#it shall pass of course. its only my second day

[nmoroder]

Hokland askblog post #11: Have you given each other pet names? Share some.

Askblog tag: #nmoroder hokland ask Please see pinned blog post before asking questions!

a very short simple thing before another sort of depressing one. my personal opinion is that Roland speaks his colleagues' names in a way it can already be interpreted as a pet name or a nickname, he's got his own way of saying them, Hokma is no exception (the first time Roland says hello to him rings in my head to this day. I stg). A more thrilling question would be "how about what do you call each other in bed" but thats an entirely different story innit

[haveihitanerve]

Calling for Dad

um.. so i saw this post a while back about how the Robins all call for bruce on patrol and i unfortunately cannot find it to reblog off of, but uh yeah. i wrote it so-

this post-

Dick breathed deeply through his nose and whirled, sending his foot flying into a nearby henchman's side. The man went flying back, cursing up a storm that ended quickly as his head connected with the wall. Out cold. Dick brushed his hands off in satisfaction. They were almost done, and he could see bruce tying up and fighting a few extra henchmen only a few feet away, at the same time. Dick turned, planning on tying up the ones he had finished, when something cold and hard slammed into his cheek. Dick reeled backwards, landing hard on the ground. He looked up. A henchman was standing over him, a nasty smile on his face, brass knuckles glinting. Dick could feel tears pooling in his eyes. “Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry’ dick chanted in his head. But his lower lip was trembling. And, maybe it was just some survival instinct, maybe it was just some primal knowledge in dicks little gecko brain, but before he could stop himself, his mouth was open and he was crying. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” All he spotted was the pale face of the henchman, before a black blur went flying into it. Bruce was at his side a second later, a soft hand on his cheek, a tender brush of fingers across his forehead, a gentle kiss to his head. Dick didn't even feel the injury anymore, it had been more of a shock than anything else, but Bruce didn't finish patrol that day. And dick stayed wrapped up safe and warm in his fathers cape the rest of the night. 

Jason yawned, sending his right fist into the gut in front of him. He had an exam tomorrow, and Bruce had told him to stay home, but Two Face and Penguin had decided to strike a deal in the warehouse, so they had had to show up. Jason knew B regretted bringing him. And would blame himself if jason failed, but honestly, jason just enjoyed spending time with his dad. Whether it was fighting crime or not. He would take the bruises over passing his exam any day. Jason yawned again. The gut was suddenly back on its feet in front of him. Jason startled back, but too late. He hit the ground. Hard. Boots scraped the floor in front of him and Jason could no longer see Bruce. His heartbeat started to accelerate. There was a hand on his ankle and he was being turned, dragged forward. Jason opened his mouth, and screamed. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!” The hand on his ankle froze. Then was ripped away. Jason couldn't hold back his sniffle of fear and suddenly bruce was there, a protective hand on his back, an arm under his butt as bruce lifted him and pressed jason's face against his chest, holding him close and whispering sweet nothings into his boys ear and jason lapped them up like a starving kitten, mewling and pushing closer to his dad, safe with the knowledge his father would always have his back. 

Tim knew he shouldn't have been out alone. But he was doing some reconnaissance on the bane and it couldn't be that bad. Right? Wrong. Next thing he knew the young Drake heir was face to face with the dangerous villain, with nothing but a bo staff in his hands. “Ooh.” cooed bane. “Little robin, flown too far from your nest have you?” He snickered, and the sound sent a cold chill down tims spine. “Well well well. Lets have some funnsie shall we?” And before tim could move the bane had grabbed his staff and snapped it over his leg, tossing the remains aside. Tim stared at him open mouthed. Fear. Fear was coursing through his veins like sharp ice. Tim was scared. And there was a crack and Tim guessed it was either his ribs or skull as hot fiery pain swept through his body and he screamed, head colliding with the wall. And he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe couldn't breathe. But he managed to gasp just enough air into his lungs to muster up one single word. “DAAAAAAAAD!” Bane was on the ground faster than tim could blink. And he started to apologize, begging for forgiveness, to stay robin, please, ‘please bruce don't send me back to the Drake estate’ but bruce lifted him gently and carried him slowly and when tim awoke he was still at the manor, not on the doorstep of the Drakes and Bruce was sitting at his side, holding his hand. And when he started to speak tim felt fear clutch him immediately. But the man wasn't telling him to leave. He wasn't kicking him out. He was telling him about the other Robins who had called dad before him. It was the first time Tim heard bruce speak about Jason so plainly. Without anger or guilt or regret. But rather with warmth. “You are my son Timmy.” bruce whispered quietly. “My son.” 

Stephanie knew she wasn't as experienced as she needed to be to be robin, but bruce had still let her on the streets with him, and she would be damned if she disappointed him. After all, it was just Black Mask. What harm could he do? “Apparently a lot.” Steph thought dryly as she leapt around the man who was swinging wildly at her. She was bleeding from a gash in her thigh, and was pretty certain she had at least two broken ribs. They were really slowing her down but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Wasn't handling. Except. Except she couldn't handle it. Black Mask swung his bat, and Steph didn't make it out of the way in time. The metal connect full force with her side and steph went flying, slamming hard into the concrete wall. She wheezed. Now there was definitely some internal bleeding. Her nose was running and before she could get up, a boot connected with her face. Now it was running with blood. Her teeth felt lose. Stephanie's mouth was so dry. Black Masks taunting face appeared above her and Steph could do nothing more than whimper as pain wracked through her body as he started to beat her. She could taste the throw up in her mouth. Could smell the overpowering stench of iron, from her own blood. Her heart was battering so loudly in her ears from fright if she hadn't heard it she might've thought she was dead. But she wasn't. Dead. She was definitely afraid. She and Bruce had never discussed what they were. She had a dad. He had kids. A daughter. They had never broached the subject of adoption, or even being anything more than slight friends. It didn't matter that she saw him as a father figure. A better one than she had ever actually had. It was this thought, above all others, that rose to the front of stephanie's mind while black mask bloodied her. And it was this thought, above all others, that made her lick her dry lips and scream, with all the air she had left in her lings. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” Black Mask laughed at her. “Authur ain't gonna save you!” he sneered. Arthur Brown had never even crossed Stephanie's mind. Black Mask lifted his fist, ready to bring it crashing down on her head. But it never connected. Not with stephanie at least. But rather with a very large, very angry, Batman. She had never seen Bruce throw anyone. Much less through two walls. But here they were. Hands touched her. Warm hands. Kind hands. The same hands that had cradled her after nightmares. The same hands that had handed her snacks and wordlessly pulled her into a hug when she had shown up on his doorstep, wistful and ashed, slightly bedraggled, begging for sanctuary. The warm hands of her father. “Dad.” She choked. “Shhh.” bruce soothed softly, stroking her hair as he lifted her, like a newborn calf, into his arms and carried her home. “Its alright sweetheart. I've got you.” 

Damian had never called Bruce dad. It just wasn't done. Mother was Mother, Grandfather was Grandfather, and so naturally, Father was Father. He knew other kids didn't agree. Had heard his classmates shriek with joy and cries of “DAD!” And “papa!” when greeting their fathers. Even his siblings did so, whether Cassandra threw herself at him with a cheerful “daddy!” or jason tossed an arm around his shoulders with a heartfelt “hey pops” or tim and dick, who had no issues with plopping themselves into his lap and purring “daddio.’ when they needed something.  Even Barbara had taken to calling Bruce ‘dad 2.0’ from time to time. Damian had never even considered calling his father dad. Much less on patrol. Except. Except he had heard his brothers chatting about it. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But they hadn’t exactly tried to be quiet either. “B don’t love me!” Jason had shouted, plopping with an over dramatic sigh onto the couch. Dick didn’t even look up from whatever he was working on, just laughed. “Sure jason. Remember that time you called for him on patrol?” Tim chuckled, walking in as well and sitting on the couch opposite his brother. “Oh yeah.” He let out a high pitched scream and imitated a young Jason. “Dad!” They all laughed. Jason couldn’t contain his smile. “Yeah yeah. I know. He loves all of us. It would be nice if he showed it differently than just arriving when we need him, but it’s sweet all the same.” “Aw.” Dick cooed. Jason threw a pillow at him. Tim laughed. “Robin calling for his Dad is still the scariest thing a villain can hear.” The others chimed their agreement. Damian filed the information away carefully, planning on testing that. To see if father reacted with the same rage his brothers had described for him as he had for them. Damian had never seen his father snap. Had never seen his ruthless side. According to his siblings that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Damian huffed, throwing a quick and effortless punch to the man in front of him. He hit the dirt without even managing a sound of pain. Damian smirked in triumph, but the man was up again. Damian flinched as the foot connected with his face. He went flying back, slamming into the chimney of the roof he was on. The man stalked towards him, grinning evilly. Damian scrambled back. For the first time, fear coursed through him. “BABAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” damian screamed. His brothers hadn't been lying. The mans face paled in fear a split second before an angry bruce slammed into him, fists flying. Damian wasn't entirely certain his father had stuck with his no killing rule. But that didn't matter. Because Father was here now, holding him close, snuggling damian into bed, kissing his head. And Damian started calling Father Baba. 

[moraxine]

Third Time’s the Charm [Aemond Targaryen]

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Two times you almost kissed Aemond, and one time you actually did.

Words: 1.4k

i.

The Red Keep looms large as always, a castle of shadows and whispers, but there's a familiar charge in the air tonight. You feel it as you step through the winding corridor, the night breeze caressing your skin, making your feet nearly silent as you pace on the stone floor.

It’s nights like this you’re unable to find sleep, too preoccupied filling your head with duties of the day ahead. And it’s nights like this you’ve noticed that prince Aemond leaves the urgent late-night meetings of the council around the same hour.

It’s a ritual at this point. A ritual that you’ve grown to be quite fond of. You would rather die than admit it, of course, but it thrills you knowing that Aemond passes by your corridor to head to his before calling it a day. What started as a way to ease your mind, ended up being the reason you stay awake in the first place.

And it always goes like this: you trade barbs — sharp words laced with deeper meanings that neither of you dare to confront outright. It’s strange how easy it is to exchange insults when it’s clear that you both have cultivated something more than feigned animosity. You can see it in the prince’s intent gaze as well, he knows too.

You are not of Targaryen blood, not a dragon-rider, as exciting as that would’ve have been. Your father, a highborn lord, has served as Hand of the King for as long as you can remember. Thus, you found yourself living at the Red Keep from a young age, allowed to weave yourself into its intrigues. However, as safe as it might be, it does not shield you from the most dangerous flame of all—Aemond Targaryen. Not that you need it to, anyway.

You meet him at the entrance of the library this time. His silver hair gleams even in the dim light, and as he spots you, his single eye narrows.

“Ah,” Aemond drawls, his voice smooth and taunting, “…here to read something above your station?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the slight tug at your lips. “Maybe. Shouldn’t you be stabbing something? Since your reading skills are questionable…”

His lips curve into something that could almost be a smile, but it’s too sharp, too full of challenge. “I save my blades for those who warrant it. You’ve never been important enough to see any of it.”

You scoff, stepping closer to him, close enough to see the flicker of amusement in his eye. “No? And here I thought I kept you awake at night, my prince.” The word drips from your lips with a mockery that only you can get away with—well, almost.

Aemond's jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, and you see the fire ignite behind his composed mask. He steps towards you, and for a split second, you think he might actually close the distance. His face is so close to yours now, his scent—a mix of leather and smoke—filling the space between you.

“You think far too highly of yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Tell me, what could you possibly do to keep me awake?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a rhythm that slightly betrays the composed expression you’re trying so hard to maintain. His eye flickers to your lips, and for a moment, just a mere heartbeat, the air between you burns with a heat that neither of you wants to openly embrace. And though fierce, you’re no stranger to its burning. You both always keep a safe distance behind the heated stares and dance of words.

The tension is broken as quickly as it comes. You can’t let it overcome you, not yet at least. If someone is to break first, let it be him. You will never be merciful enough to give him the satisfaction of victory. So, you take a step away with a smirk, your pulse still racing.

“One day, you shall find out, in case you are not aware of it already, that is…” you manage to reply before walking away, your heart still racing in your chest.

ii.

A few days later, you find yourself in the training yard, watching with interest as Aemond spars with Ser Criston. His movements are precise, deadly. He’s all grace and fire, every swing of his sword like pure poetry. And you hate that you notice it, you hate that you can’t take your eyes off him. You hate the way his presence is enough to hypnotize you.

As if sensing your gaze, Aemond looks over mid-swing and meets your eyes. You raise an eyebrow, trying not to smile. “Missed a step there, prince.”

Aemond's lips twitch into that infuriating yet attractive smirk again. “If you think you could do better, you’re welcome to try. Though, I imagine your skill in combat matches your intellect—woefully lacking.”

You glare at him, and without giving it a second thought, you step into the training yard. “Hand me a sword and we’ll see. Unless you're too frightened to be bested by someone woefully lacking.”

Ser Criston senses the tension between you two and with a hesitant nod your way, he steps aside, giving you a wooden practice sword. You barely have time to grip the hilt before Aemond lunges, his speed catching you off-guard. But you recover quickly, deflecting his blow with a sharp clang. The impact rattles through your arm, but you don’t falter.

“Careful, my prince,” you hiss, your face inches from his, “if you lose, they might start calling you the one-eyed fool.”

His eye blazes as you trade blows, the clang of metal echoing through the yard. It’s not the most graceful fight you’ve ever had, but it’s the most exhilarating. The air around you is electric, charged with the tension of every unspoken word, every look, every insult you’ve ever thrown at each other.

Aemond’s sword swings wide, and you duck beneath it, twisting to bring your own blade up to meet his. His arm catches yours, and suddenly, you’re chest to chest, your breaths coming fast as your swords clatter to the ground.

“Call me a fool again, and I’ll—” he growls, his breath hot against your face, but the words are swallowed by the closeness of your bodies, the overwhelming pull between you.

For a few moments, neither of you moves. His gaze drops to your lips again, and this time, it’s harder to ignore the fire blazing between you. But before either of you can cross that final line, you shove him back with a scowl.

He cannot win.

“Get over yourself,” you mutter, turning on your heel before you can give in to the storm inside you.

iii.

The night before Aemond is to leave to deal with some unrest in the Riverlands, you find him alone in the godswood. The moon casts a pale glow over his features, making him look even more breathtaking, as if that’s somehow possible.

“I see you’re brooding as always,” you say, crossing your arms as you approach him.

“And you’re still insufferable,” Aemond replies without looking at you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the pang in your chest. “You’re leaving.”

“It’s only a mission,” he says, his voice cool. “Don’t tell me you’ll miss me.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, though your heart says otherwise. “I just want to be here when you inevitably return defeated. Then I can gloat properly.”

Then, Aemond turns to you, his eye burning with something you don’t quite understand. “You’ve always talked too much.”

“And you’ve always been an arrogant ass.”

His lips quirk into a smirk. “Perhaps. But you like it.”

Before you can hurl another retort, Aemond closes the distance between you. His hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath catches as his lips crash against yours, fierce and consuming. It’s as if every unspoken word, every insult, every stolen glance suppressed over the years is poured into that kiss.

And you let yourself fall. You fall for the way his hand is resting on your burning skin. You fall for the way his lips move in perfect sync with yours. You fall for how good he tastes, for how good he makes you feel when you go back and forth each time.

When he pulls away, you’re both breathing hard, your heart beating hard in your chest. “Be careful,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Aemond's expression softens. “I always am.”

And with that, he turns and walks away, leaving you and your glistening lips already anticipating for the next time.

In a way, Aemond Targaryen has won.

[angelremnants]

HIS FOR THE SEASON l L. Laufeyson

PROLOGUE,⠀The Inaugural Chronicle.

chapter summary : As the Courting Season dawns upon Asgard, the grand halls prepare to echo with whispered secrets and glittering alliances. You can put your worries aside, dearest reader, as the Hidden Storyteller is here to report on the new upcomings.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : none.

word count : 0.4k

(ao3 version)

⠀

HONORED DENIZENS OF ASGARD,

As the gentle breath of warmer winds and the lengthening of days herald a new chapter, we now stand upon the threshold of that most tantalizing of times—the Courting Season. A time when hearts are put to the test, alliances are forged or shattered, and reputations are both made and undone. The grand halls of Asgard shall once again glitter with the light of resplendent ballrooms and echo with the murmurs of clandestine secrets. Every knowing glance, every whispered word, carries its own weight in destiny.

This season, however, promises to be unlike any that has come before. The hour that has long been awaited is finally upon us: His Highness the Crown Prince Thor has declared himself ready to bind his fate in marriage. Though he has long since passed his coming of age, he now stands, every bit the emblem of royal virtue, seeking a match worthy of his exalted blood. Naturally, the noble houses of Asgard are already abuzz, each eager to secure his favor.

And yet, our whispers do not end there. Let us also mark the rise of his younger sibling—His Highness the Second Prince Loki who, having recently come of age at the venerable mark of 1315, now too steps into the realm of courtship. Still, dear denizens, one must wonder—what of the little prince’s past disappearance? The shadows of his unexplained absence still linger over Asgard, and rumors of his exile swirl through the court like a cold, biting frost. Some claim he has been cast out for transgressions too grave to be spoken aloud; others whisper of a more complicated fate, one that remains hidden behind a veil of secrecy. Whether his intentions lean toward union or mischief remains shrouded in mystery, a secret reserved for those with the keenest of ears.

As fate would have it, those same whispers do not end with these two noble sons of Odin. Among the usual faces in the princes' circle, there are those whose names have long since faded from the court's memory—figures who, of late, have reappeared in the most curious of manners. Could this be a mere coincidence? Or have these once-forgotten individuals returned with designs of their own, seeking to carve their place in the delicate web of Asgard's intrigue?

It is said that this season will bear witness to the peculiar rise of the convoited Amber—the one whose presence will outshine all others, whose influence will ripple through Asgard’s elite, and whose story may turn the very course of the Court’s future. 

