belief in her. Maybe it would bring her back, maybe not. Either way, he felt she deserved it. 

Jordan got to his feet and with a grin said “Alright My Lady, let’s see what I can do about fixing this place up eh? I’m not the best at building but I’ll do what I can.”  

He worked through what he thought was the entire day, humming and whistling to himself and occasionally asking questions out loud to Ianite as if she could answer.

“What do you think? Leave all the flowers or just leave certain ones? I personally kind of like them all here, you’ve never probably seen the Temples in the Overworld but they’re kind of lifeless. I think the flowers add a nice touch. Maybe just a path through the center…?” 

He stopped to eat, sitting against the inside front wall of the Temple and just looking. It was better already. He’d gotten most of the chunks of the ceiling pulled aside, at least the ones he was strong enough to move, as well as the remnants of the columns and arches. He’d pulled up the dead flowers and plants and lit the torches that lined the walls. Yes, it was looking a lot better than when he’d found it. Still not perfect, he didn’t have the tools or supplies to fix it in its entirety, not yet at least. But he would. Now that he knew where the portal was, he could return to the Overworld and stock up then come back. 

He yawned widely. With no sun or moon he had no way to tell just how long he’d been here. If he was this tired, it must’ve been at least a whole day. It certainly wasn’t respectful of him to sleep in here but the alternative was sleeping out in the open surrounded by who knew how many enderman. “You don’t mind do you Milady? Just this once. I promise.” He yawned again, settling back against the wall and letting his eyes slip shut.

As his breathing evened out, every candle on the altar suddenly extinguished in a gust of air. The enderpearl shards in the eyes of the statue began to glow weakly and then with a single graceful step, a woman stepped from the stone. Her hair and dress floated around her as if she was underwater, her entire being mostly transparent. She leaned down to pick up the book that had been left to her, smiling faintly. He’d done so well to get here on his own. With nothing to go on but this book and his own feelings, he’d come to her. She could not think of a single person more deserving in this world of behind her Champion.

The Spirit of Ianite drifted through the Temple, the flowers waving delicately as she passed over them. She came to rest in front of him. His eyes were shut and entirely body relaxed, soft snores leaving him. 

“Thank you for all you’ve done. I know you will go on to do a great many more things in my name. I am honored to bless you as my Champion.” She spoke into his dreams. 

Ever so gently she wrapped her hand around his left forearm, shutting her eyes to channel her power. Upon his skin, a golden tattoo spiraled into existence. The pattern was varied, eyes and flowers and abstract symbols of balance all flowing together into a single piece of artwork. She felt the connection between them blossom to life like one of the chorus flowers that decorated the Temple. She could feel his mortality like a steady beat in her mind, the reassuring thump thump, thump thump of his heart. Ianite basked in the sensation for a moment, so new but still so welcome. He stirred beneath her touch, his subconscious reacting to their new connection. 

She pressed her lips to her fingertips and whispered “I will answer your prayers my Champion. I will visit the others in their dreams as I will visit you. They will know you as my Champion and it is through you that my name will return to the world of mortals.” then with the utmost care, touched her fingertips to his temple to complete the blessing. 

Ianite drifted back to her statue, looking back over her shoulder with a fond smile one last time before vanishing.