What, dear denizens, lies in store as this season unfurls? One can only imagine the twists and turns that await. But one thing is certain: the stakes have never been higher. The Courting Season promises secrets, unexpected returns and perhaps, a touch more scandal than any might have ever bargained for.

Yours in expectancy,

Huldskald

The Hidden Storyteller of Asgard

⠀

⠀

PROLOGUE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER ONE.

see more His For The Season related works.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @strangergraphics + unknown .

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[caelivir]

songs of our hearts | mash burnedead

synopsis. in which you suddenly disappear without rhyme or reason, and mash spends the rest of his life waiting for you.

pairing. mash x musician!fem!reader | wc. 2.6k | genres. some fluff, angst no happy ending! | warnings. reader’s death is offscreened

notes. special order for @kyoghurts — this is long overdue and i almost never write for mash so sorry if he’s off but your idea was too good to pass on. just tweaked a little. (you can thank them for this one.)

mash and reader are the same age.

"and you and the rest of your clan will carry down this curse through the bloodlines of your descendants for it shall serve as a reminder of your sins against me. your firstborns will die the day after their 18th cycle of the earth, and there is no god above that will stop it from happening. it is a destiny you can never and will never escape for all of eternity.”

it is a majestic sound. a heavenly one. the chords carry through the enchanted forest, relaxing the trees and making flowers breathe sighs of relief.

the voice that accompanies the instrumentals is faint—soft and alluring. lyrics share the story of a mighty warrior and his beloved back home. curious, mash burnedead follows the source of the singing until it leads him to a fairly large pond, surrounded by green trees and blooming flora. the sunlight casts its glow over the body of water, allowing sparkles to dance across its surface.

mash finds you sitting atop a rock at the edge of the pond, so focused on your music that everything else in the world fades out. you strum at your lyre in memorized motions, as if the song was already part of your soul.

a leaf crinkles beneath his foot, and your eyes fly open, fingers freezing before they could strike another string. the surprise in your eyes does not deter mash. if anything, he doesn’t notice it.

“that’s a nice song you were playing.” he says, still standing in the same spot. you clutch your instrument closer to you.

“i’m mash burnedead. nice to meet you.” he continues, beginning to make his way around the pond.

“(y/n)…” you trail off, skeptical of the stranger stalking closer.

“are you hungry? i have creampuffs my pops baked.” mash tells you as he plops down next to the rock you’re sitting on.

you tilt your head. “creampuff?”

the mushroom head blinks in rapid succession. “have you never had a creampuff?”

you timidly shake your head, and mash takes that as the greenlight to hand you one of his. you accept it with some hesitancy but put enough trust in the stranger to take a small bite. mash senses it in the way your eyes widen and the way you rush in to take a second bite that you deeply enjoy the sweet treat.

"they're the best food in the world." the mushroom headed boy tells you. "did you know-" and then he's rambling on and on about this obsession with creampuffs. you don't interrupt him, allowing him to talk his head off because it's rather endearing. mash, of course, doesn't realize it. he doesn't see the interest you have for him growing in your eyes.

excited at the thought of having a new friend, mash returns after a few days with another basket of creampuffs. you smile when you see him and urge him to hurry up and sit by you.

on the surface, mash appears to be a quiet boy, but once you get him started, he doesn't seem to stop. he doesn't hesitate to update you on his life or narrate tales involving his friends or family. you'll only interject if you have something to say, but overall, you allow the mushroom head his moments. as he converses with you, you'll play a soft song on your lyre, just mindlessly plucking at chords you know will mesh well together.

mash never fails to compliment your skills, saying your songs are the best he's ever heard. the praise makes you stutter out a humble denial of how there are plenty of musicians better than you. that does not change mash's mind. he insists that you are the greatest.

one day, you offer to teach your new friend how to play. it goes as one would expect.

"ah. i messed up again." mash says listlessly after playing the wrong note of a basic song you were teaching him.

you giggle at his slipup. with a gentle smile on your face, you put your hand on his, guiding his fingers onto the right notes. your touch was soft, warm, and kind. it makes it difficult for mash to focus on the music, and really, he's only looking at you.

you let him try to play on his own again. mash still has not a single clue about what he's doing, but he's able to play a measure in perfect succession before messing up entirely.

you bite down another giggle, but your angelic laugh escapes your throat. your smile reaches your eyes. mash thinks you look really pretty like that.

"it's alright, mash. music is not everyone's talent." you assure him, taking your lyre from his grasp and setting it on your lap. "you make delicious creampuffs, and i think that is more than enough."

the tips of his ears burn red at the compliment. he's unsure why.

as the days drag on and the visits increase, mash has started to noticed that you're acting differently. you're not fully present in conversations, eyes staring so far ahead he thinks you're seeing a new world. as you practice new pieces, you'll play the wrong notes, and you'll mumble your lyrics. at times, you're not even playing songs. your fingers will mindlessly pluck at random strings, producing something that mash can't even call music.

he tries checking up on you, but you'll brush it off with a plastered smile before acting as you normally would. it's strange indeed, but if you say it's fine, then it should be, right?

the day of your 18th birthday rolls around, and mash has it all laid out on how he wants to spend it with you. he'll bring a delicious lunch that his pops cooked and a special kind of creampuff that's just for you. he'll bring a pack of cards so the two of you can play a few games that his good friend finn ames taught him how to play. to wrap everything up, he'll hand you his gift. it'll be a wonderfully fun day.

and it is exactly that. you show up to the pond in a pretty dress and a beautifully woven flower crown adorning your head. and with the way the sunlight hits your skin, mash thinks that you are ethereal.

your time together goes just as he planned. you don't waste a single crumb of the meal regro burnedead provided. mash brings out your special creampuff, even going as far as to bringing a candle to place on top of it. although, he kept breaking the matchsticks needed to light it, so you ended up having to light it yourself. he sang to you, rather poorly, but it's the thought that counts.

you play countless card games, ranging from speed, war, and slapjack, and when you get bored of that, you talk. it can never be a hangout with mash if there isn't an honest conversation.

"mash, have you ever kissed someone before?" you ask, a neutral expression on your face.

the mushroom headed boy is flustered by the question. he blinks. "i... i've never done that before."

you turn your head towards him. the embarrassment of your question now hits you. "would you ever want to kiss me?"

mash has never thought about it before. not once has it ever crossed his mind, but as he looks at you now with the beginnings of a sunset behind you, mash burnedead realizes that you are a force of nature. you are unforgettable in every way, shape, and form. your music resonates with the soul. your smile could blind the angels; your laugh could heal the earth. you are beautiful no matter what you do.

your presence is safety within itself, and mash really, really likes being with you. and so mash's eyes flicker down to your slightly parted lips. his head nods slightly.

yes. i would want to kiss you.

and you do. you lean in ever so slowly, faces so close together that your breaths fan against the other's skin. your eyes shut at the same time. you gently press your lips together, and time seems to stop. he can taste the faint flavor of the strawberry and vanilla creampuff filling on your lips. it's innocent and inexperienced but still sweet. it's enough to light fireworks in his stomach, and boy do they explode.

when you finally pull away, your eyes flutter open. your mouth opens so you could speak, yet no words tumble out. mash waits and anticipates what you could possibly say next. however, there is nothing in the world that could've prepared him for what comes out.

a wave of regret floods your face. a single tear carves its path down your cheek. you whisper, "don't come back here."

mash tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "what?"

you flinch. that is not what you were meant to say. "i'm sorry." you quickly apologize, not even trying to find an excuse or correct yourself. you scramble up and frantically search your lyre, only to realize that you don't have it on you. you didn't bring it today.

mash burnedead watches as you nearly fall trying to escape. you rip the flower crown off of your head, throwing it onto a random spot on the ground. you face mash. there is a waterfall of tears cascading down your skin. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i don't know why i did that. i really like you mash, i do, but i... i can't do this. there's no time. i'm... i'm sorry. you-you don't deserve this. i don't deserve you, mash. i'm sorry. please don't come back here. please."

he doesn't understand what you're saying one bit, and he isn't fast enough to stop you and demand an answer. by the time he reaches his arm out to plead with you to come back, you're already gone.

mash's arm falls to his side. he looks into the basket that he brought with him today.

he didn't get the chance to give you your gift.

mash still carries on your shared tradition despite your plea not to. he has to give you your birthday gift, and if he can get an explanation from you that would be nice too.

he takes that oh so familiar trail down to the pond, expecting to hear the songs of your lyre, but the enchanted forest is still, save for the few deer rummaging around. mash reaches the pond, and for the first time in months, you are not there.

that's fine. he can wait for you. he kills time by doing random workouts. he eats his creampuffs in silence. any crunch of a leaf will have mash twisting his head to the source of the sound, thinking that you've returned. each time it is nothing—only the common forest animal wandering about.

the sun begins to set. you still haven't come. mash thinks he'll come visit again next week.

next week comes. with it, it brings a new batch of freshly baked creampuffs that the mushroom headed boy is forced to eat alone because you haven't shown your face.

despite your lack of showing up, mash burnedead does not give up.

weeks become months. months stretch into years. even as he grows older, mash finds his way back to the pond, in hopes that you'll be there waiting for him.

he still eats those creampuffs. he sets your birthday gift onto the rock where you used to sit while he bides his time. he still works out, but lately mash has gotten into the habit of talking to himself. he'll tell all the stories that you have yet to hear because just maybe the wind will carry his words and have them reach your ears. he'll hum all the songs you played for him.

then the sun will grow tired and take its rest, and mash will pick up your birthday gift and go back home.

years stretch into decades—decades in which you haven't come to see him once. yet he still finds the energy within himself to come find your shared spot with him.

the pond has yet to change. it is still surrounded by thriving green trees. squirrels and other rodents continue to find their daily drink in its water, and the water continues to catch the sun rays up in the sky.

mash has changed. his body grows old. his skin wrinkles and sags. his body grows weak. his joints hurt everywhere. his brain is consumed with thoughts of you. he wonders what changes you went through. he wonders where you are and what you're doing. what kind of people are hearing your songs? he bets you are still as beautiful as the last time he saw you.

by the time he knows it, the sky is painted with its daily palette of orange, blue, and pink—a signal to head home. mash promises that he'll visit again.

however, mash's next visit will be his last. he realizes that his body can't keep up with it anymore. he is at his limit. still, he braves the trip one final time, bringing a few creampuffs and gifts with him that he'll finally leave behind.

the walk to the forest takes longer than mash would've liked, but he makes it nonetheless. he saunters over to your rock, sitting on the cold, smooth surface that was once yours. mash would've preferred sitting next to it, just as he did in his youth, but his knees can no longer handle bending that low.

mash sighs, craning his head up to the sky. a pair of birds fly over above him. "(y/n), i still think of you, y'know? i don't know where you are, but i'm sure you did amazing things. i wish i was there to see you do it.

"this will be the last time i come here. i wish i could've stuck it out for longer, but i will only hurt myself more if i do." he frowns. mash pushes himself off of your rock and stands before it. "however, i'll leave you with a few parting gifts before i go."

the once mushroom headed boy reaches into the basket he brought along with him. he sets a bag of three plain creampuffs onto the rock. next, mash carefully pulls out a flower crown that he personally weaved. all the flowers were taken from outside his home and the beloved enchanted forest.

"i always think about how nice you looked wearing one of these." mash says as he inspects his work one more time before placing it alongside the pastries.

and finally, mash reveals the birthday gift he was supposed to give you all those years ago with a reminiscent grin. "one of the greatest things about you was your music. you and that lyre were perfect partners, but even i could tell that that thing was old. so i thought, why not have another one?"

mash gently lays the instrument on top of the rock, allowing it to complete the trio of gifts. "i did my best to take care of it. i hope you like it."

the lonely old man doesn't say anything for a while. he only stares on as a wave of emotions surge in his heart. he puts a wrinkly hand on the wooden lyre. the corners of his lips pull into a small smile. "thanks for everything, (y/n). and just so you know, i really liked you too."

mash lets his hand linger for a moment before he pulls it away. he gathers the last of his belongings and leaves the pond behind, all while humming the tune of your song about the mighty warrior and his beloved back home.

[lexosaurus]

From Goth to Ghost

Here is my second fic for @ecto-implosion! I was so excited to get @blonchie's art for this round. It is sooooo fun and silly and ah it made for such a great writing experience! Please do yourself a favor and CHECK IT OUT!

Thank you to @lexiepiper and @fridurwrites for betaing!

Characters: Sam, Danny, Tucker Tags/warnings: No Warnings, Halfa!Sam (temporarily) Summary: The last thing Sam expected to wake up to was her body frozen on her bed. But unfortunately, thanks to a certain jock's midnight ponderings and the interference of one wish-granting ghost, that was exactly how she started off her morning.

[read on ao3]

[part 2]

****

In a land far, far away, a figure sat on his bed staring wistfully out his window. The moon gazed back at him, bright and round as it was. A shining beacon of hope for all teen boys around the globe. A message that no matter what trials lay ahead, they could face anything.

This boy in particular didn't just hear that message, but he internalized it deep inside his very soul. He pondered it, he tossed and turned it in his head, folding it gently like a baker mixing fluffy, delicate cake batter. He tasted it, added a pinch of salt, some sugar, a little more flour, mixing—but not over-mixing—until the batter was just right.

It was a powerful feeling, these sorts of deep, poetic thoughts. When most of his day was spent replaying football plays in his brain, or thinking of nicknames for a certain, dweeby classmate of his, having moments where he could just be one with his deepest thoughts was almost meditative.

Not that he meditated, of course. Meditating was for hippies and girls, and he was neither of these things.

For he was strong, he was powerful, and he was truly the master of his own brain. This was why, as he pondered the essence of the Universe and all its inhabitants, he was so lost in thought that he nearly missed the shooting star jetting across the sky.

But, of course, he didn't miss that shooting star—which could have been an airplane, actually—because he could never miss such fine, delectable details about life such as that.

Well, it didn't really matter if that shooting star was moving far too slowly to be a shooting star after all. Perhaps it was a satellite?

This was a topic that a certain nerd would know. Not that this boy cared at all about that dweeb.

Most important, was addressing the reason for all his pondering in the first place. Which was the fact that the local ghost boy was, confusingly, very attractive.

Which made no sense. Phantom was dead. And also a boy. And this intelligent, strong, charismatic soul pondering out his window was a boy, too, and also very much alive.

Was it gay if he was dead?

Either way, it didn't make any sense for him to be attracted to that ghost. Even if they were both very amazing, handsome guys, and even if maybe it would be very cool to date a hero.

Well, as this charismatic and kind young teen stared out his window at the passing definitely-not-a-satellite shooting star and the full moon beside it, an idea suddenly popped into his head.

It was a great idea, really, following the storybooks.

And so, Dash opened his mouth and wished upon a shooting star, "I wish Phantom was a chick."

****

"So you have wished it, so it shall be."

****

Something was off.

That was the first thing Sam knew, even before she was fully conscious. She lay there in her half-asleep daze, trying to fight the looming dread of her morning alarm, and the only thing that her brain could think of was the ever-encroaching feeling in her chest and mind that something, somewhere, was off.

But her alarm hadn't gone off yet, so really, what was there to worry about? It was probably just the vestiges of her mother's voice from last night needling her brain. Sam couldn't even remember now what they'd been arguing about—probably about her wardrobe, again—but either way, it wasn't important.

So, she fell back asleep.

...

And shot up in her bed.

Wait, why did it feel like she was breathing ice?

That wasn't right.

She placed a hand on her chest, and something pushed back.

She froze. Her blood ran cold.

Literally.

She froze herself to her bed.

Sam stared down at her frost-covered legs, her blanket doing little more to keep her warm than acting as a decorative set piece. Her jaw unhinged in a manner that would have had her mom screaming at her to mind your manners, young lady—but her screams were silent, and each breath sent shards of microscopic ice from her lips.

Her room's temperature plummeted, surely, but Sam could hardly feel it. In fact, it felt better to her now that the air was cold.

And then, her brain caught up, too quickly, and began moving light-years beyond her body. Because holy shit, she'd seen this before, she'd heard of this before, from one person, from Danny.

This she felt in her chest was a core. A ghost core. And this frost was ghost powers, and her ice was ecto-ice, and everything about her screamed Danny's ghost powers.

She must have been dreaming. That was right, she was definitely dreaming. There was no way she was a ghost. She hadn't died! She'd gone to sleep last night healthy and happy—okay, she'd gotten in a fight with her mom. But still! Her mom was a total Karen, but she wouldn't have killed Sam in her sleep. She was crazy, but not that kind of crazy.

Before her brain could spiral too far, the cursed sound of her alarm snapped her back to reality. Except, her hands had frozen to her pajamas.

And she had no idea how to turn her powers off.

Great. So, not only was she dead, but she was also cursed to be the most obnoxiously annoying haunted-mansion ghost that Amity Park's ever known.

Perfect. It was just what every goth always dreamed.

How did Danny turn this thing off? His powers tended to flare when he was agitated, which meant she just had to calm down.

Okay.

Yeah.

She could totally calm down.

She sat there, head spinning, the alarm still blaring, and half expecting her mother to storm the gate that was her bedroom door and demand Sam get out of bed right this instant, but no, that wasn't helping.

So she closed her eyes and breathed.

Just breathed.

She thought of a warm day. Even if the goth inside her wanted shadows, she thought of the sun. A human sun, on a warm day, with a full-blue sky that turned into a warm, summer night. Peaceful, surrounded by nature, roasting vegetarian hot dogs around the campfire with her two geeky homebody friends who'd finally put down their technology to join her in this moment.

Her fingers wiggled, and it took Sam a moment to realize that the ecto-frost was gone. When she opened her eyes, her clothing and bedding were dry like the frost had never been there to begin with.

But before she could wonder if she'd gone crazy, she felt another pulse from that alien chill in her chest, and reality hit her like a truck all over again.

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

She shut off her alarm.

The world was finally, finally silent.

And Sam was afraid to move. Afraid that one wrong twitch would set off her new ghost powers again. Afraid that next time, her mother really was going to barrel through her door and gasp and faint because, "Oh, Sammykins! What happened to you?"

She looked at her hands, but human skin stared back at her.

Human skin. Not glowing, green-tinged ghost skin. Human skin.

She peeled back her comforter, but her legs didn't glow either. They were dressed in the same black and purple fleece pants she always wore to sleep. Not a ghost outfit, a human one.

What. The. Hell.

Without thinking, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand and swiped to the one name on her contact list she knew could help.

Or, she hoped.

The phone rang in her ear. One ring, two, then three. Sam's heart thudded in her ears. Wait, heart? Since when did she have a heart?

This idiot had better be awake.

Four rings, then five.

If she had a heart, then maybe she wasn't dead. Danny had a functioning heart, didn't he? Sam couldn't remember. His biology was so strange and inconsistent. Maybe he did, which meant that maybe Sam wasn't dead dead; maybe she was just a halfa!

But how?

On the sixth ring, he picked up. His voice was thick, full of unshed sleep as he mumbled in a scratchy, drawn-out voice, "Sam? Wha...?"

"Danny!" Sam could taste the relief on her lips. "Danny, I need your help. I don't—something—"

"Whoa." Danny's voice on the other end was low, and oddly alert.

But whatever issue he was having could hold off. "I don't know how to explain this! I just. You need to. Ugh, I don't know what's happening!"

"Wait," he said, almost distracted, as if he weren't actually talking to Sam.

No, her problems came first right now. "Danny, please!"

"Wait, wait, wait. Hang on, Sam, something—"

"I have a ghost core!"

"My core is missing!"

Silence echoed off the walls of the cell line between them. Sam's body was a cacophony of both wanting to breathe hard because that was what her body was used to, and also scoffing at the idea of breathing to calm down because breathing was pointless and she was a ghost, damnit! She could do better than that! Even though she wasn't a ghost. She was alive, she reminded herself. 

Even if absolutely none of this should be possible.

It was Danny who broke the silence first. "Wait, what?"

Sam needed no further prompting to let the words spill from her mouth. "I have a ghost core now! I just woke up like this and I have no idea how it happened!"

To Sam's surprise, Danny began to laugh.

Genuinely laugh.

"What the hell, Danny?" Sam hissed. Around her, the lights flickered.

"No, sorry, it's just that I'm glad that this mystery is already halfway solved. If you were anyone else, I don't know what I would have done."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying my core is gone, Sam! Not off, but like, gone. It's not in my chest anymore. I'm human. But you have a ghost core. So somehow it seems like my core moved into your body."

Sam jerked back in bed, leaning against her disheveled cushions and scoffing. "That's ridiculous."

Danny didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, but my entire life is ridiculous. That's kind of part of the deal."

"Okay, fair. But still, what the hell am I going to do? I don't know how to use this core! I'm going to get discovered by first period!"

"Sam." Danny laughed. "Be real. I've transformed in the middle of the street and no one's ever caught me."

Well, he did have a point.

"Seriously, you'll be fine. And besides, even if you do accidentally turn invisible in front of someone, everyone in this town knows that when people get ecto-contamination, they sometimes show weird ghostly side effects. It wouldn't be too hard to say, oh I don't know, you accidentally dropped a beaker of one of my parents' inventions on you and you're just having some side effects while it wears off!"

If Sam wasn't trying to reassure herself that everything would be okay, she might have been impressed at how easily Danny thought of that simple lie. Impressed, and also maybe a little concerned.

"You'll be fine! Just hang tight ‘til we can figure out what's going on, anyway."

"Sure," she said. She breathed, releasing the knot in her stomach as she did. "Okay, okay, I'm good now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Okay, see you in a bit."

She clicked off before he could respond, and her phone slipped through intangible fingers, bouncing against her mattress and settling next to her leg. 

She had ghost powers.

Not just any ghost powers, but Danny's ghost powers.

Somehow.

Inexplicably.

Neither of them had a single clue why, but somehow, they'd managed to swap human-halfa statuses.

So, Sam had Danny's ghost powers. His Phantom powers. The powers he, an overpowered halfa, used to fight other ghosts. And now, Sam had them in the palm of her hand.

Literally.

And she had to act normal. 

Right. Yes. Yup, that was fine. This was all totally fine.

"Sammykins!" the nails-on-chalkboard sound of her mother's shrill voice called from the bannister. "Get up! You're going to be late for school!"

Sam could feel the ectoblast tingling at her fingertips. 

But no, this wasn't a dangerous creature. Okay, her mother was absolutely a dangerous creature, especially when given the power of the PTA on her side.

Sam shuddered. The PTA was everyone in town's worst nightmare.

But still, this was her mother, a human. A very annoying, preppy woman. Not a dangerous ghost. So, she squashed the tingling of the ectoplasm and jumped from her bed. "I know!"

Showering was odd. More than odd, actually, it was downright outrageous. 

The hot water licked her skin like fire. It was muggy, and the humidity, once relaxing, suffocated her. Her internal body temperature rose with each passing second, and where she used to cry a defensive, "Goths don't sweat, we simmer!" to those who would poke fun at her not-so-summer attire, now, that simmering felt more like actual boiling.

Her hand shot out and yanked the lever to the cold setting. Almost immediately, the water went from trying to slow-roast her alive, to gently kissing her skin.

She sighed, both relief and horror filling her at once.

Relief because wow, this cold shower was seriously amazing. 

And horror because to her recollection, the only people on Earth who enjoyed icy cold showers were male social media influencers who posted about waking up at five in the morning for the daily rise and grind.

If ghost powers turned her into a rise and grinder, Sam was going to kill herself.

Miraculously, she managed to get through the morning without her mother noticing anything. Well, probably because Sam and her mother rarely if ever interacted face-to-face in the morning. If they did, all Pam could manage was a comment about how Sam's outfit wasn't ladylike, while Sam could only respond with a scowl in her mother's direction. So, for both of their sanities, they found it best to interact as little as possible before they had their morning coffees.

Intangibility only caused her to drop her spider backpack once before she was able to sling the straps over her shoulders. It really was such a pesky thing, and she almost regretted all the times when she'd made fun of Danny's sudden clumsiness post-accident.

Almost.

But not quite.

Because what were best friends for if not to make fun of each other?

"Bye, Mom!" she yelled to the empty air and then stepped through the threshold of the door.

Or, tried.

She hadn't meant to literally step through the threshold. As in, begin sinking through the floor.

Heart pounding, she swung her hands out and caught the side of the doorframe. Using a mix of adrenaline and physical training, she pulled her body back up. Her legs returned to the world of tangibility, and she sat on the floor, breathing rapidly. 

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. 

What the hell was that?

She'd just stepped through the floor. She'd just stepped through the floor.

"Sam!" yelled out a voice from the street.

She'd never been so thankful to see the obnoxious yellow of Tucker's sweater before.

She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat, and her vision began swimming. Had Danny told him? Or was Tucker blissfully unaware? How was Sam going to explain all this?

Thankfully, Sam was saved.

"Need some help?" Tucker asked. "Danny texted!"

Normally, she would have felt insulted that anyone dare ask if she needed help up. But this time? Screw it.

"Yeah, actually."

"Are you leaving?" Sam's mother called from the bathroom upstairs where Sam knew she was layering her face under a mountain of anti-ageing products. 

"Yup! Going now!" Sam answered. "Tucker's here!"

"Tell him not to walk on the lawn! I just got it trimmed!"

Sam rolled her eyes, turning back to the sound of Tucker’s footsteps traversing up their flawlessly power-washed walkway. 

"Here." He held out his arm. "Don't worry, no one's looking."

Once convinced she wasn't going to start sinking to the other side of the planet again, Sam gingerly stood and tested her feet against the floor.

Her brain was happy to report that the floor was, in fact, solid.

Thank goodness.

She made quick work of shutting the door behind her, darting off her property, and, most importantly, getting away from her mother's prying eyes.

Once they were safely on the other side of the tall, privacy hedges, she whipped around to face Tucker and said, "I don't know what the hell Danny told you, but I'm kind of freaking out right now."

"So is he," Tucker said. "He said he'd meet us at school, by the way. He's poking around in his basement for any leads and then is gonna get a ride from Jazz. But I'll be honest, I thought y'all were pulling my leg ‘til I saw you going through the floor."

"Yeah, this is legit." Sam stuck her palm out and let the cold crystals surface on her skin, gathering them until they formed a sheet of ice on her palm. She saw Tucker's eyes widen and heard a sharp inhale with her newly acquired acute hearing, but otherwise, he didn't say anything until she tipped her palm over and let the ice fracture on the ground.

"What the hell?" Tucker breathed.

"Right?" Sam groaned. "I don't know what I'm going to do! I only barely have a lid on these powers right now."

"You'll be fine. Danny was, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but Danny's core was a lot weaker back then. I've got it at full power right now, and I have zero idea where the brakes are in this thing."

Tucker didn't seem fazed, his stride overly bouncy and dare Sam say joyful for the situation at hand. "Yeah, but you're way more athletic and into the whole occult thing than Danny is anyway. You're a goth! I'm sure you'll figure it out. And if it makes you feel better, Danny's transformed in broad daylight loads of times and nobody's noticed."

"Yeah, he mentioned that over the phone too."

"Right? You'll be fine."

"Thanks, Tuck," Sam said, then faltered, her body flickering out of visibility for a split second before she rounded on Tucker, mouth gaping. "Wait, were you, Tucker Foley, trying to make me feel better? Me, the ultra recyclo vegetarian? Doesn't that go against your meat code of ethics or something?"

"Yeah, I know, right? What has the world come to where I'm out here consoling you? Tragic times and all."

Sam slugged his arm playfully.

"Don't tell Danny or he'll never let me live it down," Tucker added.

Sam snorted, adjusting her purple spider backpack straps and bounding forward. They walked in a comfortable silence for half a minute before Tucker broke her tranquility to talk about some game he was playing (badly, Sam mentally thought). He narrated his great epic about how much he'd grinded until he found some hack—a hack that Sam knew he didn't actually find but probably read about on Reddit—and at that point Sam was forced to interject because if Tucker had just played the game's tutorial properly or not skipped over all the cutscenes, he would have known a far easier way to level up than grinding those low-level monsters he'd been fighting and—ugh, Tucker could be so infuriating sometimes.

"See, I know you're mad at me right now because your eyes are literally glowing."

"I'm not mad at you!" Sam argued, pinching the bridge of her nose like she'd seen Danny do dozens of times to calm his eyes down. It didn't feel like it was doing much for her, though. "I just can't believe you're seriously so inept that you're resorting to digging for hacks on Reddit instead of just playing the game properly! See, this is why you suck at gaming. I don't play video games nearly as much as you but I always kick your ass because I try."

"And I don't?" Tucker said, affronted.

"No! You just look for cheats!"

"Because I'm working smarter, not harder!"

"And that's why you never get any better!" 

They rounded the corner, and the school campus began peeking into view. 

"Oh shit, hang on. I need to make my eyes stop glowing." Sam turned around to face the window of a closed store. Her reflection was faint, but even then she could see her eyes glowing fiercely. "Shit. How do I turn this off?"

"Don't be such a hothead."

Sam stamped her foot. "I'm not a hothead!"

"Oh damn, what am I walking into?" said a voice that had never filled Sam with so much relief as it did now.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Sam peered through her bangs to see the bright blue eyes of Danny Fenton. She took a deep breath from her gut just like she'd always practiced in her weekly yoga classes and felt the power recede into her body. 

"Hey, Danny," she said sheepishly.

"You looked like you were about to punch Tucker through the window."

"I did want to punch Tucker through the window."

"What did that poor window ever do to you?" Tucker quipped.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's the window I was arguing with. You were just the projectile, for sure."

"Seems like you got pretty good control over these powers, though," Danny said, eyeing her up and down.

Sam imagined he was expecting to find her in his typical state: covered in some amount of blood, ectoplasm, and dirt. Fortunately, she'd managed to make it to school unscathed.

"Oh no, you totally missed the part where she literally ate shit going through her door," Tucker cackled, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. "It was amazing. You should have been there. I've never seen our girl look so uncoordinated in her life."

Sam didn't even try to suppress the glow from her eyes as she rounded back on their very annoying friend and glared. "Another word and I will throw you through this window!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure you will!"

Danny stuck his hand out and flicked Tucker's cheek. "So, we going to class or what? Bell's about to ring and if I get one more tardy this week, Lancer said I'll owe him a Saturday detention."

Sam steeled herself, looking across the street at her biggest adversary this year: the school. "Fine, let's go." 

****

Somehow, Sam prevailed through homeroom without falling through her chair. Although, her new ghost core had certainly threatened to send her ass not just through her chair, but into the goddamn floor multiple times.

She had also managed to weather their English written check-in on the assigned book they were reading. Or, the book that some of them had been reading. Sam, of course, was one of the people who had legitimately read it. Persepolis was an easy read, after all, with it being a graphic novel and all. And besides, Sam could never call herself a feminist if she neglected to read the stories of women from other parts of the world.

On the other hand, Sam was pretty sure that both Danny and Tucker had thoroughly failed the open response question, even with her giving a verbal synopsis of the book before class had started. 

"Wait, who's Ebi?" Tucker had asked.

Sam wanted to throttle him. "He's Marji's father!"

"Who's Marji?" Danny asked.

"The main character, Danny. "

Yeah, they'd definitely failed the check-in.

But since the class had finished early, they had the rest of the period to chat. Or, in Sam's case, sit there trying to stay visible and in her chair.

"You have too much energy," Danny explained, looking thoroughly too unconcerned for their current predicament as he doodled spirals in the margins of his notebook. "You just need to burn it off."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Sam asked. "We're in fucking school!"

"You can do it after school."

"Wow, gee, you're so helpful. I'm so glad you told me this at the beginning of the school day instead of, you know, texting me or something before school!"

"I forgot," Danny said, waving his hand as if to shoo her away.

"You're useless is what you are."

And he truly was. For as long as Danny had ghost powers, Sam realized that he didn't actually understand them to a shocking degree. Well, he was a boy after all, and boys could be a bit dense. Then again, there was a bit dense and then there was Danny, who seemed like such an airhead at times, that Sam was concerned that all those ghost fights had knocked all his brains from his skull.

"You'll figure it out," is what Danny said.

Sam did not win the fight to resist throwing her pencil at him.

Mr. Lancer, who seemed to have a knack for turning his head to see the exact moment when a student was breaking a rule, tilted his head in an expression that plainly read: are you fucking serious?

"Sorry!" Sam called. "Danny was being annoying!"

"When isn't Fentwerp being annoying?" Dash snickered.

Danny glared at Dash. "I'll stop being annoying if you take this pencil and shove it up your—"

"Boys!" Lancer's voice boomed through the classroom. "It's too early for this. Stop."

Dash grumbled something under his breath but otherwise turned back to his conversation with Kwan.

"And Ms. Manson," Lancer added, his expression rotating to its previous exasperation, "please don't throw pencils in my classroom."

"Fine, sorry," Sam said without conviction.

Apparently, though, that was enough for Mr. Lancer, who seemed content to return his attention down to the stack of papers and the red pen in his fingers.

"You are annoying me, you know," Sam told Danny. "Seriously, you haven't given me one bit of useful advice this entire day."

"Yeah, well, I don't know. I'm not a god, you know." Then he paused his doodling, chuckling to himself. "I'm not Clockwork."

"Clockwork, oh gracious god of time!" Tucker raised his hands up to the ceiling. "If you can hear us, please do grace us with your presence so Miss Sammykins can not eat shit on the floor! Even if from a purely objective standpoint that would be incredibly funny!"

"No it would not be!" Sam hissed.

Danny glanced up. "He's not gonna come for this, you know. He wouldn't even show up when Vlad had kidnapped me in his basement that one time."

Sam and Tucker rounded on him, simultaneously crying, "He did what?"

Once again, Danny looked far too unconcerned. "Oh yeah, he was trying to get my mid-morph DNA. Did I not tell you about that? The loser was using it for his stupid clone project. Seriously, he's such a creep."

"Oh, so that's how Danielle got stabilized? Vlad stole your mid-morph DNA after he kidnapped you?" Tucker asked.

"Yup."

Sam realized her mouth was gaping like a fish, and she forced her jaw back together. "Your life is so fucked up, you know that?"

Danny just continued doodling in his notebook. "Yeah, well, now you have my core so...good luck!"

If luck was what she needed, then she was about to cast every Wiccan spell she knew to get it. 

Fortunately, she managed to stay mostly intact through the rest of the period. Though, her legs did flicker in and out of visibility a few times. They were under her desk, so no one could see. But for good measure, she stole Tucker's jacket to cover her lap like a blanket, much to his protest.

A blunt "you'll live" was just about all the sympathy that he'd gotten from Sam.

As the day droned on, Sam began to get used to the core in her chest. It was a constant cold presence that seemed to send chill gusts anytime it was looking to cause mayhem in the form of intangibility or invisibility. And once she recognized the feeling of that cool energy balling up, she began learning how to brace herself for when it striked.

Of course, she wasn't successful in stopping all the cool gusts of energy. She was a novice, after all. But she was very proud of herself that she'd managed to begin teaching herself the first steps.

And also, very annoyed because that meant Danny's nails-on-chalkboard advice of "you'll figure it out" actually had some merit to it.

Not that she'd ever admit that to him. He and his advice could eat rocks for all she cared.

Point was, she had actually begun to get a grasp on whatever the hell was going on with her body. In the half hour before the lunch bell, she'd even started to hone her new abilities enough to make tiny ecto-ice crystals in the palm of her hand under her desk. She was at least partially certain that she could make these crystals on a bigger scale given the opportunity, but for some reason, she didn't think her teachers or the school administration would appreciate a seemingly-human student erecting giant crystals of unmeltable ice in the middle of their classrooms.

Though, their reactions would be very funny.

When the lunch bell rang, Sam was—for the first time—the first person out of the room, darting through the halls as if she'd personally been victimized by that biology class. Which, given the amount of worksheets that teacher loved to hand out, wasn't actually too far off from the truth.

Regardless, Sam was already halfway down the hall before she remembered to sling her spider backpack over both shoulders. She was the first to claim refuge in the trio's normally near-empty table, and given her boys seemed to be really taking their time today, to refrain from squirming in her seat like a toddler, she hid one hand in her lap and willed an ice crystal to her fist. This time, she was testing to see if she could make a simple shape with it. A flat disc, she decided. 

The crystal that formed wasn't exactly the smooth, flat disc she'd been envisioning. It was a bit rough, and it wasn't that thin either. But it wasn't like the round, perl-like ecto-ice that she'd willed to existence on a previous attempt. This one was different, and different meant that she was improving.

"You surviving?" a voice called over her shoulder.

She startled, getting so consumed by the ecto-ice, that she forgot that she'd been waiting for her friends to arrive. 

"Barely, but I'm doing it," she responded to Tucker, who'd practically fallen into his normal lunch seat.

"Well, that makes one of us. I thought Mr. Falluca was actually trying to murder us with the amount of homework he assigned."

"Tuck, he gave time in class to do it."

"And I clearly didn't work on it during class. That's what I have you for!" He leaned forward and pressed his fingers into a prayer. "I have you here to lend me your answers!"

Sam frowned. "And what are you offering in return?"

"A free hug?"

"Yeah, I don't think so"

"I know, I was just messing with you." Tucker grinned. "How about the bio homework?"

Sam tapped her chin, pretending to think about it. "Well, well, well, Mr. Foley. You've got yourself a deal." She stuck her hand out, and Tucker was quick to grasp her palm and shake her one hand with his two in an exaggerated motion. 

"Thanks, Sam! You're the best."

"Well," Sam said, taking her hand back. "Don't thank me yet. You still have to do the bio homework. Knowing that class, that could be a whole thing."

"It's fine. Bio homework is usually fast for me."

"We're talking about Bio?" Danny asked, placing his lunch tray down and taking his seat across the table.

Sam looked over, brightening. "Oh hey, Danny! Yeah, we are. Unfortunately."

Danny suddenly looked like he wanted to throw up. "Ugh, hate that class."

"Don't we all?" Tucker lamented

"I don't even know what we're learning right now," Danny said

"I don't think anyone knows," Tucker said.

"And you're doing my homework for me?" Sam asked as Tucker shoveled a bite of food into his mouth.

He chewed for a moment as if to be polite, and then decided to abandon that idea and talk with a full mouth instead. "Don't worry, I'll figure it out. I always do!"

"Gross," Sam scoffed. "I don't need to see your gory, spit-covered meat disaster."

"The school's gory, spit-covered meat disaster, actually." Tucker gestured to his lunch tray. 

"That doesn't make it any better."

"Guys," Danny interrupted, his face contorting into that exasperated expression it always did when she and Tucker started fighting about food. "Seriously? If you two get into this, Sam's eyes are gonna turn green again."

Sam squeezed the edges of the ecto-ice in her palms, anticipation clawing at her skin. "Actually, I've made some progress with it."

Danny perked up. "With figuring out how to switch things back to normal?"

"No. Better! I've starting figuring out how these powers work." Sam presented her palm to the two boys, the misshapen ice-disc proudly on display.

It took Sam a moment too late to realize that she probably looked like a toddler presenting their scribbled drawing to their parents that could be either a human or a cat depending on which angle the parent was looking at the scribbles from.

And she could see in their faces that this was exactly how Tucker and Danny were taking it. From Danny, a police nod at her lump of ice, and from Tucker, a squint through his glasses and a look that said, "huh?"

"The ice," Sam explained. "I've started to figure out how to shape and size it."

"Oh, that makes a lot more sense," Danny said, clearly relieved.

"Yeah, I thought all that ectoenergy managed to loosen a few screws, if you know what I'm saying." Tucker circled his pointer finger around the size of his head in the universal crazy gesture. "But, uh, congrats?"

"That awesome, Sam! Jeez, you're picking this up fast. It took me weeks before I figured out how to not turn the entire room into a blizzard whenever I turned the powers on."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm just copying you." Sam shrugged, placing the ice on the table. She stabbed her lettuce with her fork and held it in the air for a moment, amusement seeping into her at Danny who scooped the ice up like a dog being given a new squeaky toy for its birthday. 

He turned it around in his fingers, inspecting every scratch in the ice. "Hey, this is actually pretty good. It takes a while to get the hang of it. You really have to be specific on how you picture the item. Well, at first anyway. Over time, it gets a lot easier. But when I was first starting out, I had to clear my brain out before I made anything."

"Clearing your brain out? That shouldn't be too hard for you. There's nothing there to begin with."

Danny shot Tucker a glare. "Very funny."

"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all night."

Sam ignored him. "I just need to practice." She shivered, and intangibility threatened to send her crashing to the ground. It took all her might to stave it off. "And, I need to burn this energy off. Hey, can you show me how right after school? Since we have no idea how long we'll be switched like this and all."

"Yeah, sure," Danny said.

Sam straightened, and began eating her salad with newfound vigor. She was going to burn the energy off regardless, but having someone there to coach her and help her control it would be immensely helpful.

All she had to do was make it through the rest of her school day.

****

part 2 >

[brabblesblog]

Safety

Part 6 of the Goodnight Moon series

The confession has its repercussions.

More angst (happy ending at the end of the series) and more slow, slow burn.

Read on AO3.

Part 5

Part 7

Masterlist.

Astarion hears the words, but it doesn't really register. What? He blinks, taking a moment for it to sink in. He had heard those same words before, countless times from countless lips - lips soon to be screaming and crying as Cazador took them away. He instinctively flinches away from your grasp, taking a sharp breath. This isn't the same situation, he tries to remind himself, but is it not?

Did he not manipulate his way into your bed? Into your heart? Did he not do this to send you Cazador's way? To kill him this time, sure, but what difference did that make?

And shouldn't he be happy? Your devotion to him was clearly written on your face. You died for him. Surely you would go to the ends of the earth to rid him of Cazador. But all he feels is a mix of relief and a twisted pain in his chest where his heart was. Relief that you had finally come back to him, yes, but that pain - he refused to look too deeply into it.

He looks to your soft, sad eyes and slipped his mask back on. It takes seconds to do, seconds you would have normally seen but not right now in your current condition.

"That's even worse, darling," he hisses, trying to bring as much venom into his words. "Love is for the foolish, the unlucky, the damned. I-," he almost falters, but presses on, "I don't do love. Let's just keep this fun, alright?"

You look away. Of course. That explained those faraway eyes whenever you were together. You try not to cry, but it was hard. Not expecting anything in return was one thing, but having your feelings dismissed so nonchalantly was another. You nod curtly and lay back down, stretching your neck out. If this was the case, you can only really think of one reason he'd be here.

"I understand," you say, in a small whisper, eyes brimming with tears. He can see it, can almost taste your pain, but he cannot - will not - do anything about it. "Just feed, please, and then you can go. I need to rest."

He stares at you in confusion. "Why would I - you're -"

He stops himself, realizing why. Instead he shakes his head. "You don't really have much blood left inside you, so I shall abstain today. I just came by on the way to hunt to make sure my little snack was going to be alright. And it seems like you are." He pats your hand twice, awkwardly. "I shall go, then. Good night," he says a little too cheerily, turning to leave.

If he hears the soft muffled sounds of your sobbing as he does, he ignores it.

As the days pass you slowly recover, thanks to Shadowheart and Halsin's help. You have been staying with the druid more often of late, as he helped you walk and would carry you when your body finally gave up walking. Astarion seemed to be acting like nothing had happened between you that night. He was back to his usual flirty, sassy self, and you were all too happy to just let that happen. There were too many problems for you and everyone at camp, and you were all too happy to just push this one to the side for now.

You still asked him to come feed on you at night, and without fail he would show up. Your little conversations in your tent remained the same. The only thing that changed was that whenever he would reach out - to touch your hand, or to cup your cheek - you would flinch slightly, but let him do it anyway. It meant nothing to him, you knew, but you couldn't really resist these small morsels of affection he gave no matter how insincere it was.

As the group traveled the underdark and the shadow cursed lands, Astarion begins spending more time at your tent after he had fed. There was nothing to hunt here, the lands barren and desolate. Inevitably it brought you two closer, but you knew not to let hope into your heart.

"Tomorrow we have to look for last night inn," you say, yawning. He had fed a lot today, as the fights had taken a lot of his energy. He nods and takes your hand, lazily tracing your knuckles. "Mm. I shall scout ahead. Which direction was it again?"

You frown. "Why do you like being in front? You don't trust me to have your back anymore? We used to fight back to back and- ugh. Never mind." You worry you pushed too far, asked too many things and upset the delicate situation you two had.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes. His were oddly round and shiny, as though he was about to cry.

"To keep you safe," he says in such a small voice that it's almost inaudible. You notice that his hand gripped yours tightly now, terrified of letting go.

"I can keep myself safe, Astarion. If anything, I keep you safe," you say, joking a little bit. He does not find it the least amusing. His eyes narrow and he almost hisses. "No," he says, his voice low and rough. "You are incapable of that, darling. You did it once, and it killed you. No more."

You take a deep breath, trying not to react in a way that would push him away. "Thank you for your concern. I am well though. I have been training with Halsin as well. I have seen my errors and am improving in combat. You can ask him."

His grip in your hand is almost painful now. He wants to scream, to tell you how much fear he felt when you died, how he could never live through that again. He bites his lip hard, enough to draw blood.

"Be as it may, me leading in the front has been beneficial to the group," he says quickly. It was true, to a point. He knew though that he had to leave. Any more of this conversation, and he was afraid he'd open his mouth and his heart would come spilling out onto your hands.

"Thank you, yet again, for the blood," he says as he slaps on a well-practiced smirk. "I shall see your delicious self tomorrow."

You nod, closing your eyes and settling in for the night.

He gives you once last glance, and is unable to completely stop himself. He leans over you and you feel soft lips press against yours. You feel a soft gust of wind as the tent flap is opened and when you open your eyes, he is gone.

[miraclemuncher]

phantasm

004. apple doesn’t fall from the tree

remus lupin જ⁀➴ fem!vampire!oc

summary. Remus Lupin is under the assumption Snape is a drug dealer and his biggest customer is Jubilation Delight

tags/warning. marauders era

notes. this is the last of my prewritten chapters. they’ve been in my drafts for literal years. about time they’ve seen the light of day!

series masterlist → previous → chapter five. the truth was built to bend

This was the most progress Remus had on Project Delight in weeks. He's still a bit iffy with his animagus theory, he hopes taking it up with the rest of the boys will help connect some loose ends. During breakfast they were huddled up with Remus and Peter across from Sirius and James, Remus began laying out his animagus theory. He was just about to start explaining what he overheard in the infirmary, when Sirius suddenly clapped his hands—

"Okay but what if — and stay with me now," Sirius held up his hands. "She's a vampire," he said in a whisper. The three other boys looked at him with confusion, beckoning him to go on. "She's acing history even though Binns is a nut head! The only way you could pass his class... is if you've lived through it!"

Sirius lost all credibility at that moment.

"I'm acing his class too," Remus hoped that using Sirius' lingo would make it easier for him to understand.

Peter added on, "My grades are far from perfect but I'm doin' alright."

James agreed. "I scored seventy-one percent on the last quiz, can you believe it?" He said with shameless pride.

Sirius looked at each one of his friends like traitors. "Am I the only one failing?"

Remus knew the only way Sirius could let his theory go is if they disapproved it. "What do you two think of his vampire theory?" He asked Peter and James. It was obvious none of them really bought it.

Peter shrugged, "Shall we test it out?" He picked up an apple. "Everybody knows vampires have enhanced reflexes. We throw this and see if she'll catch it." The other three nodded along, it made sense. That part of vampire lore has already been proven as fact.

With Hufflepuff being in between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw table, Sirius, with his beater experience, was designated to throw it. They stood up to find Delight over the Hufflepuffs and through dozens of other Ravenclaws.

Delight was on the far left, doing last minute potion prep. She's levitating a goblet filled with Merlin-knows-what over a candle. The cup didn't even wobble as she flipped through her potions textbook. Delight was with two friends, multitasking levitation, reading, listening, and talking. They sat across from her meaning the four boys were unable to identify her companions.

She laughed at whatever the blonde said as she used her freehand to cast another spell that squeezed a couple beans dry for its juices. Her control was unbelievably steady. If Remus wasn't so put off by her possible drug addiction, he might've been impressed.

Remus enlarged James' silver knife for a makeshift bat. Sirius positioned it just above his back shoulder like he would do during quidditch games. Peter pitched the apple, and Sirius swung. Hard.

He hit his target perfectly, the goblet, accurate and precise. If this potion was for Slughorn's last lesson, which it had to be, she'd have no choice but to react and catch it to save herself from one of Slughorn's lectures, and her grade too of course.

She did not. Instead the goblet spilled all over Delight, turning her white uniform shirt into a pale lilac color, which was odd because the potion Slugnorn assigned was supposed to turn yellow. It just meant Delight was going to fail with or without their sabotage, Remus thought to himself to justify their actions.

This would be the second time Sirius issued a wardrobe malfunction. One of her friends, the blonde, took off her robes and placed it over Delight's chest.

The four boys had already immediately ducked, heads against the table with their robe hoods pulled over.

"She might not be a vampire, fellas," Peter said into his arms with his eyes peeking out from under.

"You think?!" Sirius raised his head to reply frantically as quietly as he could.

"Hey! This was your theory!" Peter snapped.

A few moments later, there was a light thud in between the four boys. Remus peeked out, it was the apple, somehow pieced back together. Black ink was etched on in perfect penmanship considering it was on a bloody apple. Seeing the handwriting and message made Sirius' face grow paler than Remus' after a full moon.

Leave my friends out of this.

Before any of them could react, somebody else must have noticed the apple going from Gryffindor to Ravenclaw and back to Gryffindor. The rightful assumption that it was Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew's fault. They aren't sure who fought back, but a loaf of bread was thrown to an innocent second year Gryffindor, Junius Campbell. When his friends backed him up, they had terrible aim and a slice of French toast flew all the way to the Slytherin table, cueing the domino effect of a fully fledged food fight.

Remus ruled out vampire in his mental Jubilation Delight's Potential Secrets list.

𝓑

Billie furiously patted the purple blob on her shirt with a napkin. All her hard work to adjust the measurements for a cauldron full of a Draught of Living Death to fit a goblet went in vain.

She accepted Pandora's robes with gratitude. "It's a bad omen," Pandora said as a fact. "You aren't meant to brew the potion."

"What use do you have for that blasted potion?" Billie figured the only reason the younger Black brother was sitting with her was for Pandora's sake. He didn't know of her condition, Pandora and Junius Campbell were the only students who knew. "Tell me why and I'll brew it for you," Black gambled.

Pandora jabbed him in the side, ready to scold him off for being nosy. Billie shook her head to ease Pandora. "I told you already, Black, I value a good night's rest," she cheekily replied.

She knew that answer never satisfied his question for why on Earth she would need such a strong dosage of the already strongest sleeping potion.

He glared at Billie. Finally relaxing, he instead focused on where the apple had originated. His eyes locked on a suspicious group of four boys with their heads down. Black hastily began collecting the scattered chunks of apple, it had pretty much exploded on impact. Black used a spell to piece together the apple chunks as whole again. He then snatched Billie's quill and scribbled something on the apple, with wet ink, he hurled it over the Hufflepuff table to precisely land onto Gryffindor's table.

Black dusted off his clothes and cleared his throat. "I apologize on the behalf of my brother and his idiot friends," he said, it almost sounded sincere.

Billie looked over the other students, finding a group of four hiding with guilt. If he was right, this was the second time she'd been a target of those four boys, both resulting in a change of clothes.

Continuing, she said, "Don't lose hair over it. If you really want to apologize, brew me a draught, yeah?"

"Not until you tell me what for—"

From her vantage point, Billie saw the slice of French toast flying towards the back of Black's head. She shoved his head down, Black resisted until he felt the toast whizzing over his curly hair. He rose when she let go of her iron grip around his skull. "Let's get out of here."

That's one thing they can both agree on. Billie stuffed her textbook into her bag before a lemon tart can get between the pages. With a couple of other fleeing students, Billie, Pandora, and Black left the Great Hall. Pandora and Black started heading to their first class while Billie had enough time to go back to Ravenclaw Tower and change her clothes.

On her way leaving the Ravenclaw common room with a fresh shirt, Billie heard a shushed voice calling her name.

"Billie! Pssst, Billie!"

She looked around the corridor and saw no speaker.

"Over here," a head peeked out from behind a corner, Junius Campbell with fangs sticking out of his grin. Billie looked around the corridor if the coast was clear before going up to Junius.

She playfully shoved his head down. "Put those away," she was referring to the fangs.

"I can't! It hurts when I tuck it in!" Junius made a big show over tucking his sharp fangs under his lips, then wincing and taking them back out.

Billie knew this was coming sooner than later. Vampire fangs aren't meant to be hidden, the sharp ends painfully poke the gummy inner lips whenever a vampire tries to hide it.

She softly grasped the boy's cheeks, keeping his mouth open to examine the fangs. Frustrated, Billie released to run a hand through her hair, trying to think up a solution. The temporary one was to use an in-progress Pandora™ cosmetic charm that will mask any flaws. Billie pointed her wand at his mouth and repeated the incantation. Instantly, the fangs started to shrink back into his lips.

"It'll come back in a few hours, 'round lunchtime — listen, even though it'll be lunch, you cannot eat, Junius. Go straight to the Hospital Wing and I'll meet you there."

"I can't eat?" Junius repeated with a pout. "I've skipped eating breakfast so my friends didn't see them."

Billie knelt down to Junius's level. "The charm was made by my friend. The side affects haven't been fully tested. Your teeth could fall out, grow twice as large, cause irritation and pain," she was speaking with experience. "Promise you won't eat."

The warnings had to convince him, but Junius promised.

Billie sent the boy off and continued going to class, arriving right on time. Does her punctuality matter when she fell asleep moments after the bell rang?

[i-guess-im-into-this-now]

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E4 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

My character/place cheat sheet

Lady Lihua - the sick concubine

Crystal Pavilion - Lady Lihua's abode

Jade Pavilion - Lady Gyokuyou's abode

Xiaolan - a servant friend of Maomao's

Oh snap. So that person who visited at the end of the last episode was THE EMPEROR. I don't like that Maomao is on his radar. I'm going to go ahead and blame Jinshi for this.

Lady Lihua is unwell and since Maomao is now a famous apothecary she is tasked with healing her. It's not something she can refuse or afford to fail at, though Lady Lihua's own ladies are making it challenging.

They don't trust Maomao, and so they prevent her from treating Lady Lihua, however shortsighted that may be. First of all they prevent their lady from getting better by denying her Maomao's care, second, they undermine the emperor's will. Maomao is going to be forced to deal with palace politics before she can treat her patient.

It is weird how the emperor approached Maomao. He could have summoned her to meet him anywhere, or simply passed down a command. He chose to go to the Jade Pavilion and meet Maomao face-to-face and in front of Lady Gyokuyou. It's as if he doesn't know or doesn't care about harem politics. I'm guessing that he does though. I bet he knows exactly what he's doing, even if Maomao and I don't.

I do not like his interest in Maomao.

Jinshi has come to help Maomao gain access to Lady Lihua so she can diagnose and treat her. He is so unnerving sometimes. When he notices the other ladies watching he rushes up on Maomao (is he trying to start rumors?) and whispers the following:

If it helps, I can come inside.

Which sounds... I mean, it's probably just the way it translated... I'm sure it's just me...

But Maomao looks like she nearly barfed on him! Which is probably the highlight of Jinshi's day.

The ladies comply when faced with the full power of Jinshi's smile (one lady literally fainted). Maomao comments:

Scary how women can change so quickly.

Jinshi knows the effect he has on women, but looks to Maomao after she says it, maybe wondering for the hundredth time how to get his charm to work on Maomao.

Side bar. This show is ALL about what is happening between Maomao and Jinshi. This is where the tension is, and it's where the story is happening. What happens between these two characters will have an effect on every other plotline and supporting character. If it seems like I spend too much time watching and analyzing this relationship, it's because I believe it to be the heart of the show.

Maomao! Holy shit Maomao! Goddamn if that wasn't the most lady boss thing I've ever seen!

Shall I even try to describe this scene? I'll never do this badassery justice, but its worth reviewing anyway.

She solves the mystery immediately, which, of course, and she's so far passed pissed off. When she realizes what's happened she growls in anger. She contains her rage only long enough to confirm who is responsible before slapping the lady across the face!

Lady: What is wrong with you!

Maomao: Me? Just punishing an idiot, clearly.

Friends. I am breathless. I think I gasped and then held it to the end of the scene.

Maomao dumps the poisonous powder on the lady's head. She then lays out in no uncertain terms what the poison does to one's body. Maomao is grappling to accept just how stupid this lady is, nearly shaking as she is incandescent with rage.

She slaps the woman again this time smearing the poisonous powder on her face while she screams:

You think she wants to be adorned in the poison that killed her son?!

The woman finally breaks down crying and Maomao is done with her. She takes charge and starts barking orders to the other ladies who are so terrified that they don't even think about disobeying.

Jinshi looks like he's just had a religious experience, but manages to pull out the perfect callback:

Scary how women can change so quickly.

God I love this character.

Facing Jinshi, Maomao comes back to herself. The ramifications of what she has done start to set in. I don't know if there will be fallout from the Crystal Pavilion from her bossing around Lady Lihua's ladies. I suspect they aren't going to broadcast what happened because they are criminally liable for poisoning their the concubine and also because this story makes them lose all face. Plus, Maomao is saving Lady Lihua's life. Regardless, I am confident that having Jinshi there to witness it all, will have consequences.

Dutiful Maomao then fully assumes control of Lady Lihua's care and commands the ladies with an iron fist. She can hardly tolerate the incompetency that has been standard in this pavilion. It really is a curse to be the smartest person in the room.

Jinshi: You're looking tired.

Maomao: Thanks. Unlike someone, I have been busy.

This is now what passes for a casual greeting between these two.

Jinshi, playfully, but probably sincerely, acknowledging Maomao's hard work; offering her validation, and implied appreciation. Maomao coming back with sarcasm and a playful barb. And they are both are getting exactly what they want from the other. Maomao appreciates that her hard work and skills are being acknowledged and Jinshi loves that someone is casual enough with him to tease him. I suspect he gets none of that any where else. She's may be the only one in his life who treats him like a regular person instead of a prince palace manager.

You can see each of them becoming more comfortable with each other as they learn where the lines lie. They are leaning how to give and take and discovering the ways the other prefers to be treated. Furthermore, instead of using those discoveries to push the other away or discourage them, they are giving the other what they want and inviting them to come closer.

Friends! These two are flirting!

And if that ain't proof enough, Jinshi Gaoshun gives Maomao some steamed buns and she thinks the following:

He knows the way to a girl's heart! It's the considerate guys like him who become good husbands. Too bad he's a eunuch.

So food is Maomao's love language. Same Maomao, same. But maybe don't try to be quite so transparent in front of Jinshi, he will use this against you.

Maomao is thinking of Gaoshun here but for what it's worth, it is Jinshi who knows the way to a girl's heart. He's been figuring out Maomao for a few episodes already, hence why she is receiving steamed buns from Gaoshun. He knows the food will cheer her up, but not if it come from him. Which is why Gaoshun is the one handing it over, even though he said the gift is from both of them.

Maomao interprets the gift in the way that lets her best enjoy the buns. And though she isn't admitting it, she is aware who the gift is really from, and might want to do some introspection on what she just thought about the gift giver.

Jinshi is offering to help Maomao. Whatever she wants. And he's turned the charm all the way up. Like, with all the sparkles ✨. I don't know if Maomao is totally immune to it, but it's not as effective as Jinshi would like. He hasn't abandoned the sultry look method yet. I wonder if he will just keep trying to see if anything shifts. In the meantime, it's far from his only tool of seduction.

His offer of help is good. Maomao of course won't take advantage of this for her own means, but if she can use Jinshi's help to treat her patient? Sold. Jinshi is happy to comply and win points with Maomao in return. I don't think Maomao totally trusts his altruism though. She tries to justify herself by saying:

We have to use whatever we have in this life.

And Maomao's efforts do pay off. Lady Lihua begins to recover. Eventually, Maomao is able to depart from the Crystal Pavilion. But not before collapsing in exhaustion, and having Lady Lihua gently stroke her head. Perhaps Lady Lihua is grateful and will become a support to Maomao in the future? Or at least give her some consideration while engaging in palace politics. Maybe try to mitigate the danger that could fall to Maomao. We shall see.

Maomao has so far had a positive impact on the people she interacts with. She saved Lady Gyokuyou and her baby, supports the ladies in the Jade Pavilion, assists the palace doctor, has solved multiple mysteries for Jinshi, not mention just generally brightens his day, and now has saved the life of Lady Lihua. She's too good at what she does, and too lovable not to charm everyone around her. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely there are some in the palace who feel very differently about Maomao. For now she's still gaining allies.

And nice. Maomao is offering courtesan tricks to the emperor's concubine. Maomao is helping break down class lines one sex technique at a time!

I like what she told Lady Lihua:

There are hundreds, if not thousands of flowers in the world. Comparing a peony to a bellflower is pointless. Who has the right to judge which is more beautiful.

After which, she immediately compares her own body to Lady Lihua's, recognizing Lady Lihua's "magnificent" "assets." I wonder which of her own assets Maomao acknowledges. Does she consider herself to be a beautiful flower too?

Maomao returns to the Jade Pavilion and is warmly welcomed by the ladies in waiting who instantly worry over her. Which, as I've said before, I love. Maomao is always willing to sacrifice herself for others. She did it this time for Lady Lihua, by working herself to exhaustion. The ladies at Jade Pavilion notice that she's lost weight while she's been gone, and acknowledge how hard it must have been to be at the other pavilion. Maomao is so good at caring for others and absolute shit at caring for herself. Luckily, now she has people who look out for her, and care about her well-being.

Jinshi is privately very proud of Maomao. He credits her with completing the emperor's mission all on her own, which... she did not. Lady Lihua would have died if Jinshi hadn't stepped in to help Maomao gain access to her patient. Still good on him for recognizing her hard work and skill. Now tell it to her face.

I guess the point in showing him thinking of it here rather than saying it, is to let us, the viewers, know that he is sincere. When he compliments Maomao he does it a little playfully, and she can never be too sure if he is just messing with her or if he is in earnest.

Also, Gaoshun sees exactly what is happening between Jinshi and Maomao, even if the two of them don't recognize it yet.

And the set up for next episode's mystery of the week is cursed hands. Cool.

If you like this kind of thing, let me know! For some reason I've committed myself to blogging this whole show. It's a little hard because, while I enjoy this and I get a whole lot more out of the story this way, I am also deeply intrigued at this point and tempted to just binge the rest.

If you want to start from the beginning of these reviews:

Episode 1

Next episode

Episode 5

[in-my-loki-feels]

🥰 Sharing after a wedding for Sharperton!

So, you could sprinkle in some angst with the softness and look at after Colin’s wedding - Benedict has to deal with the emotional fallout of seeing a second of his younger siblings find happiness in marriage? 🥺 And knowing that the only one he’s ever thought about spending his life with is someone he can’t tell the world about? 🥺🥺 OR you could go full softness and have it be after their wedding because it’s Bridgerton universe and there are no rules!! OR SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY! 🥰🥰🥰

That first idea is absolutely diabolical, so of course my brain latched onto it. 😂 Here's a little bit of angst, followed by softness, to tee up a much happier version when they do actually get married! Because WE make the rules!! 🤣

I hope you like it. 🥺❤️

🥰 Sharing after a wedding for Sharperton

Benedict was happy for his brother, truly he was. Even if Colin’s nuptials only further served to emphasize Benedict's bachelor status. He was happy, and yet he could not watch Colin and Penelope come together in their vow-sealing kiss without feeling an ache in his chest. 

He applauded along with everyone else and did not have to fake the smile that came when Colin looked towards his family, expression joyous. He was happy for his brother. 

Only much later, as he was undressing for bed, did he feel the weight of Thomas’ gaze on him. Benedict could see him in the mirror, a long, lean temptation stretched out on his back across the bed. Thomas had stripped down to breeches and shirt, then paused to observe Benedict’s progress. 

“Your thoughts have been greatly occupied today. You hardly complained at all about the finery you were forced to wear.”

Benedict made a face as he struggled with his cravat. 

“It was a momentous day,” he said, keeping his tone light. “There was much to take in.” Then he caught Thomas’ reflection raising one fine eyebrow and sighed. 

“I am happy for my brother,” he said, as if repetition would erase his other feelings on the matter. Another glance at Thomas showed he was not convinced. “It is only that I wonder when it may be our turn.” At the shadow that then passed Thomas’ expression—the sense of withdrawal—Benedict hastily added, “With each other, I meant. Not a marriage of convenience.”

His suspicion proved correct when the tension in Thomas’ face eased. Benedict’s mother had refrained from pointed remarks about marriage since realizing how close he and Thomas were, but society has its expectations. And Thomas, though he seemed fiercely protective over what they had, worried that Benedict would be forced to follow the ton’s lead. 

“Does the fact that we cannot make what we have any less real?”

“Of course not.” Benedict turned away from the mirror, yanking his cravat free at last. He moved to the bed as Thomas rolled onto his stomach to look up. “But I cannot help but wish to stand before my family and God, to shout from the rooftops, that you are mine.” He took Thomas’ hand and kissed the back of it. “As I am yours.”

Thomas’ fingers closed around his, pulling him close enough for a gentle kiss. 

“I have no family to stand before,” Thomas said, and his voice wavered, “and even if I did, I rather think they would not approve of my choices. However…” His slow, sweet smile made Benedict’s heart flutter. “I, too, wish to proclaim my love for all the ton to know.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Perhaps I shall let Lady Whistledown know, so she might announce it for us.” 

“Please,” Benedict groaned, “do not jest. That paper has brought enough scandal to my family to last several lifetimes.”

Thomas chuckled, a sound that sent warmth spreading through Benedict as he was pulled down onto the bed. Braced over his lover, Benedict watched Thomas’ mirth fade.

“I did not think I would ever find happiness such as this and that is thanks to you, Benedict Bridgerton. If this is all we have, then I am content.” 

It made Benedict’s heart ache with a strange mixture of emotions. Joy and wonder, that he, too, had been so lucky as to find Thomas. Sorrow, both at what his lover had been through and what they could not have. And yet as he so often did, Thomas struck the heart of the matter. Why pine for something that would not change what was already before him?

“And how could I not also be, with you by my side?” he murmured. He lowered himself down to bring their bodies together as their lips met. Thomas’ arms tightened around his waist and for a time they did no more than kiss, not needing words to comfort each other.

When Thomas eventually moved his mouth down Benedict’s jaw, he spoke quietly. “Besides, you never know what flight of fancy the queen will take to next. Perhaps she will abolish marriage entirely.” 

Benedict laughed and felt Thomas’ pleased smile against his neck. Then he happily turned his attention to removing the rest of Thomas’ clothes—as Thomas had begun to do to him—and finally allowed his thoughts to be driven from the maudlin track they had run round all day.

[rizzyu]

▵▿— Red Wine on Christmas Night

Pairing: Chuuya Nakahara, x gn! reader

Category: Fluffffuff

Warning: alcohol consumption, cussing, m o r i.

Summary: As Christmas strived closer and close by the day, the Port Mafia hosted a Christmas dinner at its headquarters to celebrate. Chuuya had a little bit too much to drink and started being a little bit too clingy with you.

A/N: I made this one significantly shorter than Dazai’s one cuz I don’t really wanna write another long ass fic

“I AIN’T WEARING THAT SHIT”

“Cmonnnnn put it on before Y/N get here, it’ll be funny”

“ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT”

You just arrived at the Port Mafia’s headquarters to see Tachihara and Higuchi try to convince Chuuya to wear a santa costume. “Uhhhh what’s going on?” Chuuya slowly turned his head towards you, teeth gritted and face burning in red. “HEY STOP LOOKING” Chuuya pointed at you “AND DON’T YOU DARE IMAGINE ME IN A SANTA COSTUME GOD DAMMIT”

You flashed a cheeky grin “Of course not.”

“Settle down little ones.” Kouyou stepped in the room with a glass of red wine in her hand. “We would be heading in the meeting room quite soon, so I do wish you would behave well in front of the boss.” Kouyou took a sip from her glass when Mori opened the door “Please come in.”

Chuuya sat down next to you. “I sincerely welcome all my executives and important members to this dinner.” Mori held up his glass. “Tonight we shall celebrate another year of the Port Mafia’s high achievements.” Everyone held up their own glass and toasted to this year’s Christmas.

▿▵▿▵▿

Chuuya poured himself another glass of wine after already downing his first. “So how was your recent mission?” He asked you out of the blue, his face was already flushed from the alcohol. “It was alright, just another silly little group who wanted to challenge the Port Mafia. It wasn’t that difficult to have them retreating like chickens.” You watched as Chuuya had already downed half of his second glass. “Hey stop drinking so fast, I can’t have you passing out like last time.”

“Hah?? The hell you talking about? I’ve only drank a little”

“Yea… keep telling yourself that—eh?” You quickly snapped your head around to look at Chuuya the moment he plopped his forehead against your shoulder. “Chuuya you should really stop drinking for tonight.” “Have anyone told you that you look so fucking beautiful tonight?” Your lips quirked upwards, clearly amused by how much of a lightweight Chuuya is, despite his obsession with alcohol.

“God ‘m so tired. ‘ve been getting to many missions lately.” Chuuya quietly muttered. You lightly chuckled “Where did the energetic Chuuya I saw earlier go?” “That Chuuya gotta get his rest too yknow…” You smiled softly before combing his hair through your fingers. The way Chuuya’s tensed muscles relaxed made the butterflies in your stomach flutter around.

“I feel like I should record this” Higuchi suddenly spoke from across the table. “It seems that we’re intruding something going on between these two.” Tachihara nods in agreement.

“WHAT? What do you mean— hold up! How long have you all been watching???” You felt your cheeks warm up. “Pretty much since you two started flirting with each other…” “We-we’re not flirting what do you mean??”

Kouyou sighs as she put down her cutlery. “Don’t mind those two, it’s not like this is the first time this has happened.” You chuckled nervously, secretly thanking your senior for trying to changing the subject.

Your eyes slightly widened when you felt Chuuya completely plop his head onto your lap. Soft snores left his lips as he slept soundly. You smiled to yourself when he nuzzled himself closer to you in his sleep, you leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of his head.

“I told you not to drink so much…” You sighed. “Merry christmas Chuuya.”

[wickedlywonderful]

@thisshadeofred 🧹 🪄

The first letter was both the easiest and the hardest. Its writing he did without a second thought; its postage he agonized over for days, finally sending it triple-quick to reach her on her very important day—but sending it in a simple, plain envelope via a simple, plain postman.

Dearest Elphaba,

Congratulotions on this, your twelfth birthday! It’s come on an auspicidatious year—or perhaps I should say an Oz-picidatious year! This is, after all, our tenth year with our Wonderful Wizard. Included with this letter, because of that and you, is a special anniversaririum coin being passed around the Emerald City. It’s only a little memento, but I wasn’t sure what else to get you as a gift. There should be another gift with your anniversaririum coin, of course, the same gift every son and daughter in the Emerald City receives on their twelfth birthday: a City Scholar pin. It won’t be of much use all the way out in Munchkinland, but if one day you come to the City, it will give you free admission to every museum, library, and other place of study the City has to offer.

Gloriosky! I swear, if my head wasn’t attached to my shoulders, I’d forget it, too. I’ve written you so many letters before that I was never able to send, I almost forgot we haven’t been introduced! My name is Oz, and I was at one time very close to your mother. She was a wonderfully unique woman. I think she would have been proud of you, Elphaba.

Go on now, and enjoy your special day! I hope to hear back from you soon.

Your Friend in the Emerald City,

Oz

He waited. Agitated days became anxious weeks and then, before long, one month and three weeks had passed, and there was no answer.

A persistent man as well as a sentimental one, Oz returned to his writing desk and sent a second missive.

Dearest Elphaba,

I think the postmaster must have eaten your letter! That, or perhaps you don’t know how to reach me back. All you have to do is send a letter back addressed to “Oz of the Emerald City,” and it will always come to the right person. The postmaster is very good about that when he isn’t slurping down the letters for himself!

Or perhaps it was frightening to receive that first letter. I have been told before that I frighten people. Am I so scary to you? Let me fix that. People are scared of what they don’t understand, I know that and I have a sneaking suspicion you do, too, so perhaps understanding me a little better will make me less scary. Well, let’s see. My name is Oz, and I come from a very long way away—even further on the map than the distance between us now! I live in a big house in the Emerald City. I like to sing and to tinker, and my favorite color is green.

Now it’s your turn! What’s your favorite color, your favorite thing to do? I want to know everything. And not just the nice things! You can tell me the not-nice things, too. Everybody has some of those. I’ll even share a not-nice thing: sometimes, I miss my home very much. It makes me sad to miss it. But a reply from you would make me very happy.

Your Friend,

Oz

The second faired no better than the first in securing a reply. The days again became weeks and then full months—leading to a third letter. (What’s one more unanswered letter among the hundreds he’s written to her? The only difference he sees is that now his letters are posted, and the unanswering of them felt much worse when he didn’t have a reason for not knowing why.)

Dearest Elphaba,

I shall have to stop by the postmaster’s home to give him something better to eat than ink and paper. This is getting out of hand!

Until he decides to start sharing your letters with me, I suppose I’ll just have to keep writing to you. I would hate for you think you’d been abandoned. If you truly don’t want these letters, I would hope you know you only need to say the word, and I would never post another letter to you again! You matter more to me than some silly old letters ever could.

We had a parade earlier this week to celebrate the Wizard! Did the Munchkins get a parade, too? Everything was gold and jewel-tone. Why, you’ve never seen so many little gems as you would’ve there! The confetti looked like you could set in a ring and sell it! I wish I had thought to grab a handful, so I could have sent some to you. I’ll try to remember to get it next time, and we can have a little celebration all for wonderful you instead! Would you like that?

I hope you would.

Your Friend,

Oz

[conundrumoftime]

My Silmarillion and LOTR fics

Gathering up in one post.

Shorter fics (2500 words and under):

I do not hope to bind the wind, Celeborn/Galadriel: a few moments in Third Age Lothlórien

"They say she talks with the trees. They say she can read men’s thoughts and she can make the land and all the creatures in it do her will.” “Really,” Celeborn says. “Then it seems unwise of you to cross into her lands, doesn’t it?”

Precious: Gollum and Sauron and the One Ring.

Hiss and curse it, thief thief thief, it cheated, it cheated us. The Precious was our birthday present. He smiles down and his burning eyes are hunger. “No, it wasn’t,” he says.

When all the leaves are gold: Celeborn/Galadriel. I was trying for a creepy gilded-cage take on Doriath here.

The trees keep spring as a golden treasure in their trunks; if you put your palm to them you can feel it, warm and alive and comforting, whispering quiet, quiet, all is safe here, all this shall pass.

Rarer gifts than gold: Celeborn/Annatar.

Elsewhere Galadriel and Celebrimbor will be arguing by now, no doubt. Here, the air in the workshop draws close. Dust spirals drowsily in a sunbeam.

Secrets: Gimli and Glóin, and dwarves in general. Written in 2005 (dear lord)

They did not sleep in the days after they were made; they lay awake in the darkness beneath stone, and they grew to love the gems, the ores, the seams of quartz, the very rock itself. The other peoples of Middle-earth do not know this.

Leadership qualities: Gríma Wormtongue, another 2005 ficlet.

A colleague, Saruman called him. An ally. The words were like honeycomb, too rich and warm to hold between his fingers.

Changeling: I think the first Tolkien fic I ever wrote. Fourth Age Maglor.

These are the jewels the elves lost. A father and his seven sons came across the sea to find them, and all of them died except one, who still walks by the sea and sings.

Longer fics (>2500 words):

Fair as the sea and the sun, Celeborn/Galadriel: Galadriel takes the Ring from Frodo.

There is no place in all of this for the strange things Celeborn remembers and Galadriel has reassured him of this, time and time again. A bad dream, she says. An old fear. I don’t know what you mean. I don’t remember Mithrandir. 

Not one before another, Elladan/Elrohir (and Celeborn, and Maglor)

They are the last two threads of an age-old tapestry. It is right that they should twine around each other in one perfectly sealed, perfectly seamless knot. 

It would make every nightingale sing, Elwing/Maedhros.

Show me strength, Kinslayer, she thinks. Show me hope. Give me all you can’t use that I deserve to take, you who have taken so much from me. 

Say it like the sunrise when it's talking to the fog, Glorfindel/Celeborn: Glorfindel has come back from the dead a little too bright.

He spins out of the other’s grip like it’s combat, a well-practised smoothness reassuring in its familiarity. This is a course he can follow. “Noldor think all the world is yours to demand,” he says.

Softest of tongues: Galadriel/Celeborn, from Doriath to the Grey Havens. This one's tagged with 'Sapir-Whorf hypothesis as a metaphor for the pain at the heart of your marriage' which about sums it up.

“I don’t know who I would be, there,” he says; he who has known nothing other than Middle-earth, its trees that die, its fading glory. “I don’t know what there could be of me that is not part of here.”

As certain dark things are loved: Annatar/Galadriel/Celeborn, in Second Age Eregion.

That they are Lord and Lady here, not King and Queen, is an interesting show of humility but, he assumes, a temporary one. He knows the Noldor; he knows ambition. He knows what he sees in her Tree-lit eyes.

Brighten my northern sky: Glorfindel/Celeborn, in Doriath.

Celeborn looks at him now and there’s a moment when – when anything could - And then he flushes and breaks his gaze. “I know your customs are quite different. It isn’t my intention to suggest anything disrespectful.”

Some of us can only live in songs of love and trouble, Maeglin/Idril/Tuor.

Only Tuor could talk of living as a thrall and an outlaw to a crowd of the Noldor and be seen as ever the greater for it; just as only Maeglin could talk of riding at Turgon’s side in battle, of bravery and victory, and still, still, be seen as his father’s son.

[megan017]

More hound dog please? (I ask the same way a Victorian child would ask for more supper)

Keep in mind that I am trying to not make Ryo look like a dog (personality wise). Yeeees, does have a dog mouth and his smelling and hearing ability is like a dog's, he also can't talk (like a human) when he's angry BUT he has a human body from neck down. Human hands, no tail, possibly fully human like legs. Therefore I would say he doesn't really have animal tendencies, maybe an occasional out of random growl here and there, I am not sure about my view of his personality yet. But why am I yapping about this? Well... mainwhile I think he acts human most of the time, I would also like to think he has his moments when he acts a bit like a dog (just like I act like a cat sometimes [I swear I'm not a furry {I am not against furries btw, like bruh, I am simping for some, e.g.: Hound Dog-}])

Now that we cleared this up-

One more thing-, I would like to think of the reader as someone who works as a psychologist or maybe is into I.T. (self insert, no surprises here I guess-), just dropping this info, but no worries, I don't think I would often (heavily) refer to the reader's job, so imagine whatever you want.

Now really-

--------------------------------

Finally, the day was near again. What day, you may ask? The day of the week when both you and Ryo had nothing to do and could enjoy whatever the day had to offer, together. But this precious occasion was going to be held tomorrow. For now, both of you decided to relish in the present...

Laying on your sides, your back turned to him, one of Ryo's hands snugly placed around your waist, the other just a bit below your chest, his head in the crook of your neck, enjoying how you were stratching, patting his head so nicely with your free hand, which was comfortably bent to reach out to him behind you. You just got ready for bed and after a long week day decided to spend some time cuddling, before the oh so well deserved sleep, which was rare thank to work.

However, the weight of work you've done this week hit you like a train and you felt becoming more and more tired by each passing second. Your eyelids becoming heavy, making you feel like opening your already closed eyes would be impossible, your hand in Ryo's hair slowly stopping its motions, falling to your side then slipping to the front of your body. He felt your hold on him turning light as a feather before it dissapeared and he heard the soft thud of your hand against the mattress.

Missing your touch, he decided to be a bit selfish, as he sometimes did, and started slightly nudging you, rubbing his face into your neck as a sign for you to continue, tighting his hold on you just a bit. After a few seconds passing without you giving him any response, he decided to open an eye and check on you, coming to a realization that you fell asleep. He scoffed, of course not loud enough to wake you up, then put his head back to rest in the crook of your neck.

----------------------------------------------

"You could have warned me before suddenly denying me the pleasure of your touch, my dear." As he closed his eyes, he snuggled into your neck one last time. "You are right, though. We shall rest after such a week. It is well deserved for both of us." - he said with a sigh and let himself join you in the land of dreams. He will get more affection when both of you, or even if just you, are well rested anyway.

Many people would call him aggressive, hot headed, weird even, but only because they haven't gotten the chance to get to know him well yet. Sure, he might be rough on the edges, sometimes hard to understand, but for the people he cares about and loves, it's a whole different story of course.

It's short and also he might be OOC, I'm sorry-😭

-🤍Megan❤️

[norahastuff]

Ahh I want to hear more about Layman's Paradise and your post-canon fic, too, please.

Ask and ye shall receive.

This is way too long and extremely unedited, so be careful what you ask for.

Layman's paradise

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached the lake. Cas stood there staring at the water. Dean took in the slope of his shoulders, the long tan coat swirling around his legs. The wind ruffled his hair into an even more unruly state than usual. 

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you were coming down here,” Dean said when he finally reached him. There was no one else around. It was a little colder than it should be around this time of year, though. Dean figured it was probably the wind that deterred anyone from spending a nice leisurely day by the lake. 

Dean pulled his jacket tighter around himself to counter the chill. Cas didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. He kept his gaze focused on the glittering blue surface of the lake – the same shade as his eyes, Dean noticed with idle interest – his coat flapping against his sides. 

“Hello, Dean. I spoke with Ian Lane’s fiancée.”

‘The second victim?”

Cas nodded, still staring at the lake. “Yes. She said he’d gone swimming.”

“Uh, okay? It’s not exactly ideal swimming weather, right now, but –”

“Not now. Last year. When they went on vacation.”

Dean tried and failed to follow the logic. “Cas, buddy, I’m tryin’ to go with you on this one, but I’m going to need a little more than that.”

Cas finally turned to face him. “They went to Europe. More specifically, Scotland.”

“Ah, the land our mystical My Little Pony hails from. You think there’s a connection.”

“Yes. Gina did tell me he seemed quite fond of a small lake near where they were staying. She said he spent a great deal of time there. She found it somewhat unremarkable, but he was apparently quite taken with it. One night she woke up to find him writhing in ecstasy on the floor of their room, babbling nonsensically about the beauty and allure of the lake. He was drenched and unclothed. She insisted they cut their trip short and return home immediately.”

“Yeah, girlfriend thinks her man’s cheating on her with a body of water. I’d get the hell out of dodge too. I mean there’s kinky and then there’s just plain disturbing. So, what? You think the kelpie followed him here?

“Yes. I did some research. It seems kelpies can be rather territorial. If you happen to encroach upon an area they consider their home, they believe it is their right to claim dominion over your soul. I haven’t heard of any instances of them travelling such great distances to claim what is theirs, but” – he shrugged – “it’s not impossible. And all the evidence indicates that is what is happening here.”

“Okay, so, we find it and put a silver bullet in its head. That’ll work, right?”

“I believe so.”

“Great, and then we celebrate at that all-you-can-eat buffet we passed on our way into town.”

“That was a strip club, Dean.”

“Hey, it’s all-you-can-eat. The venue’s just a bonus.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be quite that easy.”

Dean sighed. “Of course not.”

“The kelpie only appears to those it means to seduce. Lake Superior is vast. I don’t know how we would begin to even locate it.” Castiel turned back to the llake. His eyes widened. “Unless…” 

Before Dean knew what was happening, Cas made his way to the lake, kicking off his shoes and socks as he walked. Dean realised what he was doing. 

“Cas, what the fuck? Don’t –” 

He cut off as Cas sat down and dunked his feet into the water. 

“You fucking idiot.”

Cas shrugged, rolling up his trousers as the water climbed up his legs. “Do you have a better idea about how to find her? Look at the previous three victims. I believe I could be classified as ‘its type.’” 

Its type being, young(ish), attractive men, stupid enough to go swimming in Minnesota in November. He couldn’t exactly fault Cas’ logic. He probably would have done the same thing too if he’d figured it out first. Cas was just faster at connecting the dots than he was. 

“Okay, so now what? We sit here while you contract hypothermia as we wait for horse girl to make an appearance?”

“No, none of the victims were taken on their initial contact with the water. She called out to them later.”

“Oh yeah, the three-day rule.” Cas looked up and squinted at Dean. “You know, how after a date, you’re supposed to wait – never mind,” Dean said, biting back a grin at Cas’ look of utter confusion. Yeah, of course he wouldn’t know. Even if he did give the traditional dating thing a shot, he’d no doubt tackle it with the same directness he handled everything he dealt with. 

“Okay, you think she got your scent by now?”

“Yes, I believe this should suffice.”

They go back to Donna’s. She’s out, working late. Look at the sigils. Cas doesn’t recognise them. Dean sat up to watch Cas, but found himself drifting.

*

Dean woke, feeling disorientated. It took him a moment to register the hand on his face. It was too dark to really see that piercing blue stare, but Dean could feel it on him nonetheless. 

“Cas?” he said. “Wh–”

“She’s calling me, Dean,” Cas whispered, his hand stroking the side of Dean’s face before he pulled away. “I have to go.”

Dean flipped on the bedside lamp. “Cas,” Dean said, hoping his tone was casual enough not to spook the guy. “We knew this was going to happen, remember. It’s part of the plan.”

“Plan?” Cas looked like he was about to drift off into a haze. 

Dean gripped his wrist, squeezing tighter than he normally would. “Hey! You with me?”

Cas looked down at their joined hands before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Yes,” he said finally, sounding more like himself. Dean exhaled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. 

“But we should probably go now,” Cas said. “Everything in me wants to submit to her. I don’t know how much longer I can resist.”

Dean nodded. He reluctantly released Cas’ wrist to make the fastest bathroom trip of all time. When he returned, Cas was sitting on the couch, hands balled up into fists on his lap. The blank expression on his face flickered – Dean caught a flash of relief pass over it – before he rearranged his features back to placidity.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” Dean said, checking the rounds in his gun and shoving it into the holster on his thigh. (He’d been a little reluctant when Cas had first pushed the holster at him, but Cas had insisted. It was pretty convenient, and Dean was starting to kind of like how badass it looked. It wasn’t exactly suitable for concealed carry, but Dean wasn’t particularly worried about civilians by the lake at this time of night. It’d be too dark for them to notice his choice in accessories, at any rate. “I can handle this by myself.”

“Dean, your presence is the only thing keeping me from falling under her thrall. The second you leave, I’m going to race right to her.”

“I can tie you up,” Dean said, surveying the silver blades he’d pulled out of his bag. 

“I suspect I would be able to get out of any of your attempts to bind me.”

Dean looked up, eyebrows raised. “Do you now?”

“Yes. I have received extensive training in how to extricate myself from a wide array of restraints.”

Dean was intrigued, but he figured now wasn’t the time to test that theory. If Cas did manage to get loose and find his way to the kelpie before Dean did, he would be defenceless against her. And Dean was a good swimmer, but he didn’t think he’d be much use in rescuing Cas from the bottom of a lake bed. 

He supposed he could wake Donna and ask her to watch him, but as good as Donna was, Cas was a 180-pound ex-soldier with more muscles than seemed necessary, even in their line of work. And Dean may not have seen him in action, but from his observations of Cas, as well as Kelvin’s testimony, Dean figured he was a pretty skilled hunter. Leaving Cas alone with Donna wasn’t a risk he felt comfortable taking.

He sighed, holding out one of the blades to Cas. “Well, all right then. Let’s go kill an evil sea horse.”

*

Dean could feel Cas getting more and more agitated as they approached the area of the lake they’d been at earlier. He’d barely stopped the car before Cas had wrenched open the door and sprinted across to edge of the lake. 

Dean followed, muttering curses under his breath as he pushed his muscles to their limit. He had definitely gotten a little soft. He needed to work out more. 

There was a pile of clothes on the grass when Dean reached the edge of the lake. Dean saw a dark figure walking into the water. Suddenly, the entire lake lit up, a pale blue glow stretching as far the eye could see. Dean could make out Cas now, submerged to the waist, the incandescent light illuminating his tan skin. As he got closer, he saw the relaxed smile on Cas’ face. His eyes were shut, his fingers trailing through the water. His dark hair glittered from the droplets of water running through it. 

“Wow.” A hushed voice broke the strange silence hanging over the scene. It should have been too quiet for Dean to hear it, but somehow it echoed over the water. 

A woman was standing in the water in front of Cas. The light from the water painted her bare skin in luminous shades of blue. Her long red hair was pulled over one shoulder, draped over her breast. Dean noticed the water weeds tangled in her hair and clinging to the skin of her midriff. 

“I haven’t come across a man as exquisite as you in quite some time.” She moved closer to him, her hand moving over his chest. “You are a warrior, yes? But of a different ilk. I can’t quite make it out…” 

Dean fired a shot, more to get her attention than to actually hit her. She was standing too close to Cas for him to get a clean shot. She turned to face him. 

Dean waggled his fingers at her. “He’s the kind of warrior that kills things like you. So am I, if that wasn’t clear.”

She regarded Dean for a moment. “I have no interest in you. Now him on the other hand –” 

Dean fired again. He walked into the lake, feeling the cold water soak through his boots and his jeans. “Don’t touch him.”

She turned to regard him, her expression betraying slightly more interest. “He is mine.” 

“Yeah, not if I have something to say about it.”

Dean swore he could sense the ripple of something much larger underneath her, just below the surface of the water. “Are you trying to tell me he belongs to you? I saw no evidence of any such claim on him.”

“Uh, what?” That was definitely a tail that flicked out of the water a moment ago. He chanced a look at Cas who was standing in the same position staring rapturously at the kelpie. 

“I understand, humans these days offer items of jewellery to those they claim as their own. I would not take one who was already promised to another.” 

“Oh, yeah, what about Ian? He was sneaking out on his fiancée to come see you.”

The thing’s eyes flashed bright green, anger contorting its features. “He was mine first. He came to me, swam in my waters, laid with me.” Dean tried not to react as the implications of that registered. Especially because  the shadows he could now see moving underneath the water were not suggestive of human anatomy. 

“And then he promised himself to another.”

Dean firmly put the idea of water horse/human sex out of his mind. “Well, seems to me like you already got your revenge.”

“I have been alone for so long. I miss having a mate. But those other men were so disappointing. But him.” She turned her attention back to Cas, her expression melting into something hungry. “He’s exquisite. I want to keep him.”

“Well, sorry, sister, no can do.” Dean suddenly remembered something, and cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. “He’s taken.” Dean rolled up his sleeve, revealing the silver bracelet Cas had tricked him into accepting the other day. 

“He claimed you?” In a flash, she was beside him, hands running over the bracelet. Dean tried to fire, but he found he couldn’t move, held in place by a force he couldn���t budge against. “It is from him, doused in solemnity and intention.” She regarded Dean. 

“I see. He is yours, and you would like him to be returned to you.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then, I accept your terms. I will engage you in combat for his soul.”

“Run that one by me again?”

“I was unaware of his betrothal when he offered himself to me. Under most circumstances I would return him to you with my apologies, but he is… I do not wish to relinquish him. But if you defeat me, he is yours to take.”

Dean weighed his options. Fighting an evil half hot-chick half horse monster for his fake fiance's soul may have been one of the dumber decisions he’d made in his life, but it definitely didn’t rank at the top of that list. Besides, he didn’t particularly have any other way out of this. 

“Sure, why the fuck not?” He still had the gun. 

The force freezing him in place lifted and without warning the kelpie launched herself at him. The gun went flying out of his hand and Dean saw it sink into the water. 

“Well fuck,” he said. 

The image before him shifted and suddenly a grotesque skeletal horse was standing before him. It grinned revealing a horrifyingly large set of sharp teeth. Dean ducked under the water just as it snapped at him. 

Fight. 

It’s teeth were inches away from his throat when suddenly it howled and thrashed. Dean heaved himself away to avoid its hooves. 

Cas was sitting atop the creature’s back, its bridle clutched in his grasp. Dean’s silver blade was embedded through the horse’s mouth. 

After a moment, he climbed down. He wound an arm around Dean’s waist and dragged him to the edge of the lake. They pulled themselves out of the water and collapsed on the bank, breathing heavily. 

Dean looked over after a moment. Cas was lying beside him. He was still naked. “Cas,” Dean said slowly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Where were you keeping that blade?”

Cas turned his head to look at him. “I retrieved it from my clothes while you were fighting it.”

Oh, thank fuck. 

“Thank you for fighting for my honour.” 

“Any time.”

*

They left early the next morning after Donna extracted a promise from them both to keep in touch. She hugged them both tightly before they left. 

“Next time bring me along for the ride. I missed out on all the fun.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he told her sincerely. He liked Donna a great deal.

Donna shook her head. “How is he so dang adorable?”

Dean grinned. “Even the monsters can’t resist his charms.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Donna hit Dean on the arm, and Castiel  (not without some satisfaction) saw him wince at the blow.

“Too soon, Dean. Are you sure you’re okay, Castiel?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’m more embarrassed than hurt.”

Donna laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.”

“Somehow I doubt that. But I appreciate the attempt to assuage my ego.”

“So,” Castiel said as they drove back. “Your first hunt in three years, and you emerged victorious. How do you feel?”

Dean lifted a hand in a see-saw motion. “So-so. You’re the one who killed it. I would have been monster chow if you hadn’t saved my ass.”

“And I would have been forced to live the remainder of my life as the kelpie’s consort if you hadn’t saved my ass.”

Dean looked over at him, a speculative look on his face. “So, what, you’re saying we’re even?”

“Yes. I believe we make a good team.”

Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s eyes behind the aviator sunglasses he wore, but thought he saw his shoulders relax incrementally. 

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess we do. So, does this mean you wanna do this again sometime?”

“Of course, Dean. Anytime.”

He didn’t need to see Dean’s eyes to interpret the smile he shot him in response.

“Hey, you got somewhere to be tonight?”

“No, not that I’m aware of.”

“You feel like grabbing a drink? Celebrate our mutual badassery?”

“I’d love to.”

*

Bela was standing outside his apartment when Dean pulled up in front of it. She was leaning against his motorbike clad in black leather. 

“Oh, great,” Dean muttered, bringing the engine to a stop. 

Castiel rolled down the window. “Hello.”

Bela nodded, her eyes flicking over Dean’s car before focusing on the man himself. “Brought your bike back. Was waiting for you to let me in.”

“How did you know I was on my way home?”

Bela just smirked, and Castiel didn’t miss how Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. 

“Well, come on. Chop, chop. I don’t have all day.”

Bela followed them down to the parking garage. “You know she hacked the GPS on your phone, right?”

“Yes, I gathered.”

Dean took a breath. He looked at Castiel before turning back to the road. Castiel waited for him to speak. “Look, Cas, I may be out of line here, but do you trust her?”

“No.”

Dean’s head snapped up, shock painting his features. “Uh, wait, really? I thought I’d have to fight you on that one.” 

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, I may have sex with her on occasion, but I’m still fully in possession of my faculties. I’m under no illusions about who Bela is. She helps me when it suits her, but she would sell me out without hesitation if she had to.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“She’s a survivalist.”

“Doesn’t look like any doomsday prep nut I’ve ever seen. None of them ever wore Gucci.”

“There are many forms of survivalism. She has her reasons.”

“Which are?”

Castiel looked at Bela as she disembarked from the bike. “They aren’t mine to divulge.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re really fine with that. With her using you because she finds you useful?”

Castiel shrugged. “I believe she also finds me amusing.”

Dean cracked a smile at that. “We all do, buddy.”

They got out of the car. Bela was standing beside the bike. She tossed the keys to Castiel who caught them one-handed without fumbling, thankfully. That had the potential to be embarrassing. 

“So,” Bela said, eyes flicking between Dean and Castiel. “What are we doing tonight?”

“Dean and I were going to go out for a drink.”

“No need,” she said, flipping open the trunk box to reveal three bottles of Macallan 18. “We could stay in, get to know each other?”

Castiel could see Dean’s reluctance to spend time in Bela’s company, warring with his taste for good whiskey.

“Fine,” Dean said after a moment. “But only because you brought the good stuff.”

“It’s Cas’ favourite,” she said, shooting Dean a wide smile. “He has rather refined tastes. Usually.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Castiel said before Dean could respond. If he didn’t stop them they could probably stand here all night trading snipes. “I’m hungry.”

*

“How are you still not drunk,” Dean said two hours later, squinting down at Castiel from his position on the couch. “You drank almost an entire bottle by yourself. 

Castiel poked at the remains of his pad thai. All that was left were the bamboo shoots. He drained what was left of his glass before looking up at Dean. “I think I’m starting to feel something.”

“The eleventh drink is where it starts kicking in,” Bela said. She was curled up on the other end of the couch. 

Dean looked at her in interest. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “I’ve only seen him get this far once before, but I made note of it.”

Castiel watched them. They still didn’t particularly seem to like each other, but they were certainly less hostile than they’d been before they’d started drinking. 

“Alcohol is good,” Castiel told them. He received twin nods in response. 

He took in Bela and Dean sitting on opposite ends of the couch. They were both rather similar, he suddenly realised. Both were charming, and used sarcasm to hide their true vulnerability. Were forced to grow up too soon due to their traumatic childhoods, and their terrible fathers. And of course both were inordinately beautiful. 

“You have the same colour hair,”  Castiel said, tilting his head to regard them. “And your eyes are a very similar shade of green.”

Dean and Bela exchanged a look that Castiel couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Guess, Cas has a type,” Bela said after a moment.

Dean scoffed. “I’m not fucking him.”

Bela narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re just saving the world with him. I’ll let you in on a little secret: it can’t be done. In the end, we’re all gonna burn.”

“You don’t think I know that already, sweetheart?”

Bela did look a little surprised by that. “Then what does it matter? Might as well enjoy the ride while we’re still on it.”

“Fuck you. It matters.”

“Why?”

“Because if it’s not going to all add up to something at the end, if you’re right Bela and we’re all ultimately doomed, then this world right here, the people on it, they’re the only thing we know for sure does matter. The only thing we know is real. So, we fight. Because we can. So we do.”

Dean and Bela were staring at him. 

“What?” Castiel said, unscrewing the bottle and pouring some whiskey into Dean’s glass as he looked up at him. “Was that not what you were going to say? I apologise, those are my sentiments. I shouldn’t speak on your behalf.”

“Uh, no, that’s…” Dean trailed off, staring down at Castiel. His eyes were very green. “That’s pretty much it.”

Bela was quiet for a moment before she reached over to snatch the bottle from Castiel and take a swig directly from it. “Let’s not get maudlin,” she said.

“So, you’re the man who took Castiel’s innocence,” she said. 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Uh, no, I wouldn’t – we just. It was just a kiss.”

Bela’s entire face lit up. “Oh, really, now?”

“I told her you were the one who introduced me to hunting,” Castiel told Dean, watching in amusement as his eyes fell shut. 

“Yes, he insisted it was more of a spiritually affecting encounter than a physical one. You’ve been holding out on me, Cas.”

“I had gone out to try and have a sexual encounter before I joined the military and yet was unsuccessful in all my attempts. Dean simply took pity on me in my sorry state and gave me my first kiss. Nothing more salacious to report, Bela.”

Bela did look a little unsatisfied by how chaste the whole encounter sounded. Castiel remembered it somewhat differently, but he supposed his ineptitude and youthful fascination with the confident and exceedingly attractive stranger may have coloured his memory of the incident. The version he told Bela was probably closer to the objective truth of the encounter.

“Still, you two make quite a picture.” She was lying on the couch now, her leather jacket thrown on the floor beside Cas. She propped her head on her hand, the strap of her black silk top sliding down her shoulder. 

Castiel saw the interest in Dean’s gaze as he looked her over. From Bela’s smirk, she noticed it too. “My imagination’s running wild here. Care to re-enact it? To satisfy my curiosity?” 

“Bela,” Castiel said, the warning evident in his tone. 

“What, I’m just curious.” She dropped lithely to the floor, crawling over to where Castiel was stretched out. She sat next to him, draping her legs over his lap, one arm resting on the couch beside Dean.

She brought her hand up to rest on Castiel’s shoulder, and before Castiel realised what was happening, she gripped his hair and yanked his head back till it was resting on the couch, staring up at Dean’s startled expression. 

In one fluid motion she shifted to straddle Castiel’s lap and brought her face inches from his. She looked up at Dean. “Was it like this?”

“I, uh – “

Castiel’s view of Dean’s expression was suddenly obscured as Bela leaned down to kiss him. His eyes briefly fell shut, and when he opened them, she was still looking at Dean. She moved back after a moment. “Would you like a turn?” 

“With which one of you?” Dean’s tone was light, but his rapid blinking revealed he was far from relaxed. 

“Dealer’s choice. Though, no one but you is saying it’s an either/or kinda deal.” 

“Oh.” 

Bela raised an eyebrow. “Never done the group thing before, huh?” 

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean smiled at her. “Wrong on that front, sweetheart.” 

“But never with another guy in the mix?” 

Dean whistled under his breath. “You’re 0 for 2, tonight. Might wanna quit while you’re head.” 

“Interesting,” Bela said, her hand sliding down to the collar of Castiel’s shirt. 

Castiel looked up at Dean who was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret.  Bela’s hand was warm against his neck. 

Castiel gripped Bela’s hand. She met his eyes and he shook his head minutely. 

She moved off him so swiftly, and almost before he realised it, returned to her original perch on the couch. Dean took a moment to adjust to the sudden change in mood, blinking rapidly down at where she had been a moment ago. Their eyes met again, and Castiel could read the ‘what the fuck just happened?’ in them, clear as day. 

He shrugged and lifted his head off the cushion. Bela was watching them curiously. 

“Was that necessary?” Castiel asked. 

“Can’t blame a girl for being curious.” 

“Try me,” Dean muttered, apparently having recovered from his confusion. 

“I thought you’d be into it,” she said, grinning at Castiel. She turned to Dean. “Did he tell you we met at an orgy?” 

“What?”

Castiel sighed. Bela looked delighted by Dean’s slack jawed expression.“I was investigating a commune in South Dakota,” Castiel said. “There had been some reports of a charismatic leader who seemed to be a little too charming. I wondered if he might be employing supernatural means to achieve such a level of devotion.” 

“And was he?” 

“No. He was simply creating a community of like-minded people who enjoyed the pleasures of mind-altering substances and group sex. They didn’t feel their own society had a place for them, and so were loyal to the man who put such efforts into accommodating them.” 

“Plus, he was a magnetic speaker and unspeakably hot.” 

Castiel nodded. “He was. And very nice.” 

“He liked Cas so much, he asked him to lead his own group. Should have heard the crap he was coming out with. Something about orgies being the gateway to the collective tapestry of the human mind?” 

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t remember. It was mostly nonsense.” Though, he does remember being rather impressed by his own ability to improvise. He wasn’t usually that good at it. 

“The hippie chicks loved him.” Bela ran a hand through her hair as she regarded him. “You’d make an excellent cult leader, you know.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And what were you doing there?” Dean asked Bela. 

“Same thing he was. I thought the yogi master was using a mystical object to create his own Jonestown. Thought such an artefact could be of some value. I left disappointed.”

“What, didn’t trip the light fantastic and fuck your way over the rainbow?” 

“Hippies aren’t exactly my thing.” She smiled. “Can’t say the same for our friend over there, though.” 

Dean’s head snapped up so quick, Castiel could almost hear a crack. “Really?” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” 

“Huh,” Dean said, leaning back with a contemplative look on his face. 

Castiel wasn’t sure how, but Bela’s recollection of “The Orgy Case” as she liked to call it, seemed to have dissipated the strange tension that had built up around them. The rest of the night passed without incident. They finished the whiskey. Bela and Dean sniped at each other, but without any real heat behind their barbs. 

Eventually, Bela stood up and picked up her jacket from the floor. “Well, it’s been fun, boys, but I have things to do, places to be.”

“Wait, you’re, uh, not staying?” Dean said, his words slightly slurred. 

Bela shook her head. “Three’s a crowd, apparently,” shooting Castiel a quick, almost imperceptible look. “Have a good night. I know the morning’s going to be tortuous. Well, for you, at least, Dean. Don’t think Cas can even get a hangover.”

Dean groaned, pulling the cushion over his face. “Fuck,” he said, his voice muffled. 

Bela laughed and waggled her fingers in their direction before closing the door behind her. 

Castiel offered to make up the guest room bed for Dean but he declined. 

“Don’t think I could move right now if I tried, Cas.” 

Castiel went to grab a blanket and spare pillow for Dean, along with a bottle of water. He sat on the coffee table until Dean finished the water. Dean dropped his head back onto the pillow. Castiel watched him for a moment before turning out the light. He had just started to walk to his bedroom when he heard Dean call out to him quietly. 

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I’m, uh, sorry.”

Castiel paused. The sliver of light from the crack in his bedroom door fell directly on Dean’s face. Castiel still couldn’t read his expression. “For what?”

“Bela, she came here to fuck you, right?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Dean shifted his face against the pillow. “I made it weird.”

Castiel tried and failed to follow Dean’s drunken logic. “I can assure you, you didn’t.”

“You like her.”

Castiel had no idea how to interpret that. “I don’t object to her company,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. 

“But you don’t want to date her?”

“No.”

“And you don’t trust her?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Castiel stared at Dean quietly for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall, his breathing getting deeper as he succumbed to his exhaustion. “Get some rest, Dean. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*

If you're still here, here's an excerpt from the post-canon one.

Look you kids with your vintage music

"Dude, that's a bear. A demonic bear. "

"I can see it Dean. "

"What the actual fuck?" Dean says while Cas is inching backwards to retrieve his fallen blade.

It’s almost on Dean now but it abruptly turns to Cas and stills, black eyes (are bears eyes usually black anyway?) narrowing. Dean watches on in confusion as the black smoke pours out of the bear’s mouth…

Only to look on in horror as it envelops Cas, forcing its way into his mouth and nose. He barely has time to take in the shocked expression on Cas’ face before the demon has schooled his features into something barely recognisable. 

“Ooh wasn’t sure if that would work,” it says laughing, the sound making Dean’s insides twist painfully. That’s not Cas’ laugh. “Jeez, feathers, there’s barely any angel left in you is there?”

“Get the fuck out of him!” Dean yells, hoping it doesn’t notice how his voice shakes on that last word. Seeing Cas with black eyes is not something he’d been prepared to deal with. It wasn’t even on the long list of possible worries he had about Cas. (Numbers 1-8 were all the ways he had already managed to get himself dead.)

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” and fuck this thing is actually enjoying this. “Please as if you’d even lay a hand on me when I’m in this body. I know all about you, Dean. You know you’re quite the topic of conversation in hell.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dean Winchester: the man, the myth, the legend. You’ve read all about me on those demon bathroom walls I’m sure.” He’s stalling now. This demon must be strong if it’s managed to possess Cas, and Dean’s trying to figure out how he’s going to get through an exorcism without it stopping him. 

“Yes,” it says thoughtfully, tilting it’s head in a twisted mockery of Cas’ usual movements “Though I have to say, having access to a first person account of the story truly is fascinating. Oh, Castiel…the martyrdom, the self flagellation - you don’t even realise everything you could be if you didn’t insist on prostrating yourself before the Altar of Dean Winchester. I mean, look where it’s gotten you.”

Fighting to ignore its words, Dean uses its monologuing at Cas as an opportunity to start muttering an exorcism under his breath, but he only gets half way through before those nauseatingly black eyes flick back on him. 

“Oh I don’t think so sweetheart.”

With a flick of its wrist Dean finds himself pinned to the ground, throat constricting. The demon ambles over slowly, dropping down to straddle him, pressing Cas' angel blade to his throat. 

“Now as much as I think we could have some fun you and I,” it says dragging its eyes over his body appreciatively and Dean has to look away, the movement making the blade dig into his skin and drawing out a thin line of blood on his neck. “It would be stupid of me to waste time. I’m assuming that brother of yours is around here somewhere, so sorry, I'm going to have to skip to the end. Spoiler alert: it’s me returning to hell as the demon who killed Dean Winchester.”

Dean would come up with a smart ass response to that but unfortunately, the demon’s literally on top with him with a blade partly in his throat, its mojo is still constricting Dean's vocal chords. 

He forces himself to look up into Cas’ eyes and project ‘It wasn’t you - it’s not your fault’ as loudly as he can. When Cas is back in the driver’s seat he needs to know that. He needs to know that Dean knew that. Of course he’ll still blame himself, this is Cas, and he’s a dumbass like that, but it’s all Dean’s got. 

He’s still looking intently into Cas’ eyes, silently doing his best Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting impression, when he sees the black fall away and suddenly he’s looking into that impossible blue again. He feels his throat relax and he starts gasping, the movement causing the blade to nick at the skin again. 

Cas looks down and quickly tosses the blade away. He has quite the arm; that’s going to be a bitch to find again in the dark. 

“Dean,” he says, and Dean feels a surge of relief that the voice is nothing like the twisted impression he’d been hearing from the demon. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” he says, voice still a little hoarse. He reaches up a hand to Cas jaw, gripping tightly to bring his face to his. It’s him. Eyes blue.  “What - Cas- how?“

“I’m sorry it seems my powers are weak enough for a demon to be able to momentarily take control. I didn’t realise…”

“How did you snap out of it?”

Cas’ expression abruptly changes from shame and concern to “Seriously? I am so done with this shit” that Dean feels another surge of warmth. Yep definitely all Cas. 

“I said it could momentarily take control. I’m still an angel, even if just as a technicality,” he says dismissively. “A demon can’t hold me for long.” 

“Yeah yeah I get it you eat your wheaties.”

“It was also rather stupid,” Cas says looking intently down at Dean, eyes still clear and blue. “In threatening you I mean. That’s certainly the most sure fire way of jolting me back into the driver’s seat, as you would say.”

Dean’s suddenly very aware that Cas is essentially sitting in his lap and that Dean is still gripping his jaw tightly. His face is inches away and Dean can feel the warmth of Cas’ breath on his cheek.

“Dean,” Cas says, jolting him from wherever his thoughts were wandering, “I may have gotten back control but it would still be better to do this sooner rather than later.”

“Do what?” He says says struggling to focus on what the point was. 

Cas is looking at him (from very close by) like he’s an idiot. 

“The exorcism, Dean.”

Oh right. Because there’s still a demon in Cas. And they’ve just been sitting around shooting the breeze. 

Dean hurriedly starts the exorcism, belatedly realising it might have been smarter for both of them to stand up before starting this, but then Cas is shaking and all thoughts leave Dean’s head. He lifts a hand to grip Cas’ arm, but Cas shakes it off, bracing his hands on the ground either side of Dean’s shoulders. Dean finishes the exorcism, the smoke bursts out of Cas’ body and is forced into the ground on the midnight train direct to Hell. 

Cas is leaning over him struggling to catch his breath, but otherwise he looks okay. Once again Dean reaches over to cup his face a silent question in his eyes and he only relaxes when Cas looks back and nods.

Dropping his head back to the ground and closing his eyes he’s jolted back by the sound of foosteps and looks up to see Sam and Jack running only to stop abruptly. What makes them pause who knows? There’s an unconscious bear not ten feet away. There’s Cas - pale, exhausted and out of breath. Oh, and there’s also the fact that he’s essentially still straddling Dean who can’t quite bring himself to move. It’s all a rich tableau.

“What the fuck happened here?” Sam asks as Jack rushes over to help Cas. 

“Well, Sammy,” he says, allowing Jack to pull him up too after he’s checked that Cas is okay. “Highlights: demon bear, I’m still famous as ever in Hell, and Cas is gonna need some new ink. After I’ve eaten my weight in red meat. It’s been a fucking day.”

*

“Where the hell is he?’ Dean demands pacing the floor of the motel room. 

Sam looks on bemused. “Dean, he’s a grown man - angel, whatever. He can take care of himself.” 

“Dude just got possessed by a demon, Sam and then just decided to go off on his own. He’s not even answering his phone.”

Sam shrugs. “He seemed fine after. A little annoyed, but that’s pretty much business as usual for Cas. He probably just needed some air - to clear his head.” 

Dean knows Sam’s probably right but he’s not really in the mood to be placated. “He could at least answer his phone.”

“Loosen the leash a little, Dean. Does Cas know he has a curfew?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“Look, if you’re going to be like this for the rest of the night, I’m just gonna go bunk with Jack. It’s been a long day.” 

“Fine, but -” 

“I’m right next door," Sam interrupts, raising a hand behind him as he leaves.

*

Dean fully intends to have chilled out a little by the time Cas comes back.

“Where the fuck were you?” 

Yeah, well, everyone knows what the road to hell is paved with, and Dean's practically got an express ticket by this point.

Cas looks at him evenly. “Out.” 

“Oh real cute, Punky Brewster. Something wrong with your phone?” 

Cas pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it at Dean. Dean instinctively catches it and looks down at the cracked screen. 

“It must have gotten broken during the encounter with the demon earlier,” Cas says, shrugging out of his coat and draping it on the back of the chair. 

“Fine, whatever. Where were you?”

“Getting a tattoo.”

“Getting a...oh.” 

Cas looks away. “Earlier, that shouldn’t have... I didn’t think a demon would be able to do that. I should have considered it, though. I should have been prepared.” His eyes drift to Dean's neck.

Cas walks over to where Dean is sitting on the bed. 

Dean inhales sharply as Cas runs his fingers over the scabbed over cut on his throat. 

“Cas it’s -” He clears his throat, surprised by the husky quality of his voice. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse getting out of bed. 

“I think you’ve been getting out of bed wrong.” 

“Cas” - he tugs at his wrist to get him to sit down - “look at me.” 

Cas resists for a moment before he sighs and takes a seat, the cheap motel mattress sinking under his weight.

“It’s not your fault. This shit happens.” 

“Not to me. At least it shouldn’t.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, wondering how he should say this. “But Crowley was able to possess you that time.” 

Cas scoffs, which is not the reaction Dean had expected but in retrospect maybe he should have. The most sure fire way to get Cas to show contempt and condescension is to mention Crowley’s name. Especially since Rowena had figured out a way to bring him back. Maybe Dean should do it more often: it’s good for Cas’ self-esteem to feel righteously superior every once in a while. 

“He didn’t possess me, Dean. He was able to enter my body because I wasn’t in control of it at the time, but even in that state he wouldn’t have been able to force me to do so much as put on a bracelet.” 

“That’s weirdly specific.”

Cas stares into the distance with the air of someone haunted by some long suppressed memory. “When we were working together to try to find Lucifer, he bought me three different friendship bracelets. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Don’t laugh, Dean tells himself. Crowley might be a genius. Oh to be a fly on the wall for that glorious gift exchange.

“So, yes, I never thought a demon would be able to possess me and wrest control of my body from me. I won’t let it happen again, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Dude, I swear to God…” Dean mutters. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, fine, whatever. So it worked?” 

Cas looks at him curiously.

“Well, when we tried to get Jack inked up, the tat dissolved off him before the guy had even put the gun down. You didn’t have the same issue or anything?” 

Cas shrugs and starts to unbutton his jeans. 

“Woah, wait what are you –”

“Checking my tattoo? Like you just suggested?” Cas says looking at Dean like he’s an idiot. He might be; his brain seems to be sending out an error 404 signal right now. 

“I thought... We usually go for –” Dean pulls at the collar of his shirt to gesture at the anti-possession symbol below his collar bone. 

Cas shrugs as he pulls down the waistband. “I didn’t give it much thought. I have the anti-angel one there,” Dean follows his fingers as they trace over the Enochian lettering on his lower ribs. “It just made sense to get this one below it.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure.” 

Cas raises a brow at him before looking down to examine his new tattoo. “As you can see, still there.”

Dean looks at the bold black markings for longer than a simple appraisal would warrant, but Cas doesn’t call him on it. “Uh yeah,” he coughs, finally looking away. ‘Looks good.”

Cas nods and buttons up his jeans and Dean feels a strange mix of relief and disappointment that he has no intention of examining too closely. He leans back against the headboard. “Sorry if I came on a little strong. I was just... Well uh, you know.” He sighs. “I was just worried.” 

Cas settles himself more comfortably back on the bed. “I know, Dean. I learned to differentiate the nuances in your various angry reactions a long time ago.”

Dean should probably be offended by that, but he can’t quite muster up the energy to care. Besides, Cas is right: he does tend to hide a great deal of his vulnerabilities behind a veil of anger. It’s as valid a coping mechanism as any.

“Aww, Cas, it’s like you like me or something.” 

“Or something.” Cas looks at him intently. 

“What?” 

“I was just thinking...” He pauses. “I don’t think you’d like to hear this.” 

Dean snorts. “Now you have to tell me.” 

“I was thinking about you and Lisa.” 

Dean stares at him. Cas was right. He definitely didn’t want to hear that. He never thought he’d have to. Sam knew better than to ever mention her again, but Cas…

Dean didn’t have the right to ask Cas to stay quiet on this particular subject, but he had always just assumed they had a tacit agreement to keep this particular skeleton buried. He didn’t think Cas would want to rehash it anymore than he did. 

“Dean, we don’t have to.” 

“No, no, it’s not...I –I just ” –Dean bangs his head back against the wall, ignoring the resulting twinge – “ I don’t know where to even start. What I did to her –” 

“What we did, Dean.” 

Dean sits up so quickly he has to brace himself on the edge of the mattress to keep from tipping over. “No, Cas. No. That one’s not on you. I asked you to do it. Things were so damn broken between us and I knew how guilty you felt. I knew…” 

“You knew I’d give you whatever you asked without hesitation,” Cas finishes staring at Dean. “And I did. But that was my choice.” 

“Your choice?” Dean laughs bitterly. “Yeah, like I gave you much of a choice. Come on, Cas, you were full wattage halo back then. Glory be to our Castiel in the Highest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know you’ve never been like the other self-righteous asshats up there, but let’s not pretend you fully understood human feelings back then. Or that you fully got what I was asking you to do.” 

“You’re right, I didn’t. But I understood what losing you meant. It was happening to me. I was losing you and knew that there was nothing I could do to stop it. The one…” he trails off and Dean feels an intense urge to reach out to him. He closes his fingers around Cas’ wrist and Cas looks up at him, blue eyes filled with something bigger than Dean has the ability to contextualise. 

Cas takes a deep breath, not looking away from Dean. “You were the one being in all of existence that I felt any sense of connection to. My only real tether to anything outside of myself. Being without you...I didn’t know how I was going to survive it.” He smiles, the crooked, broken smile that Dean hates more than almost anything. “I guess I didn’t.

“So, yeah, Dean, I knew what I was doing. You...I don’t think you’ll ever realise just how remarkable you are. How indelibly your presence becomes etched in the lives of anyone who comes to know you. I experienced every single one of her memories of you before I erased them, but even if I hadn’t, I’d still have known what I was taking from her, and I did it anyway.” 

Dean has no idea how to respond to any of that. What the hell does he say? ‘Hey, buddy, I think you’re swell too?’ Or ‘I’m sorry you have such terrible taste in the humans you form bonds with?’ Or ‘if you’re so intent on fraternising with the dregs of humanity, maybe give tinder a try? Even that’s gotta be an improvement with what you’re dealing with here.’

“I’m sorry I asked you to do it,” Dean says instead. 

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry about a lot of things, Dean.” 

Dean nods. “Ok, so is that what you were thinking about? What we did to her and Ben? Taking their memories?” Dean knows it was a shitty shitty thing to do. He’ll always feel guilty about it, but he can’t quite bring himself to regret it. Without him in their lives, they were safe. He’d forced himself into their world. A world he didn’t belong in. A world he didn’t want to belong in. He’d be damned if he let Lisa and Ben pay the price for his failed experimentation with white bread normalcy. 

Cas shakes his head. “Not quite. I just...you never tried it again, and I didn't understand. Why you never tried to find another partner. I always wondered why.” 

Dean looks at him incredulously. He’s beginning to question Cas’ sanity again. “Cas, uh not to be a dick or anything, but did that thing with the demon knock a few screws loose? What were we just talking about? Like literally just talking about.” 

“That’s not what I mean, Dean," and fuck if looks could burn, Dean would be a pile of ashes on the cheap motel carpet.

[cobra-wives]

as usual, these thoughts are up on letterboxd. but i figured i should put them here too, for the people...

KARATE KID LEGENDS: A JUMBLED UP FLUFFED UP REVIEW

this movie is nowhere near perfect. the solid 3-star conundrum i'm seeing on here (and everywhere, if i'm being recent and honest) is completely understandable; there's a lot of gripes you can hold with this movie. for starters, soundtrack was EVERYWHERE. things needed time to breathe. everyone needed more time. TIME, TIME TIME. backstory. accuracies - i mean, are you kidding me; 1986, okinawa? we all know DAMN WELL that was the summer of 1985. hell, benson boone is in this fucking soundtrack and you just have to let his music assault your years. excuse my crudeness: i can't stand benson boone. and YES, i wanted more time with the evil team, the demolition dojo sensei (because KREESE stand-in, you know who my favorite character is BUZZ OFF), and... well, he who shall be named in the next paragraph. 

but. BUT. 

aramis knight as conor day. with one n, because evil CAN be stored in a singular n and he has no second one to put the rest of it in. NO, I'M JOKING. onwards we go. 

(but not really; i love him so much. if you know me, i love to see an into the badlands actor show up. you guys saw me when i watched love hurts with ke huy quan and daniel wu was there. i'm not normal.) 

ralph n jackie touch on how powerful it feels to pass down a legacy. to play the role of shifu/sensei, and pass on all these important lessons. li fong is a walking crockpot of all his influences; his mother, his new nuyorican friends, mr han and of course larusso, and then even his BROTHER. it is, in its essence, a film made for no one person, but for everyone. a testifying piece to what role community plays in the upbringing of a kid, how IMPORTANT it is to have community. the previous karate kid/ck installments always seem to grind this idea of the INDIVIDUAL mindset, of the ONE person you become in order to win. i love that it felt like everyone pitched in, and that ben's success is a result of the love he receives from EVERYONE.

some personal thoughts here.... because it's SO SO SO charming, and more importantly, TAILOR CRAFTED for me. going to bullet point here for cohesion.

li fong getting an sat tutor was actually ADORABLE and the fact that they ended up being good pals was so so SO charming. that was so so so special to me and i know it wasn't written specifically to me but the little calculus jokes... so very special and quintessential to the asian high school experience, because YEAH.

i cannot speak on the nyc credibility but it his connections with victor as well were SO charming; i felt their relationship greatly aided the story and gave power to li fong's motives, to the FIGHT.

might i also finally add, that the romance between mia and li is doubly adorable in the sense that we just get to have this teenaged girl who is literally... A TEENAGED GIRL. who cares about her dad, has her gripes and issues, and simply wishes to run her pizza shop with her dad. it was teenaged romance in the realest, corniest, sappiest way possible and i was incredibly INCREDIBLY fond of them.

all of this, and the final fruition of mr han and daniel's bickerings and teachings (that subway kick was PHENOMENAL stuntwork, by the way)... and we have such a GORGEOUS final fight on a skyscraper. i mean, fuck! the only thing that could make this better (or worse. MUCH WORSE) is if li fong kicked conor day off the side of the building. but we don't want that. no no no. not the miyagi do way. 

ah, and compliments away from the amazing decisions of the writing:

visually, this movie is a lot like a good pizza: simple, but you order it. a lot of people were complaining, "oh, it was edited in capcut!! blah blah blah, SO SIMPLE," but i truly believe the charm of the karate kid films lies in its simplicity. the camerawork was PHENOMENAL - so far away from the eyesore of the final fights from dre's karate kid.

the little doodle-libs from the points and the countdown towards the five boroughs were soooo eyecatching and popping. it has my artist eyeballs TINGLING!!!

so many scenes in this film are visually well composed as well, here i'll list a few; the lantern scene, the brother getting stabbed, and uh.... well. the entire final fight. may i also add that the pizza place is FANTASTICALLY built and so, SO charming in its intimate little pieces scattered across thru the back. i love when a film set is allowed the love of the details. 

i've gone off on a long and heavy tangent (i have THOUGHTS, okay?!) and i'm sure you're getting sick of reading this unapologetic five star review. i'll wrap it up with one last statement: the other two karate kid kickoffs - 1984, 2010 - have their individual stand out moments for both the protagonists. but li fong is given more than a singular time to shine; he is given a community of people who love him, who SUPPORT him. that's real beautiful.

the message is frank - to make a karate kid, you need a karate kid... LEGENDS.

...............fuck, that doesn't fucking work, damnit. 

.....................good fuckin movie. 

...........................i'm gonna go squeal over how cute aramis knight is.